#Bloody Roar series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holybibly · 3 months ago

Text

♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Boxer San x ring girl reader x Sugar daddy Seonghwa ♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You know that being alone with San is like willingly entering a tiger's cage, but maybe that's exactly what you want - to be torn to pieces by him. Or you might help San treat his wounds after a tough fight, even though you know Seonghwa won't approve ♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: smut, boxing club!au, sugar daddy!au, underground life!au ♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI ♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 14 k ♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Hard dom! San, hrad/soft daddy Seonghwa, sub!reader, unprotected sex, threesome, daddy kink, lots of sperm, fingering, degrading, pet names, size kink, spanking, hair pulling, squirting, creampie, humiliation, breeding kink, boobs spanking, pussy slapping, dirty talk, face fucking, pussy drunk, overstimulation, oral, double penetration, manhandling, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, rough oral, power play, praise kink, anal fingering, anal play, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more. ♡ 𝔫𝔢𝔱: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity @newworldnet ♡ 𝔄|𝔑: For some reason this has taken longer to write than expected, but as I like to say: I am always worth the wait. I decided to split it into two parts. I hope you will get maximum pleasure, my sugar bunnies ♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.

𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉

Tonight was no different from a dozen other nights at the club. And just like on every other night, you were sure that Choi San was going to leave the boxing ring as the ultimate champion. In truth, it was almost as predictable as the change of seasons. After all, San was the best of the best in the club, but the one thing you couldn't predict was how badly he would get hurt during his fight today.

San rarely got more than a few obnoxiously looking scratches and abrasions here and there, unlike his opponents, whom the hot, fiendishly handsome boxer would mercilessly turn in the boxing ring into a bloody mess. He was harsh and rough and usually ended the fight before the first round was out, but this time something didn't seem to be going according to plan.

You watched anxiously as the fight went on, noting the way San spat blood out of his split lip and the way his nose wrinkled up in pain as Wooyoung pressed a damp towel to his dissected eyebrow. There were a lot of scratches and abrasions on his handsome, chiselled face—injuries that you knew he could feel and that he could taste. For a moment, you even wondered if San was going to win this fight, especially when you caught sight of the equally worried-looking Yeosang.

The blonde, handsome boxer was sinking his teeth into his lower lip, nervously clutching the bloody towel Wooyoung had thrown him after wiping the blood from San's face. His hazel fox eyes were focused on everything that was happening in the ring. Your level of anxiety rose almost to the sky when they heard San's muffled, hoarse groan as his opponent's first flew in under his rib. It made him recoil and go on the defensive. Damn it, he was practically knocked out.

You couldn't believe what was happening; the crowd was roaring around you, and all you could hear over the overwhelming noise were Wooyoung's loud shouts telling San to get his shit together and show what he could do, and Yeosang's encouraging words, which were much softer and nicer to hear than Woo's profanity. God, you loved him, but he was unnecessarily rude at times; the boy clearly had an attitude. You have no idea what it was that had such an effect on San, but the next second he was throwing a series of sharp, powerful punches that knocked his opponent out.

It happened so suddenly that you didn't even have time to react as Yeosang scooped you up in his arms and whirled you around, shouting in your ear, "Our boy did it again." And yes, your boy had definitely done it again, just as Seonghwa had predicted earlier in the night before he slapped you on the backside and sent you off to work: "My tiger never loses.

As soon as all the commotion in the main hall had died down and you were able to free yourself from Yeosang's tenacious and tight embrace, you went straight to the backstage area to find San. You had to make sure that he was alright, and in the meantime, you had to congratulate him on another victory. After all, San was the main star of the evening and deserved a nice word or two from you, even if things weren't exactly smooth between the two of you.

It wasn't that you didn't like him or that you had conflicts; no, he was a nice enough guy, if you could put it that way. Maybe you could even put up with his perpetual cheeky grin and his complete lack of filters if it wasn't for the heavy sexual tension that crackled between you like electricity.

It was no secret that San found you fuckable and wanted to have sex with you, as he reminded you every time you spoke to him. He was always shamelessly eye-fucking you, with a total disregard for any decency or the presence of Seonghwa around you. Maybe you wouldn't have noticed; after all, you were used to the fact that all the boys in the club had pretty sharp edges and dirty mouths, if it wasn't for your attraction to him.

Sometimes you find it so hard to resist the urge to kiss him or ride his cock. Especially after you caught him fucking one of the ring girls in the changing room after another fight. You literally froze in the doorway as you watched him pulling her hard and deeply on his cock, looking right at you with a devilish grin on his face. His whole look seemed to be screaming at you: "It could have been you." That night, you had to ask Seonghwa to be a lot more brutal and rough with you in order to calm that annoying itch of jealousy that was inside of you. Maybe, just maybe, San was absolutely right. You wanted to be in her shoes, but you'd never admit it to yourself, let alone to San.

"San!" You call out the dark-haired, handsome man's name, noting his slim figure in the hustle and bustle of the backstage area. He turns his head slightly in your direction as he interrupts his conversation with Mingi, another smoking hot and unacceptably handsome boxer. Mingi has only recently joined the club but has already made a name for himself both in the ring and between the sheets. If the rumours are true, he fucks as well as smears his opponents on the floor. Like San, he has never been defeated, if that means anything. San gives you a licentiously grin and gazes at your figure with a dark, hungry stare before he gives Mingi a friendly pat on the shoulder and begins to walk in your direction.

He reminds you of a great big cat of prey—elegant and graceful, but also so deadly. San is literally smouldering with sexuality, with all those seductive muscles and all that overbearing aura that literally draws the eyes of others to his person. His gym shorts hang so dangerously low that you can see a subtle, exquisite tattoo on his pronounced V-line. San is still shirtless—sweaty and dirty, the inky purple bruises already beginning to spread beneath the smooth golden skin of his pumped-up chest, and you swear you're looking precisely at them and not at the way the silver piercings in his nipples glisten.

As soon as he is next to you, your hands automatically go up to his wounded face and gently wrap the palms of your hands around it, turning his head from side to side so that you can see the extent of his injuries. San just grins, lets you do whatever you want to him, and looks at you with heavy bedroom eyes. You look beautiful, fuckable, and fucking attractive. It's even funny the way his body immediately reacts to your presence next to him, his cock starting to tighten under the fabric of his gym shorts.

Or is it all the residual adrenaline that is still circulating in his bloodstream after tonight's fight? Who knows?

As the pad of your thumb presses against the deep cut on his lower lip, San hisses like a cat.

"You should get those wounds attended to. They don't look well.' Your voice is full of concern as you continue to run your fingers carefully over the abrasions and scratches on his face. The smooth, golden skin of his sharp, high cheekbones was irritated, and purple bruises were beginning to form underneath. You could even see tiny drops of clotted blood where it had been torn. But even with all that, San still looked pretty damn attractive, which was almost a crime in your opinion.

"You're so worried about me, baby doll, huh? How about you give me a kiss to make it all better?' San cheekily wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close to his hot body, so unacceptably close that your breasts are pressed tightly against his naked muscular chest, and you have to stand up on your tiptoes so that you can face him. "I want my victory kiss, baby." San whispers in a sultry, hoarse voice into your skin, his hot, moist breath flowing over your cheeks, and from this a shameful, excited blush spreads across them. His hands slipping from your waist to wrap them around your buttocks instead, gripping them tightly with the palms of his hands and causing your already short satin shorts to rise even higher.

You swallow unconsciously as the image of him fucking that girl in the changing room comes back to you, just like that, squeezing her buttocks in his hands as she rode on his cock.

'Get a room.' One of the staff members shouts, and you're jolted out of your mental stupor in an instant, resting your hands on San's strong shoulders and moving slightly away from him to create some semblance of space between your bodies.

"I'm being serious, San. If you don't, there'll be infection in your wounds.' You insist, wriggling slightly in his strong grip. He's still so damned close to you, you can feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes.

You can smell the faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla on his skin, still hot from the fight, damp and glistening with sweat and oil. San squeezes your buttocks once hard with his hands before he begins to knead the plump, soft flesh in the palms of his hands, and you practically moan at it, barely managing to sink your teeth into your lower lip in time to keep the shameful, lingering sound from escaping your throat.

"I've seen this before and it was disgusting, you don't want scars on your pretty face, do you? I can get Wooyoung or Yeosang to help, or one of the girls..." You babble on as his hands continue to massage your bottom. San has the good conscience to look completely disinterested in what you're saying - his head is tilted sideways, his feline eyes dark and smouldering with desire, and you notice the tip of his tongue tracing his swollen lower lip. His nose wrinkles slightly as he touches the fresh wound.

"Pretty face, huh?" San gave you a cheeky grin and deep, sweet dimples appeared on his cheeks, which, to be honest, you hated because it made you feel completely weak and soft in the face of his charms. The contrast between how vulgar and coarse he was when he talked and how soft and gentle his dimples were when he smiled just made you go crazy. Damned you, Choi San, you and your stupid, attractive dimples. "You could just kiss that pretty face; I'm sure your slutty, sweet lips could do it better, couldn't you, baby doll?' He tilted his head to the side as if pondering something before a devilish spark flashed in his cat-like, slanted eyes, which, as you know, doesn't bode well for you. "But if you're so worried about me, dollface, why don't you do it yourself? I'm sure you'll give me professional service."

There is some context to his words, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what San is alluding to. The time how efficiently you sucked Yunho's huge thick dick, after his fight, but it happened to be randomised, and you weren't in the habit of screwing every boxer in the club, especially after you started dating Seonghwa, or rather after he made you his sugar baby.

"You jerk..." You nudge him lightly in the shoulder and purse your glossy pink lips in a resentful pout. 'You don't have to be so rude to me." You practically squeal as San suddenly picks you up under your arse and lifts you up in such a way that you have no choice but to wrap your legs around his slender, slutty waist. Your arms are automatically wrapped around his neck, and your faces are in an unacceptably close proximity to each other. Someone whistles loudly, but you don't pay attention. You're too mesmerised by the deep chocolate colour of San's eyes and the way his long, fluffy eyelashes flutter.

"You don't know how rougher I can get with you, Dollface, but I can assure you that you're going to love every second of it. In fact, I'm pretty sure you'll be coming back to me for more of it." His lips touch the hot, flushed skin on the side of your cheek, and you give a soft moan as his fingers dig into your buttocks.

