The thing about Guy Ritchie movies is he will cast an entire movie full of men built like the proverbial brick shithouse and then uses them to play with masculinity the way actual nine year old girls play with barbies
pairing: modern!aerion 'brightflame' targaryen x reader. | sfw.
content: modern au, aerion and reader as kids + classmates, mild bullying, scrappy ass fighting between aerion and an older kid, you getting shoved, aerion protecting you, maekar mention, fluff.
author's note: yeah, the modern childhood best friends AU is getting to me, guys. this was something i just wrote on the spot with nothing but "ribs" by lorde and "the spins" by mac miller playing in the bg. this might become an actual fic series. as always, my inbox is open!
word count: 1.08k
you feel it before you see it. the way that someone is watching you, a set of eyes drilling holes into your forehead while you use your orange safety scissors to cut through some construction paper.
you're six, sitting at your double school desk and currently working on a colorful project that the teacher had given the class. 'cut your construction paper into strips and spell four words you learned this week, then glue them to a posterboard you'll be given later' was essentially the instruction your teacher had given you all.
there's only two people sitting at your desk meant for four. your deskmate was absent today and you didn't know why, nor particularly care to. the work was divided unevenly now, but the three of you managed; by managed, you mean that you and the unruly silver haired bickered over who did two words instead of one until you won at rock-paper-scissors.
"staring is rude, aerion." you huff, tilting your chin up and looking at the boy with violet eyes.
"you're rude." he immediately shoots back and your little brows furrow in absolute disrespect.
"what? no i'm not. you lost fair and square." that response seems to irritate the boy.
before he can say anything to argue, the school bell goes off and recess is to begin. everyone drops their things down and scatters from their desks to go outside. nobody heeds the teacher's attempts to reel you all in and the conversation ends there.
kids shouting and laughing bounce off the pavement, slicing through any semblance of peacefulness. they're everywhere, jumping from equipment to equipment and running around like there's flames licking their heels so that they don't get tagged.
you're among them, standing in front of the monkey bars and waiting for your turn in line. a third grader is behind you and far less patient. he shoves you out of the way, sending you tumbling to the ground when you were supposed to be allowed to go. woodchips hit your arms and knees, giving you small splinters that makes your eyes instinctively water.
"hey, you jerk! you can't do that!" a voice that isn't your own reaches your ears. you look up, bewildered, and see your classmate running over. he hadn't been very far, but neither were you two close enough to think he would care, both literally and figuratively.
"shut up, i can do what i want! i'm bigger than you!" children's arguments were never very intellectual, but it was a good point to make for an eight year old. aerion does not let the boy continue. he lunges, as vicious as six year old him can be, and they go down in a flurry of motion.
scrambling to your feet, you stare for a solid thirty seconds as the kids around you start to scream and run off or form a wide circle to watch. the dull pain in your elbows and knees from a few splinters are leagues away from your little brain now.
you're unsure what possessed you to intervene, but you do. you reach forward and grab aerion's shoulders, yanking him back with all of your might. he doesn't go flying back like you had seen in movies, but he loses his grip on the other boy's shirt. a fist collides with his nose, followed by a downpour of blood that makes the kids around you shriek in horror.
a teacher reaches you three and separates you with the help of a fellow adult that was following the first. the three of you are taken to the nurses office, where tears start welling in your eyes and you're apologizing to aerion for him getting hurt.
"i did it because he was being a jerk and he deserved it. i don't need your sorrys." aerion lifts his head, all too pleased with himself for swinging on the kid who thought it was a good idea to mess with you. he winces when pain shoots up his nose and then chooses to glare at the third grader across the nurse's office. the kid pointedly looks away, somehow looking worse than both you and aerion combined.
the three of your guys' parents show up, all with varying degrees of concern and anger on their expressions. you guys explain what happened to them, then to the principal, and you're the first one to be dismissed. you had the least involvement even if you were the one who unintentionally started this whole mess.
on the day following the fight you sit under an elm, book in your lap. you'd decided not to go play today.
aerion approaches you then, a flower in hand and a face that's an angry shade of red. his chin is raised and his cheeks are puffed out in indignation. the small plant he plucked somewhere in the yard is shoved into your hand, violet eyes blazing with something neither of you can name yet.
"my mom says i am to say sorry for fighting someone in front of you. so. here." white petals tickle your nose and causes it to scrunch. you smile a little, giggling as you take it by the green stem and put it behind your ear. aerion's entire brain gets rewired in those two seconds you giggle. he decides, then, that he wants more of that sound. he will do whatever he can to keep it and, greedily, hoard it like a dragon so that nobody else gets the pleasure of knowing it.
"it's okay. thank you for the flower, it's pretty." you finally say, scooting over. a small pause, then you're patting the grass beside you in a silent invitation for him to sit.
aerion assesses the pat, blinks once, then sits down with one of his boney knees knocking against yours, "we read a lot in class. why are you not playing?"
"i don't want to. my knees still hurt." there's small bruises on either of them, but they'll go away within the next day or two. aerion nods once, like you just said something wise.
the bell rings. you both get up, brushing yourselves off and then scurrying towards your classroom with a newfound friend at your sides.
nobody sees the third grader at school again. you'll find out later—when you and aerion are 16 and having dinner with his family—that maekar threatened legal action. aerion says some snarky comment about how the kid deserved worse than that and you just sigh, kicking him under the table.
◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!reader
◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 12.6K
◜cw: dark romance, grief & trauma, alcohol, manipulation, tragic backstory, sweet-dirty talk, porn with some plot, body worship [F, M], bodily fluids, virginity loss [F], piv, mutual masturbation, first time squirting, cunnilingus, creampie, overstimulation, abandonment.
▹ summary. after losing her family, she drowns her grief in silence and cheap liquor—until a dangerously charming stranger appears…
˗ˏˋ a/note. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.
The alcohol was a reprieve from your grief, numbing the pain as it dragged you into a dark abyss—a place that felt more like home with each gulp. You confronted the truth that refused to stay buried down there: The fire that consumed your family was no accident. It wasn’t a tragic twist of fate but a message transmitted in flames and ash.
The explosion ravaged the quiet suburban street, shattering not only your childhood but also the illusion of safety you felt with your parents. The cherished memories and every moment of comfort got burnt instantly.
Your father had always been a man of quiet authority; his warnings about unseen enemies and lurking dangers… you often dismissed them as paranoid.
To the outside world, he was just another bureaucrat in rich robes, methodical and modest; his life revolved around courtrooms and legal briefs. A magistrate, they called him—responsible for providing justice, but never one to draw attention. Or so you thought.
Behind the veil of routine, he uncovered something dark, something of the very institutions he served. Corruption ran deep in the veins of powerful corporations, and your father dared to expose it. He collected evidence—mountains of it—proof of bribery, fraud, and worse, crimes that could dismantle entire empires. He was a whistleblower, a man who wielded truth like a weapon.
And for that, he became a target.
His pursuit of justice made him enemies in high places—the kind of people who operated in shadows, who didn’t hesitate to eliminate threats.
You remembered crawling through the debris with your ears ringing and the smoke filling your lungs. You could hear your mother’s screams and your father’s desperate shouts, but you couldn’t reach them. It was some guards who dragged you out, holding you back from running back into that inferno that used to be your home.
You learned later that the fire wasn’t just an act of violence—it was a spectacle. Whoever orchestrated it wanted to make sure your father’s death was public, a warning to anyone else who might think of speaking out.
In the weeks that followed, you were shuffled between foster homes, each more disinterested than the last. No one wanted the young lady whose family’s tragedy made the paper's news.
The worst part? The world kept turning. People said condolences and then moved on, but you couldn’t. Your parents' deaths weren’t just a tragic accident—they were a punishment, and you carried that weight alone to deal with it every day.
Now, you were sitting in a bar, drowning in cheap liquor, trying to silence the ghosts of your youth. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back at that nightmare, and you hated yourself for surviving when they hadn’t.
“May I suggest something a bit more refined than that dirty water you’re drinking?” A man abruptly spoke, taking you out of your spiral with a calm, smooth voice.
You glanced up from your drink and met his eyes, irises red as blood. He seemed absolutely improper in this grim, forgotten corner of the city when you took a better look at him. His elegance was jarring against the peeling wallpaper and sticky floors. With a confident smile on those lips, but with something in his look—an intensity that felt predatory.
“How about a glass of wine? My treat,” he continued, leaning casually on the bar. “Though, I’m more curious about what brings someone like you here.” His voice lowered. “Have I been fortunate enough to cross paths with you by chance?”
For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to think of some kind of response. Despite the suffocating weight of pain and guilt, you managed to offer him a shy smile, but it was faint—a small flicker of the person you used to be. “Wine sounds nice,” you said softly, with a hoarse voice from disuse and the drink. “Thank you. That’s… very kind of you.”
He arched a brow. “Kindness is a rare currency in places like this,” he mentioned, signalling the bartender with a casual wave. “And you seem like someone who deserves a bit of it.”
You felt your cheeks flush slightly. “I’m not sure about that,” you replied, looking down at the chipped surface of the bar. “But thank you anyway.”
The bartender sets a glass of wine in front of you and the stranger, and you wrap your fingers around it but don't drink immediately. Instead, you glanced back at him; he was watching you with an interest that should have felt weird but didn't.
“I don't usually drink much,” you admitted, feeling an odd need to explain yourself. “I just… had a rough day. Or, well, a rough few years, I guess.”
“That much is evident,” he said with that grinning face, his voice gentler now. “Yet here you are, still standing. That takes strength, even if you don’t see it.”
“I don't feel strong. Most days, I feel like I'm barely holding it together.” You doubted for a moment, then added, “But I try to be. For them.”
He tilted his head slightly; his interest was clearly piqued. “For them?”
“My parents." You clarified. “They… didn't make it. And I guess I feel like I owe it to them to keep going, even when it hurts.”
The man’s expression shifted, his smile softening. He swirled the wine in his glass but didn’t drink. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He said after a moment. “If you don’t mind me asking… how did they die?”
The question was gentle, but it hit like a punch to the stomach. You hesitated, tightening your grip around the glass as memories clawed their way to the surface. You hadn’t spoken about it in years, not in detail. Most people didn’t want to know or simply weren’t interested in knowing.
“They were killed,” you finally said. “Someone set our house on fire. And I know it wasn’t an accident.”
His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, letting you continue.
“My father was a magistrate,” you explained with your eyes fixed on the dark liquid in your glass. “But he wasn’t just some man pushing papers and delivering sentences. He uncovered something—a network of corruption. Bribes, cover-ups, even murders. He collected enough evidence to bring down some mighty people.” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “And they made sure he paid for it.”
The stranger leaned in slightly, his elbows resting on the bar. “And your mother?”
“She was just… collateral damage.” Your voice cracked, and you blinked rapidly to will away some tears. “She died trying to save him. I am the only one who made it out.” You finally looked up at him, your eyes shining due to the unshed tears. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”
He held your gaze. “Sometimes, sharing the weight of our pain can be freeing,” he said softly. “It doesn’t lessen the burden, but it reminds us we’re not entirely alone.”
You let out a shaky breath while nodding slightly. "Maybe". You took a sip of the wine. It was smooth and rich, a far cry from the harsh burn of the cheap liquor you’d been drowning in earlier. It warmed you differently, in a way that didn’t feel so destructive.
The man watched you for a moment longer, then raised his glass in a toast. “To survival,” he said. “And to justice, in whatever form it finds you.”
You clinked your glass against his. “To justice,” you echoed, though the word felt heavy on your tongue. You weren’t sure if justice was something you’d ever find, but at that moment, it felt like a remote possibility.
The wine slid down softly, and just then you allowed yourself to take a breath—the first that felt like it might not crack your ribs. The unknown—Astarion, as he introduced himself—slid onto the stool beside you with grace, radiating confidence. But there was something else beneath that appearance, something darker; if you hadn’t been so worn down, you might’ve been wary.
Nonetheless, you were simply grateful for the company.
“Tell me,” he began, “is it a habit of yours to drink alone in such charming establishments? Or am I witnessing a rare occurrence?” The sarcasm was obvious, taking a small smile from you.
You traced your fingers along the rim of your glass. “I guess it’s rare,” you admitted. “I’m not really the ‘bar’ type. But occasionally, you just need to get away from everything, you know?”
Astarion nodded as if he understood perfectly. “Ah, yes. Escaping the world’s cruel grasp, even if just for a while.” He leaned in slightly, feeling vaguely flirtatious. “But you, my dear, seem far too delicate for such a harsh setting. Like a rose blooming in the cracks of the pavement.”
You chuckled softly. “That’s… poetic. Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky tonight too?”
His lips curled again with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Only when the company warrants it,” he replied smoothly. “And I must say, you’re earning it.”
A blush got onto your cheeks once more; it had been so long since anyone had spoken to you like this. “Well, I’m glad I’m living up to your expectations.” You replied lightly, though there was a subtle warmth behind your words.
Astarion tilted his head, keeping his eyes on yours. “You’ve more than exceeded them, darling,” he said lowly. “There’s a light in you, even in the shadow of your grief. It’s captivating.”
He disarmed you, and for a moment, you forgot about the ache in your chest. “I don’t feel like much of a light,” you confessed quietly. “Most days, I feel like I’m just… getting by.”
“Even the most fleeting flicker can illuminate the darkest room. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
You looked away, suddenly absorbed by the intensity of his gaze. “You’re very kind,” you answered softly.
“I’m simply stating the truth,” he said, his voice soft enough for you to feel an absence of that… performative tone. “And if I might be so bold… I think you deserve more than this.” He gestured vaguely around the bar. “More than the loneliness and the shadows you’ve wrapped around yourself.”
His words struck a chord deep within you. You felt seen—not as a broken, grieving girl as everyone saw you like for years but as someone worth knowing.
“You’re different, then," you said quietly. “Most people don’t bother looking past the surface.”
Astarion’s smirk softened and became almost wistful. “Perhaps I’ve simply learnt the value of what lies beneath,” he replied, carrying an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place on his expressions.
You lifted your glass slightly, but before you could take another sip, you spoke once more. “Tell me", you started with curiosity. “You’ve spent this entire time trying to get me to open up. What about you? What are you hiding beneath that charming smile?”
Astarion blinked, his expression faltering for the briefest moment before his smirk returned. “Ah, so the rose has thorns,” he remarked, playful but with an undercurrent of tension. “Curious and bold. I like that.”
“I could say the same about you,” you said quietly. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Astarion. You seem… a mystery.”
He chuckled lowly. “A mystery, am I? How intriguing. Though I must confess, I do enjoy keeping people guessing.”
You leaned in slightly to him, emboldened by the warmth in your chest from the wine. “Then tell me something about yourself. A truth. Something you don’t tell everyone.”
There was a brief pause, just enough to make you wonder what gears were turning in that head, while he tapped a finger against his chin in mock contemplation. “A truth, you say? Hmm… I’ve lived a rather long life, filled with adventures and peril.”
“That’s vague,” you teased with a small smile. “Come on, give me something real.”
He smirked as he leaned in closer to you as well, his voice dropping slightly. “Alright, then. Here’s something real—I’ve developed a rather particular taste for the finer things in life. The pleasures, the passions, the experiences that make one feel truly alive.”
“And what about now?” you asked. “What are you craving tonight?”
His eyes darkened when his playful facade slipped just a fraction to reveal a hunger that made your pulse quick. “You,” he said simply, with a voice dangerous like a dagger but smooth like silk. “I crave you.”
For a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist when you felt yourself leaning in a bit more until your lips were so close to his that you could feel the ghost of his breath.
But before you closed the distance, you tilted your head slightly. “Then it’s only fair I get to know more of you, isn’t it? You’ve had your turn.”
Astarion raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your boldness. “Is that so?” he purred, moving his right hand to rest it lightly on your thigh and caress you with his thumb. “And what would you like to know, my daring inquisitor?”
“Tell me what you’re hiding,” you challenged gently. “You speak like someone who carries more than just a love for fine things.”
For a moment, his smile faltered, just a flicker, but then it was back—effortless. “Where’s the fun in revealing all my secrets so soon? Some things are best discovered in time; wouldn’t you agree?”
You were about to press further when his hand slid to your other thigh and grabbed your waist to pull you closer, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered, “But if you’re willing to take the risk, I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”
His voice sent a delicious thrill through you, and whatever doubts or questions lingered in your mind got drowned out by the sheer pull of him. You leaned back slightly to meet his eyes once more. “I’m willing.”
His face sparkled with something wicked, and before his lips could claim yours, he paused to flick his gaze around the bar with barely concealed disdain. “As much as I appreciate the unique ambience of this establishment,” he said quietly, “don’t you think we deserve something better than this?”
