ahh i was going to wait until christmas eve to post this, but i got to excited once i finished it !! with great pleasure, i gift this christmas fic to @pharmacykeys !! ahh i hope you enjoy and have a very happy holiday season fem!reader x bo sinclair on christmas eve. and of course some domestic sinclairs content because i cant resist. this is a long one warning for smut.
You could have sworn that time moved differently in Ambrose. No sooner had the leaves started turning brown and drifting sadly from the trees, was the frost settling in every morning. And then, before you knew it, it was nearly Christmas and you’d done nothing to prepare.
It had taken you literally going into the next town over with Bo on a supply run for you to even realise the festive season had arrived. Strings of fair lights lined shopfronts and Christmas music was playing in every goddamn store you walked into.
“Wait,” you said, looking around somewhat bewildered, “Wait, what’s the date?”
Bo shrugs, “How should I know?” But he routes through the pocket of his work trousers and pulls out a quarter for the newspaper rack. He pulls out the paper and looks for the date, “December 21st.”
“The 21st?” you repeat, aghast. No way was it nearly Christmas. How could it be nearly Christmas and you hadn’t even noticed? “We haven’t even decorated the house or bought – bought any food or,” you miss a beat in realisation, “We don’t have any presents!”
Bo was looking less than impressed as he tried to keep walking up the sidewalk, but you kept stopping in horror each time you realised something else you hadn’t done.
“Look, darlin’, we don’t really ‘do’ Christmas, or any of that crap,” he insists, grabbing your elbow to get you to keep walking. He had a to-do-list today and he didn’t want to be away from town any longer than he had to be.
“Aw, Bo, c’mon! We have to do something,” you complain, but follow him anyway, “I love Christmas! Please, can’t we do something?”
Bo grumbles, not wanting to have this argument right now. Christmas hadn’t been particularly awful for him as a kid, him and his brothers actually did pretty well, but there was always a tension simmering just below the festive façade his family put on that unnerved him. There was too much possibility of something going wrong for his liking.
“Look,” you persist, “I’ll sort it all, you don’t even have to lift a finger. If you let me sort it now while you’re getting the regular supplies then I’ll be finished before we have to start heading home. Deal?”
You look up at him hopefully. You see something cross his face, but you’re not sure what it is.
He hesitates before answering. “Fine.” He goes for his wallet, taking out one of two twenty-dollar bills that is in there.
“Thank you!” you squeal, kissing him on the cheek and practically hopping around as he hands you the money.
“We have a tree and decorations and shit back home, I’ll get ‘em outta the basement if you really want ‘em, so don’t go wastin’ that money. Meet me back at the truck at 4. You come even 1 minute late and there’ll be hell to pay, you hear?”
“Message received and understood,” you nodded firmly, before disappearing back down the sidewalk.
Bo watches you for as long as it takes for you to be absorbed by the crowd. He’s really started to regret letting you go off alone.
*
The ride home is probably more fun for you than it is for Bo. You chatter relentlessly about all your favourite things about the festive season and what you used to do as a kid and how the house will look so nice all decorated. Bo, to his credit, listens to you, nodding at appropriate times, but mostly focussing on the road ahead.
*
Despite your excitement, your festive plans are put even further on hold by an unexpected arrival. It took a few days for the atmosphere in town to calm down enough and for Vincent to finish up his new project before you could herd everyone into one place and force them to start enjoying themselves. By then it was December 24th. Christmas Eve.
“Okay,” you start, pacing around the family room in front of the twins who sit sullenly on the couch. You try to give your voice as much authority as possible because that was the only way you got taken seriously around here, “Here’s what’s happening: you two are getting the tree and decorations from the basement, Lester said he’ll be here in a half with the turkey and I will create some –,” you search for the right word, “atmosphere, in here.”
“Alright, Lil’ Miss Bossy,” Bo says. It sounds like he’s complaining but the way he gets up anyway lets you know that he doesn’t mind too much. If he was honest, he’d say he was even a little bit excited. Sure, he didn’t trust for the whole thing not to devolve into a fight (like it so often did when he was a kid), but for now he tried to trick himself. Trick himself into think that maybe, with you in charge, Christmas wouldn’t be too bad.
He tilts his head at his twin and Vincent gets up to follow him down to the tunnels.
You settle down on the recently vacated couch, picking up the stack of cassette tapes you’d located at the back of the video cupboard. Best Christmas Song Compilation. Festive Party Songs. Christmas Hits. So many to choose from, you thought, giggling with excitement.
As you took out one of the tapes and inserted it into the old tape player on the side table, you glanced at your phone, checking to make sure Lester hadn’t text saying a disaster had befallen him.
(The conversation with Lester regarding the turkey had gone something like this:
“Hey, we’re going to have Christmas dinner this year, you’ll come right?”
“Christmas? I dunno, what did Bo say?”
“He’s fine with it, he agreed! It was practically his idea. [Lord forgive you for a little white lie]. So, you’ll come, won’t you, Les?”
“Sure,” you hear the smile break across his face, “Sure, sounds good!”
“Oh, just one thing though,” you add, sweetly, before he hangs up.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think you could get a turkey from somewhere?” Then, quickly adding, “Preferably not one that’s been hit by a 16-wheeler.”
That gets a laugh out of him; a short, surprised one, like a dog bark. “Sure, I think I know a guy that knows a guy who has a turkey farm.”
You don’t question this. “Thanks, you can bring it round on Christmas Eve? And stay the night, if you like.”
“I’ll see you there.”)
Comfortable in the knowledge that Lester had hopefully snagged a turkey from somewhere, you relaxed again, humming along to the first Christmas song that started playing.
Looking around, you realised something was missing. Whistling lowly, you strained to try and hear Jonesy’s feet pattering. She must have gone down to the basement with Vincent, hopefully she wasn’t getting in the way.
It took a while (you supposed if the boys never really ‘did’ Christmas, like Bo had said, then the tree and decorations must be pretty deeply buried amongst the rest of the junk in the tunnels) but eventually you heard a commotion and you wandered down the hall and towards the study.
Before you even opened the door you could hear Bo yelling and cursing under his breath. When you walking in, you tried to stifle your laugh but it was no use. Bo was trying to drag the tree up through the hatch whilst, you could only guess, Vincent was trying to push it up from beneath.
Bo turns to you and snaps, “And what’s so goddamn funny?”
You press your lips together tightly but it doesn’t stop your shoulder shaking with laughter. “I’m not laughing, see, not laughing,” you manage.
“Like hell you’re not,” Bo grumbles, but lets it go in favour of returning to his attempts to heave the tree up through the trap door. “Vincent you’re not even trying,” he complains, even though you all know Vincent is far stronger than Bo likes to pretend.
The movement from below stops and you hear a rustling amongst the branches. Your laughter is kickstarted when you see Vincent’s calloused hand squeeze up through the trap door and flip Bo off.
After a long while of pushing and shoving and heaving, and a lot of complaining (though when did the twins do anything together and not complain about it every spare second), the tree, along with the few boxes of decoration, was out of the tunnel and situated in the family room, positioned under your expert direction.
“Now, this is the fun part!” you clap happily, beginning to rifle through the boxes. You pull out strings of fairy-lights and garlands of tinsel. Plastic baubles and evergreen wreaths. At the very bottom of one of the boxes, you find a smaller box, an old cookie tin. It took some prying but you managed to open it, finding inside a nest of smaller, much more intricate wax baubles.
You look over at Vincent, “Vince,” you hold up one of the ornaments, a turtle dove, “Did you make these?”
Both of them look over at you from where they’re sat on the floor. There’s something childish about the way they’re slowly pawing at the decorations as you take them out of the box. They silently bicker over holding one decoration or another, things passed between them as they start to remember the baubles that they’d been most attached too as children.
Vincent shakes his head, hesitating for a moment before signing, “Momma made those, back when we were babies.”
You nodded in response, “You could make more, there’ll be enough room for new ones, I think.”
He shrugs, “Maybe.”
You let it go.
There’s a rapid knocking at the door and you start in surprise. It must be Lester; you leave the twins to poke through the decorations some more and run for the door.
“Lester!” you greet him, pulling him into a hug while dodging the huge turkey he held by his side.
“Happy Christmas,” he smiles, “Well, almost.”