"You are too cocky for your own good, and I already have someone else to fuck.' You argue weakly, unconsciously tangling your fingers in his soft dark hair, causing San to blissfully cover his eyes as if he were a cat that had been petted by his owner.

"Oh, believe me, I know who's fucking you, angel." He emphasises the nickname, knowing full well that's what Seonghwa likes to call you. "And I don't mind sharing you if it means I can finally get my dick in that pussy of yours." San is practically purring; the sound of his deep, seductive voice is vibrating in his chest, and you can feel it in your body. "I know you want it as much as me. Do you remember when you caught me in the changing room with that girl? I had you on my mind, baby doll, and while I was fucking her, I was thinking about your sweet pussy squeezing around my cock. All I could think of was how you were squirting on my face as I fucked your tiny hole with my tongue.'

'San! How much longer are we going to wait for you?" A loud scream from Wooyoung brings you back to reality, and your eyes widen as you finally realise where you and San are at the moment and how his filthy words plunged you into a state of trance. Shit, you should use your head and start thinking with your brain instead of your cunt.

But it's so hard to do that when San is a walking threat to your restraint and decency. It was easy for you to imagine all the things he'd just been talking about, and that slutty, dirty, yet seductive image made the delicate folds of your pussy wet.

"I'll be there in a minute!" San calls back, lowering you gently to your feet and eventually removing his hands from your body. You immediately take a few steps back, still a little stunned by your interaction with him. But San doesn't seem to want to let you out of his arms, so he wraps his palms around your face and forces you to look at him. "Listen to me, babydoll; be a good girl and wait for me in my room. Got it? I'll try and get back to you as soon as I can." For a moment you feel the soft, warm touch of his lips on your forehead, almost making you melt, but it disappears as quickly as it came.

'But...' You begin, wondering what you should do, knowing that if you're alone with San, nothing good will come of it, and besides, you already had plans for tonight. 'I don't know if I should...'

"Baby, I didn't ask you." He turns and starts walking towards Wooyoung and the other boys waiting for him. As if he remembered something, San stops abruptly, looks back at you over his shoulder, and grins mischievously.

"You still have to treat my wounds, doll face, remember? You don't want any scars on my pretty face, do you?" San casts a last dark, hungry glance over your body before bossy ordering you. "Now go, doll. Daddy will be back soon."

And he walks away, leaving you staring in his wake, your head a complete mess and your pussy absolutely wet and trembling with anticipation.

Shit, you seem to have a problem, and its name is Choi San.

For the umpteenth time recently, you find yourself looking at the large wall clock in San's private room. The smooth mechanical movement of the long time hand on the dial is unnerving, and the slight, intrusive ticking is annoying. It does nothing to calm your inner nervousness at all; on the contrary, it makes it even more obvious. You bite down on the pad of your thumb, a stupid, almost childish habit that you can't seem to get rid of, and fidget in the soft leather seat of the massive armchair that you've settled into while you wait for San. It's been over an hour since you and he parted ways, and it looks like the handsome boxer is in no hurry to get back to you soon.

You don't know if he's doing it on purpose—torture you by making you sit here and obediently wait for him like the return of Jesus—or if he's really busy with some business, but one thing you were absolutely sure of—San knew very well that you had to be somewhere else tonight, or rather with someone else. And it was not good for you at all that you were still not warming Seonghwa's luxurious silk bed in his mansion with your naked body. Maybe your relationship with Seonghwa wasn't right and romantic, but you didn't want to lose him, and there was something special about him—dark and magnetic and lecherous—that made you addicted to him. And it wasn't just his money or that absolutely amazing long tongue he used to expertly and efficiently fuck your pussy every night until you whimpered and begged him to stop.

But to deny how much you wanted San to fuck your brains out was just a stupid thing to do. And you knew firsthand that San could take you straight to heaven. After all, he was not only Fight Club's golden boy but also had a golden cock he knew how to use perfectly.

You were so deep in thought, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, that you almost didn't notice when the heavy front door opened and San walked into the room. As always, his presence brings with it that intense, suffocating aura of power and smouldering sexuality and that raw, almost animal magnetism of his nature that draws you to him on some inexplicable, instinctive level, making you focus all your attention on him immediately.

"Don't make such a sweet face, baby. It just makes me want to kiss you more than I already do..." San purrs sultrily as he stretches out on the leather couch in front of you. Leaning his head back as he covers his cat-like eyes and adds hoarsely, barely whispering. 'Or fuck this lovely plump mouth...'

"Can you be nice to me for once?' You purse your rose-coloured plump lips reluctantly, and you look at his figure with a frown. He's still just as sweaty and dirty as you've seen him before, but now his bruises have taken on a darker hue, spreading purple and dark blue ink under his damp, golden skin.

It looks really painful and unpleasant, and even with the way he's treating you, you don't want San to get hurt, so you sigh heavily, reminding yourself that you really don't have time for all this drama, and get up from your seat to walk over to the small dresser where San keeps his first aid kit, and grab some alcohol, ointment, and bandages from there to help treat the wounds.

A silence hangs between the two of you for a few seconds, more tense than uncomfortable, but it's not that that makes you stop what you're doing; it's what San is saying to you.

"But you do have a taste for rough treatment, don't you, angel?" He emphasises your nickname again, pronouncing it like it's some kind of dirty swear word, and you could swear you can hear the venomous notes in his usually honeyed, smooth voice.

You turn your head over your shoulder and take in the sight of San, now looking at you from under his dishevelled, damp fringe with eyes so dark and intense you feel uncomfortable and quickly turn away, continuing to rummage through the first aid kit for ointment.

"This is different, San, and you know it very well." When you finally find the ointment you need, you slam the first aid kit down harder than necessary and turn to face him again. San is still drilling into you with his gaze as he pokes the tip of his tongue into the corner of his bruised, plump lower lip, his mouth curling up slightly as he accidentally touches the deep fissure. The plush, soft flesh was horribly red and swollen where it had been torn, but San still looked hot as hell.

"Come on, doll, just say it; you let him treat you like this because he's fucking you."

You swallow the sharp words that are on the tip of your tongue and decide that today is not the day to poke the tiger with a stick. Instead, you just walk over to him, stand between his spread long legs, and with exaggerated roughness, wrap your arms around his chin, lifting his face slightly so that he's looking at you. With deliberate pettiness, you press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to his split eyebrow without any previous tenderness. He hisses and wrinkles against the burning sensation as the alcohol penetrates deep into the wound, disinfecting it in the process.

"And who's the rough one now, huh, baby doll?" His hands curl around your hips, and his fingers dig into the juicy, soft flesh where your tiny shorts end—just below your ample buttocks. His touch is a little bit painful, a little bit too possessive for your taste, but still you can't say that you don't like it. You hate to admit what San's right about you—you like it rougher, especially in the bedroom.

"I'm just paying you with the same coin, Sannie." You press the cotton ball even harder against the swollen, deep cleavage and pull the hoarse, hissing sound out of his chest once more. 'That's how you're going to get treated for being so...' You start, but San doesn't let you finish, abruptly pulling you closer by your hips, forcing you to take a step forward to keep yourself from falling on top of him.

"So handsome, so hot, so sexy..." San enumerates as he slides his hands up your thighs until the big palms of his hands are completely around your buttocks, greedily squeezing the supple, meaty flesh.

'Brute.' You finish, and finally remove the cotton wool soaked in alcohol from his wound to put some ointment on it in its place. You try to ignore the way San looks at you with his heavy bedroom eyes. He sensually kneads your arse in his palms while you gently apply the ointment to his dissected eyebrow with the cotton bud. "And would you stop pawing at my bum for just a second, please?" "If that's what you really want, sweetheart." San purrs sensuously as he looks at you through the lace of his long eyelashes with the dark, seductive gaze of his slanted cat eyes. Despite his words, he doesn't stop caressing you; instead, he digs his fingers deeper into your ample buttocks and pulls them apart slightly, causing you to let out a low, barely audible moan. He doesn't say anything about it, but judging by the way the corners of his plump lips lift up in a dirty, smug grin, revealing sweet, deep dimples on his cheeks, it's exactly the reaction he was hoping for from you.

You decide to just ignore it, in the full knowledge that San is doing this on purpose to provoke you. Instead, you focus all of your attention on cleaning his wounds as thoroughly as you possibly can and applying salve to each one. Silence falls between you again, punctuated by San's slight cat hissing as you press the alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the particularly deep cuts on his handsome, chiselled face as you continue to carefully remove the dried blood and dirt from them.

Surprisingly, as it turns out, cleaning someone else's wounds is a very intimate process—you're too close together, so close that you can feel the heat emanating from his body, the sliding, damp warmth of his breath on your bare skin, the weight of his dark, feline gaze fixed on your heaving breasts, which almost fall out of your exaggeratedly deep cleavage with every breath you take.

You would think that after all this time with San you would be used to how heavy and almost palpable the sexual tension between you was, but today there was something else in the air besides lingering pure desire. There was a subtle change in the air; small electrical charges crackled in space, as if an inescapable tempest was approaching. The storm was on its way, and you weren't sure if you would be able to survive it, especially with the way your body was responsively reacting to San.

The longer this goes on, the harder it will be for you to control the viscous, searing sensation of excitement that's spreading through your body and becoming more and more tangible to you with each passing second.

You have already been so wet for him—the warm, viscous moisture pools between your legs and coats your folds in a clear, sticky glaze. And it won't come as a surprise to you at all if you see a big wet spot on your silk panties, from how much your pussy is oozing at the moment.

You're almost done with the treatment of his wounds; all you have to do is clean the deep cut on his lower lip, and then you can finally get out of here and hurry back to Seonghwa. You gently lift his face by his chin to make it a little more comfortable for you to do so, when all of a sudden San grabs hold of your wrist.

"Kiss me." His words take your breath away; a palpable shiver runs through your whole body, and you squirm a little under the intensity of his gaze.

'Sorry, what?' You're stupidly questioning you., hoping that San will reduce it to a cheeky, dirty joke as he always does, but it doesn't happen.

"You heard me clearly, Y/N." San's voice is full of an emotion you can't quite describe, but whatever it is, it makes your pussy clench in anticipation.

"San, I...you know I can't do that."

