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ohproserpine · 7 months

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vi. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder, heated scene (making out)

˚୨୧₊♱

You never really liked cars.

The first time you had ridden in one was in the 1930s.

It was after one of your shifts, the wet streets illuminated only by the flickering glow of the rusting lampposts. There you stood, still in your glad rags and wrapped in a coat, the misty drizzle kissing your face. Alastor arrived a few minutes later with a honk of his horn, surprising you with a ride home in his latest purchase—a stunning red car with a sleek roof that gleamed in the dim light, its long, sweeping fenders and rounded body cutting a striking figure against the darkness of the night.

As you got into the car, excitement tingled in your veins, eager to experience the wonders of modern transportation. However, the thrill quickly turned to fear as the speeds increased, and your husband, the ass he was, seemed to enjoy nothing more than pushing the accelerator and hearing your horrified screams. Each time the car accelerated, you found yourself clinging onto him for dear life, the rush of wind slamming against your flushed face, your heart racing in your chest.

Since then, you swore never to get into a car again, preferring the safety of solid ground beneath your feet, the memory of that terrifying ride haunting your thoughts whenever you heard the roar of an engine.

Now, standing outside and shivering in the cold, you watched as a long royal blue limo pulled up before you. The sleek vehicle gleamed under the streetlights, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the surrounding city. The doors, adorned with gold accents, were automated and opened up for you, revealing a plush interior illuminated by soft, warm lighting. Small steps extended gracefully from below, inviting you to step inside.

Velvette wasted no time and went in first, her stiletto heels clicking against the polished floor as she settled into one of the luxurious seats. Already engrossed in a phone call, her voice echoed faintly through the open doorway, mingling with the low hum of the engine.

Meanwhile, Vox stood by your side, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the pavement. You knew he was making sure you wouldn't attempt to escape, although the thought barely crossed your mind.

After all, where could you possibly run to now? Any endeavor in that direction would likely prove futile and possibly even fatal. The evidence of your soul being sold was clear, evident in the now black color of your sclera.

"Well," Vox drawled, his voice carrying a subtle edge of impatience as he gestured towards the open limousine door. "Aren't you going to go in?"

You hesitated, biting your lip as you reluctantly took a step back. Vox eyed your actions warily.

"Is it safe?" you found yourself blurting out, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

"Is it safe?" Vox repeated with a scoff, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Of course it's safe! I made it!"

He pointed to the VoxTek logo on the car—as though he were a seasoned salesman promoting a product. The metal emblem gleamed under the faint streetlights. Yet, rather than assuring you, the sight of the branding only heightened your unease.

Vox noticed the lack of change in your expression and sighed, deciding to take a different approach. With a faint glimmer of empathy, he motioned toward a nearby building which had a large billboard featuring his face and image.

"See there?" he gestured, his tone adopting a persuasive edge. "See what that billboard says? VoxTek is a symbol of power and security. You're in the safest hands possible. This limousine is equipped with state-of-the-art safety features."

His attempt to reassure you only rang hollow in your ears, and despite his words, a sense of unease continued to gnaw at you. Yet, Vox still persisted, his voice softening as he stepped closer to you. You had to crane your head up to look at him while he stared down at you, his figure casting a shadow over your form.

"I assure you," he pressed, his tone gentler now. "You have nothing to fear."

With no other choice but to comply, you reluctantly stepped forward, your movements stiff and hesitant. Vox held your hand as he guided you towards the waiting limousine. As you entered the luxurious interior, the door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing your fate as the vehicle pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night.

Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of color as the limousine sped through the streets. With each passing moment, the distance between you and Mimzy's torn-down lounge grew.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when the limousine finally came to a stop, the sudden silence jolting you back to reality. As the door opened with a soft hiss, you gazed out to behold the imposing V Tower looming before you.

Its grandeur was undeniable, with its towering floors and striking red windows gleaming in the night. At the very top, a massive antenna sat, reaching towards the sky like a beacon, while a studio sign was plastered along the building's front, featuring red lips nestled within the arches of the middle V, an iconic symbol of the entertainment empire housed within.

Vox and Velvette emerged from the limousine, their presence causing a few loiterers on the street to scurry away in fear.

Oh, how you wished you could do the same.

Inside the car, you hesitated, nerves coiling in your stomach as you fidgeted with your hands. Then, unexpectedly, Vox turned to you, his expression unreadable as he extended his hand.

Surprised, you paused for a moment before accepting his hand, allowing him to guide you down the steps. The chilly night air enveloped you as your feet touched the pavement, the distant sound of the limo's engine fading away as it drove off.

Seconds passed, and Vox still maintained his grip on your hand, his hold firm. Confusion flickered in your mind as you turned to him, noticing the irritation in his gaze as he eyed your wedding ring.

"Is there a problem, mister?" you asked as you followed his gaze to your ring.

Vox's expression remained inscrutable for a moment before he finally responded, his tone cool and detached.

"I suggest you ditch that," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's a liability now. Doesn't do any favors for your image, doll."

"But I'm awfully attached. It's…" you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find a good enough excuse.

You knew all too well the consequences of revealing your connection, especially in your current vulnerable state. The mere mention of Alastor's name could unravel everything, plunging you deeper into this mess. With two powerful overlords and a soul contract hanging over your head like a guillotine, caution was not just a choice but a necessity.

"It's a symbol of your past life," Vox interjected, his voice cutting through your hesitation.

"And we're leaving that behind now." He extended his hand, the glint of his metal claws catching the dim light, mirroring the uncertainty in your expression. "Hand it over."

With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly slipped the ring off your finger, a pang of loss gripping your heart as you handed it to the overlord. Vox accepted it with a dismissive nod before tucking it into his pocket, his attention already turning back to the looming entrance of the V Tower.

As you entered the building flanked by both Vox and Velvette, you were immediately struck by the brash, modern atmosphere that engulfed you. The walls were painted in bold hues of pink and red, illuminated by the glare of oversized LED screens that flashed with images and advertisements for upcoming events. The floor beneath your feet was polished to a sterile sheen, reflecting the harsh neon lights that bathed the space.

Velvette, with her usual air of haughty superiority, led the way to your room, her steps brisk and impatient. She barely spared you a glance as she gestured towards the metal door that stood before you, its surface cold and unwelcoming.

With a swish of her fingers, she conjured an obtrusively bright star decoration on the wall, reminiscent of celebrity door decorations found in Hollywood, with your name scrawled in cursive on its surface.

"Right, if there's anything you need, you just go down to the lobby and find someone named Shalom," Velvette barked, her tone sharp and impatient, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route.

"Say, is there a chance I could lay my mitts on a radio?" you asked, hoping to grasp onto some semblance of familiarity in this alien environment, your eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them.

But instead of a response, Vox began to buffer, his screen flashing with bright neon glitches, while Velvette's lips curled into a sneer, her expression one of thinly veiled contempt and amusement at your request.

"Guess I'll take that as a no then?" you smiled tensely, your attempt falling flat.

To your surprise, Vox shook his head, and his screen flashed back to his face, the glitches disappearing as quickly as they had come.

The TV demon reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek smartphone. Without a word, he plopped it into your hand, and you turned it over, confusion evident on your face.

"A phone?" you said, flabbergasted, your eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. You blinked in astonishment, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you. You were more surprised by the fact that it came from his pocket. Does he keep random smartphones on him at all times?

"Yes, a phone," Vox confirmed with a smirk, a hint of pride dancing in his eyes. "Consider it a courtesy from VoxTek. No need for a radio when we have such sleek products. This is the future! You don't need old shit from the past. Those radios barely pick up anything worth listening to, just crappy, barely audible broadcasts."

"Oh," you said, the air deflating from your lungs as a pang of disappointment settled in your chest. The phone was a thoughtful gesture, but it wasn't going to fix your longing to speak to Alastor. "Well. I suppose I should thank you."

"Don't mention it," Vox replied casually, his demeanor shifting back to its usual aloofness, his tone devoid of any genuine warmth or concern.

With a resigned sigh, you turned and stepped into your new room. You looked around the décor curiously, taking in the sleek modern furniture and it's peculiar design.

Velvette followed closely behind you, her eyes, framed with smoky eyeshadow, narrowing as she regarded you with disgust. The glint of her perfectly manicured nails caught the harsh overhead lights as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Really? A hooverette dress?" Velvette sneered, each syllable dripping with disdain. "You're like a relic from the '40s. Outdated."

You felt a surge of anger at the comment. Sure, you died near the 1940s, but that didn't mean you were outdated. Before you could even muster a response, Velvette raised a hand, and with a flick of her fingers, she effortlessly transformed the fabric of your dress. It rippled and shifted, morphing before your eyes into a pink silk pajama robe, trimmed with a cream-colored fur. She stepped back, a self-satisfied smirk curling her lips as she admired her handiwork.

"Much better," she declared with a clap. "Listen, you're representing VoxTek now. Even when sleeping, we can't have you looking like a washed-up has-been, can we?"

Swallowing your pride, you forced a tight-lipped nod, suppressing the urge to lash out in defiance.

"Yes, ma'am," you managed to grit out, your voice strained. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she retorted, her tone sharp and dismissive. "I've got a lot of work to do, and you've got a long way to go before I can get you stage ready."

With that, Velvette stormed out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor with each brisk step. As she disappeared from view, Vox leaned in, his shadow casting a long silhouette against the wall. He reached for the doorknob, his fingers gliding over the cool metal.

"Goodnight," he murmured softly, his voice barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning. With a gentle pull, he closed the door with a thud, sealing you in with your thoughts and fears. The latch clicked shut, and you were left alone, enveloped in the eerie silence of the unfamiliar space.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to survey your room even closer.

Your eyes swept over the tall walls adorned with abstract artwork, bursts of vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the subdued hues of the furniture. The wide windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, with skyscrapers twinkling in the distance like distant constellations.

Approaching the plush king-sized bed, you sank into its cloud-like mattress, feeling its comforting embrace envelop you. It was definitely an improvement from Mimzy's lounge. And yet, despite the luxurious trappings, a sense of confinement lingered. After all, a gilded cage remains a cage.

As you assessed your situation, it became clear that you were going to be the star attraction in Velvette's upcoming fashion extravaganza. Her shows were always a hit, and this year's circus-themed spectacle had her buzzing with excitement. The lead model was a singer-actress you'd heard of; you'd seen her the day Mimzy dragged her into the lounge. Pity the poor girl died.

Given the circus motif, it was apparent why Velvette had chosen you. Your background as a singer, coupled with your doll-like appearance, made you the perfect fit for the role.

The best course of action now was to play it safe. Going along with her plan was sure to draw attention, from the lowest imps to Lucifer Morningstar himself. Your face was bound to be plastered on every screen in the infernal realm, broadcasted to demons and damned souls alike. Even with his hatred for the picture shows, Alastor would have to be both blind and deaf to miss this.

He would come for you, you knew it deep in your bones, and yet a pessimistic voice in the back of your head whispered doubts.

Did you even deserve to be taken back after all of this?

With these thoughts weighing heavily on your mind like an anchor dragging you into the depths, you closed your eyes, seeking solace in the darkness behind your lids. But sleep remained elusive, evading your grasp.

As the night wore on, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy fog, its tendrils enveloping you in a suffocating embrace. Despite the turmoil raging within, your body succumbed to weariness, and gradually, you slipped into your dreams.

˚୨୧₊♱

Both you and Alastor embarked on a slow journey through the darkened streets of Louisiana, the car's headlights cutting through the enveloping gloom like beacons. Carefully navigating the labyrinthine city, you avoided the occasional patrol car with its blinding flashlights, skirting through shadowed alleys and side streets to evade detection.

Finally reaching the outskirts of town, where the forest awaited, Alastor brought the car to a halt, the engine's low hum fading into silence. Turning to you, he noticed the fear etched on your face, your wide eyes reflecting the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

With a tender touch, Alastor took your face in his hands, calling for you. "Cher?"

You turned to him, your lips parting slightly as tears welled in your eyes. Alastor's touch was feather-light as his fingertips traced a delicate path along the curve of your cheek. With a gentle brush of his thumb, he coaxed your eyelids closed. Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving a trail in their wake. As you blinked your eyes open again, you were met with the tender press of his lips against yours.

"We did what we had to do," Alastor murmured against your lips, his voice a low rasp that sent goosebumps dancing across your skin.

With his eyes closed, he leaned in closer, his kiss growing more urgent, almost desperate. You responded in kind, the roughness of the kiss igniting a fire within you.

Feeling his fingers threading through the back of your hair, you whimpered and melted into his embrace, your hands clutching onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Alastor groaned in response as he lifted you effortlessly from the passenger seat and settled you onto his lap. Your chest pressed flat against his, the rhythm of your heartbeat syncing with his own.

As the sky grew darker, the moon mingling with the fading hues of sunset, the wind whispered through the open windows of the car, carrying with it the promise of a new beginning.

Alastor eventually pulled away, his gaze lingering on your tousled hair and puffy lips as he leaned back in his seat, taking in every detail of your appearance. Seeing you in such a ruined state stirred something within him.

"Are you ready?" he asked. You nodded meekly in response, your heart racing.

Truth be told, you didn't think you could ever truly be ready for what you were about to do.

Your husband hummed in acknowledgment, allowing you to slip off his lap as he straightened his brown coat, the fabric rustling softly with each movement.

Guiding you out of the car, he then reached into the backseat, retrieving his hunting gun. The metallic click of the firearm being loaded echoed in the quiet night. And you damn near fainted when he handed it to you, the weight of it feeling heavier than you could bear. The metal surface was icy against your palm, and you fought the urge to recoil, but Alastor pressed it firmly into your hand, his touch reassuring yet commanding.

"You'll need this," Alastor spoke lowly, bending down to your height, his glasses slipping further down the bridge of his nose. "Use it for safety. There might be wild animals out."

You hesitated, the weight of the weapon heavy in your hand, but the urgency in his tone spurred you to nod in agreement.

"Do you remember when I taught you how to hunt?" he questioned, slipping on a pair of dark leather gloves he had pulled out of his pocket. His voice was low and smooth, laced with a hint of nostalgia. "You remember how to shoot, no?"

You nodded, eyes still glued to the gun, unable to tear your gaze away.

"Words, cher. Use your words."

"Yes, love," you whispered, finding your voice. Alastor smiled, the rough texture of his glove grazing gently against your cheek as he pressed his hand to your face one last time before stepping away.

Your husband made his way to the trunk of the car, the soft glow of the taillights casting long shadows across the forest floor. With strong pull, he opened it, revealing its contents. Your breath caught in your throat as he retrieved a shovel and a black body bag, the sight sending a sickening feeling through your stomach.

Alastor slung the bag over his shoulder and began walking, his steps confident, as if he knew exactly where he was going. The weight of the bag seemed inconsequential to him, swinging lightly with each stride. There was an odd, almost unsettling look in his eyes as he whistled a tune, the sound echoing eerily through the silent woods. A glint of something primal and untamed flickered within their depths.

Nonetheless, you followed him, drawn to his presence like a moth to a flame.

Trudging deeper, the shadows seemed to grow darker, more menacing. The silence pressed in on you from all sides, broken only by Alastor's whistling and the sound of your footsteps crunching on the forest floor. Each step felt like a descent into madness, the unknown lurking just beyond the reach of your flashlight's beam.

Suddenly, Alastor halted in a secluded corner, where the trees were decaying, their long branches resembling gnarled fingers reaching out for you in the darkness. He turned to you, the dim light of your flashlight reflecting off his glasses, giving his brown eyes an otherworldly glint.

In that moment, illuminated by the pale beam, he looked almost demonic, his features twisted by the play of light and shadow.

"I'll be back shortly, cher," he hummed with a smile, adjusting the bag over his shoulder. You couldn't help but notice a darkened spot on his brown coat, the collar of his white button-up now stained with crimson. "Stay here."

With that, he disappeared into the darkness, his figure swallowed by the shadows of the forest, leaving you alone amidst the looming trees.

Time stretched on endlessly, each minute feeling like an eternity as you stood alone. Faintly, you could hear the distant sound of Alastor's shovel breaking through the earth's surface, its metallic scrape and the muffled thud as it struck the soil sending another wave of nausea curling in your gut, each noise a grim reminder of the task at hand.

All you wanted was to escape, to return to the safety of your quaint house in the city.

More than anything, you longed to open a bottle of whiskey, to drown your fears and sorrows in its comforting embrace. Maybe have a second, or a third, and just forget.

Forget about all of this. Forget it all ever happened. But deep down, you knew that no amount of alcohol could erase the memories of tonight, each image now etched into your mind like scars on your soul.

All of a sudden, a rustling sound behind you sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins, followed by the distant but unmistakable bark of dogs. The sound seemed to come from all directions, surrounding you in a menacing chorus.

With a sharp gasp, you spun round and round in a whirl, your vision tunneling with fear as you scanned the darkness, eyes wide and frantic. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, seemed to magnify the sense of dread that gripped you. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the cool night air burning in your lungs as you struggled to keep your composure.

And then, without warning, something lunged from the darkness, a blur of movement that sent your heart racing even faster. Instinct took over, and without thinking, you raised the gun and fired, the deafening sound reverberating through the silent forest.

You gasped for air, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you found yourself sitting on the damp, muddy ground. The recoil of the gun had sent you sprawling backward, leaving you disoriented and breathless.

With trembling hands, you clutched the gun closer to your chest, the cold metal providing a shaky sense of security in the darkness. Despite the fear coursing through your veins, a surge of determination propelled you forward, your muscles tensed and ready for whatever danger lay ahead. Scrambling to your feet, you pushed yourself onward.

Each step was punctuated by the crunch of underbrush beneath your boots, the sound amplifying in the stillness of the forest. Amidst the shadows and foliage, you caught a blur of brown, relief flooding through you like a wave crashing against the shore.

Oh, heavens, it was just a deer.

As you trudged towards the poor animal, your foot caught on a branch, and you stumbled, the unforgiving forest floor meeting your body with a painful thud. In the fall, your gun slipped from your grasp, skidding off into the shadows.

Wincing, you pushed yourself up to your knees, the earthy scent of decay mingling with the metallic tang of blood. You looked toward the fallen creature, its form now visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees. But as you crawled over, dread crept into your heart.

There, lying face down on the dirt, was Alastor, his once-immaculate brown coat now dirtied, blending seamlessly with mud. His glasses lay shattered and discarded in front of him, glinting faintly in the dim moonlight that danced across the forest floor. A pool of crimson blood seeped from his head, staining the earth beneath him.

Your eyes widened with renewed horror as the truth dawned upon you, and you fell onto your back, scrambling away from the corpse of your husband, the damp earth sticking to your palms as you clawed at the ground in your panic.

The bark of the dogs were louder now, closer. Ignoring the dizzy vertigo in your head, you pushed yourself to your feet, your senses on high alert.

You choked out a broken apology but found that you could not hear it, that you could not make any sound at all.

You breathed, it was all you could do, all you could manage at the moment, and with the terrible weight on your chest, even that was made difficult.

What have you done?

˚୨୧₊♱

"Salutations! It's Tom back on the airwaves! Hold onto your hats because we've got some news that'll knock your socks off! Alastor Caron, the big shot radio host and husband of underground singer Dolly, also known as Y/N Caron, has been found pushing up daisies out in the sticks of Louisiana!

That's right, folks, he's dead!

Word on the street is, ol' Alastor met our maker with a bullet to the head in what can only be described as a real tragic whodunit. Sources close to the case are whispering in the wind, suggesting that Dolly herself might be mixed up in this spicy little affair. The coppers found her fingerprints on the gun! Can you believe it?! Stay tuned as we peel back the curtain and spill the tea on this sto—"

You shut the radio off with a frustrated slam of your fist, the sound echoing through the desolate living room.

Eviction papers and newspapers, crumpled and worn from countless readings, are strewn haphazardly across the table.

"Gone Girl," "Husband-killer," "Missing Marionette," "A Doll's Vanishing Act," "Manhunt underway for Suspected Murderer," "Louisiana Radio Host dead; Wife blamed."

The headlines scream, each word a painful reminder of the nightmare engulfing your life.

Empty bottles litter around you, their contents spilled and forgotten, the sharp scent of alcohol mingling with the drowning feeling of grief that permeates the room. Sirens wail in the distance while red and blue lights dance along the walls, cast by the dim light filtering through tightly shut curtains.

As you reach for another bottle, the drinks blur into one another, their labels indistinguishable in the dark room. The burning sensation as the liquid courses down your throat offers temporary relief from the turmoil raging inside your mind, numbing the pain and grief threatening to consume you. Each sip takes you further into a haze.

The room spins around you, items warping and dancing in a twisted mockery of your predicament. There are whispers now, soft and insidious, slithering into your ears like serpents. You try to push away the accusing voices echoing in your mind, drowning them out with your bottle's numbing embrace. But with each passing moment, the weight of the accusations grows heavier, dragging you deeper into despair.

Nausea churns in the pit of your stomach, and you finally stop moving, the dizziness overwhelming you. A deathly coldness settles over you, seeping into your bones like icy tendrils, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Your fingers lose their grip on the bottle, and it crashes to the ground with a shattering sound that echoes in the stillness of the room, shards of glass scattering across the floor like stars falling from the sky. You follow suit, collapsing onto the floor, limbs heavy and muscles twitching.

You stare vacantly ahead, unable to move, your eyes glazed over with a hollow emptiness as a sense of dread washes over you, suffusing the air with an oppressive weight. Each breath feels like a battle, your chest tightening with every inhalation, as if your lungs were filled with water.

Your breaths grow more labored, each one shallower than the last, until they eventually cease altogether, leaving you gasping for air that refuses to come.

The world around you fades into darkness, the edges of your vision blurring as consciousness slips away, leaving you engulfed in a silence broken only by the faint echo of your last heartbeat.

˚୨୧₊♱

There was screaming.

Footsteps thudded along a path nearby, accompanied by the fluttering of wings as creatures soared overhead.

You awaken with a startle, disoriented and groggy.

Slowly sitting up, you find yourself surrounded by a crimson landscape, a pentagram shimmering ominously in the air above you. As you move, your hand sinks into something cold and wet, a sickening squelch accompanying the sensation.

Horror grips you as you realize your hand is touching a corpse, its monstrous form adorned with twisted horns, jagged tails, and rows of sharp teeth. The pair of lifeless eyes shift and stare into you, devoid of any trace of humanity.

Frozen with terror and panic, you scramble away from the grotesque sight, the ground slick with crimson ichor, each step leaving bloody handprints and footprints in your wake.

The evening light of this place reveals a grim environment surrounding you – a lumpy, uneven field of corpses and bones, a mass grave unlike any you've ever seen. But these corpses are not human; they are demonic, twisted and contorted in death.

Before you can even make sense of this grotesque scene, a spear slices through the air, its sharp tip gleaming in the dim light. With a thud, it embeds itself into the ground beside you. A sharp, stinging sensation follows as your cheeks burn, crimson liquid trailing down your skin.

Gasping for breath, you look up and catch sight of a figure soaring overhead, its massive wings spread wide against the crimson sky. Each beat sends a gust of wind rushing past you, whipping your hair around your face. The figure's single eye fixates on you, its gaze piercing through the darkness, the other obscured by a large 'X' mark.

Adrenaline surges through your veins as you run away, the cold sweat of fear prickling your skin.

Your surroundings blur into a chaotic whirlwind as you race through the labyrinthine alleys of Hell. With every stride, your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. Each footfall echoes in the narrow passageways, the walls closing in around you like a vice, but the chase of the angel behind you drives you forward, your muscles burning with exertion as you push yourself to your limits.

Suddenly, you're yanked to a stop, your body colliding with a stone floor as you're pulled into a hidden doorway. Pain shoots through your arm, and you wince, clutching it tightly against your chest. It throbs with a dull ache, bruised from the fall.

As you cautiously lift your gaze, you find yourself in a familiar setting—a speakeasy, though more rugged and rundown than you were used to. The air is thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. Mismatched furniture and a barely held-together bar give the place a sense of makeshift charm.

"Well, look who it is."

The voice freezes you in place, and your eyes nervously move upward to see a familiar blonde woman before you, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, her eyes dark and intense.

"Mimzy?" you whisper, disbelief coloring your voice.

"It's me!" she cheers, swinging her legs and jazzing her arms up in the air. With a jump, she plops onto the ground, circling your hunched-over form with a mischievous grin. "How you doin', Dolly?"

"How?" your mind scrambles. "You-You…"

"I know! You thought I was dead?" she snickers before knocking you upside the head playfully. "Welcome to the afterlife, you ditz!"

"What?" you rasp, eyes frantically darting from her to your surroundings. "What are you talking about? Why do you look like that?!"

"Look what? Adorable~?" Mimzy hums and waltzes over to a gramophone, inserting a disk and starting a scratching melody that fills the speakeasy.

Hello, Dolly! Well, hello, Dolly! It's so nice to have you back where you belong~

"Come on, Dolly," Mimzy says, her voice low and melodic as she sways to the music. The bedazzled fringes of her dress sparkle in the dim light as she twirls, her heels dragging along the floorboards. "You haven't been living under a rock, have you? Or did'ja just arrive?"

You're lookin' swell, Dolly I can tell, Dolly You're still glowin', you're still crowin' You're still goin' strong

"I don't understand," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to comprehend what's happening. Everything feels like a dream—a nightmare, more accurately. "Where am I? What's going on?"