“Happy Christmas!” you gesture towards the turkey, “Thanks for bringing this!”
“No problem, got it cheap off a guy.” You don’t question this.
“Come on in, the twins are in a mood with each other after a tree debacle, go and cheer them up, would you?”
“Annoy them more is more like it,” he shrugs, though he’s still smiling.
You do your best hostess impression and usher him in. He diverts into the kitchen to leave the turkey in the fridge, you’d cleared space for it especially but just looking at it you knew it was going to be a tight squeeze. At least you’d be taking it out later to start cooking.
When you go back to the family room, Bo and Vincent have made a start on decorating the tree. Vincent was trying to be careful, while Bo was half-heartedly draping some tinsel around the crooked green branches.
With the music still playing quietly in the background, someone must have turned it down while you were gone, you sway up behind Bo. “You’re doing a good job,” you say, trying to be encouraging.
He’d never admit it, but he liked the praise you gave him. Contrary to that, he muttered, “I ain’t a kid, I don’t need complimentin’ on every lil’ thing.”
“I know,” you shrug, arms circling his waist as you press your nose into the fleece he was wearing. His grandad fleece as you so often teased him.
Maybe you were just imagining it, but a soft air seemed to be spreading through the house, lulling you all into a content silence.
This was momentarily broken when Lester reappeared from the kitchen, a can of beer in his hand. “Merry Christmas!”
“It’s not Christmas yet,” Bo scolds, but the harsh tone of his voice is put on, and all of you know it. Bo just doesn’t like to admit when he’s having a good time.
Lester laughs him off anyway and starts root through the musty card board boxes, looking for anything that hadn’t already been claimed by the twins.
Things were going well. Surprisingly well, you might even say.
Bo seems relaxed enough in your arms, his own fingers working to string up one tinsel garland after another that you take a chance and let go of him, going over to the tape deck to turn the volume back up. The next song that comes on is terrible, a cheesy old Christmas song that played nonstop during every festive period of your childhood. It was also your favourite Christmas song.
You try not to squeal out loud, holding back only so much as to not start singing, but you sway happily to the tune, your hips swinging as you look around for the decorations that you’d put aside for yourself. Assured that everyone seemed content to get on with their own decorating, you hung your first baubles on the Sinclair Christmas tree.
*
It takes a few hours, all in all, to finish up. Between singing along with the Christmas music you were in full control of (you’re attempts to hold back going out of the window half way through your favourite song) and taking breaks to force Bo to dance with you, much to the amusements of his brothers, you managed to decorate the tree pretty well, and spruce up the rest of the family room into something festive enough for your liking. Standing back to admire your handy work, you clap happily.
“Great job, boys,” you jokingly praise them. A silly gesture, but they can’t help but feel just a little bit proud about actually doing something nice together for once, without it dissolving into bickering.
Bo has already left for the kitchen, coming back with an armful of beers. He passes them around before settling down on the couch. He takes the middle seat, with you on his left and Vince on his right. Lester, cracks his beer open, sitting down cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch. He was the youngest, after all, and had long since resigned himself to the floor when all other seats were taken. He doesn’t mind anyway, he tells you, the first time you had noticed him taking a seat on the floor.
With all your decorating done, you sink contently into Bo’s side. He’s warm and solid and safe and you wonder how you ever felt at home without him. Without any of them.
Bo flicks the TV on and searches the channels until he settles on something. Something he is certain enough wont start an argument.
As the time passes, you see Vincent start to fall asleep at the other end of the couch, his head dropping to his chest now and then before he jolts awake again. You can tell that Bo has noticed too, his eyes darting over to Vincent every time he jolts.
Eventually Bo must start feeling for his twin and he nudges him with a soft elbow. “Vince, go to bed would you? You’re just gonna keep fallin’ asleep on me.”
Vincent looks up blearily, glaring at both at Bo and at you, who leant forward to see past Bo.
“I’m not even tired,” he insisted, though his hands were slow and he still made to get up, uncurling the leg he had tucked beneath him.
“Sure you ain’t,” Lester piped up, but he wasn’t in any position to talk. Even if he hadn’t fallen asleep yet, he was close to it. You could only imagine what time he’d been up that morning, working his last shift before getting Christmas day off.
Vincent stood and shook his can of beer to double check that it was empty before heading off to the kitchen on his way upstairs. He turned to sleepily sign, “Night.”
Lester doesn’t reply, he’s fallen asleep, even after his teasing.
“G’night,” you and Bo reply.
Then just signing, Bo adds briefly, “I love you.”
Vincent nods, repeating the gesture before going upstairs.
Lester leaves not too long after, stumbling just slightly when he stands up. You hold back a giggle. Bo doesn’t, laughing even as his arm shoots out to catch Lester if he really did fall. He pulls his arm back just as quickly when he knows Lester has righted himself.
*
For a while, you and Bo sit in silence, his arm around your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles on the flesh of your arm.
Slowly, like you don’t want to startle him, your hand drifts across his chest, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his fleece.
“You getting ideas?” he asks, his large hand, the one not squeezing at you, comes up to cover yours, detaching you from his zipper to lace his fingers through yours.
“Might be,” you smirk, you pull your knee up higher, draping it over Bo’s lap so you can lean into him more fully. You’re feeling restless. The wait on Christmas Eve, on the cusp of Christmas day was always excruciating. Much to your delight, when you glanced at the carriage clock on the mantlepiece, you saw it had just hit midnight. Midnight. Christmas day.
Your hand still twined with Bo’s calloused one, you gestured at the time. “Happy Christmas, Bo.”
His smirk mellowed into a more genuine smile, a soft one like he only gave in the early mornings or late nights. “Merry Christmas, angel.”
“Do you want your present now?” you ask coyly. Bo knows exactly what the look on your face means and he hates being teased.
“If it is what I think it is, then definitely,” the arm around your shoulders pulls back until his hand is brushing you’re the back of your neck. His grip tightens only slightly and he pulls you in for a kiss.
He starts slow, because everything around him feels slow. Your soft hand in his and your warm body pressing into him. He doesn’t know how he got things so good. Its all coming up roses for Bo Sinclair, you’re your hot lips on his and you’re practically climbing into his lap.
His hands follow your movements, falling to your hips as he slouches down in his seat, gripping you tightly as if you might be going somewhere.
Soon enough, you don’t want it so slow anymore, your hands leave his chest you fumble with the hem of your sweater.
Sure, he thought some lovin’ was his Christmas present, but every present needed a ribbon on top.
At first he doesn’t notice, so insistent he is to return his lips to yours, but when he feels up your waist, over your tits, he pulls back.
Beneath his hands, you’re covered in red lace.
His for-once soft features twisted beautifully into a smirk. He stretched his fingers out over your tits, both thumbs over your nipples as they hardened from the touch. Moving further down, he tugged at the waistband of your pjamas, snapping the elastic against your skin. You yelp; you would have been annoyed, scolded him even, if you weren’t so insistent of him seeing what was underneath.
He pulled your pjamas down as far as he could with you still in his lap. Enough to see the red lace dip down between your legs.
“Lemme see you, darlin’” he patted your thighs, pushing his hips up to make you stand. Quickly you did as he wanted, stripping down to just the red bodysuit you had bought when you were last in town. Twenty dollars could go a long way when you needed it to. You point your toes, stretching up and posing for him. You almost get the giggles at how entranced he is with you, following the
“Oh angel, aren’t you just a perfect lil’ present…” he coos, reaching for your hand to pull you back to him, making you straddle his lap once more. “And all mine.” His lips dance over yours before dropping lower, teeth and tongue tracing your neck before latching onto skin, sucking. He was going to leave a hickey; you just knew it.
At that, you let out a whimper, he always knew exactly what to say – exactly what to do – to get you going.
“All yours,” you return, fingers gripping his fleece as you pulled him into another kiss. Hot and needy when you’d once been slow and savouring.
Before you can even think about it, he’s rolling you over, your back against the worn couch cushions and his weight pressing between your legs.
Keening into him, you moan again, his thigh firm as you try to grind into him.
He chuckles lowly, letting you writhe for a moment before sitting up, leaving you cold while he pulls his fleece over his head. Making yourself useful, you think, your hands go to his waistband, undoing the fly of his jeans and he shucks them off, as quick as he can without standing up.