He gestured subtly to your surroundings, the clatter of tankards and the raucous laughter of drunken patrons underscoring his point. “Somewhere quieter. Somewhere far more… comfortable.” His crimson look settled back on you, and its intensity was almost hypnotic. “Wouldn’t you prefer a place where the only sound is our voice and the air is free of stale ale and prying eyes?”
The unspoken promise in his tone made you feel nervous, but he didn't even wait for your response, as he just leaned in enough to graze your cheek with his lips, purring as he whispered. “Say the word, and we’ll leave this wretched place behind.”
He caught you off guard with that suggestion. “Oh,” you breathed, tightening your fingers slightly around your glass. “I… hadn’t really thought about it.”
His lips curled into a knowing smile, tilting his head slightly as he leaned back. “No?” he asked. “A lovely creature like you, sitting here alone—surely, you’ve been approached before.”
A blush crept to your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’m not used to this kind of attention,” you admitted. “People don’t usually notice me.”
He laughed softly. “Then they’re fools,” he said easily, trailing his gaze from your toes to your face and widening his smirk. “Blind to the treasure right before their eyes.”
You glanced back at him to meet his gaze. There was something intriguing about the way he was looking at you, as if you were the only person in the bar worthy of his time. But you didn’t feel hunted, just… uncertain.
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you said hesitantly with your cheeks still warm. “You’ve already been so kind, and—”
He held up a hand, shaking his head gently to silence your protest. “Nonsense,” he replied. “I assure you, the pleasure is entirely mine.” He continued, “Besides, I wouldn’t dream of letting you waste another moment in this dreary tavern.”
You doubted as the weight of his offer pressed down on you. There was a particular magnetic feeling about him that made you want to trust him, despite the voice in your head urging caution. “Well,” you said finally, curving your lips into a shy smile, “if you’re sure…”
His grin became wider with satisfaction. “I’m certain, darling,” he stood and offered you his hand with an elegant flourish. “Shall we?”
You thought about it once more before slipping your hand into his. His grip was firm but gentle as he helped you to get up from your seat with a graceful pull, and his fingers felt cool against yours when he intertwined them, sending a small shiver up your arm from the unexpected intimacy.
“Come,” he said softly, his tone now becoming sweeter. “Let’s get you out of this dreadful place.” He led you through the bar, and his confident attitude drew more than a few curious glances.
Outside, the chill of the winter greeted you, the streets blanketed in a thin layer of snow that crunched beneath your boots. The air was crisp and cruel, the cold air nipping at your cheeks and nose, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looked even more at ease out here. The pale light of the moon reflecting off the snow and casting a faint glow over the city.
Astarion’s hand remained on yours, his long fingers laced loosely with your own, walking with a confidence that seemed effortless. His every step was purposeful yet unhurried, if he were in no rush to reach his destination. However, he flicked his eyes towards you often, with a tender amusement lingering in their deep red depths.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He said softly, as he didn’t wish to disturb the peaceful silence.
You nodded. “It is. I’ve never seen the city like this. It feels…”
“Like a dream,” he finished for you, glancing at you with a pretty smile. “A fleeting moment of quiet in a world so often filled with chaos.”
“You’re poetic,” you observed with some admiration.
He chuckled. “Only when inspired,” he replied. “And tonight, I find myself quite inspired.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, focusing on the sound of your steps against the snow. The streets were nearly empty at that time of night; the usual cacophony of voices and clattering carts was replaced by a serene and truly otherworldly stillness.
Before long, you arrived at a secluded inn. The warm glow of its windows was inviting, promising respite from the cold. Astarion pushed open the heavy wooden door, guiding you inside with a gentle hand at the small of your back.
The inn’s common room had a crackling fire in the hearth and the faint scent of mulled wine in the air. A few patrons sat at scattered tables, their murmured conversations blending with the occasional clink of mugs.
Astarion approached the innkeeper, a stout man with a kindly face. “A room, if you please,” he requested smoothly, placing a small bag of coins on the counter.
The innkeeper nodded, handing him a key with a smile. Astarion turned back to you, his expression softening as he gestured for you to follow him.
As you climbed the narrow staircase to the upper floors, he leaned in to you slightly. “I hope you don’t mind,” he commented. “I thought a more private setting might suit us better,” he continued with a sly smile on his lips.
You glanced at him with your cheeks blushing at the closeness. “No, I don’t mind,” you responded softly.
His smile was gentle, but his eyes held a flicker of something deeper—something that made your breath hitch as he led you down the quiet hallway to your room.
Astarion pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you enter first.
The room was modest but cosy. A large bed was draped in warm furs, and a small fireplace crackled softly in the corner. The glow of the firelight bathed the room in a soft amber hue, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
You walked in slowly, taking in the comforting atmosphere. The warmth was a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside, and you could already feel the tension of the night easing from your shoulders.
Astarion followed, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. “Much better, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked smoothly as he shrugged off his coat, draping it over a chair near the door.
You stared for a few more seconds at the grand, spacious bed before you, clasping your hands together nervously. Finally, you turned to face him, offering a small smile. “It’s lovely,” you said softly. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He noticed the way your fingers fidgeted and the slight tension in your posture, and his lips curled into a gentle smile that mirrored your own. Stepping closer to you until only inches remained. “There’s no need to thank me, darling,” he said gently. “It’s entirely my pleasure.”
The intimacy of the moment set your heart racing, with a soft flush spreading across your cheeks as your gaze locked with his. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt towards him—an undeniable attraction to the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid eyes on. Even triggering a deep yearning within you to want to close the small space between you.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely noticed his hand until the strange warmth of it cupped your cheek. “You know,” he started quietly, “you’re even more radiant in the firelight. It suits you perfectly.”
Your shy smile returned as a soft, nervous laugh escaped you. “You’re quite the flatterer, aren’t you?” You replied, trying—and failing—to ignore the way your cheeks flushed deeper under his piercing eyes.
He found your soft laughter endearing, and a quiet chuckle escaped him, as if he couldn’t help but mimic it. Smiling once more, he answered. “Only for someone who deserves it." His voice was low and intimate while his fingers brushed your cheek gently one last time before slipping away to take one of your hands.
Noticing the coolness of your touch and the subtle tension in your fingers, he brought them to his lips without hesitation. A tender kiss, an attempt to soothe and reassure while still looking at you with that intensity. “And you,” he continued, “are nothing less than utterly captivating tonight.”
His lips felt far too good for you to want to admit it, and you couldn’t help but furrow your brow slightly, still nervous. You blinked once more, your gaze dropping to the floor as you slid your hand free from his. Wrapping your arms around you, you took a step back toward the bed, putting a little space between you.
“You have a way with words,” you said with an airy tone despite the effort it took to steady your racing heart.
Astarion felt a faint sting in his chest at your quiet rejection, but he carefully maintained his composure and followed your lead once more. This time keeping a bit more distance to respect the boundaries you’d subtly set.
“I’ve had plenty of practice,” he admitted with a sly smile, though the softness in his crimson eyes made the playful hint in his tone more clear. His voice dipped as he added, “But tonight, I mean every word.”
You stared at the fire crackling in the hearth for a moment before letting out a soft sigh and sitting yourself on the edge of the bed. Instantly feeling the comforting fur of the blankets against your thighs and the palms of your hands, the sensation was cosy, and without thinking, your fingers slid over the luxuriously soft fabric. You never had the chance to touch a bed so plush.
But you quickly stopped indulging in your little moment of childish wonder when he stepped in front of you, commanding your attention with his presence as he extended a hand to gently cup your cheek once more tenderly.
You yielded, tilting your head upward, and felt your cheeks flush anew at your position—so close to his crotch, though not quite level with it. You tried to push the thought aside and placed your hands neatly on your thighs as his thumb brushed over your cheekbone, holding your gaze. “You're nervous,” he noticed. “There’s no need to be, darling…”
Though it was difficult to believe, you couldn’t help but enjoy the odd sensation from his palm, and you found yourself leaning into it. All his words, his invitations, and gestures made you feel good despite the ache of loss in your heart. You felt as if he were lifting a weight off your shoulders, even if you didn’t know him, even if he were just a stranger you’d met on a night drowned in cheap alcohol. The apparent tenderness or warmth he showed captivated you.
He realised how you decided for yourself to lower your walls, and he couldn't help but smile in satisfaction at the feeling of you melting in his touch.
He tilted his head slightly, locking his eyes onto yours with a pleased glint. “I confess…” he started, “I’ve been rather distracted wondering what your lips might taste like.” He spoke with ease, as if the words he'd just uttered hadn't made your brief sense of calm vanish entirely. “Humour me, darling. I find myself quite curious.”
You furrowed your brows once more, lifting your face and causing his hand to float alone because you turned your cheek from it. You blinked a few more times, trying to process what he’d just suggested. “A kiss?” you uttered, confused.
He simply nodded, with that same smile on his lips. “Just a kiss.”
Before you could even think of saying another word, he dropped to one knee in front of you, his hand that’d cupped your cheek now grasping gently your chin. He tilted your face just enough to ensure your eyes met his, softly tracing your lower lip with his thumb. “A fleeting touch, dear.”
He waited, giving you a moment to decide, to do what felt right, but it didn’t last when he closed the distance between your lips without your answer.
The kiss was very brief, just enough for you to feel the softness of his lips and nothing more. ‘A fleeting touch', as he said.
When he pulled his lips away from yours, barely a few inches apart, his thumb remained resting beneath your lower lip, soon returning to cradle your flushed cheek. Tilting his head to the side, he didn’t speak immediately and just smiled, looking at you, frozen and speechless, the whirlwind of emotions swirling and intertwining within you.
But his voice sounded again. “You want another?”
You couldn't deny that something was pulling you towards him—something irresistible that made your heart pound in your chest as your gaze shortly fell to his lips. You quickly returned to meet his dilated pupils, which stared at you as if waiting for you to accept his 'innocent' proposal. Your feelings slowly began to make sense; you were still at ease with his presence and touch, but you couldn't help but crave more of those full rose lips.
And for a moment, you weren't sure if it was the desire or the sweetness in his eyes that made you nod. “Yes,” you whispered against his lips, leaning closer as one hand pressed into the mattress and the other instinctively cradled his cheek too, hiding your nervousness.
Astarion’s smile stretched at your consent and the unexpected eagerness you seemed to have for his lips again. A flicker of satisfaction danced in his eyes before he closed the distance between you, tilting your head slightly to ensure you felt every inch of his mouth on yours. And this time, you could fully appreciate the softness and tenderness of his lips as they pressed gently, giving you time to adjust.
You didn’t even know how to kiss properly, and the thought that he could feel your uncertainty embarrassed you. But you tried to return the kiss as best as you could while it continued. Slow and calculated as he deepened it, like he was savouring the taste of wine and sweetness of your mouth, letting it linger on his lips.
The hand cradling your cheek moved just slightly, guiding your face closer to his. His touch was gentle as he allowed you the space to control the rhythm and let the intimacy build.
But the kiss felt instantly too short when he pulled away, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours again. That familiar, charming smile spread across his face, the same one that coaxed you into agreeing to his every invitation.
“See?” he said softly against your lips. “Nothing to fear.” His words were a teasing comfort; the intensity of his glance never wavered as he held you captive at the moment.
You felt the faint blush on your cheeks intensify as you still tasted his warmth and flavour, your hand slipping away from his cheek to rest back on one of your thighs. And it was then that you started to realise the intimacy that’d been building between you, making everything else feel insignificant compared to what was right in front of you.
You took a deep breath, leaning back just slightly and straightening up on the mattress, trying to calm the storm of emotions racing through you.
A deep yearning stirred inside you, compelling you to continue and see where the night would take you.
And as his lips remained close to yours, you didn’t hesitate for a second to lean in and capture them in another kiss. Both of your hands quickly cradled his face as you parted your lips just enough to invite him to deepen the kiss. You were eager as a thrilling anticipation rose within you, eager to discover what would come next.
His response was immediate as soon as he pressed his lips firmly against yours, moving his hands to your waist to grip it and pull you closer, trying to mould his chest against yours as you leaned into him. His tongue slid between your parted lips, meeting yours with an unexpectedly heated eagerness.
He groaned against your mouth, a raw and pleasurable sound that sent a pulse of desire between your thighs as you felt his need in the intensity of his movements. It only made you crave more when his hands gripped your hips, and you surrendered to the sensation. Your hands guided themselves along his face, tracing down his shoulders and neck, finally wrapping around it to pull him even closer.
You gasped softly as he pulled back, his lips leaving yours with a soft trail of saliva before he opened his eyes to meet yours, his pupils blazing with desire. Then Astarion slid his hands from your hips to the backs of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the bed.
He rose at that moment to position himself between your parted thighs, pressing your body to his before his lips found yours once more for a brief, searing kiss. Just to trail hot, hungry kisses down your neck.
You tangled your hands in his hair, and with every kiss, you could feel his… sharp teeth graze and his tongue slip over your neck. You closed your thighs around his hips when he began to lean toward the centre of the bed, gently lowering you onto it before crawling over your body, positioning himself between your opened legs. He simply left his face hovering over yours to seek your lips again, and you didn’t hesitate to slide your hands down his chest and abdomen, teasingly brushing over his shirt.
His hands mirrored your movements, gripping your waist to pull your body against his once more before guiding his hands to your hips, pressing them immediately into his. A sharp gasp escaped your lips at the unexpected pressure.
But when he pulled his lips from yours to trail more kisses down your neck, you glanced up at the ceiling for a brief moment, lost in thought. You bit your lip nervously, the truth weighing on you as your hand found its way to his white hair once more to pull him closer.
And as soon as he began to drag one of his hands toward the waistband of your trousers and slip his fingers inside, you grabbed his wrist abruptly. “Wait,” you stammered. “I-I need to tell you something.”
He lifted his face to meet yours and furrowed his brows slightly as he wondered whether he pushed too fast or if you weren’t ready to continue. And despite the burning hunger still consuming him, he tried to mask it with a calm smile. Gently releasing your body, he slid his hands down to rest on either side of you on the bed. “If you’re going to stop me, darling…” he purred. “I do hope it’s not to tell me that you’ve changed your mind.”
You felt his hips press even harder against yours as soon as he finished speaking, making you instinctively squeeze your thighs around his sides. You slowly slid your hands down his forearms, trying to steady your breath and gather yourself. “No… I haven’t changed my mind.”
You swallowed hard as you felt his subtle impatience when his hips continued to grind against yours, but now with a slow, tantalising rhythm. The pace allowed you to feel just how hard he was under the clothing, and the sensation sent a sharp thrill through your pussy. Even for a fleeting moment, you considered keeping the confession to yourself, but the weight of it pushed you to speak. “I’m a virgin… I’ve never done this before, Astarion.”
He stopped immediately at your words, his eyes widening at your confession. His brow furrowed slightly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his sharp features softening with an expression you couldn’t quite place.
“A virgin?” he repeated with a tone that carried a touch of interest rather than distaste. In fact, he seemed to savour the word, as if testing how it felt rolling off his tongue.
His hands glided smoothly over the sheets, one coming up to cradle your cheek with a tenderness that stood in contrast to the heat in his eyes. And he leaned in to brush his lips with yours agonisingly slowly. His words were low, almost a growl, while his thumb caressed your cheekbone. “You’ve been waiting for someone special, my love?”
His reaction sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. You hadn’t expected him to relish the idea of being the first to claim your virginity, but here you were—pinned beneath his body, with his crotch pressing insistently against yours. He didn’t look away, not for a single moment; if anything, the revelation seemed to ignite an even deeper hunger within him. As if your admission turned him on.
Finally, you broke the silence with your trembling voice as you swallowed the knot in your throat. “No. I haven’t been waiting for anyone…”
His eyes didn't even bother to hide the distinct pleasure that flashed across his features as he heard you admit there was no one else waiting to fuck you. And you felt him subtly push his hips forward, pressing his crotch against yours, and the sensation of it brushing against your clit through your clothes made your pelvis tremble in response. His free hand quickly returned to grip the side of your hips to pull them even tighter to his. “Then it’s just me, isn’t it?” He asked rhetorically, with his eyes locked onto yours.
You slid your hands over his forearms before travelling to his abdomen and along his sides. With a touch that trembled with nerves, you gripped his waist beneath the barrier of his shirt. When your eyes flickered back to his face, his attention hadn’t left you. His sanguine eyes burnt into yours, watching every tremor that rippled through your hips and every uneasy breath.