"We're both dead," Mimzy chuckles, tapping her heels along to the beat.

We feel the room swayin' While the band's playin' One of your old favourite songs from way back when

"What do you mean?" you manage to croak out, the words barely audible over the music.

Mimzy pauses mid-twirl. "Oh, Dolly," she sighs, shaking her head. "Hell, darling. We're in Hell."

Your blood runs cold at her words, the reality of your situation sinking in like a heavy weight on your chest. The memories of that fateful night flood your mind, filling you with a sense of guilt and despair.

Before you can voice your thoughts, Mimzy grabs your hand and pulls you into a dance, the gramophone's melody swirling around you like a sinister lullaby.

"So, take her wrap, fellas," Mimzy sings along, her laughter echoing off the walls. Her eyes gleam with a mischievous light as she leads you through the steps of the choreography you once knew so well. She twirls you around and drops you into a dip. "Find her an empty lap, fellas!"

"Dolly'll never go away again~"

You feel a surge of frustration building within you, the absurdity of overwhelming your senses. With a shout of anger, you push Mimzy away, a scowl etched deep on your face. She stumbles back, nearly losing her balance in her heels, her smile fading into a look of annoyance.

"Will you cut it out!" you snap, your voice echoing in the empty speakeasy. "Tell me what's going on!"

"Killjoy." Mimzy rolls her eyes and lets out a scoff, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She moves over to the gramophone and turns it off, the melody abruptly silenced.

"I just told you what was going on, you doof!" Mimzy retorts, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The speakeasy falls into an uneasy silence, the air thick with tension, broken only by the faint sound of distant screams echoing outside the building. You gesture toward the source of the noise with a look of shock.

"Alright, I know well enough why I'm here, but what is that?" you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"An extermination. Angels come here to rid of sinners and such," Mimzy shrugs, her expression nonchalant despite the gravity of her words.

"Well, what about Alastor?" you press, the worry evident in your voice.

Mimzy's expression darkens, a flicker of anger crossing her features before she quickly masks it with a smirk. "Oh, you mean your darling husband? He's probably causing chaos somewhere, as usual. He'll be fine."

"I don't think he even knows you're here," she adds on with a yawn. "He probably thinks you're up in the shiny gates of heaven with his momma or something."

"Al knows I'm already dead?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yup!" Mimzy chirps, her grin widening. "Your death came out in the news months ago. But only Lord knows why it took 'em so long to get you through purgatory."

The barrage of new information leaves you dizzy, your head spinning with the implications. "Wait—my death? The news?"

Mimzy moves over to the bar, kneeling down the worn floorboards as she digs through the bottom drawers.

"Didja know there's this little killin' business in Hell? I.M.P.—the Immediate Murder Professionals. And there's this cute little fella named Blitzo who does deliveries for me. I was his first costumer and poor guy needs the extra money so—"

"Mimzy, why are you telling me this?" you interject, confusion evident in your tone.

Mimzy's grin widens as she peeks at you from over the counter, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Well, sweetcheeks," she purrs, continuing to leaf through piles of paper, "if you paid attention to their name, they do murder. Murder in the human world, to be exact. And I hired them to go snuff you out!"

"But lo and behold, to my surprise," Mimzy continues, her tone laced with amusement, "you did their job for 'em! And this is what they brought back as proof."

With a flourish, Mimzy procures a newspaper from the depths of the cabident, her hands waving it around in excitement. She throws it to you, and you catch it, fumbling to see the headline. Your stomach churns as you take in the bold letters.

'LAST SWING: Speakeasy Star Suspected of Husband's Murder Dies in Alcohol Overdose.'

"Hi-larious!" Mimzy snorts as she presses a finger against the title, her expression gleeful. You hold the paper up, your hands trembling as you read through the article detailing your own death.

With a cackle, Mimzy jumps onto a nearby table, her movements lithe and energetic as she snatches the paper away from you.

"So, did'ja do it?" she taunts, leaning in close to your face with a devilish grin. "Didn't take you as the type. What was it? Poison? Housewife classic, I tell ya. Maybe a knife? Good ole push him down the stairs? Or was it a gun?"

You tense up at her last words, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead. Mimzy smirks, her snicker ringing out like a sinister melody. Curls bounce around her face as she leans in closer, her lips practically ghosting against your cut.

"You shot him?"

"I—" you stutter, your breath catching in your throat as you run a hand through your frazzled hair, the disheveled strands tangling under your trembling fingers. "I didn't mean to! Heavens. I thought he was a deer!"

At that, Mimzy bursts out in loud laughter, tears streaming down her face as she clutches her stomach, doubling over with mirth. The sound echoes off the grimy walls of the speakeasy.

"Is that right?" she wheezes between fits of laughter, slapping her knee while still shaking with amusement. "No wonder he looks like a deer! Oh! The irony!"

"Deer?" you whisper out in confusion, your mind struggling to grasp the implications of her words amidst the chaos of her laughter. She laughs even harder at your response, kicking her feet in the air with unrestrained glee.

After a few minutes, she finally calms down. With a skip in her step and a glint in her eyes, she saunters over to you. Humming a tune, Mimzy twirls around you again, her movements fluid and graceful despite her earlier outburst.

"I know something you don't know~" she sings.

"What do you mean?" you frown, your voice trembling as you gaze at her, searching for any hint of what she's hiding.

"All in good time. I've told you a lot already, didn't I?" Mimzy replies cryptically, her tone snappy. "Let's see—I graciously saved you from that angel that was ready to spill your guts out, I've given you a wonderful welcome, helped you learn about your death, and, well, you were involved in my murder. I'd say the scales aren't balanced! You owe me. A lot."

Guilt churns in your gut as you nervously wring your hands. "Mimzy, no words can express how much guilt I feel about your—"

"Oh, cut the weeping dame bullshit. I don't care about that," Mimzy interrupts with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand. Her eyes gleam with a predatory intensity as she leans in closer.

"I'm feeling generous today," she purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "So, I'll make you a deal."

You eye her warily, the guilt in your gut twisting into a knot of apprehension. Despite your unease, you nod, silently urging her to continue, bracing yourself for whatever devil's bargain she has in store.

"In exchange for absolving your involvement in my murder and providing information on your husband," she whispers, her voice dripping with malice, "you'll owe me a favor. A big one. I want you to work for me again."

You tense, your mind racing as you process her proposition, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. "What?"

Mimzy's smirk widens at your reaction, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she relishes in your discomfort. "That's right, sugar. I want you back on the job, working for me just like old times."

"Well I… I don't have much of a choice, do I?" you reply, clenching your fists in frustration.

Mimzy's laughter reverberates through the speakeasy, each chuckle sending shivers down your spine.

"Of course not! Would you prefer to go running to Alastor instead? Oh, dear hubby, please shield me from the consequences of my sins! My apologies for putting a bullet in your skull!" she mocks your voice, drawling the syllables out as she clasps her hands together and bats her eyes at you.

A surge of humiliation and guilt washes over you, weighing heavy on your shoulders as you struggle to come to terms with the choices before you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Despite the overwhelming guilt and shame swirling within you, you know that you're cornered. Mimzy has you right where she wants you, and the only way out is to play her game.

"Fine," you say through gritted teeth, your voice tinged with resignation. "I'll work for you again."

Mimzy's grin widens, her sharp teeth flashed at you. "Excellent choice, darling. You won't regret it."

With a snap of her fingers, a contract materializes in her hand. She hands it over to you, and you read through it. Funnily enough, it looks almost identical to your previous employment contract in the living with her, but one detail catches your eye.

"To settle the debt incurred due to the aforementioned act, Y/N Caron, acknowledging the gravity of her transgressions, agrees to become a singer for Mimzy's Lounge for a duration of ten decades," you read the line in shock. Turning to Mimzy, you clutch the contract tightly, your nails threatening to break the paper. "Ten decades?!"

"What?" Mimzy scoffs, her voice dripping with derision. "You stuck here for all of eternity anyways, and so is your husband. Might as well do something."

With a theatrical flourish, Mimzy reaches into her chest and pulls out a pen, waggling it teasingly in your face. "So? What will it be? Are ya gonna sign the contract? Or am I gonna have to throw you out where those angels can tear you to pieces?"

You read through the contract again, your eyes frantically scanning the paper for any loophole or escape route, but you come up empty-handed. With a sinking feeling in your chest, you realize that you're in this for the long haul.

"But what about Alastor?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your voice.

Mimzy's laughter filled the speakeasy, bouncing off the walls like mocking echoes. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed with faux sympathy, "haven't you read the fine print? Your dear Alastor is strictly off-limits. Can't have him interfering with our little arrangement, now can we?"

"But… I need to see him," you pleaded, desperation lacing your words.

Mimzy's smirk widened into a wicked grin as she leaned in closer, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "And I need to make sure my end of the deal is fulfilled," she countered firmly.

Glancing down at the contract, you saw her pointing to a specific section. "Y/N Caron's husband, Alastor Caron, is strictly forbidden from being physically present around her in any way, shape, or form for the safety and integrity of this agreement."

"But… can't we find some middle ground?" you asked, a sliver of hope lingering in your voice.

"Ah, I've got an idea," Mimzy grinned , reaching into her drawer and pulling out an old radio. She extended it towards you. "You can talk with him as much as you like. This little radio will be your hotline to him. But there's a catch: he stays far, far away from you and this joint. How's that sound?"

Twisting the radio in your trembling hands, you felt the weight of the decision settle heavily on your shoulders. The device seemed ancient, its surface worn and its knobs slightly rusted, yet it held the power to bridge the seemingly insurmountable gap between you and Alastor. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly brought the pen to the paper, the ink blotting the sheet as you signed your name away, sealing your fate.

"It's a deal."

#sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel velvette

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natsaffection · 2 months

Note

OOOOH I HAVE A REQUEST could you do nat x reader where reader is nat’s stress relief (Natasha is a mob leader or ceo or something powerful) and our whole job is to be ready for nat to take, punish, degrade and use whenever she pleases. Top/mean nat super smutty 🫣

Mine to use.

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Using body for own pleasure, begging, strap on, rough sex, oral (n receiving) spanking, power use

Word Count: 2,1k

A/N: ups..💆🏻‍♀️

Natasha Romanoff, known in the underworld as the Black Widow, sat at the head of a long mahogany table in her luxurious office. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her presence commanded respect and fear, a combination that had allowed her to rise to the top of the criminal hierarchy.

Dressed in a tailored black suit, Natasha exuded power and control. Her red hair was neatly tied back, emphasizing her sharp features and piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through any deception. She leaned back in her chair, listening intently to the reports from her lieutenants, each of whom vied for her approval.

“Our shipment from Eastern Europe has been delayed,” one of her men reported, his voice tinged with anxiety. “The authorities have tightened their inspections. We’re looking at a two-week delay, at least.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent, her fingers drumming on the table. She had little patience for delays and incompetence. “And the situation with the East Side gangs?” she asked, her voice cold and measured.

“We’ve managed to secure a temporary truce,” another lieutenant responded. “But it’s fragile. They’re demanding a larger cut of the profits.” Natasha’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Demanding? They’re in no position to demand anything from me.”

As the meeting continued, Natasha’s mind drifted slightly. Beneath the table, hidden from the view of her subordinates, you knelt quietly. You had been summoned earlier, your presence required for a different kind of service. Natasha’s hand found its way to your hair, tangling in the strands as a silent command.

You knew what was expected of you. You leaned forward, your movements careful and deliberate. Your tongue traced a path along Natasha’s inner thigh, your touch light and teasing. Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her men exchanged glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, fully aware of Natasha’s reputation and her ways with girls.

“How do you plan to handle the shipment delay?” Natasha asked, her voice steady despite the pleasure coursing through her.

“We’re exploring alternative routes,” the lieutenant replied nervously, trying to maintain his composure. “It will cost more, but we can avoid the increased inspections.”

Natasha nodded thoughtfully, her attention divided. “Do it. I want that shipment here within the week.” Your tongue worked skillfully, your movements guided by the rhythm of Natasha’s hand. Sometimes you really wondered how you ended up in this situation and could still remember exactly the first encounter with her:

“Over my knee.” she commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding. You hesitated for a moment, confusion and fear clouding your mind. “Miss Romanoff, I don’t understand—”

“Did I ask for an explanation?” Natasha snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “Over my knee. Now.”

Swallowing hard, you complied, draping yourself over Natasha’s lap. The position was humiliating, but you knew better than to protest further. Natasha’s hand rested on your lower back, holding you in place.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” Natasha asked, her voice icy. “No, Miss Romanof..” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“One of my so-called colleagues made a mistake,” Natasha began, her hand coming down sharply on your backside. You gasped, gripping Natasha’s knee to steady yourself. “And I don’t tolerate mistakes.”

The spanking continued, each strike harder than the last, each one a release of Natasha’s pent-up frustration and anger. Your body jerked with each blow, your cheeks burning both from the pain and the humiliation.

“M-Miss Romanoff, please!” you cried out finally. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Natasha’s hand paused mid-air. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.

“I—I’m sorry, but I didn’t do anything w-wrong..” you repeated, your voice breaking. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Talking back, are we?” she hissed. “You will learn not to speak unless spoken to.”

With renewed fury, Natasha continued the spanking, her strikes even harder than before. Your body jerked with each blow, your cries filling the room. You clung more to Natasha’s knee, desperate to keep yourself from crying out too loudly.

The office door opened suddenly, and one of Natasha’s colleagues stepped inside. He froze, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realize you were busy..” he stammered. Natasha didn’t pause in her actions, her hand continuing to come down on your backside with methodical precision. “What do you need?” she asked coolly, her eyes never leaving your quivering form.

“I, uh, have the reports you requested.” he replied, trying to maintain his composure. “Leave them on the desk,” Natasha instructed, her voice steady. “And close the door on your way out.”

The man did as he was told, his face pale as he quickly exited the room, closing the door behind him. Your grip on Natasha’s knees tightened, your knuckles white as you fought to keep silent.

“You see,” Natasha continued, her voice a low growl. “I expect absolute obedience. No talking back, no excuses.”

Natasha’s breath hitched slightly, but she maintained her composure, her eyes never leaving those of her subordinates.

“And the truce?” Natasha continued, her voice betraying nothing of the sensations she was experiencing. “Make it clear that any breach will be met with swift and severe consequences.”

One of the lieutenants dared to glance under the table, curiosity getting the better of him. Natasha caught the movement and her eyes snapped to his. “You.” she barked, pointing a finger at him. “Out. Now.”

The man paled, scrambling to his feet. “Y-Yes, Miss Romanoff.” he stammered, hurrying from the room. Natasha’s eyes followed him until the door closed behind him, then she returned her attention to the others. “Anyone else being distracted?”

Her men shook their heads, clearly intimidated. Natasha’s reputation for ruthless efficiency was well-earned, and none of them wished to test her patience.

As the meeting wrapped up, Natasha gave one final command. “Keep me informed of any changes. Dismissed.”

Her men filed out of the room, each offering a respectful nod as they left. Once the door closed behind them, Natasha’s facade of icy control slipped slightly. She looked down at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Good girl,” she murmured, her voice a low purr. “Finish.”

Your movements became more fervent, driven by Natasha’s praise. The mob boss leaned back in her chair, allowing herself to fully enjoy the sensations. Her control over you was absolute, extending from the boardroom to the bedroom, and everywhere in between.

As Natasha reached the peak of her pleasure, her grip on your hair tightened momentarily before releasing. She leaned forward, breathing heavily, her eyes softening as she looked at the woman beneath her.

“Look at me,” Natasha commanded gently. You obeyed, lifting your gaze to meet Natasha’s. “Come here.” Natasha instructed, her voice soft yet authoritative.

You rose to your feet, your legs unsteady. Natasha stood as well, pulling you into her lap for a brief, tender moment.

“You did well,” Natasha said softly, her lips brushing against your ear. “But remember, your debt is far from paid.”

“Yes, Miss Romanoff.” you replied, your voice a mixture of submission and affection. Natasha’s smile was predatory yet tender as she held you close. “Now, leave my office.” She commanded.

As you turned to go, Natasha’s hand came down in a sharp smack on your ass, a final reminder of who held the power. You gasped, a flush spreading across your cheeks as you left the room.

And it had been like this for several months. You owed Natasha a lot of money but could never pay it on time. Until you begged her to forgive your debts and you would do anything to make it happen. Natasha didn't have to think about it for a second and since then you have been her personal toy. She was feeling bad? You were there. Her coffee was too cold? She took it out on you.

One day had been a disaster from start to finish. Natasha’s meetings with the criminal elite had gone awry, with deals falling through and alliances crumbling. Her temper was on a knife-edge as she stormed back into her office, slamming the door behind her. She needed an outlet, and she needed it now.

She grabbed her phone and sent a single, commanding message: “My Office. Now.”

You arrived quickly, your heart racing as you stepped inside. The tension in the air was palpable, and you knew tonight would be different. “Miss Romanoff?”

Natasha’s eyes were dark with anger as she stalked towards you. “Strip.” she ordered, her voice a dangerous growl.

Your hands shook as you hurried to obey, quickly discarding your clothes. Natasha wasted no time, grabbing you roughly by the arm and dragging you to her table.

“Bend over.” Natasha commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding. You complied, your body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. Natasha’s presence behind you was overwhelming, her anger radiating off her in waves.

“Do you have any idea how infuriating it is to deal with incompetent idiots all day?” Natasha spat, her hands gripping your hips tightly. “To have every single plan fall apart because of their stupidity?”

As she let the meeting enter her mind again, Natasha pulled something out of her drawer and you heard her strapping something on.

“Answer me.” Natasha barked, her hand coming down in a sharp slap on your backside. “No, Miss Romanoff..” You gasped, the pain mixing with an unexpected rush of arousal.

“That’s right,” Natasha hissed, positioning herself behind you. “You can’t possibly understand the level of frustration I have to deal with.”

With that, Natasha entered you roughly with her fake cock, her movements harsh and punishing. You cried out, unable to suppress the sound as Natasha set a brutal pace.

“That’s it,” Natasha growled, her grip tightening. “Scream for me.” Your cries filled the room, your body responding despite the roughness. The more you screamed, the more aroused Natasha seemed to become.

“Do you know how much I love hearing you like this?” Natasha murmured, her voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “It kinda makes me feel alive.”

“Please..” You whimpered, your body responding despite the roughness. “It’s too—oh my god!”

“Don’t hold back..” Natasha commanded, her voice a low growl. “I want to hear every sound you make.” You cried out, your voice filled with both pain and pleasure. “Oh, please!”

Natasha’s pace increased, her movements becoming even more forceful as she fed off your reactions. “You’re mine.” Natasha snarled, her breath hot against your ear. “And you will take everything I give you.”

“Y-Yes, Miss Roma..noff..” you sobbed, your body shaking with the effort to hold on.

Natasha’s grip tightened further as she reached around and pulled your arms behind your back, holding them firmly. The new position allowed Natasha to thrust even deeper, each powerful movement driving you further into the bed. “Stay still,” Natasha ordered, her voice harsh. “I don’t want you moving an inch.”

“I can’t,” you gasped, your body at Natasha’s mercy. “It’s too deep!”

“Good.” Natasha growled, her voice filled with dark pleasure. “P-Please..”you begged, your voice breaking. “I can’t hold it!”

“Then come.” Natasha commanded, and your body obeyed, the release overwhelming and intense. But Natasha wasn’t done. “Again.” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for refusal. “And this time, scream for me.”

“F-Fuck!!” you cried out, your body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. “Please, it’s too much!” Natasha brought you to the edge and over again, her control unwavering. Each climax was a release of Natasha’s pent-up frustration, her anger dissolving with each wave of pleasure.

When it was over, Natasha leaned back, her breathing heavy. She looked down at you, who lay panting on the table, your body marked by the roughness of their encounter.

“Get dressed.“ Natasha ordered, her voice softer but no less commanding. “And remember, you are mine to use as I see fit.”

“Y-Yes, Miss Romanoff, thank you..” you replied, your voice steady despite the exhaustion. You dressed quickly, your body aching but your heart full. You knew you would be summoned again, and you would be ready, as always, to pay your debt in whatever way Natasha demanded.

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha smut #natasha romanoff #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

897 notes · View notes

tiredmamaissy · 3 months

Text

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode VI

Labor of Love - Part III

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20) featuring Metkayina!Zu’té (29)

Warnings: zero smut, explicit childbirth, water birth, difficult labour, contractions, amniotic fluid, breastfeeding, family fluff, expletives, this is a bit angsty but there’s a happy ending

Word Count: 7.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: the following depicts a very detailed, difficult, and medically inaccurate birth. This is graphic. I am quite literally going to simulate a birthing experience in your pov and I strongly suggest opting out now if anything pregnancy or birth related could make you uncomfortable. Finally, this is most definitely not medical advice, nor should this be used as a reference for what to expect during birth. This is a fanfiction about blue aliens, after all. With that being said, let’s welcome Ralak into fatherhood!! Enjoy 😊

Synopsis: Things were moving too fast until they weren't moving fast enough. The time has come and you're starting to doubt your capabilities. But thankfully your mate is here to guide you through this.

<- Previous

“Okay, Toto. Just do it. Go in there.” Zu’té sounds breathless as he speaks to himself, turning around to face the door. He hears your whimper and his jaw tightens. “Shit. Okay. Right.” Just as he raises his hand to pull back the curtain, he hears a winded voice. “Brother.”

Zu’té spins around to face the voice of an angel—Ralak.

“Oh, thank Eywa. Thank you great mother. Thank you.” Zu’té chants in relief despites being one of the least spiritual persons someone can meet. He knew deep down that Eywa answered his call.

Zu’té makes eye contact with the dishevelled and worn out giant. His attention is immediately drawn to the lengthy gash on his shoulder that seems to have been stitched up in a haste.

“Ay’ana.” Ralak growls when he sees him staring.

The colour drains from Zu’té ‘s face, but before he can respond, Ralak’s ears perk up when they hear what seems to be a low whimpering. It sounds as if you're straining and struggling to breathe. His eyes dart behind Zu’té and then quickly snap back to his brother, filled with panic.

Zu’té just barely shakes his head, urging himself to focus on the most important thing right now.

“Your mate is in labour, tak.”

Ralak’s eyes widen at the confirmation. He knew it. He felt it back inland.

Without another passing second, Ralak pushes past Zu’té and enters his marui. You hear the faint flap of the door and try to shift yourself in order to keep some level of decency.

“I said to leave.” You’re breathless, gripping relentlessly onto the wooden stilt.

Ralak’s frozen in place, taking in the sight of you labouring by yourself. One that no matter how painful, is a sight he has always longed to see. A sense of pride fills his chest, his mate is showing such great strength that it’s admirable. Bringing life to his child is something he will eternally be grateful for.

But then he sees your fingernails. How they've gone dull from all your gripping and scraping, and his sense of pride quickly mixes with shame. Shame that he has left you alone in this.

Your laboured breathing is audible, practically wheezing as you struggle to breathe through the last lap of this contraction. You keep holding your breath and it’s more than evident from the red tinge in your face. Breathing is no longer the thing that you’re most focused on anymore, it’s the pressure between your legs.

He doesn't want to startle you but he can’t just watch you suffer any longer. He approaches you cautiously, examining you in attempts to discern how far into your labour you are.

You're glazed in a layer of sweat, glimmering in the faint light of the first sliver of sun. Your shoulders rise and fall rapidly as you pant faster than a viperwolf pup, and your belly is low and firm as it tightens from the contraction.

Ears laid flat to your skull and brows tightened, you curl over and clutch your stomach. He releases his clenched jaw and lessens the distance between the two of you. He gently places his hands on your lower back, pressing into you with the ball of his palm.

The warmth alone provides a bit of relief for you, allowing you to momentarily catch your breath.

“Zu’té.” You hiss under your breath, surprised he’s even come in, much less laid a hand on you.

You let go of the marui stilt to swat away his hand with a loud smack. The reminder of you labouring in the presence of another man that isn’t him makes him wince.

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak husks quietly, using his thumbs to rub circles into your back. Your ears lift from your skull and perk up when you realise it’s your mate, back home from the excursion.

Tears overflow and spill down your cheeks. Tears of pain. Tears of exhaustion. Tears of relief.

“Ralak.” You let out a nasally sob, unable to look at him just yet due to the contraction still rippling through you. You speak between your moans, voice cracking.

“You’re back. You’re here. It’s happening, lak. He’s coming. And I—I thought you’d miss it. I thought you weren’t coming back. I thought… I thought—”

“Alright, alright. I am right here with you, tanhì. Mawey, mawey [calm, calm].” He hums steadily, already reaching behind him for his kuru. “How long have you been in labour?”

“D-Don’t know.” Your breath catches in your throat and your knees begin to tremble. “Too l-long.”

Ralak’s heart throbs in his chest at the thought of you enduring this on your own for that long. The contraction is finally subsiding, and you're eager to find relief in your mate. You exhale shakily and grip his wrist as you try to straighten your spine.

“Easy.” Ralak is quick to help you to your feet, holding you by your hip and arm. “Can you stand?”

You nod your head as you slump back into him regardless. “It’s happening, ‘lak.” You wheeze, resting your head on his chest. Despite the slight sting, Ralak smiles, joyful to know his son will soon be born.