'Just one kiss, Gongjunim. Just one.' He tilts his head slightly to the side and looks at you with those seductive, heavy, bedroom eyes of his. San squeezes your wrist even tighter, pulling you closer to him until his face pressed against your belly. "Come on, doll face, give me a kiss. Think of it as rewarding me for winning. Don't you think the winner deserves a kiss?' His purring voice sends electric charges in your lower abdomen, triggering feelings that you're not sure you're ready to deal with at the moment. "Just one kiss...' San begins plants wet, short kisses on the strip of bare skin between your short top and your shorts.

You're completely silent for a few moments, mentally weighing the pros and cons as San continues to plant wet, insistent, open-mouthed kisses on the soft skin of your stomach. A slight shiver of excitement runs down your spine as you feel him slowly run his tongue over the places where the hickeys he's left behind, his lingering, dissolute kisses, and which you're sure Seonghwa won't be happy to see on you, have already started to turn purple.

But even so, you don't try to stop him, and you let San do whatever he wants. You know that he won't let go of you so easily for this once, and that he can be so stubborn when he wants something badly or needs something certain, and maybe, just maybe, right now you need the same thing as San. All this tension between you was so palpable that you could almost taste it on your tongue—a little bit bitter, a little bit sweet, sharp and lingering, like a kiss after hot sex.

Just one kiss... what could be wrong with that? You're just going to taste it; you're convincing yourself. Just let it taste...

"Okay.' You say at last, and you feel his lips curl up in a victorious grin.

He pulls his handsome face away from your belly and lifts his languid, feline gaze to you. And you hate the way it makes you catch your breath every time, as far as intense and dark his gaze is. San's eyes are predator's eyes—sharp, hungry, and burning; they're the eyes of a big cat on the hunt. A tiger's eyes, having found its prey. Eyes that you will never be able to forget. His lips are parted a little, and before he can say a word, you are one step ahead of him.

"Just one kiss, San. Nothing more. Do you have my meaning?" You wish that your voice would sound more demanding, but instead there's an uncertainty and a slight nervousness in it that is just as clear to San as it is to you. "I'm serious, San, one kiss." It's practically stupid, and you're not at all sure whether you're saying it to San or to yourself.

'Whatever you want, my angel.' He leans back on the back of the couch, relaxed, with a smug grin on his face. There it is again—that damn nickname—what's a jerk after all. "Come on, Dolly, come to me." San runs the broad palms of his hands over his muscular, luscious thighs, letting you know exactly where he wants you to be. You let out a heavy sigh and, irritated, toss the cotton ball full of alcohol and the rest of the ointment into the bin next to the couch before you awkwardly sit down on his lap.

As soon as you are sitting on San's lap, his hands are on your waist, digging their fingers into the soft flesh and squeezing it roughly, only to pull you even closer to him. So close that there is almost no space between your bodies. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, the warm, thick smell of perfume and smoke enveloping you and settling in your lungs with every breath you take, and before you know what you're doing, you're pressing your hips harder against his crotch, feeling how hard San has already been for you.

Your hands automatically come to rest on his naked, muscular chest, and you dig your nails into it lightly, leaving angry red crescent marks on his moist, sun-kissed skin. San mooed in satisfaction, welcoming the painful sensation of your nails on his body, and you almost groaned in response. Just when you thought he couldn't get any hotter, Choi San rushed over to prove that the opposite was true.

"Are you happy now?" You want to sound annoyed and displeased, pouting your plump lips, which are shining with a thick, candy pink gloss, and rolling your eyes at him. But the way San looks at you, the way his hands lazily caress the curve of your waist and hips, makes you practically tremble with excitement, making you fold like origami for him. Why does he have to be so... so damn hot? Your skin burns under his touch, and the viscous, sticky wetness between your legs becomes more intense by the minute.

"I'm more than happy, doll. But don't pretend it's just me; it's about time you admitted you want this as much as I do. You like it all, my little slutty angel. Don't you?" San purrs sultrily and pushes his hips up a little, causing a deep, long moan to escape from your throat. His hard cock touches your aching clit as he moves against you, pressing his crotch harder against your clothed pussy.

And frankly, your skimpy shorts and the thin silk panties you wore especially for Seonghwa today do little to diminish the sharp sensation of pleasure coursing through you. Unconsciously, you move your hips to him and rub your pussy against his cock, desperate for more of this delightful stimulation. The contact has been so pleasurable that your hole is clenching around nothing, spurting out even more of your juices and making you moan once more.

"It turns out that all I had to do to get you to moan for me was to put you on my lap." San slaps you hard on the plump buttock and squeezes it together roughly with his big, wiry hand. "Too easy." There's so much arrogance and smugness in his voice that it makes you want to punch him right in the face.

'No, it's not...' Even to yourself, what you're saying sounds completely meaningless. You look at his chiselled face, perfect except for the cut marks and a few small bruises, at those bold, plump lips that are stretched in a devilish grin, at those sweet dimples, and at those damn seductive cat eyes, full of lust and desire. And now San looks more attractive to you than ever—dangerously attractive. So much so that it almost makes you forget about Seonghwa...

"What did I tell you about that sweet expression on your face?' San growls in a low voice. One of his hands grabs you roughly by the back of the head and suddenly pulls you closer to him than you ever thought possible, almost pushing your faces into each other. "You are driving me crazy; do you know that, doll?' He presses his forehead against yours, and your lips are only a millimetre apart. His palm squeezes your neck in a possessive way, and the sound that comes out of you is something between a sob and a moan. The sudden, abrupt movement causes you to press even harder against his cock, and the sensation sends a pulse of pleasure through your clit.

Before you have a chance to answer him, San's soft lips are meeting yours in an insistent, hungry kiss. His mouth is so aggressive and demanding; his tongue glides over your lower lip and presses against it. His fingers dig into your neck, turning the touch into a rough grip, holding you in place, but there's no need; you already feel so soft and supple to him that you willingly lean into him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck and tangling your fingers in his thick hair, gently pulling the soft strands at the roots. The deep, vibrating moan that San lets out reminds you of the contented purr of a huge cat.

His skilful tongue forces your lips apart and quickly penetrates the inside of your mouth, and you shudder at the sensual sensation as he runs it over your palate, licking the inside of your cheeks and wrapping it around your own tongue. It must look disgusting from the outside—the kiss is rough and dirty, full of tongues and teeth, but you're enjoying it immensely and moaning lustfully against San's lips at the hot need growing inside you.

That's all... Hell, you don't even know how to put it into words. You've been wanting to kiss San ever since you saw him for the first time in the club—dishevelled, hot, all sweaty and battered after his first victorious fight, but so impossibly attractive. You wanted to do it tonight, right after the referee announced that he'd won, and San smiled at you dazzlingly, showing you those sweet, deep dimples you'd always secretly wanted to lick. And you want to kiss him every damn time he's within arm's length of you. Hell, you want to kiss him all the time, over and over again, until you finally satisfy that hunger that's gnawed at your insides for so long.

San pulls your plump lower lip into his moist, warm mouth and gives it a rough sucking before he lets it go with a loud 'pop'. His tongue immediately licks your ajar lips, coating them with his saliva, and it's just unbearable. How on earth are you going to get away from him when he kisses you like that?

"Look at you, Dolly, you're savouring this so much. I bet your sweet, tight cunt is so wet right now. Isn't it?" San whispers in a husky voice before he runs his tongue over your lips once more. "Don't you want to run away from me yet, angel?"

'Just shut up.' You hiss at him before you let him pull you into another kiss that is even deeper and dirtier than the last. Your hips are rocking back and forth, and you are rubbing your needy pussy against his hard cock as San is literally fucking your mouth with his skilful tongue.

You're furious with him. And you're angry that San is absolutely right about you—you love the whole damn thing, so much so that your pussy flows like a waterfall for him, ready and needing him to fill it with his cock and cum until it pours out of you. But most of all, you're angry with yourself, which makes you roll your hips over him even more aggressively and makes you both moan into each other's mouths.

You know that you shouldn't be here, you know that this is going to end badly, and you have absolutely no time to sit on San's lap and let him explore your mouth with his tongue while you dry hump him—and yet you can't bring yourself to leave. Not in the slightest bit. Your willpower is nothing compared to Choi San.

San begins to kiss you even more furiously, biting your lips almost to the point of bleeding. He's so passionate—he licks your mouth with his tongue and literally shoves it down your throat, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He kisses you like he's dying of thirst, and you're the only way he can fix it. And if San eats pussy the same way he kisses you now, you're not sure you can handle it at all.

Your phone suddenly beeps, alerting you to a new message, and the obnoxious, loud sound finally brings you to your senses. You pull away from San's tantalising, greedy lips, trying to catch your breath and get your thoughts straightened out as he continues to kiss your cheeks and chin lazily.

"I have to go now.' You say softly, to which San just mooed in agreement, as if to say, 'Go on, I won't hold you back', but his lips never leave your skin for a second, and his broad, slightly calloused palm still grips your neck tightly from behind. "I shouldn't be here with you... Seonghwa... he's waiting for me at home, you know." You sound so weak, and to be honest, not convincing even to yourself, let alone San, and the handsome boxer doesn't try to make it easier for you.

He lets go of your neck just long enough to run his fingers over your flushed, pretty face before wrapping them tightly around your chin and tilting your head slightly to the side so that your eyes meet his slanted, feline eyes that are clouded with lust. His gaze is so intense, so searing, that it makes you want to turn away from him. San is looking at you as if he's watching how his fingers are penetrating you, slowly and deeply, stretching your tight hole while you're languidly jerking him off. It's an intimate gaze, too palpably sexual.

San lets out a dark chuckle, full of the most lewd and dirty promises, as he presses his fingers against the edges of your mouth before squeezing it until your plump lips form a silly "duck" shape. A smug, victorious expression was frozen on his face, and he poked the tip of his tongue into the corner of his swollen lips. You can't say a word; all your thoughts are scattered into the dark corners of your mind like cockroaches when a light is turned on.

"I guess you're already late, baby." Genuine amusement glitters in his eyes, and he lets go of you, instead leaning back on the back of the couch as if he were a king. Such an abrupt change in his behaviour is a source of confusion to you.