He released your cheek to drift his hand downward, gliding over your abdomen. The fabric of your jumper offered little barrier to the warmth of his palm as it moved lower. “No one else has touched you here,” he murmured against your lips as his eyes dropped to the centre of your thighs. And his hand followed, slipping lower until it cupped the heat of your sex over your trousers.
A shiver raked down your body when his thumb found your clit through the fabric, and he rubbed your folds with his fingers, pressing lightly at first before circling it slowly.
His fingers felt divine against the subtle throbbing of your clit, coaxing your hips to roll gently against his hand as your lips parted with a soft sigh. “Astarion…” you whispered his name with a trembling voice due to your need, while your hands sought purchase on his shoulders for support.
“Say it again,” he said quietly, his lips capturing yours briefly before trailing to your cheek, planting kisses that set your senses ablaze. And then he traced with his tongue the shell of your ear before he nipped at your earlobe to tug it gently with his teeth. “Let me hear that sweet voice call for me.”
A delicious shiver coursed through your body at his words, and your eyes fluttered closed when his hand moved lower to trace the outline of your folds through the fabric of your trousers. Each stroke produced a slow-burning heat deep in your core, and soon enough, you felt the fabric of your panties growing damp.
“I need you, Astarion…” you confessed breathlessly, your lips parting again as his hand moved to slip beneath the waistband of your trousers. The very moment his fingers slid under your panties and made contact with your bare clit, a silent sigh escaped you.
“Oh, you’ll have me,” he spoke into your ear before he leaned back slightly to watch your face. “But only when I’ve had my fill of this.”
The intensity of his crimson gaze pinned you in place while his fingers worked their stimulation. Tracing slow circles over the bud of your clit with two of them, now gliding effortlessly as you soaked him with your slick.
“You feel that?” he purred with satisfaction as he felt the wetness soaking your folds. “So ready for me, my love…” He slid his fingers lower to dip them into your slit.
Then he moved his fingers up to drag your essence all over your swollen clit. “This cunt is begging to be fucked, isn’t it?” His fingers continued their circles easily against your sensitive bud, making your legs tremble slightly at his sides. “Tell me, does it feel good?”
Your breath quickened as his fingers continued to alternate between fast, delicious circles with firm pressure and slow, teasing ones with just the lightest touch. The way he switched between the two caused silent, aching moans to spill from your lips as you moved your hips against his, desperate for more.
“Yes…” you moaned, slipping a hand under his shirt, tracing with your fingertips the firm ridges of his abdomen before slowly moving upward toward one of his pecs. “It feels… so good.” You gently brushed over his nipple, earning a soft sigh from his lips.
He wasted no time pulling his hand from your undergarments, and his pupils burnt with raw lust as he brought his fingers to his mouth. Parting his lips slowly to slide past them, his tongue flicked over them as he sucked clean your essence. And a deep, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat.
Before you could process the intoxicating sight, he grasped your chin firmly with his free hand. “Open,” he instructed as he took his fingers out of his mouth. When you did so, parting your lips, he slipped his damp fingers into your mouth, tracing your tongue with the same intensity he’d shown for his own. The taste of yourself mingled with the heat of his saliva made you shiver, and his wicked smirk only deepened as he watched your reaction. “Just like that…” He spoke quietly, never leaving your gaze.
You closed your eyes as the last traces of nerves faded, giving in completely to the sensations he was provoking in you. Your lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking on them as if savouring the most decadent treat, swirling your tongue around their tips with teasing swipes. The act felt natural and instinctive as your hand slid up to grasp his wrist to take his fingers deeper into your mouth. And when you felt his other hand at your waistband, tugging at your pants, you lifted your hips without hesitation, inviting him to strip you naked.
A needy whimper escaped your lips when he withdrew his fingers, leaving your mouth empty, but the loss was short-lived as he replaced them with his lips. Capturing you in a kiss so hungry it made your head spin while he moved his hands deftly, sliding your trousers down your legs.
Your panties followed in a single motion, leaving you bare beneath his gaze, and his hands quickly found the hem of your jumper. “Arms up,” he commanded softly, and you obeyed without a thought, lifting your arms for him to pull the garment over your head and toss it aside to the floor without care.
The moment you were almost bare, his lips crashed back onto yours, roaming your waist and sides with his hands, gliding towards your back.
His fingers found the clasp of your bra, and he unhooked it in a second, slipping it off your shoulders and arms before he carelessly took your bra to toss it aside as well. You whimpered when his fingers returned to your clit to stroke tight circles around it, and your moans spilt freely now, soft and unrestrained. While he lowered his mouth to your neck with open-mouthed kisses as he descended.
He didn’t waste a moment before finding one of your breasts, drawing your nipple and as much of the squishy flesh as he could into his mouth. He sucked deeply, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak; a low hum vibrated against you before he released it with a soft, wet pop to immediately turn his attention to your other breast.
Once he adored your chest, his lips began to trail slow kisses down your abdomen. And you tangled your hand in his hair, closing your eyes as you revelled in the warmth of his mouth on your skin. Each kiss he pressed sent a shiver through you, and when his free hand found your thigh, lifting it gently, his lips followed the curve of your leg. He kissed the sensitive inner flesh of your thigh, drawing him closer to your aching core.
His ruby eyes flicked up to meet yours, gleaming with mischief and hunger. He paused just before reaching your folds, gripping your thighs with both hands and spreading them wider to make room for himself between them. “Stay just like this for me, love.” He murmured.
Your grip on his curls tightened the moment his mouth made contact with your clit, the sensation utterly foreign yet exquisite. His lips closed around the bud to kiss it slowly, and he sucked gently, just to let the tip of his tongue flick over the sensitive nub in lazy circles. It was electric, a thrilling intensity that made your hips buck off the bed in response.
A needy moan slipped your lips when his mouth repeated its work, sucking before trailing his tongue in a smooth stroke from your tight entrance back up to the bundle of nerves.
He buried his face deeper to latch his lips onto you again, his tongue gliding along every inch of your dripping core, swirling expertly around your clit. The guttural groan he let out as he feasted on your cunt reverberated through you, drawing a raspy moan from your lips and making your toes curl.
You couldn’t help but press his head closer while yours fell back against the pillows, bucking your hips slightly as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. His breath was hot against your core when he paused briefly. “It’s rather addictive… watching you fall apart for me,” he murmured before he descended his mouth again and his tongue plunged into your closed entrance briefly, dragging the tip to your clit once more.
But, as if mocking you, he decided to pull away from your pussy with a wicked smile. This left your thighs trembling on either side of his head, and you dropped your gaze to meet his. “Tell me,” he started. “How do you feel? Do you want me to stop?”
The ache between your thighs got worse, morphing into an intense need that only he could fulfil. “No,” you cried out, your voice trembling. “Don’t stop, please…” You ground your hips instinctively towards his mouth.
You pulled him closer to you with your fingers in his hair, urging him to continue. “I need you.” You whimpered.
The reddish hue of his eyes seemed to blaze even brighter at your precious, needy pleas. Tightening his grip on your thighs, he hoisted them over his shoulders without a word before diving in, dragging his tongue from your perineum to your clit and savouring every drop of the nectar you gave him.
A shiver of pure pleasure coursed through you as his lips latched around the swollen bundle of nerves, sucking it like a piece of candy. The room quickly filled with the sound of your desperate moans and the wet, messy sounds of his mouth swallowing your cunt once more.
He was ravenous, yet his control never wavered; every touch seemed calculated to pull you deeper into blissfulness. And eventually, you couldn’t stop yourself—your hips bucked against his mouth, grinding against his lips, chin, and nose.
He continued his feast while his eyes opened to lock onto yours, giving you a devastating sight: his furrowed brows, the sinful lust gleaming in those crimson irises, and the way his gaze never hesitated as he absorbed the tremors of your hips.
The low, guttural growls he made every time your fingers tugged at his hair sent violent impulses through you, pulling you closer and closer to a precipice you’d never dared approach before.
And there was no escaping the fall. It was a precise suction of his lips on your clit that sent your body whipping out of control, pleasure consuming you entirely; your legs trembled on either side of his head, your hips ground against his tongue, desperate for more friction, while a guttural moan tore from your throat.
Through the haze of ecstasy, you barely registered the delighted grunt he let out before releasing one of your thighs. His fingers deftly parted the top of your folds and tugged them up slightly, exposing your swollen, sensitive clit. And he didn’t hesitate—his lips wrapped around it, sucking with an intensity that made you cry out in pure bliss.
His other hand remained on your thigh, grounding you just enough to keep you from bucking away, relishing every single drop. You felt the faint press of his short nails digging into your skin, though it didn’t hurt—truthfully, you couldn’t feel anything except his mouth and tongue.
“Astarion!” you cried out with a hoarse voice from the cascade of sounds spilling from your lips. His mouth closed over your entire pussy, absorbing firmly. Then, suddenly, his pace slowed, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, and the trembling in your body only worsened.
He drank in every quiver your body offered, sliding his hands over your thighs, steadying you as he continued to kiss and suck gently, careful not to overstimulate you further. You definitely didn’t want to admit how good it felt when he softened his oral, as it allowed you to catch your breath—but it didn’t last. He pulled away with a low hum of satisfaction, leaving your core aching and drenched.
In the flickering firelight, you saw his entire mouth glistening, slick with your juices as he licked his lips, savouring it. A sly smile curled his lips as he released one of your thighs, sliding his fingers tenderly over your swollen pussy. His touch was soft, tracing with the pads of his fingers your clit with a featherlight pressure that made you shudder all over again. Then, leaning in, he placed one final kiss on your bud before meeting your gaze. “How do you feel, darling?” he purred.
You released his hair, letting your hands fall limply to your sides. One of them rose to your forehead to wipe away a few drops of sweat that gathered there. Closing your eyes, you drew in quick breaths, swallowing hard against the dryness in your throat as your tongue darted out to wet your lips.
You were still reeling, not entirely aware of what he’d just done to you—how his mouth had satisfied you that much. Your head spun as the tension slowly drained from your limbs.
When you finally opened your eyes, there he was, positioned between your thighs, his legs spreading you further apart to give him access. With that same mischievous, devilish smile across his lips, a glimmer of satisfaction in his sanguine gaze as he drank in the sight of you—still flushed and dazed.
“I—I don’t know,” you finally admitted. “I didn’t expect it to happen so fast, but, gods, that was incredible.”
You tilted your head back slightly, letting the hand resting on your forehead trail down, gliding over your abdomen until it reached your clit. You touched it gingerly, the sensitivity making you shiver.
One of his hands slid up to caress the soft skin of your thigh, his head tilting slightly as he watched you touch yourself so delicately. His gaze flicked back to yours, his smirk widening. “I must say,” he purred, “you wear the aftermath of pleasure beautifully.”
His fingers tightened slightly on your thigh, sliding down to cup one of your ass cheeks before gripping your hip firmly and pulling you against his rigid bulge. He leaned closer, his lips hovering just above yours. “Shall we see just how many more times I can make you come for me tonight?”
Your eyes widened slightly at his words and his hardness pressing shamelessly against your bare pussy, dropping your gaze to his trousers before flicking back up to his eyes; a teasing smile curved your lips as your hands slid up his abdomen and higher to rest against his chest. “Do you think you’re up for it?” You teased softly to spark the fire in his irises.
You heard him chuckle softly at your question. He shook his head slightly, his crimson look locking onto yours with intensity while his hand released you, both now moving to the intricate clasps of his shirt. Slowly, he began to unfasten them, one by one, a tempting scene that made your cheeks blush even more.
Despite that, you were drawn to him, entranced, helpless to do anything but watch as he teased you with every subtle motion. By the time he slipped the last clasp free, your heart was pounding, and you couldn’t tear your gaze away while he shrugged the fabric off his shoulders. The shirt glided down his arms like water before he let it fall to the floor, forgotten.
The gentle glow of moonlight spilling through the window, mingling with the flickering firelight, cast an ethereal aura around him. You were unable to look away, your desire etched clearly across your face. His alabaster skin seemed almost unreal, as though he were a masterpiece carved from marble.
He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a knowing smirk as he caught your open admiration. His voice dropped low. “Enjoying the view, are we?” He drawled, roaming his eyes over your face.
Now bare from the waist up, his hands slid slowly down to the inner curve of your knees, his fingertips brushing lightly over your skin as he guided your legs upward, urging them apart at his sides. His grip tightened as he spread your thighs wide, pressing you further into the bed as he leaned over you.
Settling his hands on either side of your head and pressing his thighs firmly against yours to pin you in bed, the closeness making the tips of both your noses touch.
The moment his hips aligned with yours, his crotch dragged against you, teasing your folds and brushing against your clit, making you gasp at the lingering sensitivity. “But the question is…” His pupils gleamed, his smirk spreading. “Do you think you can handle me, pet?”
You couldn't help but move your hips slightly against his, matching his slow rocking, finding the sides of his waist with your hands and locking your eyes with his. Parting your lips as a breathy noise escaped you, followed by a quick swallow as you furrowed your brow slightly, drawing your face closer to his. “Yes…” you assured him, pressing your pussy harder against his bulge, sliding your hands from his waist up to his bare chest. “I can handle you, Astarion…”
His hands slid down the sides of your body, moving over the mattress before settling on your lower back, pulling your hips firmly against his; there was no space left between your bodies now. When your gaze dropped for a second, you noticed how you were soaking his trousers with your wetness, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But he didn’t seem to care at all; his attention was entirely on you—your eyes, your lips—his arousal growing as you rubbed against him with the same desperate urge that was consuming him.
The way you moved your hips against his was an invitation, a silent plea for him to begin whatever came next. Slowly, you slid one hand down his abdomen, your fingers tracing the waistband of his trousers, moving lower to brush against the outline of his bulge, which was slightly to the side. “You don’t have to be gentle,” you sighed against his lips, your eyes half-lidded as you leaned in, almost kissing him.
You could hear the hum of delight that escaped him, and one of his hands released your hip to take yours, halting your movements. Then he guided your hand and his own beneath his trousers and undergarments, making your fingers brush against his hot, throbbing skin. You wrapped your hand around him without hesitation, feeling the heat radiate from it as he slowly lowered the rest of his clothes, revealing himself completely.
His hardness throbbed in your palm, veins running along its length like a winding path, leading to the swollen, flushed tip that gleamed with his precum. The firelight and moonlight caught the curves of it as it pulsed against your fingers, heavy with desire. His weight pressed against your mound, and you could see the subtle white curls at its base, just adding to his addictive allure.
As soon as you began sliding your hand along his length, moving from base to tip, a soft, pleasurable sound escaped his lips. He shifted slightly above you, adjusting his posture just enough to allow you more room to stroke him comfortably. Meanwhile, his hand wandered down to your pussy, his fingers gliding slowly over your folds before pressing his middle finger between them. He teased your clit with slow strokes, sliding up and down over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Then, his finger dipped lower, circling the edge of your entrance before slipping the tip inside—and gradually, more of his finger.
His face dipped to the crook of your neck, but there was nothing absent-minded in it—each kiss was placed with deliberate care, slow enough to make you feel it and to make you wait for the next. His lips brushed your skin, lingering just a fraction too long, as if he were savouring the warmth beneath them.
He slid his other hand down your side, unhurried, tracing the curve of your waist before settling over your breast. He didn’t grab—he tested first, thumb pressing lightly before his fingers closed with purpose, kneading slowly as if learning exactly how much pressure made you react.
A quiet, pleased sound left him as your hand continued to move on him, his hips beginning to roll against your touch—not needy, not rushed, but controlled, matching your rhythm with unsettling precision. “Patience,” he said, brushing his mouth just beneath your ear, “can be such a delicious kind of torment, don’t you think?”
“That's—” Your words were cut off by a soft moan as you felt him slide a second finger into your pussy. “That's cruel,” you managed to say, tightening your grip slightly around him as you slowed your movements, teasing him in return.
Astarion hummed, his lips still trailing along your neck. “Oh, I’d adore nothing more than to ruin you entirely,” he murmured with amusement. “Perhaps even break this poor bed in the process…” A quiet, breathy chuckle followed, his nose brushing your jaw. “But I believe your pretty cunt wouldn’t take it well just yet.” You could feel how the tip of his fingers curled upward to touch a sensitive spot within you. “I’ll make it ready for more.”
You moved your hand faster as he began to thrust deeper inside you, matching his rhythm as best you could. Every twist of his wrist was accompanied by circles on your clit with his thumb, and it made you feel so good that you wanted him to feel the same.
You answered in kind. Each time your hand slid back to the tip, your thumb brushed over the slit of his glans to tease just enough to make him twitch in your grasp.