“It is, my tanhì.” Ralak hums, swaying side to side with you against his body as he brings his glowing tendrils towards the end of your braid. He’s spent but he knows the exhaustion he feels is nothing in comparison to yours. “I am so sorry I have left you alone in this.”

“‘ts not your fault, my love.” You murmur, lulling your head against his chest. “...not your fault.”

Though your contraction has passed, the pressure in your pelvis has a steady, constant groan vibrating in your throat. It’s a feeling that won’t let up, and the further you progress the more intense it gets. It feels like your body’s at its limit, unable to accommodate your babe any longer.

“Mmmn—tsaheylu, please.” Your plea is drawn out and low, unaware that he’s already one step ahead of you.

When he makes the bond, the pressure is instantly lightened but is quickly replaced with a sharp pain in your shoulder and back. He sucks in a sharp breath and grimaces from the sudden pain and pressure that flows into him.

You gasp and clutch your left shoulder, whipping your head around to look behind you. Immediately, you catch sight of his wound.

Fresh blood spurts out between the ragged stitches and globbed over herbal concoction, dribbling down his chest and back in thin streams.

“Shit.” You curse, ripping your queue away from him, abruptly severing the bond—causing the pressure to come back tenfold. “Fuck—you’re injured.”

“I am fine.” Ralak insists, reaching for your kuru again.

“Tsaheylu will infect it.” You insist, keeping your kuru away from him.

“Ke tare [it doesn’t matter].” He says sharply, catching his tone and softening it. “Allow me, please.”

Ralak reaches for your kuru again, eager to make it up to you—to take the pain for whatever time you have left. But you shake your head firmly.

The fact that making tsaheylu caused it to rupture and bleed, a gash that size will surely worsen with the influence of your labour. Ralak respects your wish, although he’s in disagreement with it. He’d never make the bond without your consent and he feels as if he’s already missed too much of your labour to continue the argument.

“…what happened?” You ask shakily, terrified to know the answer. “Wh-What did they do to you?” You feel yourself begin to tear up.

Seeing him so hurt always made your heart heavy.

Your question catches him off guard, bringing him back to the moment he saw his own karyu. He swallows, having trouble keeping his calm and figuring out what to say. He has no intention of keeping it from you, but truthfully it isn’t the right time to speak of such matters. Not when you’re nearing the peak of the birth of your firstborn.

“Not now. You are labouring.” Ralak says sternly yet gently, reshifting his focus and concern back to you.

And if it weren’t for the unbearable heavy sensation in between your legs you would’ve protested. You nod lazily as your breath hitches repeatedly, your hand finding its way to the lowest part of your abdomen to press into it. Your lengthy groans start up again, you can feel your entire body begin to tense up.

“Another? So soon?” Ralak’s voice falters, concern now evident in his tone. He steadies himself behind you, pressing his hands into your lower back once more.

“Pressure. ‘ts too much.” You pant, leaning forward and using your free hand on the marui stilt for support.

“Pressure?” Ralak tries his best to understand what you mean. Thinking that he’s pressing too hard into your back, he eases up and apologises. You shake your head and quickly replace your hand onto the lowest part of your abdomen with his.

“Pressure!” You yelp the word like a plea for help, hoping he’ll get it without you needing to explain. Talking is becoming more difficult with each passing contraction. When he does finally understand, his eyes widen and brow bones jump.

“Ah—he is moving down, tanhì.” Ralak tries to speak calmly, sliding his other hand over your stomach. His fingers smooth over your skin, taking in its heat and supple texture. He then feels it tighten even more, contracting right under the pads of his digits.

“Tewti [whoa].”

It’s the first he’s ever felt a contraction, despite being a mandated witness to numerous first breath rituals in the clan. He begins counting under his breath, trying to gauge your progression by determining how long they’re lasting. But before he can get into the double digits your low grumble turns into a high pitched cry.

Ralaks ears immediately go flat, hearing a cry like that rip from your throat makes his heart tighten in his chest. He shuffles closer to you upon realising that you're curling over from the pain. Moving quickly, he supports your body weight with one hand to your belly and another over your chest.

“Ralak!” You cry out, “Please! Do something!”

With that, Ralak’s hands slip back down to your lower abdomen, cupping your belly and gently pull upward. This always helped if the baby was sitting too low, relieving some of the heaviness and pressure on your bladder.

Instantaneously, the pressure relieves. Your cry dissipates into a loud sigh, your downturned lips flipping up into a small smile of relief.

“Thank you—” Pop. “—ugh” Gush.

You’re silent, but your face screws into a grimace as the pain rushes back in with a vengeance. You look down in a painful daze, feeling the trickle of liquid down your thighs and legs. Through blurred vision, you watch as a pool forms at your feet, as well as Ralaks.

“Shit.” Ralak mutters under his breath, recognizing what’s just happened.

His head whips around to the sound of the flap of the marui door. He looks behind him, met with the panicked, bulging eyes of Zu’té, who’s staring intently at the scene unfolding before him. He's just worked up enough courage to enter the room.

Zu’té finally makes eye contact with Ralak, and Ralak nudges his chin in the direction of the village, mouthing—‘Get a healer’. Zu’té nods and takes off at full tilt.

“…fuck‘m sorry. My waters...” You mumble, fingers digging into his arms in attempts to keep you standing, to no avail.

Your knees buckle beneath you, and you lose all ability to keep yourself on your feet. Ralak supports you, moving down with you rather than trying to keep you standing. He slowly and gently lowers you to the floor, away from the growing puddle.

“What for? Your water breaking? No need to be.” Ralak chuckles breathily, trying to make it obvious that it’s no big deal—he’s unbothered by it.

“Me-messed you up.” You grunt, breath straining as you lean all your weight back into him.

“You did no such thing.” He reassures you through a quick breath, adjusting you into a more comfortable position.

You lay on top of him, shifting onto your side and off the sharp throb in your lower back. You clutch his bicep with one hand and keep the other snug under your bump.

He’s more so in an awkward position than not, his back now against the base of the bed and his right leg propped up to keep you from rolling back. He has no issue staying put in this position if it means some sort of relief for you.

But your groans only deepen, lengthening and ending with small grunts.

“You alright, mama?” He checks in on you through a whisper, knowing that things move quickly once the water breaks.

You nod your head, trying to be strong, but he can see right through it. And you know it. You sputter out a sob and shake your head, finally admitting the truth—finally facing reality.

“I know, I know, tìyawn. Almost there.”

Even without tsaheylu, he is able to tell how long you have left just based on your sounds and body language. With each little grunt he notices that your face shifts to a brighter shade of pink.

He takes note of your tail, and how it’s now tightly coiled, tucked to the base of your tailbone—out the way. Your shoulders are bowed and your stomach sits low, hard as a rock.

“Oh!—Eywa, ple-ase.” You mumble a plea, eyes squeezing shut when you come to the height of your contraction. “Mmm’fuck—fuck.”

“A little longer.” He places a firm, comforting kiss on the temple of your head. “It will soon be over.”

You feel Ralak’s hand firmly patting your lower back, attempting to put the fire out. But now the pressure’s released, the pain is only more intense—spreading and morphing into a new feeling altogether.

“Ralak—Ralak!” You panic, your head rolling side to side as you strive against this new sensation.

“Right here with you.” He hums, pressing hard into your lower back with the ball of his palm. “What do you need?”

You begin frantically tugging at your soaked loincloth, trying your hardest to get it off of you. Ralak quickly takes over, untethering the knot and slipping it off you.

“Need to—aahaa! I think he’s—haah—he’s—he’s coming!” You yell, unable to fight the new feeling. An urge you’ve never felt before. The urge to push. “Ralak—I’m scared!”

“Listen to your body.” Your mate encourages you with a steady and calm voice.

His gaze snaps down to witness your leg rising into the air and your hand hooking under the back of your knee. His hand cups over yours, helping you support the weight of your suspended leg.

Ralak manoeuvres himself in a way that allows him to support you and see what’s happening. He gently tugs your leg back a little further, having a proper look. He can see just how swollen and tender the flesh between your legs is—ripe and ready. It’s time.

“Muntxate [wife]. Bear down if you need to.”

“I—I—urgh!” You cry out, finally giving into the urge to push, allowing your body to bear down in the way it’s been trying to. Holding your breath, you tuck your chin to your chest and sink your fingernails into Ralak’s bicep, pushing as best as you can in this position.

“Good, good. Good push, tanhì.” His voice is hushed but steady as he watches in awe as your body flourishes. “Syeha si [breathe].”

As the urge subsides, you release your breath and gasp for air a few times. If he’s really coming, you don’t want it to be here. You had both discussed doing this in the comfort of your own lake. The lake in the cave, where your relationship with him had blossomed to begin with.

“Not here.” You say out of breath, legs shaking terribly.

Ralak leans in closer to you, listening carefully to decipher your murmurs. You keep your eyes closed shut, unable to open them anyway. They feel as heavy as you do, weighed down with exhaustion and agony.

But as you feel your stomach tighten and the urge rush back in, you realise that time lessening. “Water—get me in the water, please!”

Ralak hesitates, scanning your body to see if moving you in this state is the right thing to do. He watches as you tense up in agony as you contract, and quickly the realisation dawns upon him, too. At this rate, the babe will be here at any moment.

And if your wishes are to give birth in the water, now is the time to fulfil them.

Ralak scoops you up into his firm clutch, rises to his feet, and rushes out the door. Taking his time down the steps, your grip around his neck tightens just as a groan rumbles in your chest. Your legs squirm in his grasp as they try to snap open.

“Hurry! He’s coming!” You grunt, burying your face into the crease of his peck, biting down to fight the feeling.

Ralak glances down at you a few times, brows gathered from the worry that plagues his heart. He’s holding you tight, so as not to let the wiggle of your body loosen his grip.

“Here.” He huffs out, nearing the entrance of the cave.

Immediately immersing himself hip-deep into the water, he moves hastily, submerging you as he makes his way over to the ledge and helps you into position.

The ledge makes a smaller, more shallow pool in the lake, perfect for you to sit in with your back supported by the bank.

Water is up to your chest, slushing and splashing against your neck as you desperately readjust yourself to get comfortable. Your head is perched on the bank of the lake, hands spread across to hold onto the rocky surface. Your toes grip the floor, rooting yourself to the ground to keep you stable, knees bobbing at the water's surface.

“Fuck! Ralak!” You cry out, feeling your body act on its own accord.

Ralak is already in front of you, one hand on your bump as the other slips between your thighs to feel your progression. All while he’s looking down at you with nothing but concern etched into his features, unsure of what more he can do for you without tsaheylu.

He witnesses your face turn red as you hold your breath again, using as much force as you can to push him out.

Ralaks hand moves from your bump to cup your cheek, his fingernails raking away the streaks of sweaty hair plastered to your face and tucking them behind your ear.

“Syeha si, tanhì [breathe].” He reminds you gently, exaggerating a breathing pattern you had rehearsed a few weeks ago, and you try to match his rhythm.

But you’re stuttering and sobbing, unable to establish a pattern and push at the same time. Your back is on fire and it feels as if the baby isn’t moving any further down.

The contraction finally ends with a loud wheeze and your head slumps back into the rocky bank. You shake your head as you struggle to open your heavy lidded eyes.

Your vision is blurry and spotty. You glance down in a haze and lock eyes for a moment with the worried giant before you, and then you feel yet another contraction wash over you. They are on top of one another—back to back—with little to no break between them.

“Fuck. Please. Please. Plea—” You weep weakly, eyes slamming shut as your chin makes contact with your chest, cutting off your pleas with a lengthy, guttural grunt. You push with what you have left, giving yourself a throbbing headache as a result.

“Pushing so, so well.” Ralak praises you with a hushed voice, feeling something press against his fingers.

As you strain, you feel the delirium set in. The panic of not knowing if you’re capable of doing this. Every inch of you more than ached, yet some parts of you have even gone numb from how long this has been going on.

You can barely get a proper breath in much less breathe the way you should when you’re pushing. You feel like your body may give out at any moment.

“Keep going, y/n.” He encourages you, seeing your exhaustion and feeling you stop.

“Ralak…lak.” You let out a sob and try to relax your body, but end up collapsing back into the rocky surface again. “‘m tired, lak.” You mumble shakily between laboured pants, “...want him out.”

“I hear you.” Ralak tries to reassure you, now supporting both your trembling legs as they threaten to give out. “He will soon be out, tanhì. But you have to keep going.”

“No—oh, no, no.” You cry, tensing up from another agonising contraction. You didn’t think they could get any more painful. “No more. No more, please.”

“Come now, big push for me.” Ralak instructs softly, repositioning himself to help deliver his son.

“Ugh—!” You scream, giving all you have left into this push. Beads of sweat roll down your temples at a concerning speed, and your face shifts to an even more vibrant shade of red. “Please! Please get him out of me!”

“He’s coming out, tìyawn. Keep pushing, almost there. Almost there.” Ralaks voice is low and laced with panic, despite his greatest efforts to keep calm and collected.

This cycle repeats for some time, instilling worry into both you and Ralak. You’re having a difficult time, and it’s taxing on your body to keep this going.

Truthfully he can tell that you’re really struggling, and he’s getting a little more worried as time passes. But then he feels the baby press against his fingers and hope fills him once more.

“That’s it. Push just like that, y/n.”

“Fuck—” And just as last time, you collapse back into the bank, depleted with nothing left to give. You begin to think that maybe everything you’ve been hearing was right.

Maybe you can’t do this.

“I…I can’t.” You sputter defeated, letting your legs go limp either side of you.

“Mawey [calm]. You can. Your body is made for this.” He reaffirms for not only you but also himself, he’s too afraid to lose you. No, he can’t lose you, too. He’s experienced too much loss.

“’s not comin’.” You shake your head lethargically, feeling faint. “He’s stuck.”

Hearing that makes his heart sink. Ronal’s words echo in his mind, putting him in a frantic state. He quickly composes himself, probing the tender flesh to help stretch it out. He feels something slimy and silken, and his ears perk up.

He’s right there. So close.

“He’s not. I feel him, he is right there.” Ralak tries to keep calm for you, attempting to reassure you as he quickly thinks about the next best move.

Zu’té isn’t back with the healer and there's not much else he can do. He looks down at you, taking in just how uncomfortable you look as he tries to imagine just how much pain you’re in. With a position like this, no wonder your back hurts. His eyes widen.

No wonder your progression has stalled.

“Move with me. Easy.” Ralak croons, carefully tucking his arm under your back to sit you up slowly. He throws your limp arms around his neck, and brings you to your knees and then your feet—supporting your weight as you get there.

“Lak, Lak!” You grimace and whimper as you try to work with your mate—your body is already so sore and weak that any movement is torturous.

“Need to get you off your back.” Ralak huffs, holding you in position until you’ve adjusted. You hold on to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you settle into a squat. “A few more pushes, mama.”

“Haa—no, no.” You squeal in desperation, feeling his head descend even further down now that gravity has come into play.

Then your belly stiffens.

You bite the flesh of your cheek until you taste blood and bury your face into the dip of his collarbone—refusing the urge to push. But the instinct overrides you completely, leaving you in a panicked and delirious state.

“Take h-him out! Make the cut!”

“No, no cut. No cut.” Ralak utters a throaty whisper, pushing down into your lower back. “Bear down, muntxate [wife].”

“Ple—ase.” Your broken plea comes out as a low grunt as you shake your head frantically, driving your dulled nails into your mate. “It hurts, it hurts!”

“I know, ma’ y/n. But you must bear down, please.” His voice trembles, filled with worry, but his words are firm—non-negotiable. You continue to shake your head, fighting with what you have left, your laboured breathing deepening as you run out of strength to resist.

Ralak’s worry quickly turns into pure panic. Panic that you’ve really given up. Panic that you really may not make it out of this. That…he’ll lose you. He knows what he must do, despite it being against your wishes.

He gives your kuru a quick stroke, his way of warning you. It sends a shiver through you, but the pain is so excruciating that you can’t resist this, too.

Ralak quickly makes tsaheylu, bringing a brief moment of pure, instant relief, just enough to bring you out of your delirium. His wound reopens, burning and weeping. But not even that could prepare him for your pain.

It feels like each vertebrae in his spine instantaneously shifts out of place. It is excruciating. And strange—that urge to push. He can feel it too. It’s like an itch deep under your skin. Irresistible and uncontrollable.

“Push!” Ralak groans loudly, prompting you to bear down with whatever strength you can muster up.

You scream at the top of your lungs, achieving a frequency and volume so high it can be heard from the village. Ralak’s fingers quickly probe the tenderness between your legs to check your progress once more. Finally, he feels the baby’s head begin to emerge.

“Perfect push, tanhì. Keep going, keep going.” Now he’s winded, flustered and speaking breathily.

Your scream is cut off by your vulgar tongue, “Fuck! Fuck—it burns!” You cry out, feeling a bolt of white hot fire split you in two, making you jerk back. “It’s burning!” You sob, trying to wiggle away from the flame.

“He’s crowning. His head, shit—” He huffs, realising that the babe is coming too quickly, not giving you enough time to adjust, “Stop pushing.” His fingers probe the taut skin in attempts to prevent you from possibly tearing, “Breathe him out. Just as we practised.”

Your fingers dig even deeper into him as your head snaps up to shoot him a deadly glare. Wasn’t he just demanding that you push? To ‘listen to your body’?

You take deep, intentional breaths, eyes flicking down to search the cloudy water as you try your hardest to resist. He can feel your frustration through tshayelu, he can hear your thoughts.

“Syeha si, syeha si [Breathe, breathe]. Let yourself adjust. Let your body push for you.” Ralak tries to explain, using the bond to his advantage and using the bond to his advantage.

‘I can’t do it.’ You think to him, unsure if you’re even doing it right.

“You can. You are. Just like that.” Ralak works with you, probing the tender skin once more as he feels the head emerge. “A little longer.”

But yet, you feel yourself giving in.

“Can't. Help. It.” You whimper, your breath stuttering as it catches in your throat. Tears roll relentlessly down your cheeks. You need him out.

Now.

You drop to your knees and tuck your chin to your chest. “Haah!” Your breath finally releases, and a guttural, lengthy grunt follows after.

Ralak feels you push — hard. He readies himself, steadying his stance as he traces his fingers around the circumference of his unborn’s head to help guide him out.

He is, too, looking down into the murky water, trying his best to see what’s going on. All he can do is rely on his sense of touch and the feeling through the bond to help him.

“Ngh—ugh!” You feel a pop between your legs and the pressure minutely releases.

Just then Ralak feels the rest of your baby’s head emerge. He can feel the curls of his silken hair, and how they’re laid flat to his skull. Ralak nearly breaks down right there, but fights the array of emotions bombarding him all at once to recenter his focus back on you.

“His head is out.” He croaks, supporting the babe's head with the palm of his hand. “Hair like yours.”

Ralak gently unlatches your grip on his shoulder and guides your hand under the water and towards his. Aside from wanting you to feel what he’s feeling, he’s hoping that this will give you the strength to keep going.

You feel the sliminess first, and then the soft, velvety texture of your son's head. You weep, slumping your head into Ralak's chest as you focus on gathering as much energy during the small break from the contractions.

It’s incredible to know that your body created this life.

“Oh god…it’s him.” You barely whisper.

“You are so strong, you know that? Mighty.” Ralak hums, cupping the back of your head with his hand. You lift your head to look at him and he rests his forehead against yours, searching your eyes with his. “One more push for me, okay?”

You nod your head, bottom lip curled over to touch your chin. His hand slips from your neck to your cheek, his thumb wiping away one tear of a thousand. The tightening of your stomach has you tensing up, gripping onto him for support. You groan and moan until the contraction reaches its peak, where you begin to grunt and push against the budding pressure.

He steadies himself once more, quickly slipping his hand off your cheek back into the water. He holds your son's head with one hand, and hooks the fingers of his other hand under his son's left shoulder. It pops out with the help of his gentle tug, and you bear down even harder.

“A little more.” He encourages you, waiting patiently to feel his son's right shoulder emerge. He feels the bridge of his shoulder and Ralak jumps into action, carefully guiding his son's shoulder out. “Perfect, there it is.” Ralak mumbles quickly, hyperfocused on ensuring a safe delivery.

You whimper when the burning sensation comes back, shoving your forehead into his chest. It’s hard to breathe. Every fibre in your being has you wanting to hold your breath for more leverage to get him out. Your noises fade to little choked muffles, quick and uneven.

“Breathe.” Ralak chokes out, feeling your burning lungs through tsaheylu. He immediately establishes a somewhat steady breathing pattern for you to sync into.

“Pwah!” You let out a shaky, harsh breath of air, panting as you try to sync with him. “Urgh—ah!” you groan as you push, surprised by how long this torturous contraction is lasting.

“Please get him out of me, please, please.” You whisper into his chest.

“Shoulders are out, tanhì” Ralak huffs next to your ear, tenderly rubbing his cheek against your temple.

“Catch him, Lak.” You wheeze, your legs shaking uncontrollably from carrying your weight for such a long time. He wants so badly to do the rest for you, now really sensing your weariness through the bond. But he couldn’t, all he could do was support you through every second of this.

“I have him, muntxate [wife].” He whispers, lips pressed to your ear. “Last push.”

A hoarse, empty cry evades your trembling lips as you bear down a final time. Suddenly the pressure releases entirely, and you feel your son slip out of you and into Ralaks hands. You let out a loud moan of relief, immediately pulling away from Ralak’s chest to look down into the water.

“He’s out. He’s here, tanhì. You did it, mama. You did it.” Ralaks cracked voice is full of relief. “He—he is so small.”

You fall back onto your behind, breaking tsaheylu with your mate. Your eyes search for your newborn but you can’t make anything out of the murkiness of the water.

You look up to witness tears fill Ralak’s eyes for the first time as he holds the baby underneath the water. Your back hits the rocky bank of the lake in solace knowing your son is in safe hands.

Then Ralak grits his teeth and lets go.

“Lak. Ralak.” Your panicked, hoarse voice calls for him, but you’re too weak to get up. “Ho-Hold him, Ralak.”

Ralak looks like he’s fighting his own instinct to scoop up his young and cradle him in his chest. And that’s because he is. It’s taking everything in him not to do just that, but he knows that this is the way. The right way.

“Mawey [calm]. First breath.” Ralak gently reminds you of the Metkayina ritual. He knows he must do this, especially in the absence of the Tsahik. “Let him swim.”

You watch intently as the water slowly clears, revealing the wiggle of your newborn's body. “Help him.” You plead with trembling lungs, having a hard time watching this unfold.

Ralak stays close to his newborn, ready to jump into action in an instant. But the babe rises to the top all on his own—swimming directly from the womb. You burst into tears, chest swelling with pride and every emotion under the moon.

Nonetheless, Ralak taps his bum softly, his other hand hovering underneath his son's feet in the case he needs to intervene. This is the first moment where your son has made you both proud.

Your son breaks the water with his face, chubby cheeks and puckered lips. You hear the sound of his little, first breath — pwah. His eyes open as he looks around, catching sight of his father scooping him into his arms.

“You did it, my little one.” Ralak whispers with a crack in his voice, shifting his gaze over to you. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.” He repeats in absolute shock and awe, and this time you know he’s talking to you, too.

Ralak holds his son close to his chest and away from his weeping wound, using his body heat to keep him warm as he makes his way over to you. The babe wails when he catches your scent, squirming in his fathers arms as if he were trying to get to you on his own terms.

“She is right here, son.” He whispers, bouncing him a bit as he places him in your arms, helping you hold him for the first time. “Hold his head.”

Your arms feel like jelly and they won’t stop shaking, but you’re eager to hold your newborn. Ralak tucks himself closely at your side, keeping a precautionary hand under your arm. Immediately, he calms, gurgling and cooing as he listens to the familiar and comforting thump of your heart. It’s all he’s heard in the past ten months.

Teary eyed, you look down through blurred vision, taking in the sight of your son. Every feature. Every stripe. Every freckle. His dark turquoise skin, golden eyes, pointed pink ears. A tail like his father, but five fingered, like his mother. He is the perfect mix, the perfect balance.

“You’re perfect.” You whisper, admiring his little coos and floppy, soft ears that lay flat against him. His head turns towards your bosom, puckered lips brushing against your top in search of your nipple. “Hungry? Hm?” You hum shakily.

Ralak is quick to help you, helping you position him just right. Your son shakes his head as he tries to latch for the first time, and both you and Ralak watch quietly with wobbly smiles plastered on your faces.

With two fingers, Ralak presses down onto your breast, angling your nipple in a way that makes it easier for you and him. You can’t help the grimace on your face when he does latch and suckle, but it quickly turns into a smile as you watch him feed for the first time.

“Rak’äni.” Ralak proudly announces the name of his first born son.

You look up at him, witnessing a tear or two roll down his cheek. You’d never seen this giant cry like this before. The past two days have been too much.

“Rak’äni.” You repeat with a smile, Ralaks eyes finally meeting yours. He leans in and meets your lips with his, kissing you tenderly. He lingers there forehead to forehead as he pulls away, allowing himself to be vulnerable—to soak in his emotions.

“I love you. I see you, y/n. For life. And beyond.” Ralak sheds a few more tears as he speaks the words.

“Nìt’iluke [neverendingly; forever].” You say wearily, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open.

Snap.