He drops back down over you, fingers slipping beneath the lace to press against you. Your hips stutter and he slides through your wetness.
You don’t need to hold back, everyone else in the house is asleep, but you try to anyway. You kiss across his chest to give your mouth something else to do. Kisses turn into bites, which turn into your soothing tongue lapping at the bruises you leave behind.
“Bo, please,” you plead, “D-Don’t you want your present?” You hope the question will provoke him enough to get down to it, to finally give you what you want.
He just chuckles again, “Is this my present, or yours?”
“Yours.” His thumb works your clit and you can barely give your answer before your breath catches in your throat.
“That’s what I thought.” But he removes his hand, leaving you empty, as he pulls down his underwear and lines up against you.
You can stop the sigh of relief that leaves you as he pushes in, sliding in like you were made for him, before you whimper, feeling the stretch as he lets you settle around him. Whilst he waits for you, his hands, long fingers and rough palms, drifts to your neck. A pressure, just slight, against your skin. Your breath hitches, whether from the feeling of his cock inside you or his hand on your throat, you can’t tell anymore.
His hips twitch every time you clench around him, twitching until he builds up a rhythm. The thrusts start shallow and slow, building and building until he’s ponding you into the couch, his hand tightening around your neck, your legs tighter around his waist.
You never want this to end, Bo’s warm panting in your ear, his hands on you. Hands that can hurt but never do.
You don’t realise you’re over the edge until your already there. It feels like falling and his hand release your throat as you gasp for air, hips shaking with want even though you’ve already got it. Already got everything you might ever want. You’ve got Bo.
He shudders when he comes, a low groan in your ear and suddenly, everything is still. He rests against your chest, palming the soft flesh absentmindedly.
“I think I won present giving this year, don’t you?” you mumbled, combing a hand through his sweat-damp hair.
He shrugs, but you can see the smile tug at his lip, “Well, I was the one givin’ really, wasn’t I?”
You lean down enough to press a kiss to his temple, your thighs tightening around him, in an embrace this time.
You’d have to go up to bed soon, but for now you watch as the fairy lights twinkle on the tree and the house settles for the night with a happy family inside.
here it is! my contribution to the bnharem Baku Collab.I hope you don’t hate it. Check out the masterlist for some other great Baku fics.
k. bakugou x f!reader
warnings: 18+, idiots to lovers, there was only one bed, pro hero AU swearing (of course) excessive use of the word grumpus, alcohol consumption, jealousy, unprotected sex, choking, terrible communication skills, mm sacrilege a little bit
word count: 5.8K
“Hey!”
You felt warm hands shaking your legs to jostle you awake. “Wake up brat, we’re here.” your eyes slowly started to peak open, recognizing the gruff voice.
It was Katsu of course. It was just you two on the private jet aside from the crew. You see, there was a conference on I-Island, every year. And, every year it was a hassle to get Katuski to show up. So, him bumming a ride on your privately owned jet was mostly just a bribe, a means to get him to the conference peacefully. Bakugou Katsuki was your best friend, and you were his, though he’d never say it out loud. This of course, to everyone else that knew him, made him your personal responsibility. It was a load of crap, but you didn’t mind it really.
You yawned, looking out the window of the jet to confirm that you had indeed landed.
Jamie finally managed, with bleary eyes, to look up at the mirror above the bathroom counter.
They were met with pupils as white as snow and irises the color of butterflies.
-
This was inspired by @weekend-whip’s Legacyverse au! I’ve been inserting my OC into that universe and noticed a cool detail about how elemental mastery is passed on, and I wanted to write about Jamie and his sister, Lynda!
(As always, click for a surprise.)
-
Lynda was born with pale yellow eyes, just like her father before her and his father before him. They shared the same white pupils that defied all logic and all of the tests that doctors put them through. Yellow eyes were one thing. Many people had some bright shade for irises. Somehow, her family was different.
Her brother was brought into her life at age eight, pushed into the arms of her Aunt and Uncle whom she had lived with since she was eight because her parents were too busy to take care of her. They said he was an accident. They said they would visit soon.
They left her a baby, barely a year old, with bright, blue eyes and black pupils.
His name was Jamison Collin Myers, and Lynda vowed to give him a good life.
-
Lynda figured out early on that their parents were the absent, busy type. They made promises to visit but never kept them- but that was alright. She didn’t need them. She would accept her impressive allowance and spend it on toys and treats and anything she could get her hands on to spoil her little brother rotten. Their Aunt and Uncle were more of a home than the massive white walls of the mansion her parents owned and she rarely got to see. Their little apartment in Aster city was cozy and had a little yard where Lynda would spend hours playing with her baby brother.
She called him Jamie. Jamison was too fancy for a bright-eyed blond boy who crawled in the mud to look for bugs. He showed them to her and she would look them up so they could learn about it together. He roped her into making mud-pies and exploring in the forest close to home. He was six now. She was twelve.
They were the best of friends.
-
She had only just broken up with her boyfriend, realizing that she didn’t need someone to be valid, and then there was a bright flash of yellow. She didn’t know how she got into the bathroom. She had never taken a step. She hadn’t even meant to look in the mirror, but when she did, she had to choke down a scream.
Lynda’s eyes were a vibrant yellow, more so than her father’s had ever been. Her pupils were a dark brown like fresh soil. Why had they changed? What had happened to her? What was the bright light- how did she get here?
Lynda was scared, but she didn’t scream. She wouldn’t want to wake her baby brother, after all.
-
Lynda was eighteen when she ran away.
She was confused and lost. The distance seemed so much closer and space so much farther away. She found herself in a shifting in-between and then in a place entirely new. Everything was bright yellow. Yellow like her eyes. Yellow like her hair.
She didn’t leave a note. She couldn’t leave a note. It would be better for her to be a sweet memory to him rather than a hopelessly lost cause. Maybe he would think she was coming back. She was coming back, after a bit of soul searching and researching for answers.
The window opened silently, and with a sad smile, she ducked out of the bathroom and into the trees, lit by the afternoon sun.
-
Lynda was barely nineteen when she found him.
Or more accurately, he found her. He was a kind, old man who explained to her exactly what she was. She controlled an element, an outlier one at that. She found it ironic that the distance between her and those she loved was what caused her the most pain, yet her element was distance- her element was the Space between them.
The man offered to teach her in the ways of spinjitzu, of the ninja, as he had already taken on three pupils of his own. She would become stronger, and be able to control the rips through space that she tore.
Lynda declined.
She couldn’t afford to get attached to anyone else. Not when it broke her heart like this.
-
Lynda was almost twenty-one when she died.
She didn’t know how Wu managed to find her. Perhaps he was simply talented in an element that allowed him to chart her course through the Western Sea Of Sand. She had traveled a long way from Astor city. The homesickness was starting to make her physicallysick.
She had learned how to fight on her own. She utilized throwing weapons and the rifts in space to defend against the Skulkin and Shark armies. Her Chakrams were as sharp as her will and as deadly as her aim. She floated like the yellow butterfly that symbolized her element, yet stung like a wasp in anger.
Wu asked her to keep an eye out. She was the only capable Elemental Master in the area, and a child- his nephew- had opened the Anacondrai tomb nearby. He told her not to approach, but to simply alert him if she saw movement.
Lynda had never taken on a snake before, but she felt capable.
She had done everything correctly. The boy and the snake were taking refuge in the Forest of Tranquility while they planned. Lynda made her way there, light on her feet and quick in her pace. It was getting darker with the setting sun, and her footsteps grew noisy with the crunch of autumn leaves. The trees cast shadows that hid anything lurking in their roots.
It didn’t need to hide, though.
It was a losing battle, but Lynda was used to failure. She was knocked to the ground by a force she could not see. When she stood, claws slashed her cheek- her arm, then her thigh and side. It burned like acid rain. She was powerless against the assault. She couldn’t open her rifts before her hands were bound to her side by something thick and heavy and scaled.
The ground scratched her irritated wounds when she was thrown into it chest first. Lynda couldn’t stop the wail of pain that ripped from her chest.
“My, my,” a voice akin to rotten honey whispered above her with a hiss, “What do we have here?”