His lips parted with a low, restrained sound, and his gaze sharpened with interest. “Well now…” he uttered, “Is that how you intend to play?” The way his lips parted to release soft sounds was intoxicating. Each groan was a reward, and with his mouth so close to yours, you took them in like the sweetest gift.
His thrusts grew rougher and less controlled as his fingers plunged into your pussy with fervent urgency. He rocked his hips against your hand, fucking your palm and fingers faster, driven by pure need. But even in his frenzy, his lips found your cheek to plant tender kisses over your skin. “Just like that…” he purred softly. “Such a quick learner…”
His praise melted into your ears as his fingers curled just right inside you once more, hitting that spot that made your clit pulse against his thumb and your thighs quiver. You couldn’t help but let out a weak whimper as you felt him pull you further into the abyss of pleasure, and you knew he was just as lost as you were.
He caught the way your body responded—the way your hips ground against his hand, desperate to fuck yourself on his fingers and match his thrusts—and he shifted his grip. The hand that’d been holding just beneath your breast slid to your hip, gripping firmly to lift you slightly off the bed. The angle made you feel every inch of his fingers plunging inside your pussy, even driving them deeper.
His fingers drove into you with a speed that made them feel like they were vibrating. You tilted back your head, eyes squeezing shut as you struggled to catch your breath while you became louder.
And then his voice came. “Don’t stop, darling,” Astarion growled against your lips, his hand stroking your cheek tenderly even as his hips jerked harder into your hand. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he murmured with a soft laugh. “The way I react… the way you’ve got me trembling in your hand.”
His words sent you a fresh sensation of arousal, and before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, stealing what little breath you had left. His pointy teeth sank into your lower lip just enough to make you separate both, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth with the same hunger his hands showed your body.
Your tongues clashed, tangled, and devoured one another. He was unrestrained, his teeth grazing your lower lip before sucking it into his mouth with a sharp pull. Your needy cries spilt into him, muffled, while his groans reverberated against your lips.
The kiss was messy and obscene, leaving your mouths slick and glistening as his hand on your cheek slid into your hair, gripping tightly to tilt your head back and deepen the connection.
Your body shuddered, and your thighs began to shake on either side of his waist as he started to increase the speed of his fingers. Causing your clit to throb non-stop against his thumb, while your slick walls clenched tightly around his penetrating fingers, desperate to hold him deeper. That aching, molten tension coiled in your belly again, tighter this time, leaving you gasping for air as your kiss broke, your lips parting in wordless cries.
Astarion felt it too, of course… He felt how you tightened around him, how your pussy lubricated his fingers with your juices, and that only spurred him on. He increased the speed and caressed that sensitive spot at the top of your walls, going deeper into you. And it got to a point where only the obscene sounds you heard were your vagina’s every time he pulled them out and buried them back in, along with your sounds of pleasure.
He leaned in just enough to steal your breath with another kiss before his teeth grazed your cheek in a playful nip. From there, his lips wandered down the curve of your jaw and into the warmth of your neck, where he lingered. He groaned against you, dragging his lips across your sweaty skin to leave soft bites, swipes of his tongue, and messy pecks and hickeys to mark the delicate skin that hadn't been touched by another man.
Soft kisses melting into slower ones, punctuated by the occasional press of teeth and the soothing glide of his tongue. You shivered beneath him, your breath uneven, but still he didn’t let you fall.
Instead, his movements slowed. Faded. Until the absence itself made your body ache.
A quiet, almost amused hum brushed your lips as he pulled back just enough to look at you. “Mm, not yet,” he whispered, the faint smirk evident in his voice.
His hand slid down to guide himself, the tip of his cock brushing slowly between your soaked folds, dragging through your wetness. He exhaled quietly at the contact, his forehead dipping briefly toward yours. “Relax for me,” he said softly.
The first press alone stole the air from your lungs, your body tightening instinctively at the unfamiliar sensation. “Easy…” He didn’t push in immediately. He lingered there to let you feel him and let your body react first.
His gaze locked on where you were stretched tight around his girth, and a loud moan escaped from your lips when he resumed his way through you, but it was quickly muffled when he clamped a hand over your mouth. You instinctively dug your fingers into his forearm, clawing at him as your walls clenched around his shaft.
“So tight…” he growled, his eyes briefly meeting yours before raking over your tits and settling on the sinful view of your pussy. He was utterly captivated by the way your entrance gripped him so perfectly.
You felt everything—the way his hardness fit you as if it were made for your body. He pulled his hand from your mouth, sliding it down to your waist before wrapping his arm around you, dragging you closer against him. Your legs tightened around his hips, the new angle making him somehow sink even deeper inside you.
A low, broken groan fled his lips, and his mouth found your neck before he bit your skin. The sharp pressure turned to heat as his tongue traced over the mark he left, and his free hand gripped your thigh to press it against his hip and hold you in place.
The slowness of his thrusts left you gasping and trembling against his chest, being noisy against his shoulder. A new sensation began to build deep within you while his lips brushed your jawline before he bit you again. Soothing it once more with his tongue as his hips drove you higher and higher into an uncharted ecstasy.
Then, the hand gripping your waist quickly moved to your hair, tugging it down to angle your head and kiss you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging it subtly before reclaiming your mouth. Meanwhile, your hands wrapped around his waist, sliding along the curve of his back, relishing how his skin seemed to prickle under your touch.
Your brows furrowed slightly as your fingers brushed against a rougher texture on his skin—something marked and patterned in ways you couldn’t begin to picture. But curiosity didn’t stop your exploration; you let your hands drift lower along his lower back until they reached his firm, thick cheeks. You grabbed him hard, digging your fingers into his flesh as you tried to pull him even deeper inside you.
A low growl rumbled against your lips as your nails raked across his skin, and you knew you were leaving thin, red trails in their wake. He seemed to thrive on the sting, turning his thrusts even more intense.
Astarion’s hand slid from your thigh, moving to where your clit throbbed with need and began to stimulate it instantly, circling the bundle of nerves with quick circles. The motion synced perfectly with the constant drag and plunge of him inside your pussy, and the combination shattered you.
A strangled cry ripped from your throat as you tore your lips from his. Hot liquid gushed from your vagina in a sudden release, coating both your bodies and soaking the sheets beneath you. You clung to him desperately, digging your nails into his skin as tremors wracked your body, leaving you breathless and trembling.
He growled roughly, savouring the feeling of your climax drenching him, and slowed his thrusts to fully relish the way you spasmed and clenched tightly around him, milking him with every squeeze of your release.
He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you, his own pulsing with pleasure. A sly smile spread across his lips, and he spoke lowly, purring. “Look at you, my love. Such a beautiful, filthy mess you’ve just made for me.”
Instantly, your cheeks burnt with shame and arousal, but Astarion didn’t even give you a chance to handle it. His hips kept pounding into yours. He drew your orgasm out until your body quivered wildly from the overstimulation. “You didn’t know you had it in you, did you?” He hummed with pride, caressing your ear with his lips.
You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations flooding you as his teeth grazed your neck while a low growl rumbled from him. He hammered against you while you felt him swelling inside you, straining between your walls.
Even though your body begged for rest, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Your hands clutched his firm arse with desperation, biting his skin with your nails as you pulled him closer, feeling his muscles tense beneath your grip as he moaned in pleasure against your neck.
His hands slid down to the underside of your thighs to grip them tightly and lift you, angling your hips to meet his thrusts. He could swear he felt even better how you clenched around him, driving him closer to the edge, as if your body were craving him just as much as he craved you. His nails dug into your flesh, leaving faint crescents behind, but you didn’t care; you wanted those marks.
He grew even more eager to fuck you as his release drew closer, and with one particularly hard thrust, he simply let himself go, surrendering completely to the heat of the moment.
You could feel the hot spurts of his release shooting from his tip, each one hitting against the entrance to your womb. As it pooled inside you, the warmth of his seed filled you completely, even as he continued to move within you slowly to savour the sensation.
He throbbed within your walls, and his breaths fanned against your skin as his hips rolled forward in gentle strokes to grind the curls of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. In this intimate moment, you couldn’t bear to part from him—not even for a second. Your hands slid up the expanse of his back, feeling the way he shivered against you as he finally collapsed onto your body. Both of you utterly spent, your breaths mingling in short, ragged gasps.
The weight of him pressed down on you, his pectorals crushing your tits and your hard, sensitive nipples. His length was still buried deep within you, pulsing and hot as your walls clenched softly around him, trying to hold onto every inch. Your fingers trailed over the broad expanse of his back and down his sides, and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped your lips. You could feel his come seeping out, spilling from within you from how he’d filled you, yet you didn’t care. The mess didn’t matter, even if this wasn’t your bed but a modest inn tucked away in some forgotten street.
Your sweaty bodies remained tangled together as Astarion let out a low, contented groan, trailing his lips over your neck in a lazy kiss. The quiet was filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, the faint creak of the bed, and the rustle of the sheets beneath you as he shifted slightly.
With a gentle touch, he traced with his hands the curve of your hips, gliding along your sides before coming to rest at your back. His fingers stroked you softly in the afterglow, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough from all his moans, yet still devastatingly sexy.
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly, lifting himself just enough to meet your gaze. His crimson eyes were softer now, glowing faintly in the dim light as he drifted one hand to cradle your nape. “Does it hurt?”
His body was still inside you, but it wasn’t as urgent any more. His release had already surged deep into you, and now he was content to simply stay there, feeling the remaining pulses of your pussy around him, both of you caught in the afterglow of such an intimate, consuming connection.
You felt tender, still drained, yet deeply connected to him in a way that left you breathless. There was no pain, just a gentle stretch and the sensation of his presence within you. “I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice still thick. “No pain. Just tired.”
His body seemed to relax at your words, a deep sigh escaping his chest as he pressed a kiss against your temple. “Good,” he murmured.
His hands, still gentle, slid upward to cup your face, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. “If you need a moment,” he added softly, “we can stay like this.”
You nodded slowly, your body still pulsing with the residual waves of pleasure, but the exhaustion from it all was starting to set in. Despite the tender, lingering ache in your muscles, it felt comforting—safe.
“I’m just tired,” you repeated, your hands moving up to stroke the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. “But… I want to. With you.”
Astarion’s response was a soft, approving hum, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. “As you wish, darling,” he murmured before gently moving his hand to tenderly stroke your cheek.
You closed your eyes, your heart swelling with happiness as the two of you held each other close, the warmth and tenderness of the moment settling over both of you. For now, there was nothing but this, nothing but the sweetness of the connection you’d shared—the promise of something more, something lasting.
The warmth of Astarion’s embrace cocooned you as the two of you lay together, limbs entwined beneath the soft covers. His hands roamed lazily along your back, fingertips tracing idle patterns on your skin as your breathing slowed in the peaceful aftermath. You felt utterly content, safe in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek lulling you toward sleep.
The morning light crept through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. You stirred slowly, the comforting warmth of the sheets wrapped around you. But as your eyes fluttered open, strangeness settled over you. The bed was cold beside you, and the distinct absence of him was impossible to ignore.
You sat up, the blanket pooling around your waist as you scanned the room. His clothes were gone, and there was no sign of his presence—no note, no lingering trace of the man who had held you through the night. It was as though he had vanished without a trace.
You couldn’t shake the ache in your chest as you dressed for the day, your thoughts returning to the night before. Every glance, every touch, every kiss—it all felt so real, so genuine. And yet, now you were left wondering if it had meant as much to him as to you.
The day passed in a blur, your mind constantly drifting back to him. You replayed every moment in your head, trying to decipher if you had missed something or if there had been a sign that he wouldn’t stay. But no matter how much you overthought it, you came to the same conclusion: you needed to see him again.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in hues of amber and violet, you found yourself drawn back to the bar where it all began. The place was bustling with life; the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses filled the air. You scanned the crowd, your heart leaping with every glimpse of white hair or a flash of crimson eyes, but none of them were him.
You slipped onto the bar stool, your fingers toying with the edge of your glass as you ordered the same wine he had so charmingly introduced you to. The rich, fruity aroma did little to lift your spirit, but you clung to the hope that he might walk through the door at any moment.
Hours passed, and the bar began to thin out as the night wore on. You tried to convince yourself that he’d simply been delayed, that maybe he was caught up with something important. But as the minutes stretched into hours, doubt began to creep in. What if he didn’t intend to return? What if last night had been nothing more than a fleeting encounter for him?
Your heart sank as the bartender gave you a sympathetic look, gently letting you know it was the last call. You nodded, finishing the last sip of your wine before gathering your things and stepping out into the cool night air. The streets were quiet now, the distant sound of laughter and music fading as you walked home alone, your hope dwindling with each step.
But even as doubt weighed heavily on your heart, a small spark of determination remained. You weren’t ready to give up on him just yet. Something about Astarion had captured you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that your paths were meant to cross again. You resolved to return tomorrow and the night after if you had to.
Somewhere, out there in the city, he was waiting. You were certain of it.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: The negative connotation of forever is replaced when Bucky literally runs into someone who will change his life at a coffee shop.
Warnings/Tags: Minor hurt/major comfort, a little angsty, a little suggestive towards the end, touches super briefly on suicidal ideation from Bucky - it's not outwardly said, but it is there, no use of y/n, reader is described to have hair long enough to flow on a pillow
Word Count: 1.2k
Chirps: Have y'all ever heard a song for the first time and your entire body perked up with a fic idea that would not shut up? Well, that's what this is. Heavily based on Alex Sampson's new song 'Not Even Gone'. Probably not my best, but I'm not letting the burnout win. Also, Bucky's full name is canonically (to me) James Buchanan 'just five more minutes' "Bucky" Barnes and I will be hearing no arguments.
Masterlist
Forever was a word Bucky used to hate.
As an empty life passed him by in which he only saw pockets of ruin and blood caused by his own hands, forever felt like a punishment for a crime he didn't remember committing. An eternity of screams of terror, the cold of the cryofreeze, and overworked muscles. There was nothing worth living for if that was how it was always going to be. But he was dragged from one fight to another, never in control of his own destiny.
Until he was.
Forever still felt too long when Bucky's mind returned to him fully. Futility was the only word that would come to his mind when he realized how much he had missed while he had played HYDRA's puppet. Because how could he catch up on 70 years worth of things while life continued to happen around him?
It turned him bitter. Towards the people who made him this way. Towards those that would never really, truly understand.
Once Steve left, in search of his own forever destiny, Bucky no longer had someone with a shared life experience. Not that Steve even understood. His fights were of his own volition without someone pulling the strings.
The bitterness turned to recklessness. A restless flame built in his chest that he couldn't seem to extinguish. So his actions turned adrenaline-fueled.
His motorcycle found higher gears, racing through traffic with little regard for his own safety.
Missions with Sam had him putting more force behind punches and pulling triggers on weapons he hadn't touched since he was known as the Winter Soldier. Sam once asked if he was good to keep going in the field. Bucky lied eloquently with a simple 'yeah' and kept firing until he was out of bullets.
When the adrenaline wouldn't drop, he'd find a bar and nearly dare someone to pick a fight with him just to feel something again.
But he couldn't do this forever either.
His body wore thin, no longer being maintained by scientists who only saw him as a weapon.
After a long night still plagued with nightmares of the person he used to be and who he could slowly see himself becoming again, he wandered into a coffee shop, looking for caffeine that would hopefully keep him awake enough to be debriefed on whatever mission Sam wanted his help with again.
The warm, rich scent of coffee and sounds of espresso machines provided a momentary reprieve from the harsh city outside the doors. If he could reach into a cobwebbed file in his memory, he could almost be transported to a different time when life stretching before him was full of promise, instead of hoping the torment would end.
Eyes too preoccupied by scanning the menu board, he didn't even see a person waiting in line until his body nearly occupied the same space as theirs.
A surprised yelp briefly cleared the fog of his mind as Bucky instinctively reached out to stop the source of the sound from falling to the ground.
"Would you watch where you're going?"
And with one look into the depths of your steady gaze, the rest of the clouds parted, sunlight finally reaching corners of his soul previously moored by nothing but shadow.
"Sorry," he said quickly, dropping his hold of you when you were steady. The next words out of his mouth were the ones that would inevitably change his future. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee to make up for it?"
Bucky couldn't fathom why you would say yes to sitting with him in the first place. He would've understood if you scoffed and left him to stew in his own embarrassment.
But you didn't. You accepted his offer and sat next to him like he maybe deserved a second chance at a first impression.
Later, you would tell him you saw shadows clinging to him, and that you could provide some kindness with coffee as payment.
Bucky could nearly recite every word of that first encounter. How easy you were to talk to. How he laughed for the first time in what felt like decades. How much lighter he felt with a simple conversation where the other person wasn't on edge. How you were the first stranger who held his stare in a thoughtful way, not in a 'worried he's going to snap' way.