'What are you...' You don't have time to finish your sentence before the door to the room flings open, letting in the sound of loud, cheerful voices and the deafening roar of music. You almost have the urge to snap at the person who has dared to interrupt your moment with San, but instead you freeze as the room is again engulfed in silence and the only thing you can hear is the clicking sound of high heels and the thunderous beating of your heart echoing in your ears. You freeze like a deer in the headlights as you realise who those high heels belong to, and judging by the devilishly smug grin on San's face, you're not wrong in your guess.

"Ah, there you are, my beautiful little angel...' Seonghwa's purring voice is nothing more than solid darkness wrapped in velvet, and the sound of it sends goosebumps up your arms and makes everything inside of you twist into a tight knot of fear and excitement.

Your senses are a mess, and you're torn between wanting to burst into tears and wanting to rub your cunt against San's cock again, even more desperate now that Seonghwa's appearance has unleashed a new wave of lust in you, even more intense than before. God, the way your body is reacting to the presence of this man next to you is simply beyond any explanation. It was so wild and yet so exhilarating, and perhaps deep down inside you were a complete masochist as you took such incredible pleasure out of it all.

Your nightmare was coming true as he walked leisurely towards you and San, his hands in the pockets of his designer trousers, causing the hem of his luxurious, expensive fur coat to flutter open, revealing the translucent top that covered his torso like a second skin. If San had made you feel like a frightened bunny cornered by a predator, then Seonghwa made you feel like some kind of dark deity was keeping his all-seeing eye on you.

You were completely frozen in your seat—practically out of breath, still in the same compromising position—your pussy pressed tightly against San's thick, hard cock through your clothes as his hand continued to sensuously knead your plump, juicy buttocks.

When Seonghwa is at arm's length from you, deceptively gentle, he runs his fingers through your hair before he tangles his fingers in the long, silky strands and jerks your head backwards, causing you to arch your back and let out a long, hard moan. Damn, you love it when he's so bossy and rough with you.

"Or are you nothing more than a fucking needy slut today, eh? Look at you, keeping your daddy waiting while you rub your slutty cunt all over San's cock." You gasp at the deliciously painful sensation of his fingernails lightly scraping the skin of your scalp as he pulls harder on the long, silky strands of your hair. To be honest, you don't know how to answer him, or rather, what kind of answer would satisfy Seonghwa, so you just remain silent, sinking your teeth into your kiss-swollen lower lip and looking up at him with big, clouded with desire eyes.

"Oh, she is definitely the ultimate slut. You missed a lot, Hwa; the way she rode me just a few minutes ago was quite a sight. And her sweet cunt is soaking wet; I can feel it even through her shorts and panties. I have no doubt that her tight little hole is literally dripping with slime right now." San purrs and slaps your bottom hard, making the soft, plump flesh jiggle, and you whimper pitifully at the sharp, tingling sensation of the burn on your tender skin. Even if you are not in the best position now, a hot wave of dark pleasure washes over your entire body, making your cunt quiver in anticipation of what's to come.

"Well, so..." Seonghwa says carelessly, tugging at your hair once more before he unclenches his fingers and abruptly lets go of your strands, causing your head to swing involuntarily and you to whimper softly. You watch as he turns on his heels and walks over to the chair you had been sitting in and sits in it elegantly, as if on a throne. He looks unbelievable, wicked, and smouldering with dark sexuality, swathed in expensive fur, and with his legs spread wide, you want to crawl over and bury your face in his cock. Hwa is stretched out in his chair, leaning back into the soft backrest and staring at you with heavy siren eyes.

You have no idea at all what's going on here. Shouldn't Seonghwa be furious about this? You're literally sitting on another man's cock, and not just any man, but Choi San, the golden boy of the Fight Club that Hwa owns, your panties and shorts soaked through and your lips so swollen and covered in saliva and remnants of thick candy pink gloss that it looks like you've been selflessly sucking cock for hours, not just kissing. And all your incredibly possessive and bossy sugar daddy does is sit back in his chair and stare at you as if he's sitting in the front row of a fashion show.

"Since you say so, San. I guess you have to show me how slutty my angel can be." Seonghwa's voice is nothing but solid darkness, wrapped in velvet. He emphasises the word 'my', and for the first time in a long while, you can hear the venom in his words. Outwardly, he may look and act completely indifferent, maybe even a little bored, but inside he's seething with jealousy at how much you're enjoying San and how he's touching you. "Don't let my presence distract you; just pick up where you left off."

'What?' You blink dumbly at him, your brain so clouded with lust and need that you are unable to process the words he has just said properly.

"You heard me, angel, keep on fucking." Seonghwa just tilts his head to the side, looks at you with siren eyes, and licks his plump, kissable lips in a sensual way. You swallow loudly at this sight, because that's the way he usually looks at you when he's devouring your pussy or fucking you deep, throwing your legs over his shoulders and thrusting his hips into you with such force that the back of the bed hits the wall with every thrust and his tight balls slap against your plump, soft buttocks, making the skin on them blush angrily red and tingle slightly. In front of your mind's eye, you instantly flash back to this morning, when Seonghwa gave you the same siren's gaze that he's giving you right now, as he tickled your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue and stretched your hole with two long fingers.

'But... Seonghwa... I...' Your voice is hardly louder than a whisper when you speak. "Aren't you... Aren't you upset?" It embarrasses you so much, but at the same time you can't deny how much the thought of Seonghwa watching you while San fucks you is getting you excited.

"Oh, my little angel, aren't you a sweetie, eh?" Seonghwa gives a dark chuckle. He bites the tip of his index finger in a playful way and tilts his head to the side, looking up at you through his long, fluffy eyelashes.

You always loved how playful he could be with you at times, but at the moment it was more frightening than comforting, for you knew very well that his playfulness could go far beyond the limits of normalcy, and it never ended well.

"And what makes you think that I should be upset, my love?" His voice drops to a dangerous, dark purr, and this sound pierces you, sending signals straight to your needy pussy, causing more of your sticky, sweet juices to spill out. "Maybe it's because you're practically shoving your slutty cunt right in San's face? I bet your pussy is dripping wet and throbbing with the need to be filled with his cock." He says it so casually and simply, and somehow it's so fucking hot that you don't know what you want more—to beg him for forgiveness or to fuck you silly.

Seonghwa slowly runs his tongue over his sensual, luscious lips, and this movement is so practised and deliberate that it sends shivers down your spine.

"But you know what, Angel? Daddy would do anything for you, and if you want to fuck him, then go right ahead and do it. You can ride his cock all day long; I don't give a shit. Because once he's fucked you, you'll come crawling back to me because you know you belong to me and me alone."

Seonghwa's words barely get through to you. You can see the way his stunning, perfectly sculpted lips move when he speaks; you can hear the velvety quality of his voice, but you still can't quite make out their meaning.

Your mind is reminded of cotton candy—fluffy and airy, deliciously sweet, and melting with excitement. You shift your confused gaze from Seonghwa to San, hoping that the handsome boxer will clear your thoughts a little, but instead all you get is a sinful, predatory grin and the look of his seductive, half-closed eyes piercing through you and promising you a straight shot to paradise.

It was enough to make your blood boil with desire. Your excitement was so obvious to them, almost palpable, and despite this humiliating fact, the thrill that fluttered in your lower belly and sent goosebumps of heat between your juicy thighs intensified even more.

‘I don't know...It's all so... complicated...' A quiet sob escapes from your throat as San grabs you by the throat and pushes his hips up, causing his hard cock to rub against your clit in the most delightful way. His hand clenches harder on your neck, causing you to gasp from the sudden lack of air. Your eyes roll up at the rough, possessive grip, and you unconsciously roll your hips over him, your throbbing, swollen clit pressed tightly against his hard cock. San's eyes narrow, and he curses under his breath when he sees how fucked you already look. He thrusts his hips into you again, and this action completely shuts down any rationality in your thinking.

"I don't think so, doll." San whispers in a devilish voice, pressing his hot lips to your shoulder and leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses there; your skin melts under his touch, making you moan and wriggle even harder in his lap. "Just say yes, baby; that's all you need. You want this so badly, don't you?" San's silky voice slides over your body as if he's licking it with his tongue. He continues persistently to coax you into giving in to temptation, making your skin crawl, and as his teeth dig lightly at your collarbone, your brain finally loses all contact with reality, and you give in, letting your lust take control of you.

"Yes, I want to." You squeakily out, but San's hand around your neck makes the sound distorted and broken. 'Please.' You add even more softly. And apparently that's exactly what they wanted, because the next moment the handsome boxer suddenly releases your throat, and you begin to gasp slightly as air begins to flow freely into your lungs again.

"There you go, such a good girl." San purrs, and that guttural, silky sound vibrates against your skin, making you shiver with excitement. You try to get your breathing back to a normal rhythm by taking slow, deep breaths. Your head is a little dizzy, and you are about to fall to the floor, stumbling on your wobbly, shaky legs as San pushes you off his lap and forces you to stand right in front of him.

You stare at him in confusion, not understanding why he would push you away when just a few minutes ago he was the one rubbing his cock all over your pussy and urging you to fuck him. But San just lifts his split eyebrow at you in silence and smiles mischievously, looking at you with his heavy bedroom eyes, as if his facial expression should have told you everything you needed to know.

"What... what am I supposed to do?" It comes out almost shyly, as if you weren't the one dry humping another guy in front of your sugar daddy, and apparently Seonghwa finds it amusing too. You can hear his cheerful, velvety laugh behind your back before he elegantly gets up from his seat and comes back to you and hugs you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. You almost instantly dissolve into his arms, drowning in the luxurious, expensive fur of his fur coat as he pulls you closer to his body.

"You can be such a fool sometimes, my love; it can't help but amuse me." Seonghwa purrs, leaning down to your face and running the tip of his nose along your rounded, ruddy cheek. "San wants you to show him how good a slut you can be for him and how beautiful you look on your knees with a cock in your mouth. I'm sure that's been on his mind ever since he saw you giving Yunho a blowjob in the locker room, isn't it?" Hwa whispers into your ear, and you see San's eyes narrow dangerously as he says it, going even darker, and you could swear you see something utterly evil flashing in those deep chocolate irises. Oh, Seonghwa seems to have hit a nerve, and you know full well that he did it on purpose.

“Of course I did, Hwa. How could I not have thought of that? Dolly was quite a sight, so desperate, milking his cock with her mouth, sucking his balls, and lapping up his cum as if her life depended on it. You don't seem to be able to satisfy her appetite enough to keep her from seeking the attention of other men, Seonghwa." Parries San, and you are practically gasping for breath at such blatant insolence. You've never heard of anyone being so openly in Seonghwa's face before, and it's both a delight and a fright to you.