Lynda turned her cheek to the ground in time to see the space above her shimmer like a wave of hot air. It started with the huge tail that pinned her down, purple and decorated with ornate black patterning that wrapped around her torso and pressed her palms to her chest. The shimmer traveled upwards. Lynda had to strain her neck to follow the ripple in the air as it revealed the very same Anacondrai she had been tracking. His neck was the length of her leg. His jaws were large enough to swallow her whole. His eyes held a madness that could only be cultured in the depths of the earth where he had resided for years upon years. One that could only be found in the souls of immorality and killers.
Lynda’s name meant serpent. The irony was stifling.
He hissed and leaned his head down to speak in her ear. It was revolting, “Aw, giving up already, are we?”
With her hands pinned to her chest, she couldn’t open a rift. Not without splitting herself like the space she tore through.
Lynda knew there would be no escape. She could hear the grumble in the serpent’s stomach. He would not kill her just because he was hungry, no. He would kill her because there were no limits to his immoral ways. The last Anacondrai, Wu said. Something must have killed the others. Something must have eaten the others.
“It’s been so long since my last meal.” She squirmed as the snake spoke in her ear, “My brothers couldn’t sustain me for long, and the child doesn’t have enough meat on his bones for my liking.” A chill went down her spine, and surely he must have felt it, “You, however, will make a delectable snack.”
Cannibal. The madness in his eyes showed a soul that would stop at nothing for personal gain, not even crimes of the highest degree.
Now, thought Lynda as the serpent’s jaws opened wide, she wished she hadn’t run away. She wished she wasn’t so scared of herself all those years ago. She wished she never grew independent- that the bright yellow light never lit up her room that fateful afternoon.
She wished she could see Jamie again. Her little brother must be twelve, maybe thirteen. She couldn’t remember what day it was, with how long she had spent out here. Had his birthday passed? He must have so many friends by now. Jamie had always been a bubbly, kind child. How could he not be the life of the party?
He must hate her- for leaving. He must hate her even more for leaving him behind without a note or a memoir, without a way to know if she was even still a part of this world or if the departed realm had taken her away.
She should have left him something.
And so, with her final breath, Lynda sneered at the snake’s fangs on her temple and opened her soul to tug at the heartstring she had left untouched for all those years. It would be severed soon, but before it did, she plucked a mournful note, and sent a part of herself down the line.
She hoped it would be enough to fill the space left by the broken heartstring in his chest.
And so, with her final breath, Lynda sneered at the snake’s fangs on her temple and opened her soul to tug at the heartstring she had left untouched for all those years. It would be severed soon, but before it was, she plucked a mournful note, and sent a part of herself down the line.
Lynda was almost twenty-one when she died in the belly of that beast, but she would not go quietly. She was much too proud for that.
She died with a burst of fluttering wings.
-
Jamie was twelve when he lost everything.
He had come home from school to tell Lynda about how he scratched himself climbing a tree to get a toy for a younger kid. She still lived with their aunt and uncle because she wanted to be close to her little sibling. It made Jamie feel special. It made him feel wanted. It made the pull at his heartstrings play a comforting tune.
Jamie wondered why the connection felt so taunt today.
He got to her room and rushed in as he always did, babbling away, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in the bathroom. She wasn’t in the kitchen, the backyard, the garage, the attic- He waited and waited and waited but dinner passed, day turned into night, yet she had yet to come home. His parents, his aunt and uncle, and their friends all put up missing person posters and Lynda’s friends called every police station that would listen.
They searched for months. They never found her.
Jamie wasn’t the same after that. Would anyone be, after losing the person they held the closest? He was as sour and bitter as a lemon and shut out anyone who came close. He couldn’t figure out why it made his chest so much to push them away.
The once comforting tune turned dissonant.
-
Jamie was thirteen when he grew out of it.
His teachers commented on how lively he was. He made friends easily and did well in his classes. The close friendships filled in the missing pieces to his symphony. His heartstrings thrummed a more excitable tune. He was sentimental to a fault and held onto everything as a reminder that he was loved- that they cared for him, because surely Lynda must not have loved him if she left without a note or a goodbye. Her melody was angry, now.
He took up photography after being gifted a camera by one of his favorite teachers. A way to record the things he loved and the beauty in the world that flowed through every living being. In the bustling city streets- the clouds in funny shapes and the red-gold sunset, nothing was left unseen. He had a particular love of the color yellow, and the butterflies that bore the color. They took a majority of his camera roll.
Jamie was thirteen when their uncle died. He had a brain tumor that left him unable to recognize his family, yet he still held their hands and said he loved them as he faded. That’s when Jamie started to hold on tighter than ever. As a result of all their loss- their parents never being around, their sister leaving and never coming back, their uncle being pried away from them- Jamie kept everything they cared about close to their chest and didn’t let go. The people Jamie used to call friends spoke about them behind his back. They called them clingy. They called them an attention seeker who wanted special treatment for their special pronouns. They called them needy and annoying for wanting reassurance and quality time.
It hurt. It hurt so badly when their attempts to keep them close only pushed them away. Joy was hard to keep when all they heard was mourning. Perhaps that’s why they withdrew once more, despite the agony in their chest. They couldn’t trust anyone with their heart anymore. They would only be ripped away.
Their heartstrings were out of tune. Each note rang sharp. Jamie feared the day they would eventually snap.
-
Jamie was fourteen when the nightmares began.
It was evening, yet still bright. Somehow, they knew he was on the edge of the Forest of Tranquility, bordering the Western Sea of Sands. They had never been there before. The sharp leaves hurt their feet.
She was there, laying with twigs and dirt in her greasy blond hair and a torn uniform padded with armor. Circular weapons hung at her hips (when had she learned to fight?) and scars decorated her arms. Her lips were chapped, her skin marred with blood. Her eyes, once filled with life and the color of sunshine and lemon squares were dull with pain. When had her pupils darkened like that? When had the yellow grown deeper? If it were not for their relationship, Jamie doubted he would recognize his big sister.
Then he saw the snake. No, not a small, harmless garden viper. Serpentine. Anacondrai.
He- at least, Jamie assumed it was a he- whispered sickly sweet words to her as his jaws crept ever closer to her head. No matter how much he tried, Jamie could not move. He couldn’t stop it. He could not prevent the sharp pierce of fangs to her head.
When Lynda screamed, it was not air that left her lungs.
It was butterflies.
Their glossy yellow wings were stained with a deep red that bubbled from her throat. There were so many of them. A swarm had been trapped in her chest and her voice set them free. They swirled and fluttered in a dizzying dance. The snake fell back but did not release his hold on her. He squeezed her and told her to be quiet. The purple coils tightened around her chest.
Lynda did not listen. She convulsed, she cried gleaming white tears, and she gasped for air that would not come.
The beast finally let go and hid his face, for the butterflies were sharp and large in number. They were a squall, a storm big enough to destroy houses- to move mountains.
Jamie screamed. He tried to scream, but he choked on glossy yellow wings. The swarm was storming around him in a hurricane of sunlight and marigolds. He choked on butterflies that flew into his mouth. Jamie knew she had given them to him. They flew into his chest and buried themselves in his lungs. Lynda had given him the swarm of burning yellow and red. Why? Why would she choke him too?
Jamie awoke with his hands around his throat.
They gagged. The butterflies were still choking him, they were so sure of it, but standing over the sink and coughing until he couldn’t breathe didn’t reveal any hidden wings. There was so blood, no trace of his dream other than the tightness in his chest and the snapped heartstring that coiled right next to his uncle’s.
Everything was so vivid. Everything was so loud, even if it was quiet. The walls around him hummed a low tune. The water in the pipes shot staccato notes like the beat of a snare. Jamie had never learned to play an instrument other than the strings in his chest, yet around him blared a deafening symphony.
They shook and shivered as Lynda had. He heaved and panted as Lynda had. He felt sick, he felt weak and shaky as he never had before. Jamie finally managed, with bleary eyes, to look up at the mirror above the bathroom counter.
They were met with pupils as white as snow and irises the color of butterflies.
Jamie retched again.
-
The name Jamison meant supplanter. One who supersedes, one who replaces.
He was yellow now. Just as she once was. Jamie didn’t know whether to be bitter or not.
The only string left in his chest was his aunt’s. The teacher who gave him his camera was dead. The people he once called friends could have been dead too, with how their strings laid in limp coils when they were supposed to be taut.