How naturally you slid him your number, thanking him for the coffee, but saying you were almost late for an appointment, leaving the choice of where this blooming relationship would go solely up to him.
That day played over and over in his head any time he glanced in your direction.
When your hair waterfalls on his pillow as you sleep soundly, tucked safely against his chest.
When your lips crack a smile briefly before turning into a full-bodied laugh.
Especially when your eyes meet his through a crowded party and you could tell his social battery was drained. Your fingers would intertwine through his naturally, saying some excuse that you were tired and wanted to leave. Always shifting the blame to yourself needlessly, so questions of 'can't he leave without you?' wouldn't pop up.
Nights used to be spent without sleep claiming him due to the horrors that would appear behind his eyes.
Now, Bucky wanted to spend as long as he could watching you drift. Afraid one day that you would just cease to exist and that his brain made you up as a defense mechanism from wearing himself too thin.
When he placed a hand on your chest, your heartbeat would often lull him to sleep. The steady thump and rise and fall of your chest meant you were here, still choosing him.
In the mornings when you had to leave the warmth of his embrace for a job, Bucky tried to hold you closer for just a little longer.
If love could be paid in currency, Bucky would make sure you were the richest person in the galaxy.
His arms wound around your waist, holding you as a loving hostage against his chest. "Just five more minutes, sweetheart," he pleaded into the crook of your neck. Lips finding that sensitive spot under your ear that had you shivering in seconds.
Normally, you would protest. Say that five minutes often turned to ten, that then turned to you having to bolt out the door so you would make it on time.
Instead, this morning was different for whatever reason. Maybe you just wanted to spend the day pressing this memory into the scrapbook of your mind.
You settled back against your pillow, typing out some bleary message to your boss that you were feeling under the weather and wouldn't be in until Monday.
Bucky's grin was triumphant, his mouth growing hungrier as he rolled on top of you. He would never get tired of the sigh that left your throat as his hands mapped your curves, or the way you moved to slot his body against yours.
"Promise me we can stay like this forever," he found himself whispering into your ear with a lazy roll of his hips. A word he used to hate now said with reverence.
"I promise I'm not going anywhere, Bucky."
The vow hung in the sleepy air, washing over a man who used to be afraid of living forever.
Now, he was afraid that forever would never be long enough to have the feeling of you in his arms. But he'd continue to hold you close, for as long as this life would afford him.
LOOKS LIKE THE CAT DID A NUMBER ON YOU, VIENNA. ( Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x Reader )
AUTHOR NOTE! I stand with the notion that it's not the dead / infected that you need to fear, because they don't know better. It's people that you need to fear because they know what they are doing and are choosing to still do it. Poll at the end to vote for who I should write for next! <3
pairing: Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x Reader
prompt : For as cruel as Jimmy and his Fingers were, it was hard to believe that they were far more merciful than the other survivors you encountered..
warning: ( attempted ) SA and the horrors of being a woman in an apocalypse situation.
word count: 1,000+ words
Home was gone. Burnt and full of the infected. There was nowhere left⎯no one left⎯nothing left. It was all ashes and blood. There was no use in wasting tears on ashes and blood anymore, or so your Da used to say to you. But, you couldn’t help the few that managed to roll down your cheeks. You couldn’t help the way that your shoulders wracked up and down uncontrollably with sobs. You couldn't help the way that your bottom lip trembled and nose filled up with snot. You wanted to go home. You wanted your Da and most importantly you wanted your Mum.
You didn’t know how it started. One moment everyone was sitting around the table to eat dinner, snickering as your Da complained about needing to learn to make spices and butter to 'make boring potatoes taste good again'. Then, there was a light⎯so big and bright that filled the air that you had thought that you went blind. You couldn't breathe, couldn’t feel anything but the heat of flames on your skin, couldn’t smell anything but burning flesh, couldn’t see anything. You choked, crawling blindly in the haze to wherever safety was, your body betraying you and trembling in pain.
Then, there were hands⎯so many hands. Some pull you around, tugging at your clothing, groping at the exposed flesh they could find. At first, you thought that it was Da or one of the others, trying to help you get out from the flames of what once was your home and tend to any wounds you may have. But, then your vision cleared up and an unfamiliar face stared right back at you. It would have been more merciful if it was one of the dead, but you were not so fortunate. It was a man, dark eyes and darker hair. Lips curled up into a big smile as he yanked and pulled at your pants down your thighs. A blood curdling scream escaping your lips, body slowly regaining sense, scrambling to get away.
Scrambling through the slick mud, you flinch at the taunting whistles that echo against the trees, bouncing around so much that you can’t tell in which direction that they are coming from. He had been following you⎯tracking you. You didn’t know how long, but it was long enough for your legs to ache and lungs to burn from running. Bumping into the trunk of a tree, you glance over your shoulders, praying that you couldn’t see him any more. Catching a blurry glimpse of his figure through the trees, you push yourself to keep going, something trickling down your forehead. You couldn’t tell if it was blood or sweat, or both at this point. But, did it matter really?
“Girlie~” He calls, whistling a tune. “Come on, lovely. Don’t run from me, I just want to talk.”
You don’t respond. Too scared. Too tired to form words to say.
“Ohh, little girlie~” He calls out, his voice sounding closer than before. “I’ve been watching you for a while now. You know that? Got real pretty ( h/c ) hair in the morning, looks prettier when you braid it back.”
A cold sweat goes down your spine at his words. He had been watching you, following you⎯for god knows how long. Clearly, long enough to know where you lived. Seeing him from over your shoulder, you pick up your pace, lungs begging you to take a moment to breathe. Tripping over a twisted tree root, you grunt in pain as you fall downhill, slick mud and grass smearing against your skin and making it burn from the friction. Your leg aches. Your whole body aches.
Blinking back hot tears in your eyes, you force yourself to get back up, your knee protesting and giving out. You couldn’t keep running, your body was giving out on you and it terrified you. Sobbing at the throbbing in the whole left side of your body, you try to crawl, using what little strength to move. To keep going. To not fall into his grips. That’s what your Da would want you to do, to keep going and not look back. To give that prick hell.
“Now, now, little girlie.” His footsteps crunch against dead sticks, “Quite the little predicament you’re in, no where else to run.”
“Fuck you.” You manage to get out, voice cracking from exhaustion.
“Didn’t your pretty Mummy teach you manners?” He clicks his tongue in disapproval, “I know she did, I heard her.”
Refusing to give the satisfaction of a response or look, you keep crawling, not stopping until he has to physically drag you back by the ankles. You weren’t going to make it easy on him, not while your Da’s voice still boomed in the back of your head.A blur of red and blue catches your eye in the distance, the whopping of giggles and laughter fills the air⎯happy and full of warmth. People. Living people. You didn’t know whether to be happy or to try to go the other way with your fleeting strength. Standing up on failing legs, you try to run away, bumping and falling into trees.
“You can’t run, by you sure as fuck can’t hide!” He taunts, “Not here! Not now!”
You keep crawling, feeding the coldness of the mud on your fingers.
“I’ll like that you got a fight in you, makes you pretty, make it easy when your body finally gives up on you. I always did like the ones that fought back, worth it in the end.”
Smacking face first into someone’s chest, you fall to the ground in a heap, your body unable to keep going without a real break. Staring up with a pained wheeze, the face of a young girl stares right back at you, and you wonder if this was an angel⎯with a knotted blonde wig, ripped butterfly wings and faded pink cat ears. Letting out a giddy giggle at the sight of you, she tilts her head to the side, blue eyes flickering over you with intrigue. The pink upside down cross in her forehead catches your attention. But, some body modification was the least of your worries.
“Hello.” She hums, flashing a wide smile.
“Hello.” You whisper back, taken aback by her reaction.
“You’re all filthy.” She giggles, “Can’t see your face, silly.”
Crouching down to your eye level, she presses a finger over your cheek, smearing the mud that stains it. Clicking her tongue in disapproval, she presses her finger to the middle of your forehead, wiping enough mud to leave some kind of mark on it. Opening your mouth to speak, the crunching of leaves and rapid footsteps filled the air and you knew who was the cause of already, him.
Impulsively making the decision to hide behind her, you get a look at him, drenched in sweat and eyeing the two of you like you owed him something. Letting out a shaky breath at the sight of him, she slowly loses the grin on her face, as if upset by the interruption. Tilting her head to the side slowly, she stands up straighter, her body demeanor shifting to a more predatory one.
“Girlie, got yourself a friend have you?” He grins, “Pretty one at that.”
“He your friend?” She hums, clicking her tone.
You don’t respond, hot tears bubbling in your eyes. A tiny part of you regretted hiding behind her now, afraid of what he may do to her. You didn’t want to put her in harm's way. You just wanted to get away from him. A soft sob manages to escape your lips, shoulders wracking.
“She’s my girl. Best fuck off.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” She shakes her head, her eyes darting over you. “Is he your friend?”
“No.” You shake your head, “He isn’t.”
“Don’t cry, you’re not supposed to cry when giving charity.” She scolds, her tone too casual like this was a normal situation.
The sound of more leaves crunching makes you flinch, eyes darting around in fear. More figures in knotted blonde wigs line the hill top, watching the three of you in silence. Cowering back at the sight of them, you flinch as you bump into her again, her hand resting on your waist to keep you from moving. Letting out a giggle at your nervousness, she forces you to sway side to side with her, moving to the beat of whatever was going on in her head. Blinking more tears that stream down your cheeks, you pray that they weren’t all one big group and this was a twisted trick, that he hadn’t chased you towards them on purpose. You didn’t want to die, not here, not like this.
“Made a friend, have you, Jimmima?” A man with purple trackies questions, motioning towards you with a wave of his hand.
“He was chasing her.” She explains with a pout, “Didn’t get the chance to play with her.”
“Shame.” The man clicks his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck are you, mate?” The blonde repeats, a light laughter in his tone. “You tried to take Jimmima’s friend here, now you should know better. Jimmima likes her playmates.”
As if on cue, Jimmima lets out a giggle to agree with the blonde. Cradling you close like you were some kind of toy, she forces you to rock in place with her a little more enthusiastically to make a point, her chin resting on your shoulder. A part of you wanted to push her off, not wanting to be touched by anyone right now. But, another part of you leaned back into her, legs too weak to support yourself on your own. Snapping his fingers as if giving some kind of silent order, a blur of silver whizzes past you, a knife embedding into your stalker's thigh.
Cringing at the sight of blood gushing out of his thigh, you turn your head away as he collapses to the ground, nose wrinkling up at the wails of pain he lets out. You’d preferred anything but this kind of fate for him. But, it wasn’t your call to make. Jimmima lets out another giggle at the sight, practically flinging you around like some kind of ragdoll. Flinching as a gentle hand pets your hair, you turn your gaze back, finding the blonde staring at you. Dark blue eyes inspecting you carefully.
“I’m Jimmy.” He greets, offering a big toothy smile. “I see you meet Jimmima.”
You nod, not yet finding the strength to speak.
“Let’s be pals.”
Flinching as Jimmima combs her fingers through your hair to try to clean it, you avoid eye contact with all of them, using the excuse of the fairy-winged girl wanting your attention. It wasn’t because you were scared of them⎯well, part of it was because of that. But, because you didn’t have the strength to explain what had happened to you without bursting into tears. Home was gone. Your family was gone. You were at their mercy if they were willing to show it⎯most people wouldn’t. Pulling you further between her legs, she hums a tune under her breath, pulling apart a knot in your hair. There’s an odd comfort in it. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine it was your Mum instead. Feeling a pair of eyes burning holes into the side of your face, you hesitantly steal a glance, finding a young boy in an over-sized tracksuit. He looked drastically younger than the rest of the group, maybe eleven at your best guess.
“Your pants are ripped.” The young boy whispers, his voice cutting through the silence.
“I…I know.” You stiffly nod, tucking your knees up to your chest to hide the noticeable tear down the front of them.
“Did he..Did he touch you, lass?” Jimmy questions, making you cringe at the question.
“He managed to rip my pants, I ran before he could...”
“I’m sorry.” Another member of the group mumbles, making tears bubble up in your eyes.
“Don’t.” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “No use crying over ash and blood.”
“Ooh, I like that. That’s a nice saying.” Jimmy smiles, nodding his head in approval.
Flashing you a big cheeky grin, he was clearly trying to make you laugh back, but you don’t. You were too tired and too focused on how odd he was. He was unlike other survivors that you had seen in the area, most of them looked closer to the infected. But, he looked like the people from the magazines⎯from before people started to get sick. Wavy blonde hair, so shiny that was clear that he took pride in it. Pristine purple velvet tracksuit, gaudy gold rings on his fingers and a distinct upside down cross necklace around his neck. His teeth were rotten and crooked. He was odd.
The rest of the group giggled, giving him the laughter that he was clearly trying to goad out with his joke. Shifting your gaze down to your shoes, you shiver at the breeze in the air, teeth chattering together. Letting out a soft sound of disapproval at your shiver, Jimmima pulls you closer, her lanky figure wrapping around you to warm you. Embracing the feeling of her arms wrapping around you, you lean back into her chest, bottom lip trembling.
“Smile, lass. You’re ruining my flow.”
“Smile?” You scoff, a few tears rolling down your cheeks. “You want me to fucking smile after being chased down?”
“Eh, watch your tone. I’m showing your charity.”
“I don’t want to smile. I want my Mum, I want to go home.” You sniffle, voice trembling.
“Don’t cry.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval, “Come on now. No use crying over ash and blood, eh?”
----
Pick one, and I write it!
Sir Jimmy Crystal - You break Jimmy's nose, he makes you pay back a debt.
Eric Love - He comes in to get a cover-up for a shitty prison tattoo.
James Cook - You get well-deserved revenge on the food thief in your apartment.
Remmick - Fate keeps dragging him back to the murdered girl at the crossroads.
Walter 'Lion' Kaminski - Stan gets him a job at your family run pawn shop.
˗ˏˋ blue roses symbolize a love that is difficult to reach, unrequited, or a "dream" that is not yet realized... but not for too long ˎˊ˗
⤷ a/n : this has been on my rewrite list for the longest time, it was actually a one-shot I wrote for gojo a few years ago, and after I lost my blog I didn't want to give up on this concept, well here it is :) not really how I wanted but it's kinda cool, probably will revise it better later <3 enjoy !!
⤷ contains : vampire butler! jeonghan x vampire! reader, victorian era au, blood & gore, dark romance, abduction, toxic emotional attachment NSFW → corruption kink, loss of innocence, pain & power play, p in v sex [ wc : 945 ]
⤷ now playing: enamel by sid
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who’s the first to notice angry villagers surrounding your family’s secluded mansion in the British countryside, fire lighting up the fields as pitchforks drawn closer to its bricked walls, angry hands rattle the sturdy oak main door and jeonghan doesn’t think twice before taking you into his arms and fleeing the hellish scene, leaving behind the scarlet flames bringing the house down along with your family screams
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan that, after a long journey through the shadows, takes you both safely to an abandoned house in the heart of London, he keeps the curtains drawn for most of the time, telling you it's for your own safety now that he’s the only one there to protect you, saying people in the city can’t find out you two are vampires and you must stay inside by any means as he gently takes your face into his hands and cradles it too close to his chest
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who sees your figure lingering near the wide windows, hiding behind the heavy velvet curtains, humming to yourself wishes of leaving the house, but you never reach for the door, after all he’s the only one you can trust, the only one who ever took care of you, however the blood stocks are running low and it’ll barely last until next week
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who lies to you about not being able to find food, relishing himself with seeing you grow weaker day by day, agonizingly dragging your feet on the floorboards all night long until he takes you to your bed, stroking your soft skin as you cling to his arm, trembling until you fall into deep slumber, he gazes into your defenseless figure and reaches down to his stiff member already straining the fabric of his trousers, slowly massaging it to release the tension while you cuddle oblivious by his side
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who sees you getting more feverish and irritable every day, your skin paler and the dark circles under your eyes even more evident, he waits for your breaking point until one night you snap at him, tackling him to the floor with every strength you have left, even though he easily flips and pins you down right away, tears stain your sickly features as you struggle under his grip, chest heaving and soaked in sweat, begging for him to let you have at least a taste of his own blood
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who, with the faintest smirk, tilts his head to the side and feels the slightest flutter down on his member as your hands desperately reach for his shirt with visceral strength, but for a second your fangs hesitate near his neck, afraid of what might happen next until he takes your hands into his, while he holds the back of your head with the other and guides you closer to his bare skin
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who feels a sharp sting washing over his body when your fangs pierce into his flesh, for a moment you freeze when a single trail of blood drips out of him and all poise leave what’s left of your soul, your mouth moves in a relentless sucking motion trying to get more of him out of his body, the skin of his neck grows sensitive and raw with each suck of your blood stained lips, pain radiates from it and he bites down his own lips to muffle a strained moan, the coppery scent filling the air between you
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan, that after the initial pain goes away, feels an enormous wave of pleasure settling between you both, your movements grow sloppier as he sits on the floor with his back pressed against the wall, you grind harder and harder on the growing volume under his pants, the bruised skin on his neck long forgotten as your shaking hands reach down to free his aching member, with unmatched speed your fingers wrap around his pulsing length to stroke him, a sharp whimper escapes his throat when your teeth sinks even deeper and brushes your fingers over his sensitive tip
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who’s feeling his sanity and strength slipping away, struggling to finally reach for your throat and pull your mouth out his neck, with one swift motion he straddles you onto the floor and rips your stained silk nightgown, sinking his sharp fangs down the skin above your breasts, you let out a shriek as he shoves his member inside your soaked folds, the remaining blood on his neck dripping down to your chest, fully covering you in him
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who with each sucking motion, each thrust, each touch of your trembling hands, gets closer to the edge, to losing his sanity, when the moment you two reach your highs hits, your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer into your clenching core until he lays his trembling body down on top of you, comfortably resting his head in the crook of your neck
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ vampire butler! jeonghan who’s soothed by your soft hands stroking his dark strands and tracing patterns on his cold skin while all he can think of is that he finally got to claim you to himself, after years of being mistreated by your parents, after spreading your family’s secret to the villagers, after letting them all perish while he saved you and only you, after letting you grow weaker so he could be your only hope, it was all for you, his beautiful, precious, one and only blue rose, for all eternity
So hurry up and drown yourself in it
Into pleasure, into darkness, down the spiral staircase
He burns so bright. The night is dark and the stars are invisible behind his shine. When Robert thinks back to this moment, all he will remember in stunning HD quality is the image of his lover on fire, silhouetted against the full moon, pulling in the fire around him.