'You bastard.' Seonghwa hisses at him. You can feel the irritation and anger coming from him, but he still does nothing to stop this game. Instead, he encourages it to continue. His hands let go of your waist, and he placed them on your shoulders instead, squeezing them so hard that you started to go down until you found yourself on your knees between San's spread legs. The handsome boxer's cock is a foot away from your face, and even though you haven't touched it yet, you can see how tight the muscles in his abs and thighs are, taut like steel cables under the golden, wet skin. It was an image that you wanted to stay with you forever. Your palms automatically rested on his inner thighs, and you lightly clenched the fabric of his shorts. "Have fun with her while you still can, San. You may never have the chance to play with my princess again." Hwa says in a mocking tone and strokes your head gently before he gives you a kiss on the top of your head.

"Oh, trust me, Seonghwa, I will, and when I'm done with her, she won't be able to think of anything else than me." San wraps a hand around his thick, hard cock through the fabric of his shorts, and you swallow loudly, already imagining how heavy and hot it is going to be on your tongue.

"You are overconfident, San, but anyway...' He turns your face towards him to lick your lips with his tongue, coating them with a shiny, thick layer of his saliva. The action, totally dirty and lascivious, is so damn hot, and you instinctively stick your tongue out of your mouth so that Seonghwa can spit on it, which he does. With your eyes glazed over with lust, you watch as your sugar daddy collects the saliva in his mouth and spits it out onto your waiting tongue. He lets out a deep purr at the sight of a thick, viscous drop rolling down your pink tongue, which you immediately swallow with a sweet moan. "Aren't you the prettiest one? Such an obedient slut for your daddy." He licks your lips again, and you reach up in the hope of catching his tongue with your lips and sucking on it, but your desperation only makes him giggle. "You can do that later, my angel; I promise you that. Now give me a good show and work his dick with your hot, slutty mouth." And you obey the order.

Seonghwa moves away from you, leaving you at the mercy of San, and sits back down in his chair, unbuckling the belt on his trousers and beginning to stroke himself slowly. His seductive siren's eyes are uninterruptedly watching your every move.

As you turn your attention back to San, a pitiful gasp comes from your chest, and you clench your thighs tighter in a futile attempt to reduce your arousal. You feel so small under the weight of that dark, feline gaze of his. His eyes roam over your form, his predatory gaze gliding over every curve of your body before it lingers at your boobs, almost falling out of your top. San's tongue slips out of his mouth, and he slowly licks his wounded lips, leaving a glistening trail of saliva on them.

"Show me those big plump tits, baby. I want to see them bouncing while I fuck that sweet, doll-like face of yours." San purrs in a sultrily way, and there's a hoarseness to his voice that wasn't there before, but you're too caught up in the sight of San running his thumbs under the elastic of his gym shorts and pulling them down, finally exposing his big, pre-cum oozing cock. The sight of it is the cause of a salivary gush in your mouth.

Your hands reach up and begin to slowly pull the thin straps of your satin top down from your shoulders until your heavy, luscious tits are completely exposed and your top is gathered up at your waist in a useless strip of fabric. San's plump lips curl up in an approving smile, revealing his deep, sweet dimples as he finally gets to see your bare breasts in all their glory. Your fingers slide over your aureoles, your nipples hardening from the pleasurable stimulation, and you gently run your thumb pads over the sensitive, swollen buds, a soft moan of pleasure escaping your parted lips.

"Fuck, baby, you've got such amazing tits, so big, heavy, and so soft. Greatest titties I've ever seen. I want to cum all over your tits; cover them with my sperm. I'll milk your tits dry, Dolly, make you cum from sensations of my mouth on your nipples." San's voice is full of dark promise, and it makes more and more of the moisture seep out of your trembling hole. He squeezes his cock harder in his broad palm, caressing the thick, throbbing length with a wet squelching sound before he pushes in lightly, making his beautiful, thick thighs tense even more. Hell, his cock is literally dripping with pre-cum; the swollen, reddened head has been covered in a thick layer of glistening, viscous glaze, and you can practically taste the sweet taste of his cum on the tip of your tongue.

"Do you like my tits that much, San?" You rock your tits gently in the palms of your hands at the feel of their weight. The plump flesh of them barely fits in your hands.

"So damn much, babe." The sexy boxer lets out a low, husky moan as he continues to pleasure himself. His cock twitches weakly in the palm of his hand as he watches you playing with yourself, massaging your breasts and tweaking your swollen nipples. You could swear that the moaning that comes out of his lips is the hottest you've ever heard, of course after the moaning and whimpering of Seonghwa. You wonder if you'll ever be able to make the temperamental boxer whimper and beg. The thought of San writhing and whimpering under your care as you ride him like a thoroughbred stallion makes a small trickle of sticky fluid flow out of you.

A velvety moan from behind your back grabs your attention, and for a second you turn your head over your shoulder to take a look at your gorgeous daddy. Seonghwa's overly plump, glossy lips are parted with a lingering, soft moan; his feline, black eyes are clouded with pleasure and slightly out of focus as his graceful hand caresses his beautiful, thick cock. God, you still can't understand how you managed to get the attention of such a gorgeous, sexy man, but that's the last thing you can think about right now. Especially when he brings his long, pre-cum-covered fingers to his lips and smears them over the overly plump, soft flesh before he sticks out his tongue and licks the sticky residue off the delicate appendages.

Until the last drop of pre-cum disappears into his mouth, Hwa slowly caresses the fingers with his long, expert tongue. The sight of it sends a new wave of heat through your body, and the silky walls of your cunt tremble and become even wetter. The whimper that comes out of you at the sight of this filthy thing is almost pitiful.

"Don't let me distract you, angel. I want to see you sucking him off. I want to see you choking on his big cock as you take him deep down your pretty little throat. Can you do that for Daddy, Angel?" Seonghwa's voice has the sound of melted honey. The sugary tone is such a strong contrast to the dirty, vulgar words that come out of his sensual mouth. And it makes you roll your eyes and let out a loud moan. Hell, he's fucking you without even touching you at all.

"Yes, yes, daddy. I'll do everything for you. Anything you want me to do.' You squirm slightly in your spot, squeeze your thighs together, and bite your plump lower lip.

"Such a good girl. Keep playing with San, Angel.' Seonghwa casts his dark, burning gaze over your body one last time, lingering briefly on your swollen, tense nipples before waving his hand at you. He silently commands you to turn away and give your full attention to San. Which you do immediately.

When you turn back to San, you look at him innocently through your fluffy eyelashes, knowing full well the effect it has on men when you know how quickly Seonghwa gets hard when you give him that look of false innocence. And apparently he's not the only one turned on by it, because you can see San's cock twitching in his palm and he hissing in pain or pleasure as he sinks his teeth into the bruised flesh of his lower lip.

"Can I suck your dick...? You stammer slightly now that your game has moved from playful teasing to actual sex, not knowing how to address him right.

'Daddy, my doll.' The look on San's face is so intense and powerful that it makes your blood boil with the desire to satisfy him in every possible way. "You can call me "Daddy." You hear Seonghwa's sarcastic chuckle behind your back and see San's lips open in response, but you quickly distract him from another verbal altercation with your sugar daddy.

"So you're going to let me suck you off, Daddy?". You lick your plump lips greedily, glistening with the sticky residue of candy pink glitter and Seonghwa's saliva, running your tongue in deliberately slow motion over the soft flesh and placing your palms on the inside of his thighs. Your face is practically resting on his hard, oozing cock, and you blow lightly on it, causing San to throw his head back, exposing his long, seductive neck with its scattering of freckles and straining, swollen veins, as he rolls his eyes in pleasure. 'Please.' You add as you arch your spine and move your face even closer to his crotch, leaving a light, weightless kiss on the top of his taut balls.

'Fuck, doll.' San growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your face up so you meet his gaze with yours. 'Do you want to taste my cock that badly, baby girl?' His eyebrow lifts in a teasing manner. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock and slaps the swollen, reddening head against your lips. Each time he pulls it away from your mouth, long strands of your drool, mixed with pre-cum, stretch from your lips to his cock.

"Yes, Daddy, I want it so badly. Let me taste your cock; I want to feel it on my tongue, in my throat. Please, Daddy, please." You spread your legs slightly, and the fabric of your tiny satin shorts stretches across your crotch, digging in between your labia and perfectly outlining the contours of your plump little cunt. This did nothing to hide how wet you were now, so both San and Seonghwa could see the dark wet stain on the thin fabric.

"Oh, shit, angel." Seonghwa curses, and you can hear him shift a little in his seat, but you still do not make the slightest attempt to turn around and look at him. You can be sure that if the situation were different, Seonghwa's godlike face would be buried between your thighs by now. But right now he has to restrain his desires and just watch what's going on. "Stop playing with her, San, and give the princess what she wants." His voice is condemning, but you know very well that this is nothing but a farce. Hwa himself can torment you for hours by rubbing his cock over your face or slapping it on your tongue and cheeks before he lets you take it in your mouth.

The only thing your daddy had no patience for was eating your pussy. Seonghwa couldn't tease you for more than a minute before he would suckle with his gorgeous mouth on your warm, tight cunt and feast on it for hours. He would stick his tongue deep into your tiny hole and suck your juices like the exquisite vintage wine he loved so much, although he also liked to drink it from your pussy too.

San slaps his cock against your mouth a couple of more times before he presses the head of it against your lower lip and gently pushes it in the inviting, moist warmth of your mouth.

"You heard your man, baby girl. Open your mouth and take this cock, Angel." You almost want to roll your eyes at those words, you petty bastard. But when San's sharp feline eyes meet yours and he gives you a smug, predatory grin that makes you squirm in your seat between his spread legs, all your insolence melts away in an instant.

San's hand runs through your hair in a deceptively affectionate manner, pulling a few strands away from your beautiful face so that he can get a better look at you as your sweet mouth opens and his thick cock slowly enters you. Your jaw tenses up as you try to get used to the size of it, the swollen, throbbing veins rubbing against your tongue as he pushes deeper and deeper. San clenches a large handful of your silky curls in his fist before pulling them out with force. He rolls his eyes and hisses through clenched teeth as the blunt head of his cock hits the back of your throat and his balls rest against your chin.