After the dreams started, his personality started to change again. He was still stupidly sentimental, saving everything he had ever been given with a vigor and desperation some would find odd. People would have described him as laid-back and casual, cool under pressure. Maybe they noticed how he looked almost bored as he passed them in the halls. Maybe that was because they never got close enough to learn what made him happy- to thread a string through his chest and tie it around their own. He dyed his hair to get back a feeling of control in his life. He barely remembered what he used to look like pure-blond. His aunt was happy for him. Less happy about the dark blue that stained his sheets.
The nightmares kept coming. It didn’t happen every night, but it was often enough that dark circles embedded themselves under his eyes. They showed him images of tombs in swamps and mountains unclimbable by even the best rock climbers. He saw a boy in black, a man in white, and his brother, dressed in black. Mostly, though, the same dream as the first played over and over in his mind, and he woke up choking until he puked.
He doubted he would ever be able to look at butterflies the same way.
-
He was fifteen when they packed up and moved away from Astor city. Jamie never knew he could have a heartstring for a place.
He cried when it snapped.
Ninjago city was much larger than his hometown. The buildings scraped the sky (maybe that’s why they were called skyscrapers). The streets bustled with life. It was overwhelming.
Everything was loud. No, not in the way of noise, but in the way the footsteps of every pedestrian shook the ground he walked on. Everything gave off a vibration like a shockwave. Jamie knew where everything was around him, and he couldn’t stop it, even after a year of trying. He wasn’t going to make his Aunt pack up and move back, though. Her job paid so much more here. He couldn’t risk plucking that string.
He started NNC high as a sophomore, since he was a little too young to be a junior. Apparently, it was rather rare to have a transfer student, due to the Garmadon attacks and other crime in the city. He could feel their eyes on him as he stalked down the hall, phone in hand and music blaring in hopes of chasing away the noise that echoed off the walls. He found a hobby of photographing the colorful ninja that had recently started protecting the city and grew popular online for his quality shots of them in action. Validation from strangers was easier to accept when there was no chance of a snap.
Then he went and found a friend, dressed in pinks and purples and with eyes like his sister’s. They shared classes and the boy chose to sit next to him. He ate lunch and the other chose to hold up his tray by Jamie’s side when a food fight broke out. Jesse, true to his last name, was truly a Marvel, because Jamie would never be able to figure out
For the first time in over a year, Jamie had another heartstring, and the tune played by the two chords in his chest was more beautiful than ever.
Warnings: smut, fem!reader insert (anatomy and petnames), d/s, power imbalance, overstimulation, forced orgasms, choking, fingering, brief fisting, light spanking, mean!kylo, references to PIV sex, poor proof-reading
His shoes were shiny from this angle. The material appeared glossy and new, you wondered how old they were? The floor was glossy new, likely cleaned this morning while you were out, in line with the First Order’s stringent cleanliness standards. You probably wouldn’t have paid so much attention to something stupid like the ground were you not in your current position, dangling over the lap of the supreme leader of the first order. There was a large arm wrapped around your waist keeping you tight against his torso in case you felt like making any fruitless attempts to run.
He squeezes the leather belt across the palms of his hands, a red burn on his skin. He bates his breath, and the dark room wavers, waits, watches. His grip tightens. The silence devours, and the walls weigh with something unspoken, the shadows shifting and sighing as they draw closer, heavier, as the leather squeezes through his hands and the ceiling threatens to come down on them.
He can see it, in his mind, clawed into the bedsheets, scratched into their skin. He can feel it, in fraying threads and jagged scars. But he holds his breath until he hears it loosen from the tongue.
His hands jerk back. The leather groans, the walls closing in- then he lets go. The belt from his grasp and he watches the red lines flame around Reiner’s throat as he gasps for an answer.
Reiner gives in, finally, whispering to the room: “No quarter.”
At a young age you learned a vital lesson: never hesitate. Whether you’re rejecting a confession or staring down the sight of a gun, split second decisions have been ingrained in your blood, so when your best friend is brutally murdered the choice is simple.
You’ll stop at nothing to exact your revenge on the man who took her from you, even if it means facing the three men you’d spent years running away from.
Can you survive a deal with Embertide University’s very own Archdemons, or will your dark history with them bring everything you’re working toward crashing down?
Pairing: Fem!Reader x Step Brother!Suna, Iwaizumi, and Matsukawa
A/N: HELLO FRIENDS! Welcome to the second chapter of my newest series! This is our first chapter from one of the character’s pov! Still just build up for getting into their backgrounds and story. Not beta read.
As always my content is 18+ only MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
As soon as she steps into the ballroom she has our attention. The woman in the golden mask. She’s stunning with those mile high legs settled in heels so sharp they could probably pierce a man’s jugular with barely any pressure. I know my brothers well enough to know they’d be just as willing as I am to find out. Dark swirling patterns of ink decorate mystery girls’ skin. We’re too far away to make out the details in them, but I know whoever did the work is good. They’re too fluid as she moves to be half assed. I can’t help but wonder how far the tattoos continue beneath her revealing gold dress.
A growl rumbles from Iwaizumi’s throat, drawing eyes from the crowd around us. I feel it too. My heart is pounding, every cell in my body calling for a chase. There is nothing more thrilling than finally claiming your prey, swallowing them whole before spitting them out. They never come out the same on the other side. Too broken. Too helpless. Too ruined.
It’s been a long time since any of us have felt this. That utterly consuming, possessive need to claim. Not since she was still around. The girl who ruined us. Suna’s stepsister.
Our addiction won’t end well for the girl in the golden mask if we catch her, and, unfortunately for her, we will.
She’s brave. Doesn’t react to us watching her, our intense presence leaving her unaffected. I can feel the stirrings of arousal, wondering just what it would take to break her. A smile pulls at my lips before falling as her attention shifts from us to that fucking loser Touma. It’s hard not to laugh at his attempt really. As if some bottom feeder like him could ever land a girl as badass as her. She’s a damn queen and he’s just a farm boy in comparison.
No star crossed lovers here, we make sure of that. Suna eats the distance between us quickly, with Iwaizumi and myself following close behind. Mystery girl is ours, and it’s time to make sure everyone in Ember knows it.
“Dance with me.” Suna sweeps our mystery girl onto the crowded dance floor. That’s all it takes really, now everyone knows she’s property of the Archdemons.
Iwaizumi and I head back to the open bar, watching from a distance in case anyone decides to challenge our claim. They don’t though, they know the consequences if they do.
“Okay boys, Yoshida and his boys are set up in the security office. Grab Rintarou and go meet with them. Don’t let him pull any more bullshit, got it?” Our coach, and self pronounced handler, Anabara claps us on the shoulder as he speaks. We knew this meeting was taking place tonight. What better cover for prefacing an arms deal than the city’s biggest fundraiser event. I share a quick look with Iwaizumi before heading to gather Suna. Our mystery girl will have to wait until after the meeting.
Suna is already working our girl. The determination mixed with her underlying fear tastes so good on the air around them. She’s going to make such a wonderful play thing for us, temporarily at least. They never do last long with all three of us chasing.
I clear my throat to get their attention, breaking the bubble around them. My eyes roam over her body, soaking in all of the finer details I missed from across the room. Her tattoos definitely continue beneath the neckline of her dress. It’s like Van Gogh himself came back to life to paint across her skin. My fingers twitch at my sides with the itch to run across them.
“That special donor Coach mentioned just arrived.”
Suna steps back, pressing a kiss to her wrist before walking off into the crowd. He’s the hook, the soft words to lure her in and keep her attention on us. I can feel the weight of her stare as she watches us get lost in the mass of bodies. This meeting needs to end quickly.
Yoshida Saito is a man in his late twenties. A kid from the streets who has spent his life rising through the ranks. He only recently acquired his position as the new head of the Brookfield Djinn, only after Iwaizumi had put a bullet between his predecessor’s eyes anyway. He’s a slimy bastard. He’s perfected the creeper vibe, the kind that sends any decent woman running, even if he tries to hide it behind his Givenchy suits and overdosed cologne. He even puts Suna on edge, that’s how disturbing this dude is.