Their vacation to the small mountain town was supposed to be peaceful. Get away from the big city, use the well-deserved PTO, drink their weight in wine and eat some good pancakes in the morning. Maybe hike through the mountains if they could force themselves out of bed.
It wasn't supposed to be surrounded by a roaring forest fire that sprung up overnight. It wasn't supposed to be spend helping direct people to safety while frantically covering your nose with a wet t-shirt. It wasn't supposed to end up with Robert clutching Beef to his chest while he gets cut off from the rest of the civilians by a wall of fire from a fallen great pine tree.
No wonder Flambae had to intervene. He was already trying to help where he could before that, flying in and out of the blaze to get people to safety. But there was only one of him, and so many people in the area that were crying for help. Most run to the lake, some making faster than others. Some managed to get lucky and escape in their cars.
But Robert was pinned against a rocky outcropping, with a steep cliff behind him and a burning tree in front, lungs already aching from the smoke inhalation. He had no superpowers, or car to ram through the obstacle. He had no mech to protect him against the heat. When he separated from Flambae for efficiency, he didn't think he would be in this much danger.
Mostly he was worried for Beef. The fat little animal was howling in the night, clawing up Robert's arms with his stubby legs to try and get away from the heat, in too much panic to care that it was tearing up the skin of his arms. All Robert could do was press himself into the rocks behind him and pray that it ended quickly. He could already smell his hair burning from the intense blaze before suddenly…
A hungry roar soared through the air. A screech, a scream, and whooshing tornado of flame erupted outwards like a volcano, all the fire in the radius of a 100 feet pulled upwards into the dark sky.
Forcing his face away from the rocks, Robert turned around, gaze searching frantically for the only person he knew could cause such a reaction. And there he was.
A Supernova in the sky.
Flambae's body was consumed in an intense white fire, so much hotter than his usual hue as he pulled and pulled and pulled. Every lick of heat, every amber from the trees, ground, grass and structures next to them. A swirling vortex of flame rising up into the ether, only to dissipate at the touch of a hero.
Robert was sure that if Flambae was born a few centuries prior and had done this, he would have been taunted as a god. A fire-consuming deity, sent to pacify the rage of nature and save mankind. And wasn't it poetic that a deity played hero in the modern world?
Robert has already worshiped at the foot of Flambae's altar every night. Guess he'll have to add a few more reasons now.
(Poly Werewolf 141 x Witch! Reader, Werewolf shifting, Sex dreams, Brief Smut, Female Reader, Fluff, Domesticity, Magic)
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It’s Autumn when you first hear the whispers of the wolves.
“Strange beasts.” Whisper your neighbors at the market, bending low in hushed tones to whisper to you at your stall, where colored glass hangs from the beams above and waxed bottles lay piled on shelves. “They said they saw them by the old forest.”
You pay no mind to it, at least at first. In a town as small as yours, there’s always a tall tale of some kind- a whisper of a ghost or strange sound among the trees. They’re only fables, things meant to scare children into bed and keep them mindful of their parents. At worst they’re spoken of by the priests, a warning against those who don’t turn to the faith of their gods. Yet you- you know. You know that some stories are far more true than they seem.
It was years ago that you stumbled into the village, reeking of ash and smoke, hungry from days on end of running through the woods. In lands far past the village your own coven lay as nothing more than cinders and ruined homes, your sisters and mentors dead by crusaders’ blades. Only you had been able to escape, young and small as you were, able to run away undetected as your sisters burned. The memory of their screams remains forever engraved in your mind, echoed through the trees as leaves crunched under your bare feet and you left behind all that you were.
You became the lost girl from the woods, the strange child who didn’t speak of her past, and instead silently buried her magic in a coffin beneath layers of ember and ash. In time you’d become to your neighbors the girl with the healing hands, the one who offered ointments and herbs to cure the ails that plagued them. All the while you kept your magic dormant inside you, a tender flame awaiting a breath of life.
So you listen pleasantly to the murmurs of the beasts, assuring the villagefolk you call neighbors that it must have been some wandering creature that ventured down from the mountains in search of prey before the frost sets in.
Yet then there’s the mention of livestock going missing. A sheep here, a hen there, of horses being spooked and wild eyed at dawn as if something frightened them. You try to brush it off as mere coincidence. Wild animals are hungry at this time of year, stuffing their bellies full before settling in for the long sleep. There haven’t been wolves in this village since before you were born- hunted to extinction for the safety of everyone inside the stone walls that surround it.
“You should stay inside the village, lass.” Says a regular customer of yours who visits you for a salve to keep her aging, aching joints at bay. “It’s safer inside the walls.”
You assure her that your small cottage down by the lake is perfectly safe. With its large, iron crossed door and the secret hexes you’ve engraved into the frame, it would take a truly massive monster to knock down your sanctuary and cause you to flee. It’s more than that, however. It’s the fact that you can’t possibly imagine yourself around so many people. It’s not safe to be in a place so crowded, in a place with so many eyes. If someone were to find out who you are...what you are....
Instead you hang herbs from the rafters in your cottage, you boil tinctures over the hearth as birchwood spills from the chimney, and you sometimes watch the edge of the woods wondering if perhaps the creatures there feel as lonely as you do.
Things change after the Harvest Moon.
“The size of a horse!” A man in the market outside the church gasps, pale as a sheet and his clothes askew. “Its withers stood above my head! Dark as the night and its face-!” The man shudders as his fellows try to comfort him, draping a cloak about his shoulders. “It looked like the reaper himself, shaped like a skull!” He paces back and forth, and it's only once he turns that you stifle a gasp at the blood splattered across his shirt and down his sleeves. It isn’t his, you realize grimly, and he lifts his head to shout at those gathered around him.
“It took Thomas! H-he tried to shoot it a-and-”
The crowd gasps, and you hover at the edge, something unknown and dreadful simmering low in your stomach. The man seems to have nearly collapsed from fright, eyes wild and darting as if the beast pursues him still. His mouth works in silent words, and it takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying.
Four of them, four of them, four of them.
Eventually the magistrate comes to escort the boy away and restore order to the frightened crowd. He tells you all that the wolves are not nearly as fearsome as the boy proclaimed, and that he and the village hunters will patrol beyond the gate to make sure the village is safe. Even so, it does little to tame the restlessness of your neighbors, who gather and whisper in the quietest of tones, murmuring the words they’re all thinking:
Werewolf.
As the sun lowers behind the trees, you hasten along the lonely forest path home and watch the long shadows grow dim in the waning light. A cold October wind sweeps under your cloak, lifts your hair to the breeze where your breath spills forth in a sigh of steam. In the growing darkness the forest seems quieter, more foreboding as the aspen and pine creak against the wind. An awareness prickles at the edges of your senses, a warning whisper that curls around you in the sudden silence.
You’re being watched.
Heart in your throat, you turn ever so slowly, hands shaking as you finally see it between the trees:
A shadow.
You don’t realize just how massive it is until it stands from where it’s crouched on the forest floor. With horror clawing its way up your throat you watch it rise, rise higher until its shoulders are halfway up the twisted trunks on either side of it. Its paws are easily the size of your head, its withers rise up to your eye level, as large as any bear you’ve seen and Gods-
The strength in your legs leaves you, and as the beast takes a single step forward they fail completely, sending you down into the leaves beneath your feet. A whimper threatens your throat as you urge your frozen limbs to move, to regain themselves and carry you down the path to the assumed safety of your cottage.
Beyond the thunder of your heart beat your mind screams higher than the whistle of the wind: RUN! RUN!
Yet as the beast creeps closer you can’t bring yourself to stand, fearing you’ll die of fright before the killing bite snaps your neck. Even the magic at your fingertips with your vague memory of spells and incantations feels like mist slipping through your hands. With each step the wolf, the monster, takes another step- deathly quiet even as it feels like the ground trembles beneath you. Unblinking, it stares at you, perfectly crouched, ready to strike. You can feel tears threatening at the corner of your eyes, your breath coming only in tight, watery little gasps.
“I-” You try, tongue liked lead as you try to speak, a mere whimper escaping instead: “Please-”
At last the beast comes to stand a mere few feet away from you- ebony black eyes at the level of your own with its head bowed. Its gaze seems fathomless, as if you’ll drown in the sheer darkness of it- never to return. Just like the hunter said, its massive snout and head is jet black except for a white patch that travels the length of its massive jaw. Horrifyingly, it almost looks like a skull.
Not like this. You whisper to the heavens, to your ancient deities, to the earth itself. Please, not like this.
Yet then the monster’s eyes break from yours, and it takes another step, massive nose lowering to the basket with your market gatherings of bread, cheese, and fruit. In a fit of utter mystery you watch as the creature’s tail lifts just marginally, almost like a dog, slowly sweeping back and forth as it snuffles through the goods.
Like the spell has been broken, the paralytic fear inside you evaporates like a puff of smoke. Magic attempts to wind itself through your veins and you raise your hand towards the beast, scooting backwards as a stuttered spell travels the length of your tongue.
Yet then your foot crunches a twig and the beast’s gaze snaps to your horrified features, once more locking its startling, glimmering black stare on your form. The spell freezes on your tongue, words stammering uselessly as your palm glimmers faintly with magic, flashing dimly as you try and fail to defend yourself.
For a heartbeat you think at last the wolf will finally leap, will abandon your meager offerings and seize you between its teeth in a swift death grip. Your bones will crunch between its fangs, your scream cut short as it echoes forth between the trees.
Instead, the creature keeps its gaze locked on you before lowering its mouth to gently, delicately, grip the handle of your basket. Before you can question it the beast leaps toward you, clearing your head in a single bound as you scream and clutch at yourself in terror. By the time you realize you’re still alive, by the time you turn to chase the sound of thundering steps behind you-
The wolf is gone.
It feels as if it takes you hours to stand, and even then your legs shake and tremble like a sapling in a gale. It’s all you can do to stagger down the dark forest path to the door of your cottage, latching the heavy bar behind you to keep out any other beast that may find you here. You sink to the floor, shivering and wrapping your arms around yourself as the memory of the wolf races behind your eyes with his bottomless stare.
You shutter all the windows, latch every entrance and exit as your heart races up into your throat like a rabbit running from a fox. You turn on every light you can find and curl into your straw tick bed, tugging the blankets over your head and trying vainly to fall asleep.
and yet you wonder, even as midnight draws dark upon your cottage...
Why the wolf spared you.
Against everything, you wake to morning light streaming through the gaps in the shutters and falling golden upon your sprawled frame. Birdsong echoes as a chorus in the canopy, a gentle autumn wind rustling the branches outside. For a moment you forget about the events of the night prior, caught in a strange daydream where your fingers run through a dark, soft mane and someone whispers an echo of your name.
You’re frightened to leave the sanctuary of your cottage even in daylight, peeking beyond your curtains towards the small lake and stream that runs beside the path to town in case a shadow dances among the trees. Yet there’s nothing but a bevy of deer that gently lap at the water of your little lake.
You should report the incident to the village guards, you think as you dress yourself and eat. Perhaps by doing so you can aid the hunters in their pursuit of the beasts, keeping you and the rest of the village safe from further encounters.
Yet something sits ill at ease inside your stomach at the thought- a sense of wrongness at the idea of reporting your strange encounter. Perhaps it's because of the fact you’re seen as an odd sort of outsider to the rest of the village- one of the few that live beyond the walls and their safety. A part of you wonders if somehow the village-folk will view your encounter with suspicion. After all, why were you spared when one of the young hunters was not?
More than that- what reason do you have to share what has happened when you were left unharmed?
When at last you step out into the crisp autumn air, water pail in hand, you scream.
There’s a wolf flat to the ground, head resting on the grass and paws crossed as if he has deigned it a perfect place to take a gentle rest. It’s different from the one you saw the night prior- a scruffy sort of brown compared to the raven black of the wolf from before. He’s smaller too- still so much larger than the size of any wolf you’ve ever heard of, but not as massive as a draft horse. There’s an odd ruff of fur that travels the length of its spine, almost like a mane. At your scream the beast’s ears twitch, his great head lifting to observe you with startling blue eyes- only to lower once again. It makes no motion towards you, not moving at all even as you try and fumble for the door handle behind you.
“Stay back!” You gasp over the hammer of your heartbeat. “L-leave me alone!”
Yet rather than pounce, the creature’s ears tilt back and it whines- almost as if it understands you. Almost as if it’s a pup that’s been scolded for stealing a piece of meat from the table. It startles you, makes you blink in utter confusion as your mind desperately tries to process what exactly you are seeing.
“You-” You try, voice dry in your throat as the wolf's massive tongue rolls out and it pants, staring at you. “You’re...not going to eat me, are you?”
The beast snorts as if you’ve offended it, and then turns towards its shoulder before depositing something in front of it.
Your basket.
You stare at it for a long, long moment, thoughts churning uselessly before you look back to the wolf.
“You...can understand me, can’t you?”
At this the wolf yips, tail wagging and eyes glimmering.
“Then...” You try again hesitantly. “Can you...change? Back I mean, into a person?”
The wolf whines, low and whimpering, lowering its great head back down and its ears once again flattened to its head, brow drawn up in an almost human-like concern.
This makes no sense. You’ve always been taught werewolves can turn back at will into their human form outside of a full moon. It’s what makes them so dangerous- their ability to walk among humans and pass as one of them. So then why...?
Suddenly the wolf’s ears flick, and it looks off towards the narrow path that leads through the trees down into the village. All at once the fur on its back rises, lips drawing back in a snarl. You don’t see anything when you follow its gaze, staring through the trees until at last the distant sound of voices begins to float through the branches. You look at the wolf, but he’s already turned, glancing back at you over his shoulder. There’s a strange sort of loneliness to its stare, and he pauses for just a moment before three giant strides take it off into the trees. After a moment, you hear a single, bone-chilling howl rise from beyond the treetops.
One that is echoed by three others.
You huddle in the warmth of your cottage for the rest of the day, sheltered by brick walls and the flickering hearth. From the gaps in the shutters you watch as the sun rises high in the sky and the lake remains eerily still- absent of the usual creatures that wander its bank. All the while your heart flutters in the gap between your ribs and throat, a small bird caught in a cage as it desperately beats its wings with fear.
So you choose to pore over your grimoires, searching in ancient texts for anything that might provide an ounce of knowledge into these creatures. Your mind churns with what you know, and the absence of what you don’t. You don’t understand- nor could you. Despite the interactions you had with both wolves, it’s not as if either can speak. They should be able to transform back at will, the books say. Yet for whatever reason it seems as if they’re trapped within their beast-like forms, unable to walk on anything than four legs. It should scare you. It should frighten you half to death and it does- the idea that such monsters could easily snap your neck and swallow you whole. Yet neither beast had shown any inkling to do so, happy instead to observe what they could of you and then bound off into the woods.