Your mouth is full to the brim, your plump lips stretching beautifully around the hot, velvety girth, pressing tightly against it and enveloping the sensitive length with warm, wet breath, but even that doesn't stop you from moving your tongue and kitten licking the sensitive spot where his cock joins his heavy, cum-filled balls.

The moan he makes when you do it goes straight to your pussy and your silky walls clench around nothing. Delicate, velvety skin tingles under the caress of your tongue, and it makes his cock throb in your mouth. The sight of you choking on his cock and drooling all over his balls almost brings San to the brink of his limit.

"Look at you, doll, you're already drooling like a mindless slut, and I haven't even fucked that sweet face yet." San's thumb caresses your soft cheek, cooing sweetly before he slaps you lightly on the cheek, causing you to gasp and unknowingly let his cock go deeper down your throat.

You choke on it, the slippery walls of your throat tightening around his cock, pressing on the sensitive, swollen veins that stretch seductively along its massive, heavy length. The sensation makes him curse, and the nasty gagging, gurgling sound you make seems so sexy that San doesn't think he'll ever be able to get enough of it. Seonghwa makes his own wet whimpering noise as he watches your deep throat the handsome boxer's cock as he masturbates on you.

San pulls your head up by the hair until the only thing left in your mouth is your wet, reddened head, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. Wiping away the tears that begin to gather in the corners of your eyes, you look up at him with the most enchanting, tender look of pure innocence as you let his cock completely out of your mouth with a loud 'pop'. You give a wet smack to the swollen, mushroom-shaped head of his cock, the viscous saliva bubbling up before it bursts and runs down his cock and your chin in thick strands.

"Oh fuck, baby doll, you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth. A perfect little cocksucker." The sweet praise makes your delicate hole clench around nothing and your clit throbs as if San had just licked it with his tongue. 'Let me fuck your angelic face, sweetheart? I'm sure Seonghwa can't wait to see me stuff my cock down your tight little throat up to my balls. San purrs passionately as he looks down at you before he pushes his muscular thighs up so that his massive length slaps against your mouth and cheeks a couple of times.

'Yes, Daddy, I want it.' You whimper as you flutter your long, fluffy eyelashes and run your lips sweetly over the sensitive, velvety flesh of his cock, leaving short kisses on it. "Please, I want to feel you deep in my throat."

San growls, cupping the back of your head roughly with his palm and pressing down hard, forcing your pretty, flushed face to press even harder against his thick, wetted with saliva and pre-cum length. He doesn't need to tell you anything; you obediently open your warm, moist mouth and allow San to push his massive cock back between your swollen lips, stretching them beautifully around the hard, velvety flesh and pulsating, swollen veins.

His broad shoulders tense visibly, muscles tightening and contracting under his sweaty golden skin, and he moans gutturally as he watches you lower yourself onto him. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you savour the slightly painful sensation from his huge cock as it pushes deeper and deeper into your throat, pulling the tight, slippery walls apart until you are choking on it completely. His cock is practically choking you as San holds your head in place, preventing you from being able to move away from him and take a full breath. San's broad, slightly rough palms begin to massage the sides of your neck to ease the tension a little as he holds you against his cock, your nose resting against the smooth, warm skin of his pubic and his heavy balls pressed tightly against your chin.

"That's my good girl." San moans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes as your tongue presses against the swollen, throbbing vein on his cock. His stomach tenses up, and his taut pecs rise and fall with a heavy, hoarse intake of breath.

"My girl San, she's my fucking girl." Seonghwa hisses angrily. But that doesn't seem to bother the handsome boxer at all, as he just laughs grimly, clutching your hair in his fist and pulling your head away from his cock to admire your sweet, tear-stained face and your swollen, fucked lips.

"Of course she is, Hwa. She's all yours." San replies in a caustic tone. He enters your mouth once more, thrusting into it roughly and jerkily, hitting the back of your throat with the head of his cock each time. "Breathe through your nose, dolly." The brunette warns you before he forces your head down onto his cock until your nose is pressed against the smooth, wet skin of his pubic and his balls are pressed tightly against your chin. San holds your head still, and you begin to gasp, your throat walls tightening around his thick length as you try to breathe.

"Damn, doll, I'm going to cum. Do you want my cum, kitten?' He growls, pulling at your hair as he finally begins to fuck you in the throat. He thrusts into your mouth, sharp and deep, his hot length sliding between the narrow walls of your throat with a disgusting wet sound. San rolls his hips smoothly and fucks you in the face, his rhythm steady and deep.

You moan affirmatively, looking at him with huge, sweet eyes. With every move he makes, his heavy, thick cock rubs against your soft tongue, and you suck in your cheeks to give him even more pleasure. This makes San hisses like a big wildcat. This deep, sexy sound excites you more, and you dig your long, sharp nails into his luxurious thighs, leaving on them long scarlet stripes.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The brunet asks, wrapping his fingers around your neck and pressing down lightly so that he can feel the bulge of his cock in your throat every time he enters you. This also cuts off what little room you had left to breathe. "Your plump, slutty cunt must be leaking so hard right now, isn't it, doll? You're just dying for me to cum in it and destroy that tight, sweet hole of yours."

His disgustingly dirty but incredibly hot words make you whimper pitifully around his massive girth, sending pleasurable vibrations through his sensitive cock.

You can feel his muscular thighs tense up under the palms of your hands as San throws his head back and lets out a loud, prolonged moan of pure pleasure. It's a deep, pornographic sound that comes straight from his chest, and it's at that very moment that your mouth begins to fill with his warm sperm.

San cums heavily on your tongue—a warm stream of thick, milky liquid runs down the back of your throat, causing you to choke. You slowly breathe through your nose and try to fight against your gag reflex as you drink his cum, little by little.

You try to swallow all of it, but there's so much of his sperm that some of it starts to leak out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and down the silky length of his cock, coating it in a sticky, milky glaze. You have to pull yourself away from him so that you can swallow it properly and savour the rich, bittersweet taste of it.

"Come on, kitten, show me your tongue." San purrs and looks up at you in a seductive way with his dark, feline eyes. His gaze is hazy and unfocused from the orgasm he's just experienced, and he gives you a lecherous grin, showing off his deep dimples as he continues to stroke his cock lazily.

You swallow noisily a thick mixture of sticky cum and your own drool, looking up at San with your big, deceptively innocent eyes before opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue.

"Look at you, baby doll." San purrs in a condescending manner and slaps his big cock against your tongue. Another copious stream of cum splashes onto your soft appendage, some of it landing on your lips and cheeks, coating your angelic face with thick, milky goo. "I always knew you were made to suck my cock, my little slut." He grabs your hair again and pulls you to his face for a kiss.

It's a dirty, sloppy, even slightly disgusting, open-mouthed kiss with lots of drool and sperm. San doesn't care at all that you haven't had time to swallow his share; he shoves his tongue deep down your throat, licks the inside of your cheeks, and then slides his tongue over your tongue to taste his own cum. This has you whimpering and moaning into his lips, your little arms wrapped around his thick, tense neck as you continue to kiss each other. San persistently explores your mouth with his tongue while his hands cradle your heavy, plump tits, roughly massaging the soft flesh and thumb rubbing your sensitive, swollen nipples.

The fact that Seonghwa doesn't seem to mind all of this and allows you to fuck San right in front of his eyes makes you even more horny. In fact, it's always been your little forbidden fantasy—you've imagined San touching you, licking your pussy and filling your little hole with his dick and sperm more than once or twice. But the fact that Hwa is involved in all of this drives you absolutely crazy. It's hard for you to comprehend what's happening, especially when San pulls and twists your nipples with his rough fingers again and another pair of hands goes to your hips before starting to pull down your soaked shorts and slutty panties until your sticky, plump cunt is fully exposed. Long strands of your arousal flow from your hole, dripping down to San's thighs and tempting Seonghwa to lick your silky, shiny folds, which he does right away.

Your hips arch as Seonghwa's long tongue slides down your slit from your dripping, quivering hole to your throbbing clit; the sharp tip dipping between your labia, caressing the soft, sensitive folds that are covered in a thick layer of your sweet mucus.

'Daddy!' You squeal, pulling away from San's swollen, hot lips and clawing at his broad, muscular shoulders with your long fingernails with such force that drops of blood begin to show on his skin.

'Do you like to play rough, sweetheart?' San hisses and suddenly slaps your tit. An angry red mark immediately blooms where his palm has made contact with your plump flesh. Your arousal is so obvious that you can practically feel it tingling on your skin; a fresh load of slime pours out of your hole, and Seonghwa immediately licks it up, velvety purring as the viscous liquid runs down his tongue and into his throat. He squeezes your thighs violently, long fingers digging into your flesh to pull your thick, juicy thighs closer to him so he can bury his godlike face in your aching, slutty cunt. "I asked you a question, Dolly." The handsome boxer slaps your breasts again, causing you to make a pitiful whimper.

"Yes...' You can barely speak; your words are all of gasping and sobbing, especially when Hwa rubs her pretty nose against your sensitive clit. Your whole body shudders at the new stimulation, and you dig your nails into San's shoulders even harder than before. "Yes, I like that, Daddy.".

'Daddy, huh?' Seonghwa hisses furiously and pulls his beautiful, sensual mouth away from your needy pussy. You squeal loudly as he suddenly slaps your swollen, sensitive clit with his graceful palm. The painful sensation is quickly replaced by euphoric, sweet pleasure spreading through your body like a liquid flame. "You know, you should be ashamed of yourself for the way you have behaved, my angel." Hwa purrs as he slaps your pussy a couple of more times. You give a pitiful whimper, shivering with your whole body and clinging even more tightly to San like a helpless little kitten.

"Please, Daddy, I'm so sorry...I'll behave better...' Your tone is so whiny, almost pleading. You choke on your own words, which sound more like intermittent breathing than anything coherent. "I promise I'll make it up to you, Daddy. I'll do everything for you. Please...'

"What about me, baby doll? Will you do anything for me? San whispers, sultry and husky, drawing your attention back to him; his wet, swollen lips, swollen from kissing and bruising, touch yours with every word he utters.