“Ah, the Ember Archdemons have finally made their appearance.” Grating, that’s the only way to describe his voice. Not necessarily the tone, but you can tell he’s someone who enjoys talking about himself- a lot.
“Yoshida.” Suna takes the lead. He’s our figurehead, the brains behind our operation. “What do you have for us?” he asks, sliding into an overstuffed chair near a row of monitors showing the ballroom and other halls. My eyes dart across the screens quickly, searching for our mystery girl, but I come up empty. How curious.
“Shipment is ready to move, but I’m changing the terms.”
My attention snaps back to the slimy fucker sprawled across the other side of the table. An arrogant smile stretches across his thin face. Someone’s grown cocky in the past month. Iwaizumi is tense beside me, his arms pulled tight across his chest and fists clenched. He’s barely containing the rage that always simmers inside of him. Maybe we should let him out to play. Yoshida would learn his place real quick then.
Suna grunts disinterestedly, swirling a tumbler of liquor between his fingers. He’s observing, assessing the situation and applying pressure before responding.
“Forty percent, no less.” Yoshida’s confidence is shaken, his voice losing its boom. He won’t back down now though, his shoulders are still set, his back too straight to concede.
The room is quiet for a few moments, save for the awkward shuffling of Yoshida’s men. They’re nervous, something that is never a good sign when in close quarters. Too easy for someone to accidentally get shot and start a gang war when you’re nervous. My hands itch to grab my gun from its place at my side, but the movement could startle these jumpy fucks.
Suna stands, putting himself in a position to tower over Yoshida and force him to look up at us. “Thirty percent, no arguments. And don’t test me again.” He heads for the door, not waiting for a response. Iwaizumi and I follow. A united front, we set the terms no one else.
“This is bullshit!” I roll my eyes as Iwaizumi’s fists slam into the dash up front of him, the action earning a harsh glare from Suna at the thought of damage being done to his precious ride. “That motherfucker gets one step up the ladder and suddenly he thinks he’s king of the fucking jungle.”
“He’s just testing the waters. He thinks he has extra pull now, so let him think that. When the time is right we’ll show him exactly who runs shit around here.” Suna seems calm. At least more than I expected. He’d usually be white knuckling the steering wheel as he figures out exactly how he’s going to regain control of this fucked in situation.
Iwaizumi only grunts. We need to get him home so that he can work out some of that aggression in the gym. Otherwise he’ll end up wrecking Suna’s car and that will start a war none of us want to be part of.
The house is dark when we pile out of the car, heading straight to our sanctuary- the study with a fully stocked bar. We all need a drink to attempt to appease the crazy that is thrumming just beneath the surface, threatening to allow our inner beasts to break free.
Dim light shines from beneath the study’s door frame, tension building between my shoulder blades at the music that drifts through the wood. No one dares to step foot into our space without an invitation, not even the housekeeper. I cross the short distance to push the door open and step inside.
“If it isn’t the Embertide Archdemons.”
My blood feels like lava with how thickly it flows through my veins, the world moving in slow motion as my brothers step to my side. There’s no fucking way this is happening.
Sitting in one of the plush chairs that decorate the room, my chair, is none other than Suna’s stepsister, Y/N. She’s made herself at home. Skinny jean clad legs thrown over the arm of the chair. A glass filled halfway with amber liquid. A quick glance to the bar and I can barely contain a smirk. At least she has good taste.
“Y/N.” Suna’s voice is flat, disinterested as he addresses her, but there’s a fire raging in his eyes. I imagine if I were to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror I would look the same. “I wasn’t aware you were back in Ember.”
Y/N shifts in the seat, planting her feet on the floor and leaning her elbows onto her knees to prop her head up at an angle as she observes us. The dark v-neck long sleeve shirt she’s wearing shifts revealing thick, swirling patterns of ink across her chest and down as far as the eye can see beneath the material. Every muscle in my body tenses before immediately relaxing. All the scattered puzzle pieces slide into place. Mystery solved.
“Mmmm, surprise! Aren’t you thrilled to see me again?” Her (e/c) eyes blaze with the same anger and hate reflected in ours. It looks like our little puppet has finally come home. Oh how she has grown. The curve of her hips, those pert breasts, and best of all the fire. She’s no longer the naive, shy puppy dog yapping at Suna’s heels. She came to fight, to show us just how sharp her claws are.
I can’t wait to ruin her.
Suna quickly closes the space between us, towering over her. A single finger digs into the bottom of her chin forcing her to look up at him. The fire in her eyes is temporarily replaced with something softer, something closer to longing and loss. She always was putty in his hands.
“You couldn’t handle being near us back then so what makes you think this time will be any different? Or is that the real reason why you’re here?” My lips twitch into a smirk as he leans down next to her ear, his words still loud enough to be heard over the music in the background. “Did our little puppet come back to be used by us? Do you crave the abuse?”
“Oh I’ve heard all about you and your band of merry misfits. The royalty of Embertide. Every guy wants to be you and every girl wants to be beneath you.”
Y/N’s attitude makes my body thrum with excitement, my dick twitching beneath my slacks. Her pretty little mouth would look so much better choking on my cock. I bet she’d cry, sweet little tears running down her cheeks as she’s forced to take all of me, stretched to her limits.
“At least until they get a glimpse of the real you- then they’re headed for the hills faster than the Twins walking into an all you eat Ramen shop.” Suna stands his ground, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side as Y/N pushes to her feet, her mouth only centimetres away from his. “That’s the thing, Rinny, I’m the only person on this planet who can handle the real you. The real monsters hidden beneath your perfectly sculpted masks. And we all know it.”
Iwaizumi jumps across the space, fingers wrapping around her throat. He never could handle the moments when she got smug with one of us. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated. She likes this. Maybe Suna wasn’t so far off about her real reason for returning to Ember.
“So what,” Iwaizumi growls, pushing her back into my chair, “you spent a little time out in the world and suddenly you think you’re some badass? You’re still the same pathetic little girl who goes crying to daddy every time someone’s mean to her.”
I don’t miss the opportunity to join in on the fun, leaning against the door frame and watching her splutter. “Crawl back to whatever sanctuary you’ve been hiding in, Y/N. You don’t belong in this world.”
Y/N’s eyes narrow, coughing as Iwaizumi releases her. She stands again, brushing past my brothers before sauntering toward me, downing the remnants of the whiskey in her glass. “Nope, I don’t think I will, Issei. I’m here to stay.” She tosses the empty glass toward me, scowling when I catch it with one hand. “See you around assholes!”
The front door slams shut a moment later, leaving us to simmer in our emotions. “I need a fucking drink, or several.” I push off the wall, popping open the whiskey Y/N had been drinking and refilling her glass. The edge is smudged with her dark lipstick, I run my tongue over it, tasting the remnants of her. She’s a shot of adrenaline, sweet but venomous. An obsession none of us have ever been able to shake.
“So our mystery girl in the gold mask isn’t quite a mystery after all,” Suna hums as he settles into his own chair. “Our lost puppet returned.”
“A problem is what she is. She’s always been too nosy for her own damn good, and we all know that won’t have changed. So how are we going to handle her?” Iwaizumi grunts, heaving himself up to sit on the bar top and grabbing a beer from the mini fridge beneath it.
His concern is valid. If our little plaything had wanted to live a normal life on campus she wouldn’t have broken into our dorm house to announce her arrival. No, she wants our attention and she certainly has it. There’s only one way for us to find out her true motive for coming back to Ember.
“We’ll handle her the same way we always have.” They both look at me, burning hunger in their eyes as they already know what I’m going to say.
There she was again. The only mortal brave enough to venture this far into my wood. The deep brown and greens of her dress nearly blending into the field, shielding her from unwanted attention if anyone were to pass by.
Not that they would ever reach her. I would never let anyone disturb her here.
The small outcrop of gneiss completes a rudimentary semi circle around where she kneels. I release a piece of myself, allowing for transformation into a single black crow. I can see her better as it settles on the top of one of the stones. She isn’t phased by the blood stains scorched into the earth beneath her, nor is she put off by the mess of bones- some animal, some human, some belonging to other more sinister creatures. Instead her (e/c) eyes shimmer with curiosity and reverence.