The sun sets, and you hang herbs to dry among your rafters as the pot boils on the stove. Questions remain, haunting every breath, every footstep in the silence left behind by man and beast alike. You can’t help but wonder if...
You clasp a hand over your mouth to silence a scream at the scratching at your door, followed by a low, whimpering whine.
Every instinct beckons you further into the cottage- up into your loft where your quilt covers your head and you shiver against the growing darkness. Yet the thing at your door whines, scratching insistently and even barking so as to demand your rapt attention.
When you creak the door open you almost don’t see anything in the darkness, where the moon is veiled behind dark, inky clouds that roll across the sky. Even then you jump at the wet nose that peeks through the gap, snuffling and pressing up against your hand insistently.
You can hardly see him in the pitch darkness beyond your door- coat ebony dark just like his glinting eyes. Yet there’s a gentleness to them, a human-like emotion contained within that you can’t entirely discern.
“I-I don’t have any more bread.” You try, unsure of the beast’s wants. “I’m sorry.”
The wolf barks, demanding and insistent, and you try to take a step back inside your cottage to close the door- to no avail. “What do you want?” You try with increasing desperation, and the beast snorts, withdrawing entirely from your door just so it can jut one massive paw into the gap. It takes you a moment to notice, but when the wolf withdraws its paw you see it- the dark, crimson stain left against the floor.
“Are you hurt?” You ask instantly, drawing the door a little wider, and much to your shock the wolf leans against it, flinging the heavy wood open and stepping fully into your home.
He can barely fit through the door, having to lean his massive head down just to pass beyond the threshold. As he sniffs and circles you his tail sweeps herbs and cutlery off your kitchen table, scattering them and sending them crashing to the floor. Yet he pays no mind, shoving his massive snout under your hand with an insistent whine.
You’re kept upright only by his massive form circling you, each footfall creaking the floorboards so much you think perhaps they’ll snap in two. You try to look for where the beast is injured, but in his dark fur you can’t see any trace of blood, find any wet slickness with your hands.
“W-wait-” You try. “What are you-”
Before you can finish the thought the beast suddenly leaps away from you, out past the door into your garden, where he stands and looks back and forth between you and the forest. Waiting, watching, or perhaps...wanting.
You hesitate at the doorstep, dressed in nothing but your chemise and feeling the autumn wind blow across the threshold. It lifts the hem of your dress, flutters it in time with your anticipatory heartbeat as you stare at the wolf, and the wolf stares back.
Come. He seems to say. There’s little time to waste.
You shouldn’t.
Even so...
You gather with you what you can- fresh bandages, herbs to stop bleeding and help the pain, your cloak and boots and a lantern to light your way. You blow out the candles to your home and hover on the front step, wondering how on earth you’ll find what the wolf is leading you towards in the dark.
To your amazement the wolf lays flat on the ground, looking at you meaningfully.
You blink, unspoken questions seemingly answered.
The wolf is broad enough that it stretches your legs just to ride atop his shoulders, fingers dug into his thick, warm pelt as you lay flat atop him. With a bark, he races forwards, three great strides taking you off into the forest where branches whip against your face and shoulders. The wind whistles past your ears, and you dig your heels in harder to simply remain atop his rolling withers, face buried into his neck to keep it safe from the brambles and twisting tree limbs that seek to rip you from his back.
He runs without stopping, stamina seemingly endless as he carries you deeper, deeper into the woods, far past where you forage for herbs and mushrooms. Deeper still, to the ancient trees and knotted hills where the townsfolk whisper of strange stories and those that don’t return. The wind chills you to the bone, cloak flying as you too seem to sail through the air, the wolf’s paws hardly touching the ground as he races towards an unknown destination.
The moon reveals itself from behind its gossamer veil, bestowing gentle slants of moonlight through the trees as the wolf begins to slow, nose sniffing the ground before trotting forward into a thick grove of juniper as the leaves crunch under his massive feet. You rise from his back, lifting the branches out of the way as he approaches a crag in the distance, tangled with overgrown ivy where water seeps down from a nearby stream. He pauses at the edge of a clearing, barking once and listening.
A bark answers him in turn, and it sounds familiar just as the wolf from earlier in the morning darts from between the rocks and bounds up to you both, whining and sniffing at your bare legs and licking at your hands. You’re carried into a shallow dip between the boulders, where a jutting rock over your head shields you from the stars above. You can’t see, reaching instead for your lantern and lighting the wick inside.
You freeze when a growl emanates from within the cave, sending a primordial fear washing icy through your limbs. When you lift your lantern it reveals two massive forms huddled in the dark, one of them collapsed on its side and the other with his skull-white head set upon him, teeth drawn back to reveal the gleaming white of his dripping fangs.
The wolf from this morning, the strange ruff-like wolf with the playful blue eyes, shoves his nose up against his snarling friend in what you take as a gesture of reassurance. It seems to settle him, if only marginally, allowing you the space you need to slip from your wolf’s back and creep forward, raising your lantern as you go.
“Oh.” You breathe as you draw towards the fallen wolf. His russet fur is stained dark with blood in places, gashes strewn across his shoulder where a spear juts from muscle. “Oh you poor thing.”
He peers one glassy eye towards you, too weak to lift his head but offering a half-hearted low snarl.
Careful. Help, but be careful.
He makes a pained noise as you lay your hands on him, inspecting the wound. It’s cut deep, almost to the bone, and the notched tip of the spear makes it hard to yank free. It needs to come loose before you can do anything else, lest you agitate it further by tending the wounds around it. Yet the thought of yanking it loose only to have your neck snapped in half makes your shoulders shake and your skin break into goosebumps in the damp darkness of the cave.
“Trust me.” You whisper to the injured wolf- more of a prayer than a plea. He only looks at you, unblinking until at last he closes his eyes again in resignation. Behind you, the youngest of the wolves paces anxiously, whining and keening and stopping to bother his two friends in equal parts concern and reassurance.
Trust me. You plead again skyward, setting your hands on the broken grip of the spear and pulling.
The injured wolf snarls with such ferocity you nearly collapse backwards, but instead pour every ounce of fear and panic into your straining arms, grunting and panting until-
The spear comes loose and you tumble backwards, caught in your own cloak as blood splatters across your chemise and boots. When you look down, the iron tip is as large as your hand, made to kill things much larger than you.
The grunt of the injured wolf draws you back, and instantly you discard the weapon to race forward, pulling your clean rags and pressing it to the oozing wound even as blood drips over your fingers and rivulets down your arms.
“There.” You murmur towards the beast under you. “That’s the hard part done. Just rest now. Rest, and everything will be fine.”
Oddly, the beast lifts its head to you, for the first time focusing on you with a clear gaze. He holds your stare for a long moment, as if searching for something, before at last resting his head again and allowing you to resume your task.
It takes you most of the night to tend to the wounds, mixing an herb paste to stem the bleeding and quietly whispering incantations over the stitches you sew into his side. You don’t fear the wolves finding out about your magic. There’s no one they’d be able to tell anyone anyways, and you think it’s only fair they keep your secret as much as you’ve kept theirs too.
By the time you’ve finished you’re stained elbow deep in red, and you think your chemise is entirely ruined with the amount of blood that’s seeped into it. You’re exhausted, but satisfied with the blood you’ve managed to scrub away from the wolf’s pelt and the stitches that dance up his shoulder. When you at last sit back, he lifts his head and tucks it under your hand in a quiet but sincere gesture of thanks.
The other three wolves, who all have waited patiently while you worked, creep forward to check on their injured friend, licking at his stitches and nuzzling at his head. He seems grumpy at the display of fondness, chuffing quietly and grunting but otherwise tolerating their prodding and nuzzling.
You watch them at a short distance, gathering your supplies and huddling into your cloak. The frigid chill has long since seeped into your bones, and you shiver as you try to retain whatever warmth you have left. You long for your blankets at home, dreaming of laying next to the embers of the fire and sleeping until the sun rises high in the sky.
A nose nudges you, and you peer your eyes open in the dwindling lantern light to the dark-haired wolf nudging you in the direction of his injured friend. You acquiesce, gently hovering by his side until the dark-haired wolf settles on your other side, tucking his huge, warm form next to your cold, shivering one. His tawny brown friend is quick to join, circling several times before he lays across your numb feet and rests his head on your shivering thighs. The white-muzzled wolf tucks in behind him, arranging himself so he watches the mouth of the cave vigilantly, keeping watch as the forest turns soft hues of purple in the early dawn light.
Exhausted, now warm and blissfully comfortable, you twist into the massive forms of the wolves around you and allow sleep to find you between the soft snores of the beasts you once feared.
When you shut your eyes, dreams find you.
There’s voices you don’t recognize, touches of others warm against your skin. They surround you, tender and reverent despite their obscurity. A brush of your hair against your cheek, a warm breath across the nape of your neck, gathering you to them and bestowing tenderheartedness against the gentle fibers of your soul. They feel familiar somehow, but in the midst of your strange woolgather you can’t discern who they are.
“Hush, sweetheart, back to dreams.” They whisper, even as they kiss up along your jaw, down the swell of your breasts, fingers splayed against your stomach as a breathy sort of moan travels up your throat. It’s warm, like honey against your skin, sweet and cloying against your senses. A mouth presses fluttering, sucking kisses down the length of your collar bone, another sliding his fingers through silky folds and coaxing your arousal into a tender flame. Yet every time you try to stir, every time you try to chase sensation it only slips away again- like mist through your fingers even as those same voices whisper a distant echo of your name.
You wake within the confines of the cave alone.
Yet as the days come to pass, you discover you are far from the only one in the glade you call home.
You go to the market the day after, and allow your neighbors to fuss over you. The woods are dangerous, they warn you. You should stay behind the safety of the village walls. You ease their anxieties, offering them their usual tonics and herbs, and as the sun wanes once again you withdraw to your cottage- only to find a slain hare resting neatly upon your front step. A gesture of thanks, you think, one of many to come.
It stays as such. A turkey, a hare, a fish from your lake, sometimes even wildflowers that grow vibrant in the late autumn light. It’s rare that you see the wolves themselves- often catching their shadows darting into the trees and watching from a distance as you bend to collect the gifts. They’re wary at first, uncertain after you were shown their den deep in the woods. Perhaps they are afraid you will yet change your mind and go to the village guards. You know that even if you did you too would face the end of a spear for helping them, for offering your hands of healing.
Yet after several days of watching, soon the wolves creep closer. You can hear them at night, sniffing around your herb garden outside, snorting at the iron cross above your door to ward off evil, and even romping in the moonlight as strange dreams find you once more. In the darkness, the rustling of the ferns and swish of low hanging boughs brings an odd comfort, and lends itself to the dreamscape you lose yourself in when you close your eyes.
It’s always the same men, the same touches and muted whispers you can hardly hear. It’s always the same distant pleasure, touches that feel like they press through silk into the recesses of your thoughts. You chase them like one would a prism of light, reaching out your hands in desperate hopes you can hold it for just a moment before it disappears.
“Sweet girl.” They whisper in your dreams, as you contain a watery gasp at the fingers that press between your thighs. You can feel yourself leak down onto them just as another hand smoothes down the curve of your spine, pressing you into a delicious arch with an appreciative groan. “So good for us, so pretty-” Your mewls are caught on the digits caught between your teeth, pressing down against your tongue with a sinful, primal growl- like a beast lurking between the trees.
Touch me, touch me, hold me.
You reach out your hands, trying to hold the pleasure in the cup of your palms for just a moment-
and wake up with wetness between your thighs, and the sound of a mourning dove cooing in the rafters.
Names linger upon your lips, and you find when your mouth forms them they slip away with a sigh.
You give the wolves names as well.
To the wolf with the skull-pattern snout, you call him Ghost. He’s the quietest out of the four, but strong and steady, towering over the rest with a grand stature and strength coiled beneath his jet-black coat. He’s more distant than his counterparts at first, slow to warm to you and suspicious. Yet the more time you spend with him, the more he comes to you with a silent demand of ear scratches and your hands running over his dark mane.
His younger counterpart with the strange ruff you call Soap, as one afternoon you watch him splash in the lake nearby and come out sodden and dripping but his maw wide with something akin to laughter. Mischievous, he’s quick to pull his friends into a bout of wrestling or racing through the trees, emerging victorious and requesting your laughing praises as his reward. Out of them all, he’s by far the most demanding of your affections, whining if you are preoccupied by others and quick to shove his snout under your hands.
To the raven-haired wolf with the mahogany eyes twinkling with a slyness you can never put to words, who leans into your hands with a pleased, rumbling growl you call Gaz- meaning gentle in the old languages of your grimoires. When you speak to him, it feels like he understands more than any of the others, and sometimes you spend long hours in one-sided conversation as he blinks back at you with soulful, knowing eyes. More than that- Gaz is sly, quick to steal away a piece of prey from Soap or Ghost when they turn their backs, blinking innocently at them with a slight tilt of his head as if to say “What, me?”
Finally the older wolf, the one who lays still the most due to his healing wounds, who seems to have paid a heavy tribute to survive as long as he has, you call Price. He’s not as scarred as Ghost, but within him he seems to carry a sort of inner knowledge, a weight that bears heavy down upon his massive shoulders. You spend many afternoons tending to Price’s healing wounds, to which he rewards you by gently nuzzling against your hip until you succumb to a nap against his massive frame.
It’s Soap who accompanies you on long walks in the afternoon sunshine, darting between the trees to chase prey and often returning with something for your hearth. Gaz watches you dig for herbs in the soft soil of the forest, sometimes using his massive paws to expose roots that grow deep within the mossy earth. Ghost patrols the border of your glade at a distance, always vigilant for unwanted visitors and quick to alert the others if hunters are nearby. Yet he always returns at the end of the day, huffing with a begrudging sort of humor and allowing you to stroke the dense fur of his pelt. Price often lays near your front step, resting and healing from his injuries. When you nap in the warm sunshine, Price tucks himself around your form, curling protectively against your figure as you dream.
And dream you do, for as the days pass the dreams become clearer still. Sometimes you can catch glimpses of the men the voices belong to. A flash of lightning blue eyes, smooth dark skin, a jagged pink scar curving up a pale spine, a glimpse of a worried brow staring down at you despite the fondness in his eyes. You rest your head on his hairy, soft stomach, his hand carding through your hair as you move with the impact of every slapping thrust behind you.
“Taking him well, love.” He whispers, and you whimper at the unattainable need coiling low in your stomach, a desire that can’t be quelled here where you’re caught between wakefulness and sleep. You whisper as much to him, a plea to release you, to give you the words you need to find the end of your desire. Yet he only smiles, hushing you as the hands bracing on your hips dip lower between your thighs. You hiccup, writhing, needing, on the cusp-
and then you wake up.
You spend the day in town if only to avoid your newfound company after realizing you make noises in your sleep.
You spend fewer days in town thanks to the wolves who have made your cottage their home, but when you do you hear the constant murmur of hushed whispers. Tracks found in the outer pastures, a sheep slain and left to drown in its own blood, dark shadows and strange howling at night are among the stories you hear. They sit uneasily inside you, knowing the danger your newfound friends are in, but to raise your voice against it is to cast suspicion upon yourself- a danger which you can’t abide.
Ill at ease are you too with the whispers you hear behind your back. There’s fewer customers at your little stall now, and those who visit do so quickly and do not linger. Something has changed inside the village. There’s a paranoia now with every passing day the beasts are not caught and slaughtered. It infects the minds of the weak and afraid, and casts shadows of doubt upon their neighbors- including you.
“Step carefully.” The guard at the gate tells you as you walk out of the village, but when you turn to him, he refuses to meet your eyes.
The shadows in the woods seem longer that night.
That night, you dream of them once more.
Sometimes it’s just this- curled between them, up against phantom limbs and faces you can never clearly see. The veil of dreams hides the true memory of their appearances even as you cling tighter to them, relishing the warmth they offer. To you they whisper soft endearments, offer chaste kisses and embraces that fill the longing emptiness inside you.
“We’ll protect you.” They whisper, stroking your hair, tracing the curve of your bare spine. “We will keep you safe.”
You wish you could do the same for your wolves.
It’s not safe for them here, you think. It’s only a matter of time before someone sees your wolves and tracks them. Together the four of them could slaughter all of the hunters in the village without so much as a scratch, but if one of them were caught alone the way Price was, if the worst were to come to pass...