'I...' You start, but you never get a chance to finish your sentence as Seonghwa, without warning, plunges two long fingers into your tight, tiny hole all the way to the base. His fingers flex inside you, the soft pads pressing against the sensitive, spongy bundle of nerves, and you moan long and hard. More and more of the sweet nectar is oozing out of your hole, coating his fingers and dripping down onto San's thighs.

"I feel like you forget yourself all the time, San." Seonghwa's hisses. He pulls his long fingers out of you at an excruciatingly slow pace, dragging them along the silky walls of your pussy and making sure you feel every moment of it very vividly. "Y/N belongs to me and only to me. She is mine. And I think it's time for me to remind you of that." There is pure venom in Songhwa's voice, and you can't deny that it turns you on. But I have to say, it's pretty sweet that you have the idea that she could be yours." He continues to taunt the handsome boxer.

San just laughs, slides his hand between your thighs, and cups your pussy with his broad palm in a possessive way. Your hips automatically begin to move in search of sweet stimulation, and this movement has you rubbing against San's palm, your swollen clit sliding against the rough skin in the most delightful way. You arch your back and push back your plump booty as you shake it a little, making the juicy flesh wiggle seductively, and you hope that this will entice Sunhwa to put his fingers inside you once more and press his tongue against your cunt. God, you wanted to cum so badly, but it seems that the two impossibly sexy and powerful men, who now had you trapped between their gorgeous bodies, had plans of their own for you.

"Oh really?" San snorts with a grim chuckle. "Oh, daddy, her cunt is flowing for me, all sticky, sweet, and ready to be filled with my sperm. You haven't even made her cum yet; is that really how you are supposed to treat the sugar pussy of your princess, huh? If she were mine, I'd suck on her pussy until she squirted all over my face, then I'd do it again and again until I milked it dry'. San leans down to your ear, and his hot breath touches the sensitive skin of your earlobe, sending a tingling sensation through your whole body. He runs the tip of his tongue over your delicate flesh, grinning lewdly and looking directly into Songhwa's dark, squinting eyes. "And it seems you're the one who forgets, Hwa." San presses down on your trembling, tight hole and pushes two fingers into you with a loud, squelching sound. 'I never lose."

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part I @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity @0rangemilk @yellow-foxxing @claimmeyourprincess

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part II @unholywriters @hey-syia @hrts4nohee @vnessalau @mlink64 @tessakleine @fr34k4c1dr41n @313hwa @lilyuwon @tiziamattaga @un-knew @wiaxul @siyah-staryis @seonghwasbbgirl @mingisfavgf @bunnyluvr25 @roserperfume @lose-lose07 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lelaleleb @bubblebisk @silverlight-h @ chloe-elise-2000 @cookiesandcreammy @mxnsxngie @ghostlovesworld @i-love-ateez @mingisprincesss @vampscan @peachygiku @vampqueen777 @miyaluvvsyou @stay-tiny-things @moondanse94

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part III @yyaurii @infrenchexit @sanniesbum @jaxyy219 @lostxxgirl @m1sss1mp @manipulatedstars @cotton-candycloudz @kienhawon @flowerxsin @londonbridges01 @fluffyyongbokie @sang-09 @hobarihope @sanniesaur @luvbit3z @sanriomilk @s4erin @sanhwalvr @mallielovssyou @slytherinslays @your-bloodbag @cherricola-star @passionandsuga @hwasangel

2K notes · View notes

777heavengirl · 21 days ago

Text

Bless the Telephone ; ##02

James Potter x f!muggle!reader

word count: 1,511

warnings: i dont think theres any? lmk...

a/n: :) i hope yall like it, at the rate im pumping these out i might do two updates per week but we'll see how that goes..."

series masterlist

main masterlist

You sighed as you opened the door, the various bags of food, toiletries, clothes, and whatever else you had picked up during the day made your arms feel like they might fall off, cutting into your skin and your circulation. Your fingers had gone numb two stops away from your apartment, you could feel the relief as you dumped half the bags on the kitchen counter.

You dumped the other half and the backpack that hung heavy across your back in your room.

“Hey, darling-” your roommate popped her head up from where she lay on the couch, wild curls practically floating around her. “Yer phone’s been ringing nonstop for like an hour-”

You groaned, glancing at the clock briefly while putting your shopping in their rightful places.

7:30 p.m.

“D��you know who it was?”

“Why would you ever think I’d get up to check?” She popped some chips into her mouth with a laugh

You turned, hands on your hips, a small smirk playing on your lips

“You mean to tell me you’d rather put up with the ringing than get up?”

“Yeah- why not? Turn up the telly and boom- can’t even hear a thing mate” She said, smiling from the couch. You couldn’t help but laugh along with her-

The phone rang, not as violent as that morning two days ago, sound muffled by the wall and your closed door. It was loud nonetheless.

Your roommate turned up the volume of the television.

“Talk of the devil!” she screamed through the roaring sound of whatever trashy game show she was watching.

You dragged yourself to your room, closing the door behind you. You could still hear the exaggerated volume of the telly. The phone kept on ringing, the red light angrily flashing at you to go pick it up already-

“Hello?”

“Where’ve you been?” it was teasing, you wanted to say it was his voice. The mysterious voice on the phone, one Mr James Potter. You weren’t sure. You didn’t know how to feel about it either.

“Who is this?”

“Woah, one day and you’ve already forgotten me- you’re breaking my heart here sweetheart” the voice crackled through the static of the receiver. Oh it was definitely Mr James Potter calling again

“Potter?”

“James- But yes”

“Ah! That one- to what do I owe the pleasure?” You bit your lip slightly, excitement turning in your stomach. You grabbed the base of the phone, moving the machine as close to your bed as the cable would let you, the rest of the stretch between your bed and the telephone could be covered by the curled plastic cord. You sat on the mattress.

“Do you know any other Potters?”

“Just the one- but to be fair, I don't really know you either”

“Mhm… fair enough, I think I only know one other person with your name-”

“Really?”

“Yeah, nasty woman really- called me daft two days ago,” he said, tone serious as if recounting a deeply wounding moment… you let out a laugh “You wouldn��t believe how rude she was to me”

“Oh was she really? That’s terrible news, maybe it was because you called her— a stranger by the way, at four in the bloody morning”

“You got me, wasn’t on purpose though— you still haven’t answered my question by the way” You could hear that little smirk on his lips again

“What would that be Potter?”

“James- but where were you?”

“What’s it to you? Trying to stalk me or something?” you could feel your heartbeat quicken,

“I just tried calling earlier-”

“Yeah, my roommate said, the phone rang a ton— were those all you or should I check my messages?”

“I wasn’t sure I was hitting the right number okay? pissed off a few other people too”

“Oh so this is the norm for you-”

“Hey! It isn’t my fault, I just didn’t know how to do the little- you know…” had this guy ever used a phone before? “call the previous number thing- ugh I don’t know what it’s called but whatever I didn’t know how it worked” he huffed

“Potter, are you a ten-year-old boy? Scratch that, my cousin knows how to do that- maybe you are daft”

“If I say yes will you tell me what you were up to?” he said, you laughed again

“I was running some errands, nothing special… why’d you wanna know?” you raised an eyebrow, you curled the cable around your index finger, the rest of the cool plastic wrapping around your hand.

“Was just wondering…”

A beat.

“I realize now that me calling you back might be strange-”

“You don’t say- only took you about ten minutes of conversation, you didn’t think about that before you called?”

“Not really- my mum says I lack impulse control,”

“I can tell you have zero of that-”

“she blames Dad but we both know she’s the one I got it from” he chuckled, and you couldn’t help but mirror it.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Potter-”

“You really not going to call me James?”

“No- I don’t know you-”

“I guess that's fair enough- what was your question?”

“Why’d you call?” he stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, almost as if thinking deeply about your question before his voice broke through the static again.

“Honestly?”

“Obviously-” you retorted, another chuckle left his lips.

“I don’t really know… I don’t really have a reason I just wanted to talk” you mouled over his answer, strange but not bad.

“You don‘t have friends for that already?”

“You’ve never made new friends with complete strangers?”

“Not like this-” you traced a pattern onto your sheets as you spoke,

“Well, I can be the first! so how old are you?” he sounded giddy “If I say I’m sixty five will you leave me alone?”

“It would be worse- I love old ladies, but they love me immediately so I suspect you aren’t one”

“because I don’t immediately love you?”

“obviously” he mirrored you “I’m twenty-“

“What a coincidence, so am I” you whispered, he heard you nonetheless

You pursed your lips to suppress a smile as James asked questions and explained things about his life that you didn’t ask for. You felt quite silly- talking on the phone with a boy you’d never met, you didn’t know what he looked like, nor if he was really who he said he was.

His tone and his rambles seemed genuine enough, he was a very peculiar boy- talking about how he was mildly scared of the tube but my mate Sirius loved it.

“Is this Sirius one of the voices I heard last time?”

“Yeah- he asked if you were pretty which looking back might’ve been a little rude”

“Eh- maybe, I’d feel terrible to disappoint him though”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know if he’s expecting some striking supermodel to be answering the phone…” you trailed off slightly, James went quiet “I reckon I’m alright though”

“You’re probably selling yourself short doll,“

“Anyway- what do you do?”

“What do you mean love?”

“Like are you in Uni? or something else?”

“Oh! umm- something else for sure”

“What?”

“Potter- like what do you do? you know… with your life”

“I just live? I don’t know- d’you mean like occupationally?”

“Yes occupationally idiot-“

“Okay okay don’t yell at me— you’ll break my little heart babe come on-“ he cleared his throat a couple of times “I kind of work for my father I guess? What do you do?”

“I go to Uni- I also work at a little coffee shop on weekends… what does your father do?”

“he makes hair potions-“ he said, almost choking on his words. you raised an eyebrow

“like hair gel and shit?”

“y-yeah that’s what I meant like… conditioners and s-styling… gels… and shit” you laughed out loud, not being able to conceal it this time. a short series of giggles that delighted James ever so slightly. You could hear him get quiet briefly, almost as if he was running out of words “What do you do in this Uni of yours?”

“Administration… not the most thrilling field I fear”

“I’m assuming you’re not the fondest of it then”

“not particularly, but it’ll do… do you like working for your dad?”

“he’s made a ton of money with his products- I’m very proud of him for it… to be honest probably not what I wanted to do with my life but it’s not… difficult, so I can focus on other things, more exciting things so I really can’t complain…” he was about to continue, rambling about the silver linings of it.

you interrupted “What did you want to do?”