Ralak hears the sound of a branch breaking underneath the weight of a person's foot. Ralak looks behind him, hand under the water clutching the dagger on his hip, ready to protect his family. He sees the silhouette of a woman standing at the opening of the cave, basket on her hip as the last rays of sun shine through her.

The first eclipse is starting.

Is that how long this has gone on for?

His heart skips a beat as his eyes narrow to see who it is…to see if it’s how he suspects it may be. Did she really follow us?

He then sees a taller figure emerge behind her, then another, and another…and another. And soon he counts seven heads in total and it dawns on him.

It’s your family—and his.

“We have visitors, little one.” Ralak coos quietly at his baby, his thumb just barely gliding over his cheek. “Are you alright, mama?” His voice sounds muffled and distant, as if he were at the other side of the lake. “The healer is here.”

“Tired...Hurts.” You mumble, letting your eyes fall shut.

You feel Ralak’s gentle touch as he tucks himself behind you, supporting you with his body. His arm is under yours, keeping the babe safely above water as he feeds. You can fully relax your body now, sinking into your mate’s pillowy chest.

“Rest.” Ralak whispers. “I have you.”

“You won’t believe, brother. The tshahik is also in labour. And I couldn’t find you…I heard y/n scream and—oh…” Zu’té lowers his voice to a whisper, catching sight of the freshly born babe in your arms. “Tak. He’s here.” His voice falters even more as he nears his blood.

His only family outside of Ralak. He’s awestruck, taking in all the different features of a new kind as he feeds. The babe's skin resembles the depth of his mother, but the tone of his father. Stripes like an omaticaya. Tail like a Metkayina. Five-fingered.

Truthfully, the length of his stare has Ralak feeling a little uneasy and a bit protective.

“Toto.” Ralak hasn’t called him that in years, “Meet your nephew—Rak’äni.”

“Rak’äni.” Zu’té repeats through a whisper, keeping his distance from the babe. “Fyole [beyond perfection].”

Ralak relaxes, smiling proudly. “He is.”

Zu’té fumbles with a small satchel on his hip, taking something out of it in a haste. He hands Ralak something small, something delicate. It's weaved to perfection, with colours of the sunset.

"For him." Zu’té says in a hushed voice, unfolding the garment to show his brother. It's a hat, an entirely new concept to the Metkayina. Ralak looks at him, a little confused, eyes bouncing between the strangely shaped item and his brother. "For the child's head."

Ralak smiles, his furrowed brows relaxing when he understands. Zu’té raises his brows and gently nudges it closer to the babe in your arms. Ralak nods, watching as Zu’té slips it on his head as gently as he can.

"Toto, that is very kind—"

"Don't flatter yourself." Zu’té cuts his brother short, pulling back to see the finished result of his hard work. It fits perfectly. "I had plenty of time."

Zu’té steps back, giving you two some space.

A sudden splash of the water makes Ralak jolt in his skin, but he calms down once he realises that it’s the healer situating herself next to you so she can tend to you. He isn’t all here right now, either.

“You did well, sa’nu.” You recognize her voice and strain to open your eyes, vaguely seeing her features.

She was at all your lessons with Ronal. The only one who didn’t look at you like some sort of alien. The only one who treated you with respect.

“All on your own. You need to be strong for a little while longer, alright? This may hurt.”

She begins gently massaging your abdomen under the water—a step that is empirical for healing. You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut, shoving your head back into Ralak, who is visibly trying to withhold his look of displeasure.

“I get that look quite a bit. It’ll be over soon, sempu.”

You look down with foggy vision and see the hat on your baby's head. Immediately, you know who made it. You turn your head, looking directly at Zu’té and smile, mouthing 'thank you'. Zu’té returns the smile with a slight nod, remaining silent.

A high-pitched, excited voice has both you and Ralak turning your heads to see your little sister.

“Woah! Mama, look!” Tuk exclaims, tugging Neytiri by the hand to get a closer look.

“Shh, Tuk. He is asleep.” Neytiri hushes her youngest, nuzzling her into her side. The others stay quiet as they approach, crouching down at the bank of the lake to look at their new family member.

“I am so proud of you, my daughter. He looks like you.” Neytiri whispers, raking her fingers through your knotted hair.

You exhale a shaky breath and smile weakly, leaning into your mothers comforting touch.

Jake looks down at the suckling babe in your arm, eyes burning as they gloss over with tears. “You did it, babygirl.”

Hearing your fathers words after so many years of feeling like a failure, you can’t help the sob you sputter out.

“D-Daddy.” You cry shakily, breath hitching. “It was s-so h-hard.”

“I know, baby. I know. But you did it. ” He coos at his own baby, rubbing your shoulder as he looks over to Ralak. “You both did.” He smiles with his son-in-law, cupping the back of his head with his other hand.

Neteyam and Lo’ak wait patiently at the back, not wanting to crowd you. Neteyam is particularly worried for you, he’s been beating himself up for not checking on you when he knew deep in his gut that he should have.

Lo’ak is… nervous, despite his big talk about being the best uncle. Your parents pull back, allowing some space for you, Ralak and the healer.

“Guys.” You sniffle, craning your neck to look at them. “C-Come see your nephew.”

They approach cautiously and kneel down next to you and Ralak. Neteyam smiles, golden eyes quivering as he takes in his features.

“It’s uncle teytey.” Neteyam takes his nephew's tiny hand, his thumb grazing over his five fingers. Then Neteyam looks at you, his expression going from bright to glum. “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you.”

You shake your head and smile, barely keeping your eyes open. “Don’t be.”

“Y/n. I—” To your surprise, Lo’ak is speechless. “He is beautiful.”

“Thank you, uncle Lo’ Lo’.” You smile with another sniffle, using that god-damned nickname he wouldn’t let up on.

Lo'ak returns the smile, hearing it fall from your quivering lips makes his heart full. You finally lean back against Ralak's chest, allowing your eyes to close, heavy and swollen from all your shed tears of joy and pain.

You feel the healer’s hands leave your stomach and make their way to your chest where she ensures the babe has latched properly. “Perfect latch. You are a natural, y/n.”

You smile wobbly at her words, feeling extra proud of yourself.

“I will leave the medicines here, ensure she takes them on time.” She’s speaking to Ralak, who is also in a daze, gazing down at his son. “I will come and check on her tonight. Until then, she needs to rest. No heavy lifting.”

Ralak finally averts his attention to the healer, a smile on his lips as he nods. He’d never let you lift a finger, anyways.

“Ralak, your wound is open.” Neytiri speaks with concern in her voice.

The healer looks down to see his mangled laceration. “Eywa…Now, this will hurt.” Her eyes go wide and she immediately gets her things to sew him back up. Neteyam and Lo’ak look at the bleeding gash with wide eyes. Jake grimaces.

“D-Does that hurt?” Tuk asks shyly, peeking out from behind Neytiri to see.

Ralak shakes his head with a smile, too overjoyed with the safe delivery of his first born son to even notice anymore.

“No pain. Only happiness.” Ralak says softly, accent heavy on his tongue as he looks back down at his now stirring babe.

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taintedpearls · 3 months

Note

Hi girl how are you??

✨Could you do one where reader have a crush on vi and she's watching vi workout and can't stop looking at her, then vi notice and question reader about it idk nsfw or not do whatever you want ✨

˖⋆᭝ᨳ՟⋆˙ workout - daily click

cw: suggestive , 1.2k wc , semi (?) proofread

note: hi ml! i'm good, tysm! hru? i loved writing this

“i just don't get it! ‘don’t run in swinging every time, vi, it never works, vi’ well guess what caitlyn, all those guys are out of your way now! you should be thanking me!” the pink-haired girl's complaints about her work partner seemed to be never ending nowadays. you didn't mind listening though, especially when all you had to do was sit off to the side and out of her way while she worked out. you had found a comfortable spot on top of a crate, legs spread out either side and decided it was the perfect spot to watch her fight the automatic punching machine, each punch and duck more aggressive than the last in a futile attempt to rid herself of the anger cait had caused.

“that sucks, i’m sorry vi. caitlyn just worries, i do too.” you attempted to comfort. In reality, you weren’t really paying attention to what vi was saying, but rather what she was doing. the way her arms flexed with each hit and how sweat glistened down the curve between-

“helloooo? are you even listening to me right now?” vi interrupts your perverted fantasy train of thought. at some point she had stopped boxing and was suddenly standing right in front of you, in between your legs, waving a wrapped and gloved hand in front of your face to try and gain your attention.

shame floods through you at the realization she might have caught you staring. your face heats up and your eyes widen as you try to figure out a way to save yourself further embarrassment.

“yes, yes! of course i am! you were talking about how caitlyn doesn't want you to go in swinging anymore and how upset you were about it.” perfect.

“that was five minutes ago. are you feeling alright?” vi asks, being quick to remove one of the bright red boxing gloves and bring her bandaged (as well as slightly bloody) hand up to your forehead while the other one rests on your thigh. fuck! you're quick to make a move to swat both her hands away, anxious about wether or not she'll be able to see that you're heating up not because of illness but moreover because of how her hand feels incredibly warm against your freezing thigh and just how attractive she looks working out.

“vi, i'm fine! seriously, don't worry about it. i guess i just zoned out for a second. what were you saying? i’ll pay attention this time!” you guarantee

she pauses, staring at you and analyzing your face for what feels like eternity, clearly unbelieving of your lie but not wanting to push it.

“and you’re sure you feel okay?” she double checks, concern etched on her features. she’s ignored your previous pleas, putting both of her hands on either thigh to try and get a closer look at you, going up on her tippy toes just slightly. the way her nose crinkles up and how she bites her lip in worry you swear almost sends you to another dimension.

“yes, i promise. now get back to working on your core or something!” you laugh, almost certain that this will finally get her back to being busy and punching the shit out of the machine again, but she doesn't move. Not her hands nor the relentless gaze she’s been keeping on you.

silence overtakes the two of you and confusion lingers in the back of your mind. why wasn't she moving? You had already told her you were good and not feeling sickly. did she not believe you? did she see right through you? now you’re the one leaning in slightly, testing the waters, seeing where it’ll go. whether or not she’ll lean in too. She does almost immediately.

you do a quick short inhale, “aren't you gonna go back to fighting?” it barely comes out as a whisper, but she hears you. If you moved just a couple centimeters more, your lips would be touching hers. You find Its becoming increasingly difficult not to think about.

“no.” she replies simply, tone matching yours.

“no?” you question, tilting your head to the side and now confused on where the conversation is going.

“no. not until you tell me what the hell is up with you!” she says the last part louder, squeezing your thighs between your hands but not to the point it would hurt you.

“oh my God-” you sigh, throwing your head back for only a moment while you think carefully about the next words that you’ll say. ultimately deciding that vi doesn't have to have the power here, and that frankly, you were quite curious to how she would react if you simply admitted to gawking at her.

you lean forward again, closer than ever and so quickly she doesn't even notice until you start talking. you swear she looks down at your lips, even if only for a split second.

“do you even understand how hot you look right now?” you ask lowly, playing it cool with a straight but teasing expression. inside, however, it feels like you’re about to burst into flames. Her expression changes from a surprised one to what looks like a slight smirk.

“oh? do i?”

“mhm” is all you manage to muster, anxiety slowly creeping over you at her limited reaction.

she leans in closer, your lips only a centimeter apart. “what are you gonna do about it?” her hands squeeze your thighs even tight and you can tell that if she keeps it up, it’s going to leave a mark. not that you would really mind.

you exhale slowly, moving your hands from gripping the crate up her arms and around the back of her shoulders to her neck, gently playing with the bright hair at the back. She has to look up at you to meet your eyes and she swears she could die in that moment. you look like absolute heaven. biting your cheek in concentration and she has to resist letting out a groan, not even wanting to think about how ashamed she is with the current state of her boxers when you haven't even kissed yet.

why exactly haven't you kissed her yet?

“how about-” instead of letting you finish, vi takes matters into her own hands. closing the gap between the two of you and clashing teeth instantly. you reach further up and pull on her hair slightly, which does make her groan and you’re eager to hear more of those noises coming from her. she gently swipes your bottom lip, asking for permission which you grant, and instantly your tongues are fighting for dominance. it's messy, you’re pretty sure you can feel a bit of mixed spit dribble down your chin but you couldn't care less in this moment when she feels this soft and absolutely magical.

having to pull away to get air dragged the two of you back down to earth. A string of saliva connected the two of you that the girl in front of you ridded of by swiping her thumb across your lips, not without taking her time. heavy pants were the only noise in the gym as the two of you stared intently at each other.

vi leans into that sweet spot between your shoulder and neck, nipping and biting at the area before pulling away and suggesting exactly what you were thinking,

“should we go to my room?”

#taintedpearls 𐙚 #aria writes 𝜗𝜚 #❦⋆ reqs #vi #vi arcane #vi arcane x reader #violet x reader #vi smut #vi x reader #violet arcane #violet arcane x reader #arcane x reader #ellie williams

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yellowpsyduck · 8 months

Text

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬.

Thomas Shelby x Carleton!Reader Warnings: Smut, slight size kink, Tommy attracting posh girls as always

“Are you fucking my sister-in-law?” were the very first words that came out of the young socialite’s mouth. They were directed to the man dressed in the grey suit with the flat cap, as he caressed the grey filly in front of him.

“Such crude words from such a lovely young lass, eh?” the man looked rather amused at her choice of words, much less, her more than direct approach of interrogating him.

The words she’d spoken weren’t quite what he had expected from a girl of her caliber, she seemed far too proper to opt for such language.

But she held her ground that girl, with her fashionably short bob and her velvet dress that would probably fetch enough pounds to feed a small family for a week in Small Heath. She didn’t waver under his icy stare, nor did she retreat her questioning glare. In fact, to his surprise, she arched her carefully sculpted eyebrow, as though prompting him to explain himself.

She must be a London girl, he noted, such brazenness could only mean that she must've lived a sheltered life, never having to put her guards up in fear of gangsters and certainly never having to do anything with filthy old Birmingham.

No, all she had to do was look pretty and polite and pop open bottles of champagne, dancing the night away to the Foxtrot and Charleston. She didn’t have a clue who he was, didn’t have a clue what he did and certainly didn’t have a clue as to why he always kept a Webley MK VI in his gun strap.

Tommy found it quite refreshing. He couldn’t remember the last time someone talked to him so incredibly audaciously, if it wasn’t to barrage him with threats to his life.

“I believed I asked you first, Mister” came the reply from her tinted red lips, looking rather displeased that her question was met with another.

“Well, a lady like you shouldn’t worry about adult matters.” he replied as he fished his pockets for the metal cigarette case. “Anyways, she's your sister-in-law you say?” he offered her a cigarette, a habit of his which he’d developed from constantly being surrounded by chain smokers.

“She is, or she was.” she took him up on his offer, as he lit it up for her, “Ian was my brother. His passing was hard on all of us; for her more than anyone else. So, I come up here any chance I get to keep her company, but now I see that’s no longer needed of me.” she said as she eyed him from head to toe, sizing him up almost.

“Don’t let me be a bone of contention now.” he replied, his couldn’t possibly add another trouble to his list, the Epsom and Major Campbell were already a handful, to say the very least.

“Actually, it’s quite the opposite.” A hint of surprise glazed over his eyes as he looked at her delicate features. “I’m quite relieved she isn’t shutting herself up." she trailed off, "And you’re certainly not the worst pick for a suitor.”

“Now don’t go sizing me up for a wedding suit, Miss.” he said taking another drag of his cigarette “May and I are just.... acquaintances. She’s training my horse for the Derby, this beauty over here, you see.” he motioned to the grey horse behind him.

“Oh.” She looked at him with an abashed humour in her eyes. “Then you must pardon my poor choice of words. I’m sure you won’t take the silly musings of a girl to heart.”

She flicked the cigarette bud to the ground, stomping it lightly with the heel of her dainty Mary Janes.

“I’m Y/N. Y/N Vera Carleton.” she extended her hand to him, her lips adorned with the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen in his entire existence. He took her hands in his, their sizes differing starkly. “I’m Thomas. Thomas Shelby.”

“Well then Mr. Shelby, now that the previous fiasco is behind us, I must be off. My friends will be waiting for me, I’m afraid. There's a new club in the city called the Babylon, you might’ve heard of it, they’ve invited this jazz band from the Colonies. My friends say it’s all the rage these days.” she explained to him.

Thomas knew she was one of those girls. The ones that never had to worry about a thing in their lives, except for what they’d wear to a social dinner or what diamonds to pair with what dress and he knew that a part of him wished he could be as carefree as them. But life had other plans for him, a runaway father, a suicidal mother and a fucking war to top it all off.

But now with the Shelby Company Ltd. and his copious side ventures, he hoped that one day, his children, if he ever found a woman that is, would have a life that mirrored that of the captivating girl in front of him.

“All right then, Miss Carleton, you have a good night now.” he bid the girl farewell as he watched her leave the stables. Her dress swaying with every step she took, she looked very frail, he noted, but not the kind that you’d see in the streets of Watery Lane, more so the kind of frail that was in vogue amongst the ladies of London.

As the night progressed, it became abundantly clear that May Fitz Carleton and Thomas Shelby weren’t just acquaintances, although, that should’ve been clear from the moment he accepted her proposal to stay the night in the manor, more like a fucking castle, he thought.

As night fell, Thomas found himself striding to the doors of his gracious host's, she’d left it unlocked, of course. Neither were novice adolescents; they knew what they wanted, and they certainly weren’t abashed about it. Their business was completed rather quickly though, she seemed unable to fully open her heart out to the deed and he had a myriad of thoughts occupying his mind.

Breakfast was a rather lovely affair. May chose not to bring up their late night discretions, for which he was rather thankful for. In fact, she seemed content with it being a passing liaison, finally someone that’s on the same page as him, he mused.

The lavish spread of food in front of him was overwhelming and he resigned himself to an Earl Grey and a toast. It seemed it was just May that occupied the house, seeing as though they were the only two to grace the table. Their conversations were pleasant, ranging from their shared love for horses to the ones they would be up against at the Derby, when lo and behold, the doors to the room sprung open to reveal a particularly chirpy Y/N, what she would be so cheery for, this early in the morning, he didn’t know.

“Morning, my dearest. Hope you had a lovely night.” The older of the two woman remarked as she kissed her cheeks. “I’ve told Louisa to prepare those Vienna rolls you so love. She should bring it out any minute.” she stated as the maids served the new occupant with a steaming cup of tea.

“That would be lovely, God knows I’m terribly famished.” she strutted into the room, smelling of daisies as she walked past him and kissed her sister-in-law. “Morning to you, my dearest Mayflower.”

She took the seat opposite to his, paying him no mind and absentmindedly blowing into her tea. “Y/N darling, this is Mr. Thomas Shelby, he’s my guest. I'm training his horse for Epsom. " She motioned to the gentleman. "Tommy, this is Y/N, she’s Ian’s sister and the youngest of the Carleton bunch.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby.” quipped the younger girl, pretending as though they were truly meeting for the first time.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Tommy went along with her play, opting not to reveal their meeting the previous day.

“Madam, there’s a telephone for you. It's from Sir Ascot.” May was quickly ushered out of the room to attend to her business, leaving the unusual pair together.

“So, are you going to keep staring or will you tell me what’s on your mind?” Y/N remarked as she forfeited the staring game they’d had going on.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” the girl in front of him was intriguing for sure, and she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Tommy didn’t know other women besides Ada and Polly that would speak so nonchalantly with him, and he found himself quite enjoying this refreshing exchange.

“Well, you’ve basically been undressing me with your eyes, since yesterday. So, shall we do it in my room or yours?”

This. Tommy wasn’t expecting.

He'd expected a whole lot of other things but not this.

The girl didn’t bat an eye as she said those words, simply sipping on her tea, as though they’d only exchanged pleasantries with each other. Tommy was about to respond when a maid brought a plate of Vienna rolls to the table and diligently served her young Miss.

As soon as her departing figure left the room, Y/N’s eyes darted back up to his, sucking slowly on the gold cutlery as she did. She seemed to be waiting for his reply and Tommy wondered how she’d react if he told her 'No'. Surely, such a girl as lovely as her wouldn’t be used to hearing those words of refusal. All she’d have to do was bat her pretty lashes, pout her soft lips and no one would dare refuse such a divine creature.

And Tommy was by no means a saint. A posh girl like her asking him to fuck her wasn’t something that happened on the daily. And again, Tommy might be a man with great restraint, but he was a man after all.

He'd be lying if he said his pants hadn’t gotten the slightest bit tighter at the sight of her sucking and licking on the spoon, that when he was balls deep inside May the previous night, all he thought about was the girl in front of him. Even now, as she sat in front of him, in her lace dress, he could see the slightest imprint of her breasts against the fabric of the dress.

Tommy took in a deep breath, setting the teacup back on the porcelain saucer, when finally, he muttered “You don’t know who I am, do you, little girl?” For if she did, she wouldn’t have uttered those words, much less, even sip her tea so peacefully in his presence.

“Should I care?” she asked in mock concern, “All I know is that you’re a well dressed gentleman that’s got a nice deep voice.” Truly, that was all she looked for. If a man had a deep enough pocket and an ever deeper voice, she’d go weak in the knees, and she knew May wouldn’t associate herself with a man that didn’t have the former.

“Y/N Carleton, you’re truly a work of art, eh?” he chuckled, genuinely in awe of her intrepidity.

“Well, that amongst other things.” came her quick reply, flashing him a cheeky smile.

“Do you think she’ll notice? If were both absent from the table, that is.” he asked in reference to May, she sure as hell wouldn’t appreciate his advances towards her sister-in-law.

“Don’t you worry, Sir Ascot is a hard fellow to deal with, he’ll talk her ear off for hours.” she stated unconcerned as she took strode out of the room, glancing back at him.

“In fact, forget about the bedroom, there's a storeroom over there that’s unfrequented. God knows your staring is making me wild as it is.” She turned and left the room, the gentle sway of her hips beckoning him to follow her. And follow he did.

Thomas fucking Shelby following after a girl, his brothers would’ve had a field day had they learnt of it.

But he didn’t care. All he knew was that he wanted her.

He wanted to fuck her till she screamed his name.

He wanted to fuck her till she couldn’t walk.

He wanted to fuck her till she was a crying mess.

The storeroom was quite spacious, like most of the rooms of this manor. But he wasn’t here to admire this. No. He came here for her. As soon as the latch to the door was shut closed, their lips crashed together.

Oh! He could have had her then and there, her lips were so incredibly soft and moulded with his so fucking perfectly. Her hands found themselves in his hair and she tugged lightly, making him crazy at her touch, while his hands kneaded her supple buttocks. She might’ve been slim, but she was certainly well endowed in just the right areas.

She soon broke the kiss and quickly worked to unbutton her dress, looking at him as he did, and that smile. That fucking smile of hers. Thomas didn’t know anyone more lovely than her.

She stripped down to her chemise, her garter bands visible underneath. He couldn’t control himself at the sight of her lovely frame. His hands soon brought the straps of her flimsy cover down, exposing her delicate brassiere which was also discarded on the floor.

She looked glorious standing in front of him, in just her garter bands and stockings. He would fuck her with those on he decided. The sight of her thighs in those were making the tent in his pants so painfully obvious.

She undid his suspenders, kneeling down as she pulled his trousers down, freeing his throbbing red cock from it’s tight restraints. She blushed a little at the obscene sight, sure she’d seen her fair share of cocks, but none as majestic as his. Tommy Shelby had drawn him to her because of his deep voice, but his huge cock, now that was a brilliant surprise. The London chaps she’d been with just couldn’t compare.

She licked the precum that was dripping from his tip, making him shudder in anticipation and little by little she licked the length of his entire shaft, making sure to drag her tongue along every crevice. She held her cock in both hands, it’s sheer size making her marvel. As Tommy looked down, the sight below him was eliciting a dark reaction inside of him, her little dainty fingers wrapped around his manhood. God! She looked so very small.

She sucked his cock, trying her best to take in as much as she could. She was diligent, for sure, doing her best to make him happy, taking small breaths, accommodating her throat for his dick and working her hands constantly along his shaft or his balls.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” he breathed out raspily. She was an angel.

An angel sent just to fuck him. He didn’t know any woman or whore that was doing the things she was. But here she was, a little thing like her milking his cock like a good girl.

He grabbed her hair, lightly bucking his hips inside of her mouth. She seemed to be suffocating almost, his big dick choking her. Almost.

“Just like that baby, just like that.”

Fuck! She was such a good girl, holding her cries till he released his load inside of her mouth. “Swallow.” he commanded. She was a glorious mess, doing as he commanded her.

Her eyes were watery, and her mouth was thoroughly abused, but she still looked at him with devotion laced in her beautiful eyes.

He lifted her off the ground and laid her on the table like surface. He spread her legs wide open with his hands and marveled at the sight. Her throbbing cunt, glistening in arousal looked so warm, so inviting. He kissed her on the lips once more and dove in to eat her out, but a small hand covered the entrance.

“She might be done soon, so, please just fuck me.” she cried, so obviously starved for him.

He wasted no time and rubbed her clit, making sure her entrance was slick enough, and she was, so incredibly wet for him. He lined his dick to the entrance of her pussy and thrusted lightly. Just the tip he moaned. Just the tip and she was already on the verge of tears.

“Just breathe, love. Just breathe for me, eh?” he cooed in her ear as his hips thrusted in small motions to enter her tight cave, rubbing her clit as he did. And then with a final thrust he entered her pussy.