A breeze whips through the air, blowing around her in a way that makes her look more like the witch the townspeople claim her to be. It’s thrilling, watching her like this. Knowing how easily she worships me despite never having seen me. Would she be terrified if she came face to face with me? The thought of her horrified face makes my cock throb beneath the loose fabric spread across my hips.
But it isn’t time yet. She isn’t ready. I can tell by her smell as it is carried on the breeze. Her womb is too young, too immature to bear the weight of my offspring.
So I wait. Watching each time she visits my altar, leaving small offerings she has crafted for me. Yearning for a taste of her essence.
One day I will devour her- mind, body, and soul.
An awful stench lingers in the air. The scent of a Witcher. A young one. He’s too bold as he stalks through my wood. His blade carries the fresh blood of one of the wolves from my pack. He hadn’t even hesitated before slaughtering the innocent pup.
My blood boils as I follow his trail toward the village. His life will be forfeit as penance for the life he took.
I hover near the edge of the tree line, hidden from sight as my eyes search for him. A heavy breath absorbs his horrid smell, but then something softer, sweeter overtakes it. Your scent. I’d recognize it anywhere.
A staggering possessiveness rushes through my body, stirring the already suffocating anger consuming me. How dare he approach you, tainting your home with his filth. He wants to steal you away from me. To sway your devotion, wearing you down and reshaping your mind until your another mindless drone. Until you wish to see me destroyed.
But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t see you as I do. The truth buried in your wide, innocent eyes. You’re already mine.
He needs to learn, to see the reality of his mistake. To suffer the consequences from his attempt to steal you away.
Night has already fallen as I make my decision. Easily concealing my movement as I make my way toward your home. I’m grateful that your work as an herbalist has kept you near the forest’s edge. It makes what I’m about to do so much simpler.
You need the coin.
The words rattle repeatedly through your mind as you search through your myriad of ingredient jars, gathering what the Witcher had requested. You can feel the heavy weight of his eyes roaming your body unwanted. It’s disgusting, pathetic really, how arrogant he is. His thoughts written clear as day across his jagged face. He thinks he can have you, lay claim to your body with the same ease he collects a bounty.
You jerk upright when you feel him step closer, hands lingering near your hips as he leans closer. A soft vibrating sound disturbs his approach, an annoyed ‘shit’ falling from his lips as he heads toward the door, drawing his sword.
It happens both incredibly fast and seemingly in slow motion. The roots that rip through the earthen floor of your home, slamming into his back and pinning him to the wall. Blood seeps from the wounds in small rivers, his sword now lying on the ground at his feet. The most disturbing tearing sound fills the space as he is turned to face you, his eyes lost, barely remaining conscious from the shock.
The back window bursts inward, a swirling mass of crows pouring through the small opening. Your eyes fly shut, arms shielding your face against the chaos of flapping wings. The thundering sound quiets, leaving only your panicked breaths and the shallow, pained inhales of the Witcher. Letting your arms fall to your sides, your entire body freezes. Eyes wide, mouth slack, limbs locked in place.
He’s here.
The forest guardian.
He’s real.
Towering before you.
The dark depths of his eye are empty, yet you can feel the ferocity of his stare as he watches you.
Visiting his shrine was only a comforting ritual you had carried on from your youth. Sure, you’d heard the stories, the whispers from drunken townsmen about the fearsome creature who wandered these woods. You’d grown up hearing tales from your grandmother about the forest gods, how they protected it.
You’d just never fallen prey to actually believing in them. They were stories told to scare children, to prevent them from straying too far from home.
Yet here he stood, maybe a foot away from you.
It was terrifying. His presence alone made your knees feel weak, threatening to collapse beneath you. A pained groan drew your attention back to the other side of the room where the Witcher was struggling against the Ushijima’s hold.
Suddenly it made sense. The Witcher was here to kill Ushijima. And you’d been helping him.
Oh god.
You were basically the Witcher’s accomplice at this point. You’d unintentionally signed your own death wish.
But why didn’t it feel like Ushijima wanted to kill you? You couldn’t exactly place the heavy tension in the air, but it wasn’t death. Pain, absolutely, but death? You couldn’t sense his true intent. And that was even more petrifying.
The forest guardian took a large stride toward you, lingering inches away from your huddled form. It was instinctual for your body to curl in on itself in his presence, your breath trapped in your lungs and your heart threatening to burst out of your chest and fall to the floor.
A hand- could you call it that? It resembled more of a claw or an antler than a hand. You shuddered as it dragged along the skin of your cheek, down the expanse of your neck and over the swell of your breast before stopping over your heart. Tears filled your eyes as a thick root wrapped its way up your body, curling around your throat and forcing you to meet his empty gaze.
A single breath, a heartbeat, that’s all it took for realization to sink in. That intent you couldn’t place standing stark before you. Want. Dark, possessive desire. Ushijima wants to devour you.
It’s easy to recognize the moment my little acolyte realizes why I’m here. Her features shift from confused fear to pure, unadulterated horror.
It’s even more attractive than I had imagined.
My cock springs to life beneath its cover. I have to take her, to taste her, to feel her warm, wet insides wrapped around me. There is no more waiting- the time has come for me to claim her.
I panic, arms shooting up to claw at the root wrapped around me, desperate to escape Ushijima’s clutches, to run away. Thicker roots cinch around my ankles, forcing my legs apart as his razor sharp claws easily glide through the fabric of my dress, nicking the skin on my sternum, before the material falls to the floor in tatters.
The growl that emanates from the beast before me is equal parts nightmarish and captivating, wetness growing in my center. He huffs a deep inhale, as if he could sense the effect his noises are having on me. I don’t know what’s worse, the smoldering fear over what he intends to do to me or the consuming shame at my body’s reaction to him.
I barely have time to react when my body is thrown backward, my stomach colliding with the side of my table, face pressed harshly into the rough wooden surface, panties shredded leaving me exposed to the cool air, a sharp exhale breathed in response. I want to struggle, to fight against his hold, but it’s very evident that it would be no use. I could never overpower Ushijima, he’s the god of the forest. So I don’t even try. I just accept my fate, willing this to end quickly.
There is no prep, no exploration, no skin to skin contact until I feel the tip of his cock gliding along my slit. A rumbling sound echoes from his chest, what I can imagine is appreciation for my wetness. My teeth grind against my cheek as I tense, waiting for him to start to push into me.
As if he’d be that gentle. I doubt he even knows the meaning of the term.
A scream rips from my lungs as he sheaths himself within me in a single, powerful thrust. It’s too much. He’s too big, stretching me beyond my limits. Darkness surges at the edges of my vision, my body overwhelmed by the pain that sweeps through me.
There is no adjusting, no pleasure to dull the pain. A distance sob echoes through the room around us, and I faintly recognize that I am crying, cheeks wet from the heavy flow of tears rolling down them.
“Please. Please stop.” The words come out on a pained breath, falling on deaf ears. Each drag of his massive cock along my walls sends pain shooting through every nerve in my body, like being struck by lightning- repeatedly. “Please,” I begged again. He must hear me this time, but he still doesn’t relent. The root around my throat tightens to the point of becoming unbearable, my vision swimming as I struggle to pull oxygen into my lungs. They burn from the lack of air, I can’t breathe. I’m going to die, he’s going to kill me, he’s-
Ushijma’s hips slam violently against my ass once more before he stills, warmth flooding into my abused core more deeply than I’d ever imagined was possible. His roots unwind from my figure, dropping me unceremoniously to the earth, bruised, bloodied, and broken beyond repair.
A deep, gruff voice speaks, but as his lips do not move I know he has entered my mind, uttering only one profoundly alarming word:
[ID: A digital drawing of Beau and Lucien from Critical Role. It shows Lucien from the back from the torso up, as he chokes Beau, lifting her up. Beau has one hand lifted to struggle against his hand. Her eyes are a solid, bright red, and blood is streaming from them. She looks up with a distressed expression. There is snow swirling around them, and their clothes and hair blow in the wind. The drawing is shaded purple, with the snow being a bright greenish blue.]
Stop filling your paci nipples when you’re gonna use them!!! That’s dangerous and you can choke! Glitter can get in your lungs, tiny beads or other charms can choke you! Pacis break, they get chewed on and they break and if they’re filled with anything, it’s dangerous!