“You should leave.” You whisper to them one night. Their massive forms take up almost all the space in your cottage. It smells like animal, like musk and earth and warmth as they each come to rest near the hearth and you curl up between them. Gaz’s soft pelt sinks against your fingertips, and you stare into the flames listlessly, speaking words you know they can’t return.
“It’s not safe.” You go on. “You should go to the mountains, up the valley, further into the forbidden lands.” Yet even as you speak the words, you can feel your throat swell with emotion at the thought of them leaving you behind. It breaks before you can stop it, and you sob as you turn your face into Gaz’s shoulder, listening to the worried whines of the wolves around you.
“I don’t want to say goodbye.” You cry. “But you can’t stay. If...if somehow you get hurt...”
Soap shoves his massive snout under the crook of your arm, and even Ghost gently bends his head so you can tuck yourself against his jaw.
“I can’t be the reason you die.” It goes unspoken, but your meaning is clear. Yet none of the wolves make a motion to leave you, instead curling further around you like you’re something precious, something to be kept safe no matter what.
You didn’t realize how lonely you were until you met them.
Lonely are you still in the village- but now you feel more afraid than anything. There’s a word whispered behind your back now as you pass the others, a hatred in their eyes that pierces your fragile heart.
Witch.
It’s a term thrown as an insult, but these days it feels less like a passing bite and more like an accusation- one ending within a fiery blaze that will burn you down to ash. The terror of it all is that it’s true. You don’t attend Sunday mass because the inside of a church feels too warm, too crowded, and you can feel so many eyes upon you. You don’t recite the scriptures, you don’t join your hands in prayers with the others. You live so far away from the village, out of sight and beyond their scrutiny and it makes you a target.
It’s a rainy afternoon as you travel back to your cottage, and despite the drizzle you can hear the sound of someone behind you.
Following you.
A voice that is not yours whispers to you inside the recesses of your mind, echoing a warning, a command:
“Run.”
You’re not sure why but you do, breaking into a sprint as mud finds its way into your boots and the rain lashes against your skin. You run as fast as you can- towards the safety of your cottage, towards your friends, towards the wolves-
Your pursuer catches you- faster, stronger as he wrestles you to the ground. You scream, thrashing as the man above you brandishes a knife that you can see your horrified eyes on the reflection of the blade.
“Witch!” He hisses down at you, a single hand keeping you pinned by your throat so you choke for air. “It’s you who cursed our village! You’re the reason behind all this- I know it!”
Tears burn at your eyes, and you whimper a broken sort of sound- something like a plea, but more akin to a prey animal in their dying throes.
“Once you’re dead, everything will be set right- and those beasts will go back to wherever they came from.”
The knife descends, and you call out to them- the men from your dreams, the ones who whisper your name with tender touches and beloved kisses.
There’s a roar from the woods, and the man leans back just as a massive form leaps from the trees. He’s torn away from you with a cut off scream, and you cough and splutter, eyes burning as you try to regain your breath. Through your tears you see him- you see Price standing above your attacker, his lips pulled back to reveal his dripping fangs bared in a horrifying snarl. One paw immobilizes the man under him, who shouts and screams just as Price’s teeth lean down to his neck for a killing bite.
“No!” You cry, and Price’s ears flick to you, pausing before turning his steel blue stare towards your trembling form.
“Don’t.” You manage, rubbing at your throat. “He’s just scared. He didn’t-”
Beneath Price’s paw, the man whimpers, trying to shield his face.
“Don’t hurt him.” You beg again, wincing at the hard scrape of your throat. It’s enough to summon Price to you, circling you protectively and licking at your face. The man scrambled to his feet, crying out in terror as he races back towards the village.
You pray he will take this as a warning, but inside you know:
It’s time.
You turn to Price, throwing your arms around him with a shuddering sort of gasp, fingers curling into his thick pelt as he offers a low, comforting growl to you in turn.
“You need to leave.” You whisper urgently, turning your head to stare into his eyes. “All of you. I can buy you some time, but it won’t be long before they’ll be back.”
You watch as he bares his teeth in a snarl, and despite the languages lost between you, you understand even so.
“Let them come.”
You race with Price back to the cottage, where the other three members of the pack whine and pace around you, barking as if they’re communicating among themselves. All the while you watch the sun sink lower behind the naked branches and hear the ever present ticking of a clock inside your mind.
You’re running out of time.
You gather what you can: Grimoires, a bedroll, a few changes of clothes, your bag of tinctures and potions, things needed to keep you alive, things to help protect you if the worst comes. You have no plan beyond escaping, beyond vanishing into the woods before the villagers can track you down and find you. With every minute that passes you fear you’ll hear the sound of them coming through the woods, and with every minute you pray the wolves are already gone far beyond the trees, even if it makes your heart ache endlessly with their absence.
At last you pause, bundled in your heaviest cloak and warmest pair of boots, tracing the runes and sigils you’ve carved into the beams of your beloved little home. There’s magic imbued still within them- a comforting sort of miasma that welcomes you warm into its embrace. It feels like where you belong- like home, like something that hadn’t felt quite so until it had been full with the forms of your beloved wolves.
A single, lone howl raises its voice towards the sky.
You know the voice of Price when you hear him, and soon to join him are the voices of Soap, Gaz, and the deep, lonely tenor of Ghost underneath. The volume of it shakes your home to its foundations, rattles the rafters and with it the bones inside your fragile frame. Beyond it you can hear it, just barely, the sound of approaching voices. Beyond the trees, the torchlight glows bright in the darkness.
“You need to leave.” You cry to Ghost outside as he stands at the edge of the trees, ruff bristled and his teeth gleaming in the orange moonlight. “You can’t stay- they’ll kill you!”
Yet Ghost does not answer, does not even flick his ears in your direction even as you tug desperately at him.
“Run!” You try at Gaz instead, but Gaz ignores you, ears pointed forward, alert and undeterred.
“WITCH!!”
It raises and snaps like a whip, crying out from the trees as a cluster of shadows walks through the trees, torches held aloft. The villagers stalk forward as one, filtering between the trembling trunks and twisted roots, further into the sanctuary of your glade. In their faces you see fury, betrayal, you see fear as they spot the wolves standing between you and them, expressions contorting into that of hatred.
“BURN THE WITCH!”
Your heart leaps into your throat, a scream threatening to burst from your lungs. There’s so many of them, guards, huntsmen, and villagers alike coalescing into a single mob intent on your own destruction.
And that of your friends.
They snarl in return, your wolves, barking and exposing their fangs for all to see. You can spot crossbows in the crowd, spears held aloft as the iron tips glint from the flames. You know they’ll embed themselves into the hides and pelts of your friends, and you will become awash in flame as the fallen forms of your wolves fall at your feet.
They’ll kill us all.
It’s that thought that pushes you forward, shoving you way past Soap and Gaz who stand protectively in front of you, snarling and bristled, seconds away from throwing themselves into the fray. You hear them yelp as you race forward, teeth snapping as they try to catch you by your cloak and drag you back to safety.
The villagers draw back, gasping and screaming as you plant yourself before them, arms spread wide to keep them from your pack just as an autumn wind curls itself about your form, lifting your cloak and parting the clouds so the moonlight streams down onto your shoulders.
“You are in MY woods.” You tell them, voice pitched low as the wind whistles and the treetops shiver above you. “You’ll take not one step further.”
There’s a hush over the crowd at that, at the promise of danger in the timbre of your voice, at the fire in your eyes. They look between each other, as if daring one another to be the first one to take a step forwards towards the witch who enchanted four monstrous beasts and brought devastation upon their homes.
Then, a voice from the crowd: “KILL THEM ALL!”
It startles one of the hunters at the front of the crowd, who lifts his crossbow and levies it straight for your throat.
And you, you remember the runes and sigils engraved into your home. You remember the magic you’ve woven into the soil you stand upon, into the very air that billows around you.
And, silently, you remember the first spell you ever learned.
“If I burn-” You murmur, hand outstretched as a low, simmering heat rapidly boils through your veins and threatens to ignite you from the inside out. “Then you burn too.”
All at once, the ground in between you and the mob erupts as a path of flame carves its way past your feet, cutting you off from the villagers in front of you. They scream, leaping away as flames lick at their boots, crying out in terror as the truth of your magic finally unveils itself with horrifying carnage.
“These wolves are under my protection!” You shout forth, hands extended as flames leap around you but offer no harm. “You will not harm them!”
Amidst the flames, amidst the gale that lifts the hem of your cape, amidst the glinting eyes and dripping fangs of your wolves behind you- you become the thing that they accuse you of. You become the thing from their nightmares, the one who brings devastation upon their land, who lays waste to the peace they’ve built atop the graves of your kind. You become the witch, who stands with the fire burning bright in her eyes, her hair wild in the wind and retribution clear in her furious gaze.
They scream, the villagers, falling over each other in their bid to escape from the encroaching fire. Weapons are discarded, shields left to singe within the blaze, and you watch as they flee away from you, away from your protected glade and the creatures who dwell within it.
When at last the remaining few grow distant into the trees, you feel the strength in your legs give way. Your knees hit the scorched earth, arms trembling with your weight as the draw of magic on your body saps away your vigor and leaves you panting and shivering.
It’s Ghost who comes to you first, offering a low, throaty grumble as he nudges you with his wet nose. You lean onto him, take his muzzle between your hands and stare into his golden eyes like you did once so long ago. It’s in his stare that you see the unspoken words he cannot say, but find you all the same.
You climb atop his broad shoulders, and give one last look to your cottage with its sigils and runes engraved into the beams, with the herbs planted in the garden and hung from the rafters. And you know that by leaving it, so too do you leave the person you pretended to be.
The four of you travel deep into the woods, with the knotted knells and twisted roots of ancient oaks. Further still do you travel up into the hills, where heather grows between the rocky slopes and you traverse paths made not by man, but by creature alone. Up into the mountains you pause to take in the rising sun that spills crimson across the snow-white peaks. It’s there that the four of you rest, and you curl into the forms of the wolves you’ve come to love- the wolves you plan to keep.
It’s there, surrounded on all sides by the scent of musk and fur, that you dream of them at last.
You see them, each of them with their own smiles and faces. You hear the sound of their laughter in distant twilight, and their voices soft with a tenderness you can scarcely comprehend. You move as one, as if you’ve memorized the maps of each other's bodies long ago. You know the sensation of every touch, every voice, every noise and breath against you. You know their desires even in the silence, drawing them into you like you’re the kindling to their flame. Lips kiss at your feet, your thighs, the flesh of your stomach and against your closed eyes.
They draw forth your pleasure with gasping kisses and the deep, pushing rolls of their hips. Even in dreams you feel them spread you open, take apart all your inner lacings so nothing is left but your own desire gushing forth. You feel the touch of their hands as they grasp a leg to lift it higher, as they grasp your waist to keep you flush against them. You feel their breath fan across your folds with a whisper of their reverence, and you know just how much you are wanted.
They speak to you in words you can’t yet hear, but you watch their lips form your name over and over, as if it’s a prayer they speak unto the glittering heavens.
In your sleep, you at last, at last, speak their own names for the first time.
The voices become clearer as wakefulness slowly rouses you, slipping between your thoughts like sounds beneath the surface of a lake.
“Should we wake her?”
“No, let her sleep.”
“Ye ken, I’ve always wanted to say this but- she’s so soft when she’s asleep.”
“Mind yourself, Soap. Don’t get any ideas.”
You eventually come to with a groggy sort of whine, extending your frigid limbs to stretch- only to find that the furs and manes that surrounded you the night prior are replaced instead by a tangle of very solid, very naked, very human limbs.
Any remaining semblance of sleep fades in an instant as you jolt wide awake, a gasp upon your lips and ready to defend yourself if need be. Instead, a gentle hand catches your wrist and keeps you where you lay. You freeze automatically if only because the touch itself feels so...familiar.
You blink, turning towards the owner of the hand, eyes wide and lips parted as you meet a familiar set of soft, soulful brown eyes.
“...Gaz?”
Oh. When he smiles, it feels like a sunrise.
“Kyle.” He tells you softly, and presses a chaste kiss to the back of your knuckles. “Or at least that’s what you said in your sleep, doll.”
You blink at him, a thousand questions on your tongue before you’re interrupted by a chin tucking over your shoulder.
“Aye, and he’s not the only one.” A brawny pair of arms wraps around your middle, dragging you back into a firm, warm mass of a body. “Said my name too, Bonnie.”
You know his voice even without looking at his lightening blue stare. “Soap.” You breathe. “How...?”
“Seems you broke our curse, love.” You look up to realize your head is resting on a warm, hairy thigh, connected above to a pair of heart-achingly gentle eyes and furrowed brow.
“Took you long enough.” Another body grumbles, tucking in behind Johnny and slinging a massive, tattooed arm over you both.
“Simon.” Price warns, but Simon only chuckles, warm and fond and oh how it fills an aching corner of your soul you never quite realized was empty.
“You- you’re all human.” You whisper in awe, sitting up on your elbows and turning to look at each face individually for the first time. “I thought-”
“We thought so too.” Gaz interrupts gently, stroking a hand down your shoulder. “We all pretty much resigned ourselves to stay wolves forever after we were cursed.”
Cursed?
Price can see the question in your eyes, breathing a heavy sigh before adjusting the both of you so you can face him better. His large, calloused hands wrap gently around your frame, scooping you up so you balance on his lap and stare into his steel blue eyes.
“We stumbled upon a coven, years ago.” Price tells you. “Hunted on their land without permission, and incurred their wrath as a result. Several of the witches put a hex upon us.”
“They said we’d remain as wolves until we found our mate, until she said our real names.” Soap pipes up, arms crossed under him and head propped up to look at you.
“Then I...” You whisper, looking from him to Price. “I broke it. I broke the curse.”
Price’s smile is soft, achingly tender, and you feel as if you could curl up inside it like a ray of sunshine, basking in its glow until the sun goes down. When you turn to look at the others, you see in their eyes too- the same expressions you saw in your dreams. Endlessly doting, reverent, and full of love.
“Then...” You whisper breathlessly as the true meaning of Soap’s words wash upon you with blessed, endlessly hopeful realization. “Then I’m-”
“Our mate.” Gaz offers, and leans so that his head rests upon your lap, staring up into your eyes with his own, soulful brown gaze.
Oh.
Words escape you. What is there to say? You’ve been so lost for so long, staring out the windows of your cottage and praying for a day like this to come- for someone to come and take you away to a place where you are endlessly cherished and adored for all you are. Now that day has come, and it’s come in the form of not one, but four beings you’ve come to cherish inside your own heart.
“That’s why you never left.” You realize aloud. “Why you stayed.”
“We’ll stay as long as you keep us, pet.” Ghost offers, solemn and sincere.
“We want to stay.” Soap adds quickly. “We- we talked about giving you our mark to prove it.”
“Only if you want it.” Gaz interjects.
“A mark?” You ask, trying to recall what your grimoires had to say about werewolves and whatever the men around you seem to be referencing, recalling with a sudden flash of realization. “Oh.”
“A mating bite.” Price clarifies to your wide-eyed gaze. “From all of us.”
Soap seems to recognize your confusion, because he scoots a little closer, if only to look up directly into your face.
“We’re a pack, bonnie. We’ve been bonded for a while but...it never felt complete until we found ye.”
Emotion floods through you, a deep wash of sensation so fierce it makes your chest tighten and a sob curl in your throat. The loneliness, the grief, the isolation and even the fragile hope- it all seems to coalesce into a single, unnamed emotion that has you reaching for them- for the men you’ve come to love.
Their arms settle around you, hushing and cooing as you cry openly into their bare forms. Loud, sobbing hiccups and cries break down the crumbling walls inside you, releasing a torrent of endless tenderness and an emotion you’ve come now to understand is love.
“I didn’t know where I belonged until I met you.” You weep, fat tears rolling down your face as Gaz tenderly smears them across your cheeks. “I-I’ve been alone for so long-”
“You never have to be alone again.” Price murmurs into your hair. “Not with us, love.”
It feels like magic, you think. It feels like the freedom of something trapped within you for so long, fragile and waiting to spread its wings. The years of being alone slowly lift from you with each sob, and with each shuddering sigh they dissipate into the frosty air, up into the clouds. The forms of the men around you warm you through, imbibe in you a fathomless sort of hope to which there is no end.
They hold you, they keep you, they whisper loving praises onto your skin and lips. In the light of dawn you descend into further unknown valleys, and build there the home you’ve always dreamt of. Under moonlight you race with them through the trees, you awake with them in your bed, you forget all your fears and sorrows and feel your magic woven into every breath, every smile, every laugh of joy.