God! She felt so good. Her tight walls caved around his cock, stimulating him in ways he didn’t think possible. His motions became faster as her cries became louder.

“Tommy!” she moaned over and over again, seemingly unable to formulate any coherent sentences, her brain clogged with the intense pleasure of his cock ramming into her.

“You fit me so well, Y/N. I’m never letting go of you or your tight fucking pussy after this.” he moaned in her ear.

The constant slapping of skin and unbridled moans didn’t leave much to the imagination of the maids and butlers that might’ve overheard, but they didn’t care. All they knew was that they were nearing their release and it just felt so fucking good.

“Tommy, I’m close.” she managed to stumble out the words.

“Wait for me, love. You’re gonna cum when I tell you to.” he groaned as he fastened his pace, evidently nearing his release.

And with a final thrust, he whispered in her ear and they let go. They were quite the pair to look at. Him, with his trousers on the floor, his hands gripping onto her waists and his eyes never leaving hers and she, with her damn naked body, her tear streaked cheeks and her smudged lipstick.

Tommy gave her a sweet kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her naked body as they remained in the warm embrace. Their heartbeats were gradually returning to usual, and their panted breathing became steadier.

He retrieved a handkerchief from his pockets and delicately cleaned her sore entrance. The evidence of their lovemaking spilled lewdly on the floor; it was to be someone else’s problem, not theirs. He slipped the stained handkerchief into his pockets and helped her dress. She seemed incredibly satiated as she stared at him with sheer fondness in her eyes.

Tommy knew that he couldn’t let go of her now. Not after this.

She was his, even if she didn’t know it yet.

“We best get going now, love.” he told her as he waited for her to gather herself together.

“Wait, silly, you’ve got lipstick on your nose.” she giggled as she rubbed the scarlet red lipstick off for him, standing on the tip of her toes.

She moved to open the door, but her steps felt awkward. He chuckled at her attempt to walk and offered his hand so she may lean on him. The walk back to the table was interesting, with her uncharacteristic gait and lipstick that seemed to have been smudged clean, and his hair that had been slightly disheveled and lips that held the faintest smile.

Both looked nothing like they had a few moments prior. If the maids noticed the obvious change, they didn’t comment on it as they dutifully carried out their tasks, making the most possible effort to not offend the pair as they walked through the halls.

May arrived a few minutes later rambling about how much she would’ve loved to cut the call halfway, had Sir Ascot not been an influential member of the Board. She had been so engrossed in her rant that perhaps, she didn’t notice the obvious change in the mood.

She also didn’t notice the fact that Thomas Shelby’s eyes never once left her sister-in-law who insouciantly continued drinking her tea that was far too cold by now.

“Well, May, my stay here has been lovely, but I best get going now.” he uttered at last, the business back at home didn’t wait for no one, especially not for him to fuck posh girls.

“Indeed, I assume you must have your work cut out for you and oh! I forgot to tell you this morning that I’ve had your car stocked up with engine oil, so, it’ll be a smooth ride home.”

“Thank you for that, May.” he put on his coat and thanked her for her gracious hosting.

“Tommy.” she called out as he stepped into his vehicle. “Will I see you again?”

“I’m sure we’ll cross paths again, Miss Carleton.”

Miss not Mrs. because his eyes, as he spoke those words weren’t on the woman in front of him, but rather they were on the girl that stood at the doorway, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips.

Ah! That smile.

The drive home was brisk, his mind occupied with the image of her and that darn smile. He may have been back in Birmingham, but he knew that apart of his mind had been left behind with a particularly charming girl in the Carleton Estate.

#tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction

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elliezlils11utt · 4 months

Text

jinx x f reader!

summary: jinx teaches you how to make bombs !!

content: sfw!Jinx being insane ! Fluff fluff fluff !! reader calms jinx down when she sees Milo, bomb descriptions.

wc: 515.

a/n: I’ve never written for jinx or anyone in the arcane fandom so if this is shit I’ll take it down! probably won’t get any attraction bc im genuinely insane and love jinx. if u like this PLEASE send me arcane asks for vi and jinx😓

music reverbed off the wall of the hollow room the two of you occupied. the silly girl in front of you dancing to the beat lazily. a goofy smile spread across her face. you watch her work away at the new toy she was creating. her goggles looked so cute of her head as she shook her butt to the tune of the song blaring in the background. you giggle, watching your girlfriend in her element was so fun. she looked so focused as sparks fly in front of her.

‘whatca doin baby?’

you ask, wrapping your arms around jinx. you kiss her cheek.she flips up her goggles and spins to look at you, her eyes explore your face. rapid eye movements to catch every aspect of your features.

‘workin on a new toy.’ she deadpans her expression flipping back to her work desk. she flings the bomb into her hands, holding it by the smallest part of the machine. she shoves it into your face. her teeth capturing her bottom lip into a grin.

“here, look.”

she grabs your arm and pulls you down to her level. you crouch down next to her. she rips her goggles off her face and gently places them onto yours. she kisses the goggle lense.

‘alright cutie, blue to red.’ she says quickly, pointing at two wires.

‘Hm?’

‘put the red wire to the blue one dumbass’ she laughs sarcastically, throwing her head back.

you do as she says connecting the two wires. jinx stands up and grabs you from behind, sitting you down in her chair. her body leans over yours, she takes your hands in her own and works with the trinket. guiding your hands where to go. she hums to the tune of the music.

‘anndddd, volia !! she’s done’ she holds up the toy handing it to you with a proud smile. her face looses all expression for a second.

‘no she’s not, shut up!’ she shouts out to no one. her gun jumps into her hand and points it to the corner of the room.

‘Milo again? it’s okay baby.’

you calm her down. you always feel bad when she gets upset. The figment of her past tormenting her. the death of her sibling haunting her, following her.

her mood changes again, in an instant. she giggles, grabbing the bomb the two of you had just created. she looks at you, a mischievous look plastered onto her face. she sticks her tongue out slightly before throwing the weapon into the void beneath the two of you. quickly you jump up at the loud noise of the explosion under your feet. your girlfriend giggles, grabbing your hands she pulls you to your feet.

the bomb created a tint of pink light over the room. pink powder flying all over the place. she spins you around giggling. you watch her in awe, your insane girlfriend is so perfect to you. her craziness making her unique and fun to be around. you smile and join her. dancing around the room in the haze of the bomb

A/n: If this flops I’ll know not to post arcane again🤗

#arcane fanfic #arcane fandom #jinx #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x fem!reader #girl in red #arcane

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carolmunson · 2 years

Text

alive with the glory of love

(older!rockstar!eddie x older!actress!wife!)

a valentine's slice of life with our favorite rockstar almost thirty years into our marriage. the year is 2023 and we're still stella rink and we're still famous as hell. aged like fine wine. a decades long career and a decades long marriage with two twins in their late twenties. this is semi from the twins perspective. we know what our life was looking like before, let's see what it looks like now. :) eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple cw: 18+ minors dni, allusions to smut/wearing lingerie, but overall this is a short little something. reader and eddie are both 57, so, sorry if you don't want to be fifty seven. but if i have to be in my 'early twenties' every time i read a fic, you can be older for like, seven and a half minutes.

The phone eases into focus, Violet’s giggle sounds as she presses record, leaning on her elbows at the kitchen island. The room is a sun drenched, black and white tiled vision — still partially stuck in the 90s, remnants of your old life, despite the ongoing renovations. Despite the teasing from your adult children. Some stuff just never lost its charm – plus, the kids were calling it ‘a 90s vibe’ and you were both pretty sure that was cool.

“Morning, happy Valentine’s Day,” Violet says sleepily, Van trudging in behind her. They both take lazy seats on the bar stools across from the chef stove that their father is delicately working over.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, daintily pouring pink batter into a cookie cutter mold on a hot pan. The kitchen and dining room are filled to the brim with flowers and balloons. Eddie’s been up for hours getting everything set up for you, some things never change. Some things never get old.

“What’re you doing?” Van asks.

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m making mommy—” He turns around with a furrowed brow, deepening his forehead creases before he realizes they’re recording him. He sighs before turning back to his task, “Guys, again with the phone?”

“C’mon dad, they love you!” Violet begs, putting her phone down and shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket, “Van show him the comments on the last one.”

“They think you’re hilarious, they want you to have your own account,” Van encourages, he opens his own phone to bring over to his dad. He grew up to be a spitting image of the two of you, as if they pasted Eddie’s face on his and gave him all your other features. The color of your eyes, the texture of your hair. Your bright, enrapturing smile. A perfect fifty-fifty.

Van scrolls slowly through the endless comments, Eddie squinting down at them, “Van, I don’t have my glasses.”

Eddie peers down lower, “What does that mean? ‘I know it’s big’? What’s big?” “New…choker…just…dropped? I didn’t make chokers for merch,” he shrugs, waving him away to pay attention to the stove. “Ew,” Violet laughs, “Stop making him read these out loud, that’s so gross.”

“You should still make your own,” Van says, sitting back down, “It’d do way better than the one for Corroded.”

“Have your mom do it,” Ed shrugs off, “She knows how to do all that internet shit.”

“That Howard Stern clip is going viral again,” Violet says devilishly, “The girlies are obsessed with you.”

“I don’t care about the girlies, Vi,” Eddie blushes, flipping one of the pancakes on the pan, “I care about your mom.”

“I just wanna show them what you guys do for your favorite holiday,” Violet whines, “They’ll love it.”

“They’re gonna call him a simp,” Van teases, a look of realization washing over his face, “Wait, you’re such a simp for mom, actually.”

They both laugh, Eddie doesn’t know what ‘a simp’ is so he laughs too.

“That’s a good word for like, a DND character type — you should see about that in your campaigns,” Ed continues while he plates a pancake on an ever growing stack of pink and red.

“Ohmygod Dad, no, that’s not—“ Van laughs silently into his hands.

“Stop making fun of him, he’s old,” Violet pleads between giggles, taking her phone out again, “Dad, seriously can you just tell us what you’re doing? Why do you love Valentine’s Day?”

“Is this for your TikTok thing?” he asks, pulling his dark curls up in a ponytail with a black silk scrunchie, bangs he can’t quite part with falling in waves over his brow. ‘My Pilates teacher was telling me they’ll be safer on your hair,’ you’d said — and he’s never been one to say no to you. Every time the kids came home they’d take their phones out and make Tiktok’s of the two of you, sometimes you’d make a solo one for Violet or Van’s page if you felt like it. But with Twitter and Instagram, you didn’t want to overload your assistant with some other form of social media – but it looked like the two of you were really popular. Especially Eddie.

Violet educated you about ‘fancams’ which were just clips to music. There were a lot of the two of you together, or you solo from your movies and shows in the 90s. Progressions of you then and now and how you’re still ‘so hot’ and ‘unproblematic’. Eddie’s almost always started with the clip of him at Howard Stern, jaw ticking while he tried to keep his composure: ‘Excuse the fuck out of me, what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth?’ The comments were always flooded with a mess of young people losing their shit: ‘god i’ve seen what you’ve done for others’ ‘stopppp he’s obsessed with her’ ‘@vidawn i hope your mom can fight’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn i’m five years younger than u but i would be a great step dad’ ‘when is someone gonna fight howard stern FOR ME?’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn they’re thirsting over your dad again’ ‘i’m banging on the walls of my enclosure’ 'ewwww we hate cheaters' ‘i NEED to fuck him’ ‘@vannywayne you look EXACTLY the same’ ‘are they looking for a third?’ 'idgi he looks dirty' ‘they are notttttt making them like him anymore’ ‘not him being old enough to be my father i’m sick’

“Obviously,” she snaps back, rolling his eyes when he starts touching himself up for the camera.

“Should I do a couple of push ups so I look buff or…?” he teases. Violet and Van make a face that puts any face you’ve given him to shame. It’s the only regret he has about having kids with you – all that attitude had to go somewhere.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’m ready for my close up, Vi.”

“You’re so cheesy, dad. Just be normal for like, five seconds,” Violet huffs, taking out her phone again, “You’re ready?”

“M’ready,” he smiles. “Okay, so, what’re you doing?” Violet asks again.

“I am making pancakes,” he starts, pouring red better into the cookie cutter mold on the pan this time, “In a heart shape, for your mom.”

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face. It matches her dads. There was no mistaking that Violet was Eddie Munson’s daughter.

“Since we got together, so – the first one was in 1990,” he muttered, flipping the pancake, “I do it every year ‘cause she loves it. They’re strawberry, but they’re pink and red ‘cause I put food coloring in them.”

“Is Valentine’s Day her favorite holiday?”

Eddie grins, “No, her favorite holiday is the fourth of July. Not ‘cause she’s got a boner for America or anything. She just likes fireworks and when I use the grill.” “Is it your favorite holiday?” Van asks this time. Eddie nods, a bright blush pushing up on his face.

“How come?” Violet and Van ask at the same time. Eddie turns the burner off, placing the heaping plate of heart shaped pancakes on the center of the island. He opens the wine cooler on the opposite wall, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the top cabinet.

“‘Cause I get to spoil your mom all day,” he smiles, “She deserves it.”

“You spoil her every day,” Van teases, “I can’t think of a more doted on woman on earth than mom.”

“She’s very special,” he shrugs.

“And you do this every year?” Violet asks, zooming in on the pancakes.

“Every year for the past thirty four years, well, minus ninety-two,” he frowns a little, “We had some time apart that year.”

“Still had my chef make them for me though.”

Your voice cuts in from the large arch way connecting to the dining room and Violet pans quickly over to get you in frame.

“Hi mom,” Vi says, “Is this your favorite holiday?”

“No,” you shake your head and laugh, the same laugh he fell in love with, “It’s the fourth of July. C’mon Vi, how long have I been your mom? Do you even know me?” “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey,” Eddie frowns, “You’re ruining the surprise.”

“The surprise that’s older than my kids? How could I forget,” you grin, rounding the island and greeting your husband with a gentle kiss, “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs into a second chaste peck, “You’re supposed to let me bring them up to you.”

“My kids are home, I don’t wanna spend all day in bed,” you pout. He pouts back dramatically, tugging on your arm to pull you flush against his chest.

“I thought you loved spending all day in bed with me,” he pushes some of your hair back before resting a palm on your cheek, moving in to kiss you deeply. The scruff on his chin scratches around your mouth but you never care because he still kisses you, he kisses you every day. He’d kiss you all day if you let him. You had too many girlfriends whose ex-husbands were on their third wife and every year they’re more surprised that Eddie is still on his first.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Van says, Violet stops recording. Their faces sour.

“Yeah we don’t want a January ‘94 repeat or anything,” Vi jokes. The twins high five at their own mean reference to your horrific sex tape debacle, but you and Eddie toss them a playful glare.

“Hey, she might be your mother, but she’s my wife,” Eddie warns, hand sneaking down to rest on the small of your back to pull you close to him, “Don’t mess with her.”

“Yeah,” you tease, crossing your arms, “You saw what he did to Howie’s studio. I just gotta say the word.”

“So scary,” Violet rolls her eyes, leaving the kitchen with her twin in tow, “We’re taking the Jeep to get Jamba Juice, do you want anything?”

“My usual,” you answer while Eddie goes to the fridge to get grapefruit juice out of the fridge, “And get daddy’s usual too. Do you want his card? Where’s your card, hun?”

“Wherever you last left it,” he responds, gracefully pouring grapefruit mimosas for the both of you.

“It’s in my purse,” you call out.

“Which one?!” Violet calls back, both of them waiting by the door.

“The pink Kelly!”

“Got it! Do you want anything else?” Van calls out.

“Just uh,” Eddie giggles to himself, tossing you a once over, “Take your time!”

“Gross!” they yell back in unison. Eddie waits for the door to close to pull you back into him, he watches you at first. Brown eyes cascading over the slope of your nose, your cheeks, the crinkles at the edge of your eyes, your smile lines. He looks at you like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time. He looks different, but the same. Dark curls smattered and entwined in silver, a nose ring, a never ending scratch of overgrown stubble. Deep lines on his forehead that exaggerate his already animated features. Lips still full and warm, hands still big and covered in rings. He’s kept his body real tight for fifty-seven, still throwing himself in the gym daily. ‘If I’m gonna be addicted to something now it might as well be like, my cardiovascular health, babe.’ His crows feet make him somehow more attractive, his smile got better with age. He still makes your heart race when he catches your eye from across the room. “You wearing that little red thing I like?” he purrs in your ear. The tie to your robe sliding between his inked fingers.

“Maybe,” your finger trails over a tattoo on his bicep, “Maybe, I got something new for you to see. Maybe it’s black, maybe it’s strappy. Maybe it’s that thing you saw when we went shopping last week.”

“Christ,” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back over to the counter, “Do you ever stop getting hotter? Eat your breakfast before I bend you over this bar stool.”

“Let’s bring it upstairs like you wanted,” you smile, following him closely to press your hips up against him, “We can get a little messy.”

“Yeah?” he growls, pushing part of your robe away to see a peek of black lace and strappy leather, “Fucking god, Stell.”

“C’mon,” you whisper breathily, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, “They’ll be home soon.”

Some things have changed, some things remain the same. He still fucks you like a rockstar.

#eddie munson rockstar au #rockstar!eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fluff #rockstar!eddie fluff #older!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n

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ecstasyhighway · 6 months

Text

You & I | E.Williams

chapter i

CW, ellie is a pervert here she watches the reader masturbate… there is smut towards the end guys (im not good at smut but i tried my best) masturbation (reader and ellie) , stalking, y/n is used

this might be straight cheese ngl…im not good at ts 😭 but enjoy ig

wc: 1.4k

read the prologue here ch 2

———————

“Hi! Hello”

A voice chimes from behind her, she turns around, and a lump forms in her throat.

it's…you.

Ellie quickly clears her throat and begins to talk, her eyes scanning your features. She is infatuated with you, you’re gorgeous, ethereal even…

“hi sorry how may I help you?”

“Yes, do you guys happen to have 21’s new album?”

you ask so sweetly, Ellie watches you speak, your oh-so-beautiful smile just making her want to fall to her knees. Ellie signals you to follow her, heading back to the rap section of the store, her eyes scan the shelves as she looks for the album, She reaches up and pulls out the ‘American Dream’ and hands it to you.

“This one?”

You smile and giggle a little, “Yes! this is exactly what I've been looking for… I couldn’t find it anywhere else I've looked all over thank you um…?” You trail off looking for a name tag, “..Ellie, thank you”

Ellie smiles, her face feeling warm, she knows she's red as fuck right now and her feeling embarrassed about it is just making her even more flustered “Y-yeah no problem, is that all? I can ring you up over here” She chuckles softly trying to cover the anxiety in her voice.

You and Ellie head towards the register, she rings you up and you hand her your card. Ellie examines your card trying to get your name, she needs to know, she knows nothing about you, just some things like you like 21 savage and Tyler. But that’s not nearly enough, she needs to know everything about you, things even you don’t know about yourself...

“y/n? That's a really pretty name” She smirks and takes a mental note of your first and last name, she will most definitely be looking you up later.

“oh thank you so much!” you say with joy in your voice, “I might come back another time, I uhh really like music and I really want to learn how to play an instrument so maybe I’ll see you again?” you ask so innocently, Ellie, on the other hand, was freaking out on the inside, she just thought you were so gorgeous and she needed to know more about you and she needed you to come back

“yeah, uhm I teach acoustic guitar, and piano so if you ever want lessons just show up, I'm here pretty much all the time, haha yeah this store is actually my life and-“ She cuts herself off realizing she's just rambling about nothing. “sorry yes you will definitely see me again” she is mentally cursing at herself for being such a nervous wreck in front of you.

“awesome, I’ll see you laters Ellie” and with that, you turn around and focus your attention on your phone, a message dings and you begin typing away. Ellie noticed this and is already feeling a certain way.. do you have a boyfriend? girlfriend? Are you single..? its okay she’ll figure all that out.

Once Ellie’s shift was over she went down to her music room. She sat there for a second and put on some jazz, she grabbed her laptop and began her long and tedious search, y/n l/n, she scrolled through the search page filled with many other y/n l/n’s. she stops. ‘bingo’ she thinks to herself, she found you ‘y/n.oncam’ on pretty much everything. Luckily all your accounts are public, unluckily she notices that you literally post your entire life on the internet, ‘do you know how many creeps are on the internet? oh once I have you to myself no one will be able to ever know anything personal about you’ she scoffs.

Here's what she knows, you’re 20, you’re single, you like to read, and you lovee music.. you live in an apartment with a big window.

Wait, she knows that complex, yeah she knows where that is, it's right across the street from the bookstore Dina works at. Shit Dina! Ellie forgot that she promised to bring Dina a limited edition 2Pac vinyl she had in storage. Ellie jumped up, grabbed her jacket, went to the storage to grab the record. She gets in her car and heads to Dina’s bookstore.

‘D are you still at work?’

‘yes’

‘I'm bringing the record rn’

*Dinabina like a message*

Ellie arrived at the bookstore, the words ‘Hidden Pages’ flickering softly as one of the letters had gone out. Ellie walks into the store and walks up to Dina, who is reading.

“D, I got the record”

“yayy thank you Ellie” Dina walks up to her smiling and gives her a hug “I’ll give it back as soon as I'm finished listening to it”

Ellie said her goodbyes and left the store.

She looks around trying to find the apartment, she found it. ‘Havenwood apartments’ She walks to the tall building and examines it and she spots the only big window, no curtains, lights on, and a woman's figure dancing around. She gets closer to the building, not too close but close enough to see into the window. Sure enough, it's you, dancing and singing, oblivious to the world around you, if you would just stop and look out of your window you would see Ellie, watching you closely, biting her lip and just enjoying the view of you.

You had gotten tired, turned off the music and began getting ready for bed. Oh, but that feeling between your legs was getting stronger, you tried to ignore it, you’ve been pent up and so busy lately, mostly because of work and shit. ‘Fuck’ you curse quietly to yourself and you head to your couch, you slip your hands down your pants and begin rubbing circles on your clit, dipping your fingers into your hole and gathering your juices to add more lubrication. Your eyes close and as you add pressure to your throbbing clit, you feel yourself bucking your hips for more friction. Fingers pumping in and out of your hole. Your other hand fondling your soft tits, adding more stimulation ‘mmph fuck’ The noises coming from your mouth are almost pornographic, your neighbors could probably hear you as the walls are thin. You feel yourself getting closer so you begin moving faster your mouth forming an ‘O’ shape “Mmpfh shit’m gonna cum fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” You get that feeling in your stomach and let yourself go, your orgasm hitting you like a truck, you continue rubbing your clit riding out your orgasm, legs shaking from the overstimulation. Once you’re done you sit up and head to the bathroom to clean yourself up and you go to your bed to watch a show, you feel so comfortable and safe in the warmth of your bed so, you drift off into a slumber…

Oh but little did you know. You weren’t alone. Ellie saw what you were doing, she saw your most intimate moment and you didn't even notice you were being watched. Like she thought you were oblivious to the world around you, a normal person would sense another watching them, but not you…or maybe you knew she was watching and you put on a show for her and only her. Ellie’s hand reaches to unbutton her jeans, reaches her hand into her underwear, and begins rubbing her clit to the thought of you, your body, your pussy just begging to be touched by her, your soft tits and your skin needing to be marked by her…she needs you so bad.. just as she’s about to come undone. an elderly opens the door behind her, luckily Ellie had her back turned so the lady didn’t see her pleasuring herself to you. Ellie saw that the lady had many bags and offered to help her.

“Can you call a cab for me dear, they all just speed right passed me?” the woman asked kindly, and Ellie did what she asked, grabbing the cab’s attention and opening the door for her, all with a smile and her juices dripping down her thighs. The cab leaves and Ellie walks to her car.. “why were you touching yourself out in public while watching an oblivious girl masturbate..you’re so fucking weird.. fuck Ellie what the fuck, you need to be more careful, that could’ve not gone in your favor…” she whispered to herself, her cheeks red from embarrassment. She gets in her car and heads to her apartment….

——————————

idk what a tag list is but someone said “need to be in the taglist” and my gf said that means they wanna be tagged when the next part comes out so yeah

🏷️ @vqxen

#—ecstasyhighway #ellie smut #ellie williams smut #ellie williams #tlou smut #tlou2 smut #smut #lesbian #wlw #wlw smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #ellie is so hot #i need her so fucking bad #nah imma do my own thing #ellie tlou #ellie tlou smut

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shenachigans · 2 months

Text

IN MY DREAMS | Cassandra Kiramman

PAIRING: Cassandra Kiramman x Fem!Reader

CW: angst BUT bittersweet ending, old people wlw (Cassandra is in her mid-50s and reader is in her early 50s), tragic-ish love, 1950s Hollywood inspired in terms of homosexuality-ish, mentions of homophobia, give them a break they’re both old people stuck with regrets and customs of the past :( I guess you can say they’re both closeted, but Cassandra’s sexuality isn’t labeled she just loves reader, sort of 2 perspectives: first one is reader, second is a mix of both but mostly Cassandra’s, both are too depressed and heartbroken to notice their love is reciprocated, back in the old day women are expected to marry a man, reader is also a matriarch of her own family like Cassandra, most likely ooc Cassandra

SUMMARY: Cassandra loves you back, and you love Cassandra back: A confession made after decades of mutual depressive pining.