Report people who sell them!! Don’t buy them even if you’re just buying for display! Don’t encourage bad and dangerous behavior! Stop this trend before someone dies!
Your trauma is valid if it comes from being suffocated/strangled. There are no words to describe how terrifying this experience can be and the long lasting effects this can have. You are not alone and you are valid.
trope:college, a lil self indulgent, 6way (is that the proper term?)
word count: 1.9k
a/n: dedicated to all the anons & replies that keep asking me about Mark smut…
warnings:rough unprotected sex, oral (male & fem), throat f&cking, voyeurism, lil degradation, lil manhandling, lil choking, hard dom!Mark, soft dom!Renjun, hard dom!Jeno, hard dom!Haechan, dom!Jaemin, sub!reader
You’ve always been a light sleeper, waking at the slightest of creaks in the night and the first cooing pigeon at sunrise. Although today, your morning call comes in the form of several hushed, invasive questions and prying eyes feasting on your vulnerable form in a bed that you quickly realizeisn’t your own.
“Why are you guys talking so loud? Are you tryingto wake her up?” an accusatory whisper scolds another.
“Us? You’re the one who can’t whisper, Jaemin.”
You hone in on the cluster of unidentified voices in the doorway, strategically maintaining your sleeping beauty tactic. Tallying a total of 4 male voices from behind you breeds a deep seated anxiety in your bare chest. On any other day, you would’ve gladly welcomed the feeling of incredibly soft cotton on your skin, but at the moment the pitfalls of your unforeseen scenario include the material onlypartially covering your lower half. The sole advantage you have on them is that you’re facing away from their direction, allowing you to covertly open your eyes.
Taking a peek of your mysterious surroundings, you hear, “I didn’t wear her outthat bad last night… you’d be surprised, I bet she could take all of us.”
summary: You claim to barely remember the fatal boating accident from this summer, unaware that deep within your subconscious you know someone in your friend group has blood on their hands. On the night the devil comes to collect for some unimaginable reason you can’t recall, the only thing standing between you and a fiery, one way ticket downstairs is your story telling.
pairing:ex!Jaeminxfem!readerxstranger!Haechan
(featuring: brother Jeno & dreamies briefly)
genre: porn with plot, lots of angst, lil fluff
trope:mystery, whodunit, supernatural, not a love triangle
teaser wc: +700 | est full wc: +9-10k
a/n:for@neo-cult-ure’s sinners collab! my designated sin: lust … but uhhh i got carried away & kinda changed it a lil so now it’s not solely jaemin?? realllyyy sorry about that & for being late!
so i’m +6k into this & i gotta say.. this is my most filthy fic. like just imagine 119 playing in the background
total warnings: rough unprotected sex, oral (fem & male receiving), voyeurism, degradation, manhandling, exhibitionism, lil humiliation, masturbation, restraints, lil choking, spanking, me pushing the Haechan big d!ck agenda, character death, blood, dom!Jaemin, hard dom!Haechan, sub!reader
Jaemin’s undeniably beautiful face was dangerously close to yours. Sirens went off in your head. You envisioned emergency lights strobing inside the cramped cabin. The warning signs rang loud and clear, and you couldn’t locate any glowing, red escape exits.
But who even said you wanted to escape? You didn’tneed, nor did you want, saving. And thatwas the problem.
USHIJIMA doesn’t understand why you like to feel his hand wrapped around your throat while he’s pounding into you. He’s tried, he really has, but he just doesn’t. But what he does understand is the way your tight, little pussy clamps down around him like a velvety vice as his fingers close around your little neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. The way your eyes roll back into your head, the way your legs start shaking, the way you whine for more. The way your hole sucks him back in every time he draws out to sink even deeper inside you. Thathe understands all too well. So of course he’s going to oblige his precious princess and choke you out as fucks you stupid
B is asleep in their bedroom, like they always are at this time. For some reason, A keeps thinking about them instead of going to sleep. It’s silly, of course. And they should be sleeping too. It just feels awkward to sleep apart after everything that happened. A isn’t sure why, but they thought things would be different between them when everything returned to normal.
Must’ve been only wishful thinking.
But things are back to normal, and for that, A is thankful. C’s killer is in jail, the innocent person previously accused has been released and A and B are back to being roommates. That’s gotta be enough.
At least for now.
This train of thought helps relax A and soon they’re falling asleep again. They hear a sound at the window, but they’re already too far gone to care.
That is, until a pair of hands claps their neck.
A’s eyes open. In the dark, above them, there is a stranger, dressed all in black. They’re straddling A, hands pressing violently their neck. A tries to scream, but quickly find they have no way to do it. They kick and struggle, but this person is too strong.
They don’t even say anything. No smart remarks of “Whumper sends you his best wishes” or “time to sleep with the fishes”. This has to be a professional. Which can only mean one thing. Whumper may have gone down, but not without a fight.
As dark spots start to spread around A’s vision, they realize there is only one way to survive this. They have to wake up B on the other room. That would normally be easy if they weren’t the heaviest sleepers in the entire world.
And still, A has to try.
They start kicking again, but not at the attacker. They manage to unbalance the other, freeing one of their legs. With a quick movement, they kick the lamp on the nightstand. It splats against the floor, breaking into a million little shards. It was loud, but maybe not loud enough.
The assassin doesn’t seem like it’s in the mood for playing. They press harder and A can feel their blood pumping against their fingers, having trouble passing through the death grip. A can feel their eyes rolling backwards, unconsciousness calling them.
Before they go, however, they kick again, unexpectedly, pushing the entire nightstand down on top of the broken lamp. The movement uses up all of their strength and they stop struggling.
A second later, glorious air comes inside and it’s so sudden they cough and choke on their own spit. A looks to find B has ripped the attacker from them and threw them against a wall, already hitting them across the face. A wants to feel victorious that they could do it, but they can’t think of anything but to breathe. They assume a fetal position, rolling out of the bed on the opposite side from the broken lamp. It’s stronger than them, they can’t explain it. All they can think is in and out, in and out.
B throws the attacker inside of their bathroom, putting a chair under the doorknob to lock it. A thinks they’re running to them when they get to their side and reaches over, but B only moves beyond them to get the phone on top of the other bedside table. A stops, hands still on their waist, feeling as ridiculous as they ever felt.
And while B calls an emergency, they start crying.
When A starts feeling something again, they’ve moved to the living room. They have distant memories of the paramedics showing up and the police dragging the assassin from the bathroom, like they happened to someone else. Like they watched it in a movie.
Everything that has any clarity right now is B’s arms around them. They don’t say anything. They just gently rub their back with one arm, while keeping them close with the other.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” A says what they wished they had said earlier tonight, before they were almost murdered and everything.
B lets out an exasperated laugh.
“Yeah, you can sleep with me tonight.”
A is sure they’ll be mortified in the morning, but all of the inhibitions that they normally have don’t seem to be working tonight. For the first time in a long time, there is no excessive thinking. There is only one thing.
B.
“Can I sleep with you every night?”
B looks down, their eyes expressing distant kindness.
“Come now. I know tonight was scary. But it’s really over now.”
A clears their throat. They have to say it - or it will choke them just as hard as that assassin did. Only it will be much slower.
“This is not about tonight.” They say. “It’s about… Us.”
“Us?” B looks genuinely entertained.
“You know…” A hesitates for the first time tonight. “Back when we were running after Whumper it seemed… But not… I just… Did I do something wrong? Did I misread the signs?”
B’s head tilts to the side as they smile.
“I was just… I wanted to give you time to adjust, is all. I didn’t even know if… Things feel different when our lives are in danger. I just… I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Advantage of me? I’ve been living here without paying rent for almost a year now. If anyone is taking advantage of anyone, that’s me.” A laughs, a heavy weight lifting from their chest.
“You know I don’t care about that.”
The whole world holds their breath as B holds A’s face. Their eyes, oh, their eyes. How many times has A looked into them, looking for signs. And they were there all along. It’s the same as it always was, but it looks so different now.
B leans over and kisses them.
And for the second time tonight, A is breathless. But they don’t mind this time at all.
This has nothing to do with my new fic. It was just an idea I had after finishing a book I was reading. I’ve been trying to get better at comfort since I focus too much on hurt. Hope you like it!
If you’ve read it until here, here’s a reminder that I do requests and my askbox is always open!