A/N: It’s giving Evelyn and Celia from The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo in a way, I don’t know why. I’ve been hyper-fixating on one of the Arcane milfs, Cassandra Kiramman, and Arcane in general lately. Don’t get me wrong, Caitlyn Kiramman is a FINE woman. I love her and her girlfriend, Vi, too, but her mother is for me to ask for her hand in marriage. PLEASE ONE CHSNCE. Oh, and I hope you shed tears as I did writing this, and if you haven’t figured it out, yes, this is based on the song “In My Dreams” by Red Velvet. I suggest you listen to it on loop while reading. Immerse yourself, dear reader. I want tears shed suffer like I did h/j (not really). Anyway, enjoy!

WORDS: 2,169

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

“In my dreams, you love me back,” is a mantra you’ve said to yourself all your life when you met her as a little child yet exposed to the harsh reality of the world. Her name was Cassandra Kiramman, the young scion you knew was now the head of her clan and a respectable Councilor of Piltover.

Those beautiful blue eyes still shined with ambition, pride, and even greed, but you never thought of her differently for those qualities, rather, you respected them as they helped her become the woman she is today. Her graying hair and the fine lines on her features prove the years she has been on the top, something you were never able to achieve, but that’s okay because she still kept you around, her childhood best friend.

You don't know why, but you’re grateful. You were nothing compared to her, with only your family name keeping you afloat. Yet, that family is not comparable to the Kirammans, the family you wished to be part of because that would mean you belonged to her, something you’ve always wanted but will never have.

It's tragic, really, for the woman you love only regards you as a dear friend, either blinded by her ambitions to notice or never pointing it out despite knowing. You hoped it was the latter, to let her know you loved her, to let her acknowledge your love and devotion even if she would never reciprocate them because you were only a friend. Nothing more can happen between you two, especially not when she has a family of her own with a husband and daughter.

Caitlyn was someone you considered your own, having been present in her life since she was born. You remember the first time you saw her in Cassandra’s arms. The little one grasped your gloved finger with resilience, smiling up to you with the same blue eyes her mother owned; the same eyes you fell in love with. She grew up to be a stark contrast to her mother in terms of personality despite being the physical copy of the woman you love. However, stubbornness is what they share and you find it endearing.

What would life be like if you and Cassandra had children as lovers? But that wouldn't happen. Never in a million years, never in the multiple lives you lived and would live in. Despite the one-sided love you share, you will always love her, even if it hurts more than any physical pain could inflict on your body, because "In my dreams, you love me back."

You would settle for friendly love, something strictly platonic, a rock Cassandra can lean on in a time of need, even if your mind told you multiple times it was time to stop, that it was time to let her go and move on to live a happy life where she wasn't your world. But it’s difficult when she was your world when she was the one who gave you light. You couldn’t let her go, and now it has been decades, facing a reality far different from your dreams.

“Do you still plan on getting married?” Cassandra asked out of the blue, a cup of tea in hand, clasped between nimble gloved fingers in the privacy of the Kiramman residence garden. She had prepared your favorite tea, personally brewing it to your liking just to see that satisfied expression on your face.

Cassandra studied your features to see how time had treated you with your graying hair and fine lines. You still looked as beautiful as the day she first met you when you two were children. A glimpse of your bright smile had rocked her world as a young scion, who focused on nothing but her duties for the future. The way your eyes now crinkled with wings when you smiled, she found it endearing.

She wanted to remove her gloves and reach out to feel your cheeks with her bare hands, to feel the warmth of your skin on hers and brush it so lovingly with her thumbs as she pressed her forehead against yours, but she withheld her inner turmoil with a masked expression. Touching you so intimately felt inappropriate considering you two were only good friends.

You raised a brow as you placed your teacup on the saucer, setting it on the table. A small amused chuckle left your lips. “What do you mean? I fear I’m too old to marry, Cassandra. If you’re worried about who will inherit my clan, I assure you, my niece is more than fit for the role. Even if I did marry and have a child, the little one would be far too young and inexperienced to carry such a burden on their shoulders,” you say with a smile, and you miss the way her lips frown slightly at your answer.

Cassandra watches as you sip your tea, the way you elegantly hold the cup and present yourself before her with manners unmatched by royals is sickening. The person before her was not the same person she knew and fell in love with years ago. Who was this? Where was the person who always brought a smile to her face and made her heart swell? Why did it feel like you were slipping away, despite your proximity?

She had been contemplating these questions for the past three decades. You had built barriers around yourself, and even she couldn’t get through them to see the real you and what you were feeling. She didn’t want the woman she loved to hide behind a mask, but she never dared ask because she was scared. She was scared she couldn’t help you, she feared that her love would drive you away with disgust and contempt.

A woman loving another was unacceptable when you and Cassandra were younger. You two have seen the consequences of people who tried to fight for it. It was seen as crude and you two were both heirs to your respective families. She couldn’t risk tarnishing your family name and your safety, and she couldn’t risk her position, that would mean she would never be allowed to see you again, so she kept you close as much as she could without raising suspicion, but she also kept you at an arm's distance albeit reluctantly.

All Cassandra needed was to be by your side as much as she allowed herself. She yearned for more, but that would be selfish, that would mean disregarding your privacy and space, and she was seen as selfish since she was on the Council, but she would never put herself first when it came to you.

“I don’t think you are too old, and yes, I am worried about who will succeed you, but… that wasn’t why I was asking,” Cassandra said carefully and averted her gaze onto her tea, the liquid reflecting her face. She saw the creased eyebrows on her features, and how her eyes seemed to have glazed with unshed tears. She can feel your curious gaze on her and she blinked profusely to calm her eyes. She didn’t want to worry you for suddenly crying. “Are you not lonely?” she asked as she looked at you expectantly and the way you smiled felt like a knife to her heart. It was rueful and she hated it.

“I don’t need to marry to avoid loneliness, Cassandra,” you say. “Marriage was not something I particularly wanted, though it was needed to keep appearances but I survived as a spinster. I was surprised Mother didn’t nag me too much for not finding a husband and bearing children. May she rest in peace. Father didn’t really have a say, but he told me that marriage…” You look into her blue eyes. “…wasn’t the only thing that binds you to the person you love.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened at the revelation. What you said was true, that truth was what allowed her to marry Tobias and have Caitlyn with him for the clan’s sake. But the way you gazed into her eyes, it felt like those words were meant for her. She couldn’t be seeing things, could she? Times have changed… Would it be okay for her to say it? To hope that you love her like she loves you? She steadies her breath and places her teacup and saucer on the table. It’s now or never.

If she can’t say it at least once in both of your lifetimes, does she even deserve to love you?

Cassandra could feel your gaze as you watched her with furrowed brows when she suddenly discarded her gloves and stood from her seat across from you to stand by your side. Her heart was hammering in her chest when you craned your head to look up at her as she towered over your sitting figure. She could tell you were confused, maybe even shaken, when she just stared at you, but she saw how you widened your eyes when she slowly and gently cupped your cheeks with her bare hands and stroked the apple of your cheeks with her thumbs.

She saw part of the real, old you in your usually guarded eyes, it gave her a flicker of hope and her lips started to tremble when you didn’t push her away and instead placed your hands on hers. She had wanted to hold you like this the moment she realized she loved you.

“Cassandra, what are you—” you say with worry but you cut yourself off when you see the tears that swelled in her eyes. This wasn’t like Cassandra, the normally poised and dignified woman you loved. It reminded you of the rare times she would become reckless like Caitlyn when you two were younger.

She never told you, but those were the times she felt the most human, not because she didn’t have to put up fronts, but because she could be human with you without judgment and expectations and show herself to the person she loved, albeit having to limit herself from her insecurities.

“I never told you this, I couldn’t dare let you see this side of myself, but I can’t keep it hidden anymore. I have dreams I think about all the time. In my dreams, there was you and I…”

Cassandra paused and averted her eyes from you by lowering her head, gazing at the necklace she gave you as children with a pendant that matched the color of her eyes to keep a part of herself with you at all times. She can’t believe you still held onto it after all these decades. Did you cherish it that much?

“...We were lovers. In that world, I could love you freely without the duties and expectations placed upon me and the judgment of the world. In that world, I could call you ‘my wife,’ ‘my dearest,’ and ‘my love.’ I could be by your side to love and dote on you. We would have as many children as you wanted and have little versions of ourselves running around the Kiramman or your family’s residence. In that world, we would grow old together, watch as our family grows, and leave a mark of our love even as we take our last breaths…

I love you, and… In my dreams, you love me back.”

Cassandra hadn’t realized she was crying until your hand cupped her cheek, your thumbs wiping the falling tears. Your touch was so tender and she leaned into it, to the warmth of your hand, and hesitantly met your gaze.

Oh.

You were crying too. She didn’t want you to cry. It pained her to see you so hurt and in tears, but you were smiling, it was a smile she hadn’t seen in forever, the smile she fell in love with. She was taken aback when you stood from your seat and brushed her silver hair to the side before pressing your foreheads together, your noses brushing each other’s. She closes her eyes when you do and basks in your proximity and warmth, her arms encircling your waist. Her heart swells when you speak.

“I also have the same dreams, my love,” you say, resting your hand on her shoulder as you continue to stroke her cheek with the other. “In my dreams, you love me back. I never wanted to wake from them, and I prayed that you would stay forever so that we would be happily forever after.”

You never knew she also felt this way and that she would admit her feelings for you, it makes your heart flutter. You may never have each other exactly like you would want in both of your dreams, but the admission that she loved you back was all that mattered, and you can tell she felt the same which puts a smile on your face, the smile she always brought to your face when you were children.

“I love you, too, Cassandra. I’m happy my dreams have come true.”

#arcane #arcane cassandra #cassandra kiramman #cassandra kiramman x reader #arcane x reader #league of legends #arcane netflix #arcane women #cassandra x reader #arcane league of legends x reader #arcane league of legends

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risingchaos · 3 months

Text

Explanation of Cuff Bands in Star Trek (The Original Series and Strange New Worlds)

Pips TNG onward explained + details of what each rank does

In TOS, they hadn’t figured out the pip system yet, so they did wrist bands to signify rank instead. It’s not nearly as straightforward as the pips, but once you get a hang of it, it helps tons. Plus they rarely call anyone by their rank in TOS, often going by mister or miss. This will mostly have close ups of TOS characters.

Now, Starfleet is based upon the U.S. Navy, so the names used are those. I’ve broken down the ranks in greater detail in the post linked above, so this one is just for knowing the ranking of each band and a brief explanation.

If you just want to know the look, there is a guide at the end for you. :)

—————

Description of the line looks for anyone who needs it: Dashed lines are long gold dashes perpendicular to the cuff, curving slightly upwards on one side and downwards on the other for each dash, like the shape of an eraser on its side. Solid lines are a straight gold band perpendicular to the cuff with another solid gold line wrapped around it. It almost looks like the two are intertwined. Bars are explained briefly later for Admirals, but they look like one straight gold band with two of the previously mentioned solid lines pressed against each side on the top and bottom with no space between.

For Strange New Worlds, replace any mention of a dashed line a thin straight line and any mention of a solid line as a thick straight line. I have not found any actual explanation for Admirals in SNW, but they have different Starfleet badges.

Cadet - Uniform Distinction

As far as I know we don’t actually meet any in TOS, but we do in SNW. In basically all Star Trek media, cadets wear red/all red uniforms. Cadets are people still in the Academy, not yet graduated. They can still serve on ships for training, however. Cadet Uhura is a lovely example of this.

Petty Officer - Insufficient Information

I am not sure if Petty Officers exist in TOS or appear in SNW, I searched for a while to find solid proof. The closest I could find for TOS was that maybe in The Motion Picture there was a Petty Officer with a triangle insignia, and that there was a character named Samno in Star Trek VI who was a PO and a Yeoman. If anyone can confirm/deny/offer anything, I will add it to this.

Yeoman

Yeoman are assistants in Starfleet. They’re only used in TOS, and their system is kind of strange. You can hold a ranked position while still being a Yeoman, shown through an unnamed character who had Junior Lieutenant markings on her sleeve while being addressed as a Yeoman. They generally are Ensigns, however.

Ensign - Blank sleeve

Ensigns have blank sleeves. I think this is probably for practicality for budget reasons in TOS, but most background actors are ensigns. Ensigns are graduates from the Academy and just anyone who hasn’t climbed the chain yet.

Lieutenants

Junior Lieutenant - Single dashed [•]

The only example I could find was a man named Joe Tormolen from the episode “The Naked Time” as the guy who dies at the start. Junior Lieutenants feature a singular dotted line on the cuffs.

Lieutenant - Single solid [~]

Most crew members we see are Lieutenants. Lieutenants are working consoles, navigating, going on away teams. Hikaru Sulu and Nyota Uhura in TOS.

Lieutenant Commander - Single dashed, single solid [•~]

Lieutenant Commanders are integral to running the ship. Heads of departments and the ones who run day to day activities aboard the ship. Chief Engineer Montgomery “Scotty” Scott was one of these.

Commander - Two solid [~~]

The First Officer on the ship. This is second in command, the right hand to the Captain. In TOS, our Commander Spock is also the head of the science department.

Captain - Single solid, single dashed, single solid [~•~]

Captains we all know. They are the head of the ship, the man who has to keep it level and realistic at all times, though our lovely Captain Kirk isn’t exactly known for level-headedness. He also has the green wraparound shirt that has the V shaped gold detailing by the neckline with a small gold line between.

Admirals

Admirals have an extra silly thing. They have a bar. It looks like if you smushed two of the solid bars together with a straight gold piece between. Admirals usually have different uniforms but they honestly change rather frequently. We meet Admirals few and far between in any ST show, but I’ve put them below nonetheless.

Here is a complete guide to each wrist cuff design in Starfleet’s early days, excluding Cadets, Petty Officers, and Ensigns.

A dot • indicates a dash line, a squiggle ~ indicates a solid line, and a hyphen - indicates a bar.

Junior Lieutenant - [•]

Lieutenant - [~]

Lieutenant Commander - [•~]

Commander - [~~]

Captain - [~•~]

Commodore/Rear Admiral (lower half) - [-]

Rear Admiral (upper half) - [~-]

Vice Admiral - [-~-]

Admiral - [~~-~]

Fleet Admiral - [~~-~~]

—————

Hopefully this helps you understand as much as it did me when I first figured it all out. Took a minute to get some research done. Let me know if anything is worded strangely or if the descriptions aren’t clear enough. I tried to be detailed with it at the start. If anyone has extra information or needs more, please comment or message me! I will answer/clarify to the best of my ability.

I love putting together this kind of thing so if anyone wants more lists like this, let me know. Enjoy.

#star trek the original series #star trek tos #star trek strange new worlds #star trek snw #james kirk #spock #leonard mccoy #bones mccoy #s'chn t'gai spock #mr spock #james t kirk #jim kirk #explaination #Star Trek #this was fun

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koqabear · 1 year

Text

Wanna Play A Game?

⊹ playlist ⊹

“You’ve always been a bit skeptical of Beomgyu’s friend group. But for him, you pushed it aside, opting to give in to his pleas as you find yourself in Soobin’s vacation home during spring break. Only, it seems that things are only going downhill.”

??? x fem! reader

Also featuring: Soobin, Ryujin and Yeji from Itzy, Wooyoung from Ateez

Genre: slasher, thriller, mystery, angst, smut, mystery member(s) oooh

Word count: 13K

Warnings: Use of substances (weed and alcohol), everyone’s kinda an asshole, arguing, vomiting, blood, wounds, biting, weapons, death and murder (duh), kidnapping, blindfolding, handcuffing, pet names (angel, cutie, good girl, etc.), manipulation, threats, gaslighting, please don’t question how everything works. (Or do, I might’ve made a timeline already.) let me know if I missed anything!

Smut warnings: dubcon. Mean Dom(s)! ???, sub!mc manhandling, praise, degrading, mind breaking(?), sensory deprivation, handcuffing, biting, marking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying, unprotected sex, choking, creampie

Notes: fanfic author watches scream vi and gets inspired by a single scene (shocking) (also the playlist is a bit weird and messy so watch out for that)

Three characters, your only hint. Who could it be? One, two… maybe three?

[Dark themes ahead, read at your own discretion. I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume, nor do I condone any themes discussed. This story does not reflect the idol’s true character or morals, and are merely used as characters in fiction.]

“Guys, come on, don’t be fucking stupid.”

The fire is warm against your hands as you swat away the mischievous ones of your friends, the group laughing and poking fun at you as they lean in; dangerously close, playing with fire as though to taunt you.

The lights in the kitchen turn on as the shadow of another of your friends roams around inside, a few of you turning to look in curiosity before you’re back to chatting in your circle. The puffer jacket that's been zipped all the way up seems to be doing nothing for you as you find yourself sinking into your seat even more, hands deep in your pockets as you nuzzle your numb nose into your jacket.

“You sure you don’t want some?” Yeonjun is close and quiet as he speaks to you, his voice no louder than a murmur as he nods to the blunt that’s been passed back to him. Shaking your head, you shiver as a particularly harsh wind passes through the group.

“No thanks. Too cold for this shit,” you say, gesturing to the way you’re practically ready to curl into your seat. Yeonjun simply huffs out a laugh at your antics, nodding his head softly before he brings the blunt to his lips.

“Could always shotgun it,” he teases, ignoring the way you scoff as he takes in a deep breath; his hands are red and stiff, and he looks back at you as he sends you a wink— smoke blows in your face as you sputter, shoving him away as the two of you burst out laughing.

“Asshole,” you mutter, scrunching your nose as Yeonjun passes the blunt to the other person beside you; Ryujin takes it happily, slumping back into her chair as she shakes her head in amusement at your antics.

“Think I’m gonna go inside, it’s freezing out here,” you say, groaning softly as you go to stand up— your legs feel stiff, a strong shiver coursing through you as you shrug off everyone’s pleas for you to stay out for a bit more. Shaking your head, you bid them goodbye as you go back inside; the glow of the fire slowly disappears as you’re left in the dark for a second, trudging through the grass and making your way tiredly to the back porch.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to get up the stairs— but it’s so damn cold that you feel as though your legs might snap off, and the hot tub that greets you as you finally make your way to the back entrance is quite the funny sight; maybe if the weather would’ve been nicer, you would’ve found yourself in there instead.

There’s a whole week to let the weather get better, you think, finally letting your hand out of your pocket as you open the glass door. The heat that greets you is instant, and you let out a sigh of relief as you stumble inside, stepping onto the kitchen tiles as you lock eyes with Taehyun, Beomgyu looking up curiously from his seat at the counter.

“Are they coming back in?” Taehyun asks, leaning back against the counter as he takes another sip of his drink— soda, you note surprisingly, despite the grandiose liquor cabinet that Soobin showed everyone earlier being just a few steps away from him.

“No, I was just the first one to cave in,” you say, going around to take a seat next to Beomgyu, “what’re you guys doing in here all alone?”

“Same reason as you,” Beomgyu says, tilting his head as he drums his fingers against the counter, “it’s too cold out there.”

You hum softly at his response; checking your phone, you sigh, placing it face down as you lean into the palm of your hand dejectedly.

“What, can’t handle not being able to use your phone for a day?” Beomgyu laughs, taking in your expression as you pout softly, “the cell towers should be back up tomorrow, don’t worry.”

“This area always has some of the most unpredictable weather,” Taehyun grumbles, speaking for the first time in a while as your eyes jump up to meet his, “I dunno why they picked this place for spring break.”

“Cause it’s perfect, that’s why,” Beomgyu answers before you can get a word in, nodding your head in agreement as he begins to recite Soobin’s words, “no neighbors, no cops to crash the party, just us here.”

“Half of them are at risk for alcohol poisoning every time they get access to it,” Taehyun says, jutting his head at the group that rambunctiously moves about, seemingly laughing at something funny as they fail to settle down for even a second, “It’s a bad idea to be doing all this while not having any way to contact emergencies.”

“Come on dude, loosen up for once,” Beomgyu tuts, rolling his eyes at the younger’s behavior as he turns to you with a sly look on his face, “Don’t know why I even invited him.”

“Shut up,” Taehyun barks, clenching his jaw as he goes to take another sip of his soda; his eyes lock with yours, and you can’t help but gulp as you take in how annoyed they are.

Beomgyu seems to ignore any signs of irritation from the man before him, turning to you eagerly instead as he sends you a bright smile, long hair falling in his eyes as he doesn’t bother to push it out of the way.

“Hey, wanna go watch a movie or something? I hear Soobin’s got a sick collection of slasher movies,” Beomgyu offers, completely disregarding Taehyun, who simply watches the way he takes your hand, leading you out to the living room before you can say so much as a goodbye.

You’re a bit confused at Beomgyu’s behavior, but you decide against pointing it out as he lightheartedly pushes you onto the couch; you fall with a small grunt unceremoniously, leaning back into the cushions as you turn to watch Beomgyu scan through the shelf of movies; your fingers go to play with the zipper of your jacket, absentmindedly tugging at it before you finally take it off.

“Have you watched Scream?” Beomgyu calls out to you, glancing back at you briefly as you huff a small laugh at his question.

“Duh, who hasn’t?” You reply, turning away from him as the screen door in the backyard is opened roughly; Soobin is stumbling in, Ryujin and the others following behind as they all complain about how it suddenly began to rain.

“What’re we watching?” Soobin asks, taking a seat next to you as the rest crowd around; Yeji and Ryujin settle down next to you, Yeonjun sitting beside them as he quietly mutters something along the lines of “this is a big ass couch.” He’s quick to signal Wooyoung to sit next to him, leaning back into the corner of the deep U-shaped couch as he puts his feet up on the coffee table, despite Soobin’s protests.

“Scream,” Taehyun says, settling on the floor as he rests his head back on the cushions. Everyone’s chatters and comments about the movie are drowned in your ears as you watch him sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut as a yawn rips through him; Beomgyu is trotting over before you can dwell on his condition any further, fumbling with the old DVD player on Soobin’s console station as he diligently tries to follow Soobin’s irritated commands.

“Holy fuck, lemme do it,” Soobin stands, pushing Beomgyu out of the way as he sets the movie up himself; the younger male looks like a kicked puppy as he saunters back to the couch, taking Soobin’s seat as he rests a head on your shoulder.

“He’s so mean,” he pouts, crossing his arms as you shake your head in amusement.

“There there, don’t cry,” you mumble half-heartedly, patting his head as Soobin’s giant flat screen tv finally lights up— everyone haphazardly cheers at the sight, and you watch as Yeonjun quickly sneaks off towards the liquor cabinet, grabbing as many bottles as he can before they’re clinking down on the table roughly.

“I’ve seen this movie too many times and the weed is already wearing off,” Yeonjun says, not bothering to grab any shot cups as he opens a bottle of vodka; there’s a mixed reaction in your group as you watch him waterfall it as though it were water, clearly putting on a show as Wooyoung shoves him playfully; he’s choking and spluttering from the action, slamming the bottle back down hurriedly as everyone laughs as though they were entertained.

Sitting up, you go to help Yeonjun who seems to be struggling to regain his composure, only to get pulled back by Beomgyu as he sends you a small smile.

“Don’t. He’ll be fine,” Beomgyu grins, watching as Wooyoung takes a turn to down a good couple of gulps— Yeonjun’s coughs have seized to nothing but an occasional clear of his throat, the back of his hand wiping at his chin as he stares down at his shirt in dismay; he reeks of alcohol, clearly annoyed as he sends Wooyoung a glare. Beomgyu only tugs you back down into the couch, ignoring the way you shift restlessly at the sight of Yeji and Ryujin recording the whole thing.

“Plus, you wouldn’t wanna ruin their shot, right?” He whispers, laughing softly as Yeonjun pushes Wooyoung in return— the vodka spills directly down his shirt, yelling in surprise as the liquid runs down his skin uncomfortably— you feel yourself tensing at the way they seem to be getting worked up, sitting up as they begin to argue loudly.

“Jesus, cut it out! Quit acting like fucking children! Go get some towels, they’re in the kitchen,” Soobin is quick to separate the two, pushing Wooyoung off the couch and signaling to the kitchen as he takes his spot, “and turn the light off on your way back.”

Yeji and Ryujin only laugh amongst themselves as Yeji puts her phone away, the sound of Ryujin whispering a soft “send that to me,” Barely reaching your ears before everyone’s settling back down, the tension simmering away as the lights in the kitchen finally turn off; Wooyoung is making his way back with a couple of paper towels for Yeonjun, taking a seat on the floor as the house is shrouded in complete darkness— the only thing giving off light now being the giant television before you.

You’ve seen this movie hundreds of times before; you know all the tropes, remembering every scene as you quickly find your mind wandering off— before you know it, you find yourself reaching for the bottle of vodka, too.

Maybe Yeonjun was onto something; you all seem much more relaxed and giggly as you yell at the screen, making comments and cracking jokes even in the face of countless scenes of gore. It’s a lot more fun this way, and before you know it, you find yourself much more interested in the movie than you were before.

“Holy shit, Soobin, where’s your bathroom,” Yeji groans, and you all tear your eyes away from the screen to find her doubled over, eyes shut as she clearly seems to be getting sick; Ryujin is quick to pull her up, pushing her along the way to the nearest bathroom in the maze of hallways— you’re surprised to find everyone unbothered as the sounds of Yeji’s pain filter over the noise.

It’s strange— you don’t typically find yourself around this group of people; you weren’t as close to them as one might think, your only strong connection with them all being Taehyun and the man who currently rested his head on your shoulder— he had countlessly reassured you that it would be fun, that staying at Soobin’s place would be a good way to spend a bit of your spring break; at first, you found yourself agreeing, but now you can’t help but seem unnerved at the way these people act around each other.

“Jesus, turn the volume up,” Yeonjun says, the boys around you laughing amongst themselves as a particularly loud sound from Yeji breaches through the movie; you find yourself antsy and clammy, meeting eyes with Taehyun, who seems as equally bothered as you are.

“I’m gonna go check on them,” you mutter quietly, pulling Beomgyu off you despite his reassurances that they’re completely fine; you can’t help but be unnerved at how calm they are about the situation, watching as your friend sinks back into the couch immediately, sending you a petulant pout that has you frowning.

Soobin’s house is hard to navigate without any source of light— pressing your lips together, you jump at the loud crack of thunder that manages to boom over the movie; the only thing you’re able to see is a small sliver of light that leaks through the bathroom door, the sinking feeling in your stomach only getting worse as the sound of crying reaches your ears.

“Yeji— Yeji, come on, sit up,” Ryujin says hurriedly, her voice stern yet shaky as you hear incoherent mumbling— it’s Yeji, you realize.

Hesitantly, you knock on the door; when you get no response, you turn the knob, peeking inside as you find Yeji leaning over the toilet bowl, her shoulders shaking as you find the source of the crying— yet Ryujin doesn’t seem to be doing any better, her breaths shaky as she stands over her friend, unsure of what to do as her head quickly snaps up at the sight of the door opening.

“Oh my god, is she okay?”

“I don’t— no, obviously not,” Ryujin snaps, stressed out as she runs a hand through her hair. Looking past you, you watch her expression quickly sour, the heightened sounds of screams from the movie reaching her as she scoffs in disbelief.

“Did those assholes turn the fucking volume up?” She’s standing up as Yeji begins to vomit once more, and you’re unable to control the way you wince as Ryujin holds her hair back. She’s trying her best to comfort her friend as she rubs her back soothingly, but the sudden boom from the movie makes her stand up hurriedly, pushing past you as she quickly mumbles for you to look after her— you’re scrambling to get to Yeji’s side, surprised to find her shaky and crying as you pull her hair away from her face, flushing the toilet as you pull her back for a moment.

“Are you guys seriously gonna act like this when we clearly need help?” Ryujin’s voice easily booms over the movie as she yells at the boys that still lounge on the couch, the incoherent sounds of arguing mixing together with the movie as you let out a shaky sigh.

“Don’t be such a bitch, she probably just greened out,” Soobin’s voice travels down the hall, and the heavy sounds of footsteps reach your ears as you hesitantly look up.

“You know she can barely handle her stuff, why’d you let her drink?” Soobin scoffs, his hair a mess as he runs his hand through his hair in annoyance— Wooyoung peeks over Soobin’s shoulder, making eye contact with you as he lets out a low whistle at the sight.

“Now’s not the time to be pointing fingers, she’s clearly sick dickhead!” Ryujin yells, overprotective of her friend as she shoves Soobin back— you flinch at the sight, unsure of what to do as the tensions in the room seem to rise.

“What’re we supposed to do? It’s storming outside, the roads aren’t safe to drive on,” Soobin’s reasoning falls on deaf ears as Ryujin retorts with an angry I don’t give a fuck, clearly worried over her friend who looks concerningly pale.

“So what? You wanna go out and crash the fucking car? Kill both of you at this point?” Soobin is flushed as the alcohol seems to be impairing his reasoning, Wooyoung and Yeonjun beginning to intervene as they pull the two away from each other.

“Guys, we won’t get anywhere if we keep arguing like this,” Yeonjun reasons, a bit tipsy as he places a firm hand on Soobin’s chest, “go look to see if you have any medicine or something, there might be something that can help her out in the meantime.”

“Don’t know why the fuck you’re blaming us when you let her get like that,” Soobin scoffs as he turns around, rolling his eyes at the way Ryujin bristles at his comment, face flushed and angry as she attempts to push past Wooyoung.

“What the fuck did you say?! Get back here you prick!” Your mouth feels dry as Ryujin seems to have been set off, Wooyoung beginning to push her back into another room in an attempt to calm her down— beside you, Yeji lets out a shaky breath.

“I don’t— we’re not always like this,” Yeonjun says, drawing your attention as he takes in the way you seem to be like a frightened rabbit. He lets out a deep sigh, leaning against the wall as he crosses his arms, still a bit drunk as he looks at Yeji diligently, “I don’t know what the hell is happening right now. I guess things are still tense between us.”

Shakily, you nod your head, choosing not to question things as the word still lingers in your head. You’re stuck staring at the floor as you attempt to rub Yeji’s back soothingly, mimicking Ryujin’s movements as she coughs softly— in the distance, you’re able to hear her shouts, clearly in a drunken fit as Wooyoung remains in the room, attempting to de-escalate the situation; you flinch at the sound of things smashing and shattering. Eventually, she settles down.

The house has gone silent, save for the movie that still drones on in the background, the volume significantly lowered— it’s a bit eerie as Yeonjun continues to watch over you like a hawk, your thoughts begin to run wildly; biting at your lip, you finally break, clearing your throat as you gather the courage to meet Yeonjun’s eyes.

“You said things are still tense between you,” you start, watching the way he seems unprepared for your question, “what do you mean by that?”

He says nothing; it leaves you wondering if he’ll actually respond, shuffling uncomfortably in place as he refuses to meet your eyes. An unnerving pause ensues as you begin to wonder why Soobin is taking so long.

“It’s just,” his eyes dart to the floor, dejected as his brows scrunch together in a frown, “we recently lost a friend.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you feel awkward as you find yourself only being able to respond like that, casting your gaze away from him as you notice the way Yeji has been looking wearily at you this whole time— you feel like you’ve done something wrong, suddenly scrutinized under their eyes as you brush back a strand of Yeji’s hair that has fallen over her shoulder.

“Here, this is all I could find,” Soobin suddenly appears, shaking a bottle of pills as his eyes land on Yeji— she’s shaking now, another wave of nausea taking over as she bows her head in defeat, letting out a soft groan as nothing comes out— Soobin slowly approaches her, kneeling before the two of you as he looks her condition over.

“Holy shit Yeji, what the fuck did you do?” He clearly doesn’t expect an answer as he slowly helps her up; it doesn’t seem like she’s able to expel anything from her stomach anymore, clearly dehydrated as she slumps against Soobin like a rag doll.

“Here, I’ll take you to Ryujin, even though she’s probably still pissed at me—“ the thunder that interrupts him mid-sentence booms throughout the house, startling all of you as the sound is a lot closer than you’d like. The lights over you flicker, the three of you staring at the ceiling in confusion before the room becomes pitch black.

“What the…” Yeonjun seems to have sobered up a bit as he stands up straight, the house going completely silent as everything powers off— you’re all tense, even Yeji beginning to worry as she stirs against Soobin.

“Taehyun!”

The sound is enough to have you acting without a second thought; you’re pushing past the two men carelessly at the sound of your friend’s distressed scream, the sound making you sick to the core as you run back to the living room where they were last at.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, hands trembling uncontrollably as you stare at the scene before you, running to Taehyun’s side as your knees knock into the kitchen tiles roughly.

“Holy shit, who did this? What happened?” Taehyun grunts in pain as he holds his bicep, fingers clenched tightly around the muscle as he grits his teeth together; the screen door is wide open, and both Taehyun and Beomgyu are drenched their clothes drip a puddle around them, your pants beginning to get wet as well as you stay at their side.

But that’s the least of your worries right now— instead, you focus on your friend, who’s leaning against Beomgyu and groaning in pain as blood seeps through the cracks of his fingers.

“Fuck, I go to sleep for a few fucking minutes and this shit happens—“ Beomgyu’s rambling is incoherent as Taehyun lets out a low groan, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a shaky sigh. Hurriedly, you cup his face, tapping his cheek gently as you urge him to look at you.

“Taehyun, what happened?” You ask, unsure of what to do as you stand in a foreign home, searching for something to help him with— in the end, you simply opt to call Soobin’s name out desperately, turning back to Taehyun as you look around the house wearily.

“I don’t know,” he laughs weakly, an exasperated sigh leaving him as he rests his head on Beomgyu’s shoulder, “I thought I saw an animal or something on the porch, so I went to check it out— next thing I know, the door is forced open and I get fucking stabbed.”

You and Beomgyu freeze. Immediately, you look up at each other, your lips parting in shock as Soobin suddenly appears behind you.

“What the hell? What the fuck happened—“

“Soobin, we need to leave,” you say, standing up as you ignore all of Soobin’s questions, “We need to leave! Do you have something to patch Taehyun up with? We need to take it with us.”

“What? What are you talking about, what the hell is going on—?” Soobin is quick to shut up with another stern look from you, the moonlight the only thing that highlights your features as Soobin gives you a shaky nod, deciding to trust your judgment as he takes a quick look around the kitchen, scanning the cabinets before he lets out a shaky breath.

“It’s all in my bathroom upstairs,” he says, glancing back at the three of you as he gulps, “I’ll be quick, stay here,” he gives you all a pointed look before he’s going upstairs, the sound of the rain coming down hard onto the roof the only thing that fills the silence.

“Go with him,” Beomgyu says shakily, ignoring the way you look at him in disbelief, “It doesn’t feel right to let him go by himself. Go, he’ll be safe.”

“Beomgyu, I don’t even know where the fuck the front door is,” you admit, your adrenaline high as you wrap an arm around Taehyun’s shoulders before you’re pulling him onto you, “if anything, it’ll be better if you go.”

Beomgyu hesitates— he stares at you, taking in your determined state before he glances at Taehyun, lightheaded as the blood soaks his thin shirt— and nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before he’s spriting up to where Soobin is.

“Let’s get you away from the kitchen,” you mumble, helping Taehyun stand up as the wind and rain that sneaks into the kitchen makes you two shiver violently. He nods softly, stumbling to his feet as he follows you to the couch; you’re making a mess of it, but that should be the least of your worries as Taehyun slumps against you wearily.

Closing your eyes, you let out a shaky sigh; you’re scared, the thought of there being an intruder somewhere around the area, dangerous and armed making chills run through your skin as you hold on tighter to Taehyun, attempting to calm your racing heartbeat; the man only lets out a shaky breath, head tucked into your chest safely as he attempts to steady his breathing.

This is insane, you think, taking a deep breath through your nose as you take in the situation— to think that the man you’ve longed for is finally leaning on you, tucked into you so safely— if you weren’t scared half to death right now due to the possibility of there being a killer on the loose, you almost would’ve found yourself becoming flustered.

Behind you, you hear the quiet voice of Yeonjun; he’s still taking care of Yeji who, judging by the fact that she hasn’t emerged from the bathroom at all, must still be feeling sick.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you find yourself saying, surprising the two of you as you feel a tear slip down your cheek— you’re quick to wipe it away, attempting to regain your composure before Taehyun can realize what’s going on.

“Here, this is all I could find in my bathroom,” Soobin yells, loud footsteps drawing your attention as Beomgyu follows close behind. You’re quick to sit up as Beomgyu runs over to you with alcohol and gauze, an apologetic look in his eyes as he takes in Taehyun’s state.

“I’ll go turn on the car, get the others and we’ll leave right now,” Soobin yells, running to the coat holder as he fishes into his jacket pockets; he doesn’t bother putting on the item, running out into the rain instead as the door is left wide open, the three of you able to keep an eye on him as he runs down the long driveway.

“I’ll get the others, stay here,” you’re quick to say, noticing the way Beomgyu was already beginning to tend to your friend. Behind you, you hear loud protests, the sounds of him telling you to wait falling on deaf ears as you’re fumbling for your phone, turning the flashlight on as you peek into the bathroom.

“I don’t know if you were able to hear everything, but we’re leaving. Get Yeji and go to the car, now,” you say, giving Yeonjun a firm look before you’re making your next stop. You can hear Yeonjun attempting to call after you before he gives up, talking to Yeji softly as he’s hoisting her up on his back; meanwhile, you’re searching through every door you come across in hopes of finding the room Ryujin and Wooyoung are currently in.

Empty. Empty. Empty. You find yourself becoming frustrated by Soobin’s insane mansion— uselessly, you looked through every room in the hallway before being left at the very last one.

“Guys, we need to leave, come on—“ the noise you make is strange and strangled as your phone’s flashlight pans across the room, an intense chill racking through your entire body as you find yourself choking back on bile.

Ryujin and Wooyoung are dead.

The phone in your hands almost slips out from how shaky you are, a broken sob leaving you before you find yourself screaming in horror— you’re not sure what’s happening after that, but you feel a firm pair of hands on your shoulders yanking you out of the door and shutting the door firmly before your face.

But, oh god, you can’t get the image out of your head; no matter how tightly Beomgyu holds you against him, it won’t erase the way your eyes met Ryujin’s blank ones, her face filled with horror and her throat slit as blood dripped down her shirt like a necklace— beside her, the sight of Wooyoung thrown across the bed with multiple wounds to the chest haunted you, unable to ignore the furniture strung across the floor and the bruises all over their bodies.

That hadn’t been a drunken fit earlier.

“Shit, oh shit,” Beomgyu mumbles against the crown of your head, having gotten a peek of the sight as he urges you to stand; but your legs are nothing more than jello as you attempt to stumble along, trying your best to get your shit together as you meet the others in the living room.

“What? What’s wrong? Where’s Ryujin and Wooyoung?” Yeonjun asks, panicked eyes searching behind the two of you in hopes of seeing his friends again; instead, he’s greeted with the sight of you, sputtering apologies as you choke on sobs.

“They’re— fuck I’m so sorry—“

That’s all it takes for Yeonjun’s eyes to widen, leaving Yeji on the couch before he’s running back to the room where they lie; only for Beomgyu to grab him roughly, stumbling back as you’re left to grab onto the couch in an attempt to regain your composure.

“We need to go, we need to get to safety,” Beomgyu says, attempting to calm Yeonjun down as the man before him begins to break down into rough sobs, Yeji doing no better than him as she puts her head in her hands.

“No, no! We’re not fucking leaving them! I’m not fucking leaving them behind, I can’t,” Yeonjun’s sobs become unintelligible as Beomgyu holds him close, a sudden wind blowing through the door and making a shiver run through your body as you turn to look outside.

You almost collapse at the sight of a man quickly making his way towards you; but it’s just Soobin, hair soaked and flattened as he finally returns— you feel relief flooding your system, ready to collect everyone before your eyes land on an item that makes your stomach sink.

“Your keys.”

It seems that everyone else heard you, turning to look at Soobin who only stares at you all silently, a dreadful silence falling through all of you as you wait for him to speak.

“They slashed the tires. All of them.” Every last car was now dismantled; even the bicycles were left in pieces as Soobin was left to stare at the vehicles in despair, unsure of how he could return to the house with such horrible news. Yet, as he scans the room, he feels a sinking feeling form in his stomach, his headcount not coming out right as he takes in everyone’s face; his eyes meet yours, taking in the way you seem frail and shaken.

“Where’s…?” He’s unable to finish his sentence as Beomgyu solemnly shakes his head, a soft sniffle drawing your attention as you take in the way Taehyun has bowed his head in the darkness, eyes shut tight as he avoids watching Soobin’s reaction.

“So then we’re stuck here?” You ask, changing the subject as you try to push out the memory of the scene you stumbled upon; it’s horrid, knowing that they still lie there, just a few rooms away from you.

“We can’t stay here, this house is too big for us to feel safe,” Yeonjun says, sniffing as he roughly wipes away tears that stray from his eyes; he’s trembling, you notice, the strong timbre of his voice betrayed by his body as his facade is melted away.

Soobin sighs, eyes darting around the dark home as he bites his lips nervously, mind rapidly searching for anything that could help.

“I don’t— I don’t know, maybe my dad might have left some of his hunting gear—”

“Someone’s coming,” Taehyun hisses, standing up as his eyes lock on the large expanse of woods in the backyard. You’re all tense at his comment, your eyes desperately locking with Soobin’s as you urge him to help.

“The basement, there might be something we can use to defend ourselves down there,” he breathes out, the front door swinging open as it slams into the wall and a harsh gust of wind seeps inside, the rain pouring down hard as a clap of thunder booms throughout the house. You’re all scrambling to follow Soobin at the sound, rushing to help Yeonjun who seems to be struggling to walk with Yeji. It’s dark in the hall as you try to make the least amount of noise possible, much too afraid to look back as you strain your eyes to keep Soobin’s dim figure in your sight, your hand steadily gliding on the wall to stabilize yourself.

There’s an odd feeling settling in your stomach; even though you’re barely able to make out the shape of your own limbs in this dark maze of rooms and hallways, you can’t help but look around in hopes of being able to make a headcount; though you fail, you’re unable to stop the shaky exhale that escapes you as you look back.

A loud crash rings far back, where the kitchen must be.

You can hear sounds of struggle— it feels as though someone has knocked the air out of your lungs, their voices and cries of pain sounding too familiar as you let Yeji’s arm around your shoulder drop.

Taehyun and Beomgyu.

When the fuck did they get separated from you? Did the killer sneak up on them? You’re ready to run after them before Yeonjun is pulling you back roughly, your back colliding with his chest as he places a hand firmly on your mouth; his fingers dig into your cheeks, your cries muffled as he urges Soobin to continue.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m just trying to keep you safe,” Yeonjun repeats against you, allowing Soobin to carry Yeji as he attempts to calm your struggling form; you wouldn’t even know how to get back to them, but it’s torture as you hear the indistinguishable sounds of struggle— your adrenaline is high and your vision seems blurry as you bite down on Yeonjun’s hand, pushing him away the moment he lets go of you.

You don’t care if it’s stupid, you can’t leave your friends to die while you selfishly continue.

You don’t know how, but you’re able to find your way back after a dreadfully long time, your frantic sprint slowing down to nothing more than a slow walk as you crouch down, your breaths shaky as you slowly peek out the hallway— you’re trembling horribly as you lean against the wall, attempting to ignore the way it’s all become eerily silent.

Slowly, your eyes adjust to the minimum moonlight that floods in; the glass door has been shattered, a pool of glass and rain left on the kitchen tiles as your eyes scan the open area slowly; furniture has been knocked over, Soobin’s pristine bookshelf nothing more than a pile of wood and collectibles and your eyes run over the area in terror— then again, again and again in confusion, unable to find the one thing you dreaded seeing.

Taehyun and Beomgyu are nowhere in sight.

“Hey!” Yeonjun’s voice has you jumping out of your skin as you spin around, slapping a hand to your mouth as he immediately grabs ahold of your other, tugging you along brutally as you’re forced to stumble to your feet, forced to follow around him as he immediately wraps an arm tightly around your frame.

“We need to get to safety, now’s not the time to worry about the others,” he hisses, and you’re only able to take one last glance behind you as your eyes land on something that makes your stomach drop and twist with dread.

A thick, bold path of blood is strung across the floor, leading clean out into the kitchen and out onto the porch.

Your mind goes back to your friends— and you find yourself biting back a cry, burying your head in Yeonjun’s chest as he swiftly leads you back the way you came— his touch is firm and comforting as he whispers soft apologies, able to empathize with you as his mind runs back to his own friends that he was forced to abandon tonight.

The stairwell he takes you down is extremely unnerving; you’re fumbling for your phone’s flashlight as you stumble down, the stairwell seemingly never-ending as you try to not let your paranoia and fear allow you to turn back.

Annoyingly, the basement feels like another home of its own— your flashlight shines on the lounge area, a minibar and a pool table left perfectly untouched as you scan over the couches next— you spot another door, the two of you carefully approaching it after having found the rest of the area empty.

Softly, you knock; the sound is barely audible, but as you press your ear to the door, you hear the distinctive sound of someone crying— your heart speeds as you recognize the voice that mumbles softly.

“Yeji,” you whisper, turning to Yeonjun with wide eyes. He’s signaling for you to turn the brightness of your flashlight down, your teeth sinking on your lip as you try to gauge what might be happening inside.

“It’s okay, I’m okay, don’t worry…” Soobin’s soft reassurances that echo through have the two of you perking up; before you can stop him, Yeonjun is swinging the door open, relief flooding his features as he softly tugs at you to follow along; he keeps you close to his back as your hands steady themselves on his body, peeking behind him as he guides you to where they are.

It’s a laundry room; you’re briefly peeking around before Yeonjun takes you deeper into the room, towards a small area where a makeshift wall has been made out of shelves. On the other side, you find the exact people you were looking for; only, the scenario seems to be less than ideal.

“Oh fuck,” Yeonjun hisses, crouching at your friends’ side in a haste. You’re shaking, a horrified sound leaving you as your knees knock roughly into the floor— your trembling hands hover over Soobin’s in terror, unsure of what to do as you press deeply into the wound of his stomach in an attempt to relieve the bleeding, your hands pressing his deeper as you feel the blood gushing onto you.

“Soobin,” you whimper, biting back tears as you examine the rest of him, attempting to ignore how open the wound of his stomach is, “Soobin, what happened?”

You don’t actually expect a response; you’re talking to yourself at most, your friend so light-headed that you watch his head tilt back, hitting the wall behind him with a soft bang as he lets out a shaky sigh. Your eyes are scanning the space around you frantically— there’s nothing that can really help him, but you try your best as your eyes land on a thin tee that’s been thrown into a laundry basket, your bloodied hands ripping it apart as you attempt to use it as makeshift bandages.

Slowly, you lift his shirt; you wince at the sight, your eyes forced to take in the deep and opened wound directly on his stomach, your hands dropping the bandages a few times due to how horribly you tremble— soft apologies spill from you, blinking away tears as you try your best to tie the bandages as tightly as you can.

“Yeji, what—?” Your words die on your tongue as you take in her state; she’s no better than Soobin, Yeonjun’s flashlight pointing right at her feet— specifically, her ankles that have been smashed, the skin mangled and bruised as they point at an awkward angle. Your eyes flit back up to her face, only to find that she’s swimming in and out of consciousness, eyes fluttering softly as a steady stream of tears leaves her eyes.

“Hunting gear,” Soobin pants softly, your head snapping back to him as you softly tell him not to speak. He shakes his head, the movement so minimal you almost missed it, and gulps, his brows knitting together as he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Behind… mini bar. A shotgun—“ your eyes are wide as saucers as you watch him cough weakly, blood spewing past his lips as he goes silent; the only thing that lets you know he’s still alive is the subtle rise and fall of his stomach.

“Yeonjun,” you say softly, his panicked eyes meeting yours, “The shotgun— I’ll go get it, stay here and look after them.”

His eyes widen more, if that’s even possible at this point, head shaking reverently as he takes a step away from Yeji’s side. Before you can leave, he grabs onto your wrist tightly, yanking you back as he frantically tells you that he’ll stay by your side. Attempting to dissuade him, you tell him that Soobin and Yeji need assistance— he only shakes his head once more, dark eyes not straying from yours for a second as he speaks.

“Think about it,” he mutters softly, leaning in so that the two on the floor can’t hear, “who do you think they’re gonna target next? Everyone else is gone. We’re the only ones left untouched. To go out there on your own is suicide.”

Briefly, his eyes flick to the floor; he’s contemplating what to say, biting at his cheek before he lets out a soft sigh.

“I care about you too much for you to be next.”

You feel winded as you stare at him— sincere, his hand refusing to let go as he looks at you tentatively— and nod softly, your free hand reaching up to gently pry his grip off you; you both try to ignore the way they’re soaked with Soobin’s blood.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s go,” you say, knowing now is the worst time for such a confession to be sprung on you; you turn to go back to where the main area of the basement is, Yeonjun following behind you diligently before you’re stopping at the sound of Yeji’s voice.

“Please don’t leave,” she whines softly, eyes fluttering open slightly before they’re closing again, “please don’t… I don’t wanna die…”

You’re quick to spring back to her side; she’s fading to and from consciousness, her eyelids twitching as she rolls her head against the cool surface behind her. You know it’s a stretch, but you try your best to give her a reassuring smile as you go to hold her hands— only to stop, the drying blood on them making you wince as you place them back down on your lap instead.

“We’ll be quick, I promise,” you say softly, watching the way her eyes lock on yours; your stomach sinks, and the fear and panic you feel is reflected in her gaze as she weakly reaches out for you, her hand falling numbly on your lap as she lets out a soft sigh; she nods, closing her eyes as she goes back to unconsciousness, the weak rise and fall of her chest the only thing that’s able to get you to stand back up.

Yeonjun turns off his flashlight as you turn down the brightness of yours; your phone is pointed straight to the floor as you slowly make your way back out, Yeonjun taking a protective stance close to you as you scan every inch and corner around you, beyond paranoid as you jump at any slight sound.

Carefully, you look out the door; it’s barely cracked open an inch, your eyes carefully scanning the room as you finally deem it safe— your eyes quickly spot the bar, perfectly untouched as you remain hunched down, signaling Yeonjun to follow after you as you make a break for it.

You’re crouched down behind the counter when you finally see it; a shotgun, nestled comfortably under hooks that were placed on the wooden counter— wearily, you smile, placing your phone down as you reach for the gun.

It’s completely dark, and your hands run along the smooth expanse of the weapon as you fumble to get it out; behind you, Yeonjun fidgets nervously, his breaths deep and shaky as he watches you silently.

Finally, you manage to unhook it; your hands feel foreign along the expanse of the gun, unable to get a comfortable grip on it as you turn around to hand it to Yeonjun— your smile falters, your hands suddenly a lot more slippery as your eyes meet his in the dark.

In his hands, he holds what looks to be a rag; your eyes narrow, squinting at it before they flicker back up to him with dread.

“I’m sorry.”

That’s all he says before he’s launching at you, the gun knocked out of your hands and skidding across the floor as the rag is pressed firmly to your nose.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

It’s warm.

The heavy blanket is comforting as you shift for a second, trying to find a comfortable position before you’re frowning, finding yourself unable to move freely at all— suddenly, it all comes back to you.

Your hands are bound. You’ve been blindfolded.

You’ve been kidnapped.

Yeonjun. You want to scream, but your throat is way too dry for you to even speak. Something’s odd, though; your hands are bound, pressing tightly against the small of your back, but your legs are free. Tentatively, you sit up, unsure of what to do as you listen for any strange sounds.

You don’t know where you are, or what Yeonjun’s intentions are, but you do know that you need to get out. But god, how is that even possible? Biting at your lip, you feel your blindfold becoming wet with tears as the frustration builds up inside you.

“Hello, angel. Happy to see that you’re up.”

Your head snaps up at the sound, attempting to find the general location of the voice as your head turns frantically; he chuckles, the sound odd as you find yourself recognizing it as the voice modulator from the Scream movies. Frowning, you feel a surge of rage course through you.

“Yeonjun, you asshole, let me go!” You attempt to shout, your voice raspy and weak as you thrash around in the bed. Pausing, you listen to his mocking laughs, shaking with rage as you kneel on the mattress, wondering if you should just get up and try to charge at him— if you’re going to die, you might as well make an effort to escape before you do so.

“Now, don't be so haste,” He says, his voice laced with amusement; stiffening, your ears perk at the sounds of footsteps, slow and calculated before they stop right before you— you’re unable to hide the way you flinch as his hand tilts your chin up, a gloved leather hand holding you so gently despite all he’s done.

“Don’t you wanna have some fun before you die? Come on, I’ll make it painless,” he whispers softly, the voice raspy against your ears as you feel him lean in— instinctively, you lean back, unsure of what to do with this sudden turn of events.

“If you really make it fun, I’ll spare you,” He says teasingly; it seems as though your face has lit up at the idea, because another of his teasing chuckles reaches you, amused by your antics as you wait for him to continue hesitantly.

“We could make it a little game. If you win, I spare you; I call the police, let them deal with the aftermath while I run— then another game would begin. If you lose,” your breath hitches as you feel something cool against the underside of your chin— a knife, you realize, the point digging in as a threat as he slowly pulls it back, the blade brushing against your skin as he keeps your head tilted up.

“I get to keep you.”

You can practically feel your blood become cold; keep you? What kind of sick and twisted fate was that? You think you’d rather just be killed instead.

“What,” you stutter, thinking back to his options as you remain skeptical about it, “Why would you do that? What could you possibly gain from sparing me and calling the police on yourself? I know who you are.”

“Do you?”

The words die on your tongue— your face must be easy to read, because his laughter is nothing but a heavy weight on you as you feel your mind racing with dread— what kind of game was he trying to play with you?

“Obviously I do,” your words may be confident, but your voice trembles, brows knitting together as you scoot forwards slightly; your legs dangle at the end of the bed, your feet hesitantly touching the floor; your shoes are gone, you realize, your sock-clad feet coming in contact with the smooth floor beneath you.

“How about we play a game then?” He’s backing up, his footsteps receding as you strain your ears in anticipation; you’re jumping at the sound of something scraping along the floor, the sound slow and heavy as you force yourself to stand, unsure of where he might be as you prepare yourself for anything that might come unexpectedly— you freeze, the room going quiet as you hear him sigh; rustling ensues, and a creak of a chair is enough to make you realize that he’s sat down.

“Three chairs,” he says, an evident smile to his voice as the soft click of a button is heard every time he speaks, “three people sit here. I’ll even let you guess who’s who. If you guess who the killer is, you win.”

Three people? Who could he possibly be talking about? You gulp, your mind racing back to Yeji and Soobin— your heart flutters, hopeful and uncontrollable, the thought of them surviving making your eyes sting. You want to call out to them— to make sure they’re okay— but before you can, the dreaded click of a button is heard, a static filling the room as he pauses before speaking.

“Come here, cutie.” You can only back away at his words, your legs hitting the back of the bed as you shake your head softly. He tuts at you like you’re a scolded child, sighing impatiently as he pauses; you hear nothing except the bored click of the modulator’s button, the chair creaking as your eyelids flicker underneath your blindfold.

Nothing happens— he hasn’t lost his patience yet, all movements ceasing as you’re left with an eerie silence— so with a heavy gulp, you find yourself standing once more, shaky legs taking a step forward hesitantly.

“Good girl. Come on, closer,” his whispers are soft alluring, like a siren as he directs you where to go, “yes, this way. You’re almost to the first chair; I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

At his comment, you stop immediately; all you get in return is a harsh laugh from him, unable to pinpoint what direction the sound comes from as you almost feel like he’s connected to a speaker of sorts. Again, his fingers fiddle with the button, the sound of clicks haunting you as you let out a shaky breath.

“I’m kidding. Or am I?” He seems to be having much more fun with this than you, but you’re forced to walk forwards again as his next comment sets you on edge.

“Come on, I’m losing my patience here,” He sighs, his voice gruff as you stumble forward once more. He chuckles, watching you struggle as he finally tells you to slow down. “You’re here. Come on doll, touch me.”

Your next step is curious; your foot touches the chair leg as you try to see where he might be, jumping softly as your foot knocks against a pair of shoes— he’s laughing again, and you’re frowning as his words register in your mind.

“How am I supposed to…?” Your hands are bound; you can’t see left standing stupidly in front of him as you try to decipher what he could possibly want you to do.

“Get closer to me, touch me. See if you can recognize me.”

You have no idea what to do; you feel ridiculous as you plant an unsure knee at the side of the chair, almost digging into his thigh as you try to position yourself; they’re unresponsive, oddly relaxed as you lean into them.

Hesitantly, you do the first thing you can think of; you’re leaning in close, your head resting against their chest as you concentrate. You don’t smell any perfume, and your lips drag along the expanse of their shoulders curiously— they’re broad and sturdy, not flinching even as you make your way back towards their neck— so clearly, it’s not Yeji, her petit form a contrast to the person beneath you.

Everything this man says could be a trick; this could be him, or it could be another of your friends, but the plain tee they wear isn��t reminiscent of what anyone was wearing, your frown deepening as your lips ghost up his neck— then up to his cheek, hesitant with all your movements until you stop your lips, ghosting eerily close to his.

There’s duct tape on his mouth.

You don’t need to linger any longer to guess that this isn’t the killer, and your suspicions are only confirmed as the voice begins to laugh mockingly at you again; the person beneath you doesn’t move an inch.

“I see you noticed something,” he comments, enjoying the way you scoff at his words, “but can you figure out who it is? I’ll give you a point if you do.”

You can’t help but get angry at this man’s idiocy, biting back your tongue as you hold back the urge to insult him; instead, you sigh, knowing that despite his light tone, there wasn’t room for you to say no.

Your lips ghost up to his cheekbones; your arms are turning awkwardly as you opt to lean back, attempting to feel his arm before you’re coming in contact with his wrist; they’ve been bound to the armchair, a tight hand around it as you attempt to feel his hand— but you choose not to, biting your lip as you almost lose your balance.

Hesitantly, you try to nose your way into recognizing his features; it feels intimate and wrong, terror seeping into your veins as you try to decipher who it might be. It isn’t until you feel the way his hair parts that you get a clue, your nose brushed with hair that clings to his nape as you go for one last feature you might recognize; hesitantly, your lips brush down his nose, feeling the way it’s smooth and rounds out perfectly at the bottom.

“Beomgyu,” you cry softly, your face burying itself in his neck as you allow a soft sob to slip out of you; the action is so familiar, but it’s nowhere near comforting as you wonder if he’ll make it out of here alive with you.

“How cute. I see you got along with him quite well,” his words are nothing more than an insult as you stand back up, wobbling to your feet as you sniffle weakly; bringing your shoulder up, you wipe at your uncomfortably wet cheeks, the blindfold tight on your face as it catches all your tears.

“How ‘bout I make it more interesting,” he muses, and you can already feel that he’s up to no good as he pauses dramatically, “I’ll let you guess these next too, but I won’t move at all. If you get all three right, you get a prize.”

You say nothing, your heart pounding with rage as you look down at the floor; he merely chuckles, fueling your anger as the dreaded click of the button infiltrates your ears once more.

“We’re here, to your right. Come to me.”

Slowly, you do what he says; your feet are hesitant as the wood floor creaks under you, only stopping the moment your foot collides with someone else’s. Hesitantly, you lean in.

It’s the same as before; broad shoulders, the body limp beneath you as you attempt to figure out who it might be. They’re lax, way too much if you think about it, your own body tense in contrast as you wonder if this might be it— if the killer might be here, under you.

Just as you did before, your lips brush closer to his, looking for the familiar duct tape you found on Beomgyu— only, nothing is found. Shaking, you’re leaning awkwardly as your hands quickly try to find his wrist— finding it, you grab onto it, your grip tight as you realize something angrily.

He’s not bound.

Carelessly, you lean in; sure enough, your lips ghost around his features, his sharp jaw and pointed nose giving it away as you lean in towards his ear— his piercings are still on, too.

“Yeonjun, I know it’s you, you bastard,” you seethe, waiting for him to spring into action; yet, he remains still, your chest heaving as you try to figure out if he’s stirred at all.

A moment passes. Then another, and another, and soon you’re frowning as you wonder what he might be up to. It’s only then that you remember his little game for you, scoffing as you sit up straight.

For a moment, you think of harming him; biting him, kicking at him, anything that could injure him while you’re still towering over him. But at the same time, you’re not strong enough— you still feel dizzy from the chloroform that was used on you, and the fatigue has only elevated from everything that’s happened today. Even worse, you’re bound and blinded— he’s free and is probably armed, and not to mention, is holding your friends hostage.

Begrudgingly, you find yourself standing up, hoping to get on his good side as you move to the next person; you have an idea of who it is, but your heart still thunders against your chest with worry as you lean in.

Everything is so familiar; he still has the bandages on his arm, his body warm and weak as you find yourself emotional again, slowly leaning in until you find your forehead resting on his shoulder.

“Taehyun,” you cry softly, your heart yearning to save the man you’d hopelessly been in love with for a while now; maybe, if you appeal to Yeonjun enough, he’ll spare your friends as well.

“Taehyun, I’m so glad you’re okay,” you cry, your body shaking as you feel him stir beneath you; he’s waking up, you realize, your heart pounding with dread as the thought of Yeonjun getting annoyed by him and possibly killing him floods through you.

Softly, he groans. He’s in pain as he shifts, his breath fanning on your cheek as you look up in his direction. It’s so quiet, and if you weren’t already straining your ears for the dreadful sound of the click of a button, you would’ve missed the way he weakly called out to you.

“You’re…” he sounds so confused, taking in your distressed state as you shake your head softly, urging him to not say a word.

“You’re… so sweet.”

His hands are on your waist before you can react; you’re planted firmly in his lap as you begin to tremble, the sound of the button clicks ringing so close to your ear making your head shake as you try to deny it all.

“Honestly, you’re precious,” he says, still mocking you before the sound of something being discarded on the floor sways your attention; you’re then being picked up and moved as you attempt to thrash in his grip, only for it all to fail as you’re tossed on the bed like a ragdoll.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any better, you prove me wrong.”

Sitting up, you’re quick to scoot back on the bed; your back is pressed firmly to the wall as you attempt to process everything, noticing that he hasn’t tried to chase after you. Instead, you hear his footsteps receding once more, the foreign sound of rustling making your ears perk before he’s walking back to you.

“But, Yeonjun,” you say, shaking like a leaf as you huddle against the wall, “he… wasn’t bound, and back in the basement—”

“You’d be surprised at the things people would do to save their own life.” He says, sighing at the way Yeonjun was quick to give everything up; he was never gonna chase after you after you had bitten him, and it was only when Taehyun managed to corner him while you tried to find your way back and threatened his life that he agreed to do his bidding— it only took a knife to get him scared straight.

“Bring her to me, and I’ll spare you.” He whispered to him, his knife ready to breach skin as it pressed to Yeonjun’s throat, “you have my word.”

Yeonjun’s only mistake was believing him.

So now here he stands, at the foot of the bed as he watches the way you begin to cry; his heart drops, crawling onto the bed as he quickly tosses the device aside, grabbing onto your legs and pulling you onto his lap; he disregards the way you jump at his touch.

“Oh no, don’t cry my angel,” he says, lips ghosting along your jaw as you mutter incoherent things, any will to fight drained as you process this betrayal— from Yeonjun, from him, “it’s not like they weren’t deserving of it.”

Taehyun is eerily observant; he smiles, kisses littering your jaw as his hands rub up and down your waist, a touch that would have you curling up shyly completely disregarded as you try to understand what he could possibly be talking about.

“You’ve seen it too, right?” He whispers, eager to prove a point as he’s leaning forward, more and more until he towers over you, your back hitting the mattress gently, “They don’t care about anyone but themselves. They don’t feel guilty for their actions, even when they’ve killed someone long before I did.”

Frowning, you find yourself speechless, your mouth opening and closing as you try to decipher what he could possibly be talking about. He’s close, so close, chest against yours as the bed dips next to each side of his head, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

“Do you remember Hueningkai? Poor kid, everyone said it was an accident— a careless overdose, they said,” your thoughts go back to Yeonjun, commenting on the high tensions as he told you of the loss of their friend, “but I knew better— they all thought it was just a joke until it was too late. They always fucking threatened me to keep my mouth shut or I’d be next.”

“What else could I do? They kept close tabs on me, and I only wanted to defend myself,” he whined, your body stiffening as you feel tears fall down your neck— he’s crying, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he presses his hips flush against yours, pressing you down the mattress as he lays his body weight on you.

“I was so scared,” he cries, shaking his head as his right arm goes down to find purchase on your waist, “they threatened me every day. Kept track of all my movements, made sure I never told anyone else. I was so scared when they started inviting you more.”

“I didn’t know how to get rid of them, but I wanted to keep you safe, I—” his hips roll against yours, a broken whimper falling from his lips as your mouth parts in surprise, “I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Please? Please will you forgive me? His words are a mantra as you find your heart pounding, a myriad of emotions swimming within you as you feel the way he breaks down against you. He’s a mess, the pleas so close to your ear as you feel the way he hardens against you.

You’re terrified. You’re worried, and you’re unsure of what to do because what the fuck have you gotten yourself into? It’s impossible to push past the way he’s adamant in his movements, his hips slow and calculated as you feel the way he presses right against your slit; desperate, broken, ready to show you how remorseful he is.

“I promise I never meant for it to go this far. I didn’t know how else to get rid of them, I was so scared that they might’ve had their eyes on you next, I don’t know what I’d do without you—“

“Please, will you forgive me?”

It’s too much. You don’t know where he ends and you begin, your mind swimming with questions and fears as you simply nod your head yes. Your throat feels dry as you do so, swallowing heavily as you shift underneath Taehyun.

“Yes. Yes, I forgive you,” you say, unsure of what else there is to say as Taehyun sniffles softly against you, hovering over you as his weight is lifted off your chest.

“Really?” He says quietly, his fingers dancing at the hem of your shirt as he waits for you to speak. You hesitate with your answer— there’s something else that he’s asking you, his fingers breaching past your shirt and softly caressing the warm skin of your stomach. He’s waiting, his eyes burning into your face as he only seems to be leaning in closer, closer and closer until his breath is fanning across your face once more.

“Yes. I forgive you.”

You don’t mean the words as much as you want to, as much as you wish that you did, even if your body and heart still yearn for him— but the adrenaline and fear within you have yet to disappear. It seems to be enough for him though, a fond laugh escaping him before he’s fiddling with the buttons of your pants, eager to take them off as he’s pushing your shirt up.

“I’m so sorry I scared you,” he whispers, remorseful and weak as his curious hands wander across the expanse of your hips, gliding around the hem of your panties, hooking a finger at each side before he’s slowly dragging them off.

“I just wanted to protect you.”

Slowly, his hand cups your pussy— you can’t help the way your face heats up, your mouth falling open at the sudden stimulation. Slowly, his middle finger strokes up and down your slit, his palm pressing down at your clit as he presses kisses gingerly on your chest.

You hold back a yelp at the way he bites you suddenly; he’s marking you, sucking and licking your breasts as he doesn’t bother to unhook your bra— opting to push it out of the way instead. He’s teasing you, working you up as you feel goosebumps rise on your skin. A soft sigh leaves you the moment he begins to tease your entrance, your legs shaking as you try to ignore the way you’re dripping wet for him.

“I’d do anything to keep you safe,” he mutters against your skin, lips making a trail up the column of your neck as he finally inserts two fingers inside you. The stretch has a weak whimper leaving you, your lips pressed tightly as you shiver at the way he pumps his fingers, slow and agonizing as he takes in the way your body becomes responsive to him, your walls squeezing and sucking him in.

“The last thing I’d do is harm you.”

His pace quickens; you hate how reactive and easy to read you are, because all it gets you in return is the amused comments from Taehyun that sound smug in your ears.

He’s far too good at this, you find yourself thinking, his pace quickening and turning much rougher than you anticipated. He’s got a single goal in mind, and it’s to make you fall apart before him, until you can’t remember anything but him. His change in attitude is unexpected, your brows furrowing as you bite at your lip, desperate to keep quiet despite the way your hips buck and roll against his hand.

Your body feels so hot, the coil that winds at your stomach only worsening as your legs squeeze around Taehyun’s hips, his lips planting a gentle kiss under your ear before he’s whispering his praises to you, stretching you open as his other hand finds itself at your waist, holding you down and pressing you to the mattress as he takes control over you effortlessly.

“Come on angel, you’ve been so good for me so far— cum for me, pretty girl,” his lips press a soft kiss to your cheek, his palm pressing itself back on your clit before he’s slowing down his pace, focusing on finding a rhythm that drives you crazy while he hits your sweet spot.

“I’ll make you feel so good, I’ll make you forget. Don’t you want that? Hmm?” You’re not sure if you’re able to register his words at this point, your fingers grasping at the bed sheets beneath you as you squirm and whine at his ministrations.

“Come on angel, show me how cute you look when you cum.”

Your body shudders as if it were under his control, drawing out your orgasm like it’s effortless as his fingers curl inside you, his lips stretching into a smile as he nips at your neck, continuing to stimulate you even after you begin to cry from the stimulation.

It isn’t long before he’s bringing you back up again, the sensation surprising you as he begins to rub at your clit cruelly, enjoying the way you thrash and cry at his actions. Even when you arch your back, your hands desperate to be freed, he refuses to give in, your soft pleas falling on deaf ears as your legs begin to tremble.

Before you know it, your hips are bucking again, distraught cries escaping you as you chant for him to keep going, your brain emptied as you forget where you are, why you’re even there. It’s endearing for him as you sniffle and whine, your hips stilling as you finally reach your high— it’s only when you go quiet that he stops, pressing tender kisses to your shoulders as his hands slide soothingly up and down your hips.

It takes a while before you’re grounded again; the rush of emotions is too much for you, and before you’re able to process anything, Taehyun is pressing against you, his tip warm and leaking against your entrance as he watches the way you flutter around him hopelessly,

“My pretty angel,” he sighs, pushing the tip in before he’s pulling back out. This goes on for a while, the feeling of him barely fucking into you frustrating as you attempt to push your hips towards him— he stops you, his grip bruising on your hipbones as he presses you down firmly.

“So perfect. So good, all for me,” his words are possessive as he finally pushes into you, a broken moan escaping him as he leans in to kiss you; you’re dazed, unable to do anything else but reciprocate as you take in the way he stretches you so well, filling you perfectly as his hips press flush against yours.

His pace is slow at first; uncertain, unabashed sounds leaving him as he takes in the way you feel so warm around him, the feeling of you squirming beneath him making his eyes roll back, your pretty mouth perfect and pouty as he resists the urge to fuck you stupid.

He only lets go the minute you begin to become reckless; the moment you try to meet his thrusts, he picks up the pace, a soft yelp escaping you as he takes in the sight before him; you look perfect, your body bouncing with every thrust as he finds himself straightening up, knees digging into the mattress as he drags you towards him— he’s fucking you senseless, and his head is spinning at the way you’re beginning to call out his name pathetically.

His hand quickly finds your clit; it sends you reeling, the feeling enough to have your mouth open in a silent scream before a broken moan escapes you.

“That’s it pretty, take it,” he sighs, hips snapping roughly into yours as he brings you back to another orgasm; you’re left defenseless to his insatiable needs, your body going limp as he continues to fuck you despite the way your walls hug him so tightly.

Your mind has gone blank— you don’t know what else to do but call out to Taehyun, his grip on you like a vice as he doesn’t falter for a second; but you feel so sensitive, as if you’ll fall apart if he continues like this.

“Taehyun…” you whine, your eyes squeezed shut behind the blindfold as you whine. Please. Please, please, slow, you chant, incoherent and a mess as he disregards you, using you to chase his high that is desperately within reach.

“My perfect girl,” he says, a grin on his face as you feel yourself clenching around him again, the sensitivity used against you as you feel yourself becoming winded up again, your body pliant in his grasp and eager to meet his commands.

“So sweet, so stupid,” he mocks, reaching up to rip the blindfold from your face; your eyes sting as you close them immediately, not used to the sudden amount of light as you slowly take your time to adjust.

“You have no idea how much I love you. Watching you take pity on me like that, fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back as he continues to fuck you at a ruthless pace, “shit, you’d believe anything I’d tell you, huh?”

Slowly, your mind registers what he’s saying. But the pleasure is fogging up your mind as your eyes finally adjust, fluttering open and meeting his own, pleased ones. His eyes are blown open, filled with lust and adrenaline as he slows down his thrusts to nothing but a roll of his hips. His bandage is still there, his wound still not healed as a fresh wave of blood paints the untouched fabric— he must’ve changed it at some point.

But what scares you the most are his clothes, covered with splatters of blood as his eyes narrow down at you carefully, his smile never leaving as he tilts his head curiously.

“So, it was all…” your words die on your tongue with a particularly harsh thrust, your body sliding against the mattress as he lets out an amused huff of laughter.

“Not really. The story about Hueningkai is real. They’re wicked people, and I was just doing what was right,” he says, pointy fangs revealing themselves in a wicked smile as he looks down at you, “but they didn’t know that I knew.”

Tears well in your eyes as you turn your head, wanting to look at your friend to make sure he was okay— but your face is quickly tugged back as Taehyun leans in, a frown on his face as he squeezes your cheeks together roughly.

“Don’t look at them. Look at me. I’m not done with you.” He’s ruthless as he works to wind you back up, his hips snapping against yours at a brutal pace as his eyes never leave yours, and vice-versa. His hand that was holding your waist down slides across your skin to circle your clit, an involuntary whine leaving you as you clench around his cock hungrily.

“There we go. Keep your eyes on me,” his voice is nothing but a sultry murmur as his eyes become lidded, leaning in close as his eyes savor the look on your face. “Look at me when you cum.”

His hand travels down from your cheeks to your throat, keeping your gaze steady as he begins to tighten his grip; you feel yourself becoming lightheaded, the overwhelming amount of stimulation breaking you as you feel tears sting at your eyes.

The sound you let out is broken and pathetic; your orgasm is strong as Taehyun lets go of you, the blood rushing back to you as your eyes never leave his, lidded and filled with lust as he groans at the way you clench around him.

He lets you ride out your orgasm; it isn’t until moments later that he’s reaching his own, your body too weak to fight the overstimulation as he cums inside you, warm and unending as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting at the skin within his reach.

It’s quiet, and you’re left staring at the ceiling as the aftermath of it all begins to settle; your shoulders shake and hot tears stream down your face, the reminder of your situation a shattering realization as you try to pretend that the situation is not what it seems, that Taehyun is a good person.

Hesitantly, you glance back at the three chairs; they’re both still out, probably drugged as Yeonjun is now bound to his seat. They’re still alive, you think, a small relief as you wonder what it would take to escape from this awful home.

At this point, you’ll do whatever it takes to leave alive, or you’ll die trying.

Slowly, Taehyun sits up. His eyes are crazed as he stares at you, caressing your cheek tenderly as he then moves on to rub your thighs soothingly. He still hasn’t pulled out, his cum nestled deeply within you and beginning to leak out as he lets out a thoughtful hum,

“How many times did you cum,” he mutters to himself, tracing shapes on your thigh with his thumb as he becomes lost in thought, “let’s see…”

“I spare you, I spare you not,” twice when he fingered you.

“I spare you…” once on his cock. Then, another time while he was reaching his high.

“I spare you not.”

His eyes finally meet yours. He frowns, a pout on his face as he tilts his head.

“That’s a shame, I was getting quite fond of you,” he says, leaning in as he presses butterfly kisses along your shoulders, up the column of your neck before he places a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Unless you want to even it out?”

You suppose this is where you begin.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

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