“Pardon?” he asked,

“With your life James- what did you want to do with your life?”

You thought he had stayed quiet, maybe thinking, searching for the words until the dial tone rang in your ear— he had hung up. You stared at the phone as you put it back on the base.

Peculiar boy wasn’t he?

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine

pls send me an ask if you wanna be added!

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #the marauders era #marauders era #james #james x reader #james potter fic #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter #james fleamont potter #james f potter #james f potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you

419 notes · View notes

satoruxx · 5 months ago

Text

THE SPACE BETWEEN COMFORT AND CHAOS.

✧ PAIRING: wolf!toji fushiguro x f!reader | 4.3k words

✧ SUMMARY: wolfhybrid!toji, hybrid au, flashback centric, grumpy x sunshine, animalistic behavior, mentions of injuries, violence, societal inequality, arguments, hateful speech towards hybrids, dysfunctional families, and a shit ton of angst and anger, lil fluff at the end !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: hiii it's my birthday this weekend so i'm dropping chapter 4 as a quick thank you for all the support !! i love you all so much <33 this one is very toji centric and gives a lot of his past and lore to explain why he is the way he is and what led him to find reader !! there is a lot of inequality in this chapter so keep that in mind as you proceed. as always i would recommend checking out the previous parts before reading this :33

prev. | series masterlist.

the smell of blood makes toji's eyes crack open. it fills his nostrils, heavy and metallic, and it makes his hair stand on end. despite being so used to that scent, it still makes him uneasy, because sometimes he cannot tell whose blood it is.

once his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he can't fall back asleep, though he knows he still needs rest. a series of cracks echo from his joints as he sits up, pulses of fatigue swimming through his muscles. pushing up from the ground, he casually approaches the metal bars of his cell.

his cage.

his nose twitches, the smell of blood stronger now that he's closer. a loud yawn rips from his throat, eyes catching some guards dragging another hybrid who had fought that day. he watches them throw the unconscious animal into his cell, not sparing another glance as they turn away. the sounds of their boots gets on toji's nerves, but he does not even have enough time to pity the poor creature.

another set of guards approach his cell. he's sure that they might once again tell him off for being too aggressive, or for not following orders, or for another whipping, but he's saved this time because they're just escorting a hybrid.

a familiar hybrid.

"what's wrong?" toji drawls, lips tugging into a casual smirk. "did y'lose?"

the tiger hybrid hisses angrily in return, as though personally offended, and bares his teeth. his striped ears starkly contrast his pinkish hair.

"like hell," sukuna answers proudly.

toji is about to comment on the various bloodied scratches littering sukuna's body, but one of the guards roughly shoves the tiger into his cell.

"get in!"

sukuna turns to pin him with a murderous glare, tone even and chilling. "touch me again and i'll kill you."

the guard scoffs, unbothered, before shutting the barred door behind him. sukuna's anger rises, but he does not say anything else, choosing to stare daggers at them until they've disappeared around the corner. toji understands the feeling. it would be a piece of cake to rip their throats out, especially for predators as vicious as wolves and tigers.

but they can't. one scratch on a human and they'd be put down.

a beat of silence passes. toji is sure the hybrid sitting across the hall is also thinking about the same thing, so used to biting his tongue just to stay alive.

(he remembers the first day sukuna got thrown in, hisses and snapping teeth as he cursed the guards with all sorts of creativity. toji had been underground long enough to see the same spectacle over and over again, and so he hadn't really given a damn at that time. the two passed weeks in silence, purely focused on their own individual fights and then immediately falling asleep once back in their respective cells.

toji was no expert at reading people, but he could tell that the tiger was as stubborn as he was—they refused to acknowledge one another.

and when they were finally pitted against each other, it was a messy fight. toji still remembers the way the crowd had roared at their aggressive attacks, every draw of blood eliciting some sick twisted pleasure within them.

toji had been used to putting in the bare minimum during his fights, finding it relatively easy to win against other predators. but that fight against sukuna was the first time he struggled a little bit.

the tiger will never admit it, but the feeling was definitely mutual.

so after the brawl, when they were both quietly sitting in their cages and hissing at their wounds stubbornly, there was a brief moment of acknowledgement.

"where the hell did you learn how to fight like that?" the tiger had eyed toji warily, thick brows furrowed in a way that made him look extra grumpy.

after that, it seemed that there was a mutual sense of respect between the two of them. they are not friends per se, definitely not. both toji and sukuna know that if it came down to it, they would kill the other in the arena if it meant staying alive.

but there was an understanding that they were both on the same level. and it seemed that those who ran the fights understood that too.

after all, fights between the two of them were always a very popular spectacle.)

even now, sukuna doesn't look at toji, too busy muttering a string of insults aimed at the guard from earlier. toji ignores them, used to it. they remain in that same silence, not uncomfortable, but not really comfortable either.

toji takes a seat, crossing his legs and leaning against the cold bars. he can still hear the sounds of the guards footsteps echoing through the halls, and that just makes him crave freedom—another familiar feeling.

he should be used to it by now. craving what he cannot have.

sukuna seems to know what he's thinking, because he scoffs with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "don't start."

"you don't ever think about running?" toji ponders, dragging his claws across the stone floor. the tiger's ears twitch, sensitive to the sound, and he throws toji a scathing scowl.

"run? where the hell would we go?" the tiger grumbles, crossing his bulky arms. "you know they'll just find us again. it's pointless."

"but it's happened before," toji insists, scratching behind his ear absentmindedly. there have always been whispers floating through the compound, of hybrids with guts of steel that took it upon themselves to make a run for it. though several were caught and devastatingly punished, there were those who they never saw again. the idea that they must be somewhere where light shines and wind blows is strangely comforting.

"yeah rarely," the tiger snorts in return. a quiet hiss of displeasure escapes his lips as he notices the claw marks running up his arm, and he carefully begins licking at his wounds. "most of the time those fools get caught. and then they get punished."

toji shrugs noncommittally, leaning his head against the bars. "worth the risk."

sukuna curiously peers at him from over his injured arm, heavy brows furrowed. "you really think it's that much better up there?"

"anywhere's better than in here." toji says it resolutely, and sukuna, normally so snippy, says nothing to rebuke him.

before the conversation can continue, toji's nostrils fill with a familiar scent—cigarettes, ironed clothes, faint whiskey. he suppresses a roll of his eyes.

"look who it is." he sarcastically cranes his neck, watching as shiu kong approaches his cell with a nonchalant smile.

"you sure do look relaxed for someone who just had me do a shit ton of paperwork." shiu leans against the wall, eyeing toji through the cell. toji does not like that he has to look up to meet his gaze, so he gets to his feet and casually crosses his arms.

"what the fuck did i do?"

"lots of people enjoyed your fight yesterday. with the polar bear?" shiu pulls out a cigarette, and toji's nose crinkles. "you've got an increase in bets, y'know?"

"who cares?" toji mutters, pushing away from the bars to pace around his cell.

it's not like any of the hybrids get that money.

"i do," shiu chuckles, cigarette balanced between his lips. "you're helping me get paid."

"lucky you," toji sarcastically shoots back. shiu snorts in amusement, crossing his arms.

"anyways, i'm thinking this is a good time to host a big fight for you. the timing is good." toji's "manager" (if that's what you can call him) eyes the wolf as he exhales a puff of smoke. toji's eyes narrow in return, a feeling of anticipation and mild irritation crawling up his skin.

"so you two—" shiu nods his head towards the wolf and the grumpy tiger sitting across the hall. "—prepare for a show, alright?"

sukuna curses colorfully, and toji rolls his eyes. "relax. i'm not giddy to fight you either, asshole."

"yeah because you'll lose," the tiger hisses, baring his teeth.

"oh yeah? that's not what happened last time." toji grins wolfishly, watching sukuna's anger rise.

"because you fucking cheated!"

"aw, little cat can't handle a few bites?" toji's amusement becomes more palpable, enjoying the argument—a very common occurrence for the two of them. "that's why dogs are better."

"i'll kill you," sukuna utters ominously, his striped tail puffed and curling in an aggressively defensive display.

"try it," toji smirks back.

"alright easy boys," shiu chuckles, shaking his head in mild exasperation. "save that energy for the actual fight. people eat that shit up."

"and somehow we're the animals," sukuna grumbles, deciding he's done with the conversation as he heads over to the corner of his cell and curls up on the ground.

"well yeah," shiu shrugs, unfazed. "you should be used to that by now."

they are.

"anyway i figured i'd let you know." the older man turns to face toji. "i know most of the fights are pretty easy for you. but since you both are top tier fighters, prepare how you need to."

"it's not like we've never fought before," toji replies dryly, ears twitching. "i know how it goes down."

"well okay." shiu adjusts his suit jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets.

from the corner of his eye, toji can see sukuna listening in, face impassive.

"you two give me a good show, alright?" shiu casually waves over his shoulder, before heading off back in the direction he came.

"whatever," sukuna grunts, turning on his side. toji watches the tiger's tail lazily flick—side to side. "i hate dogs."

toji lets out a dry chuckle. "well i'm not the biggest fan of cats either, asshole."

again, they aren't friends, but the bleakness of their situation makes it easier to tolerate one another.

a week later, they both face off in the area as promised. shiu claps toji on the back before he heads in, a gesture that makes the wolf's skin prickle, but he brushes it off. he could have someone worse be in charge of him, but shiu is a bit easier to get along with than most of the humans down there. though toji isn't naive—the only reason shiu is so casually cheery around him is because toji is his biggest moneymaker.

that's what it all came down to.

sukuna and toji have both fought enough times to know how to play to the crowd's wishes. they bark and snarl at each other like they are truly wild, claws and teeth and blood everywhere because they know that's what gets the humans going.

that's what gets them to open their wallets at least.

sukuna takes the victory this time around, which is not inherently unusual—they both have a fairly even split of victories and losses. they play up their enmity, and everyone goes wild.

even though hybrids are the shackled ones, somehow these humans remind toji of puppets—so easily manipulated.

the two of them stand and rile up the crowd at the end, acting like they truly are nothing but feral animals who know only to growl and snap at each other. as soon as they hear the sounds of money being exchanged and the roar of conversation they are escorted back to their cells.

toji's ears ring with the sounds of groans and cheers, the same familiar words grating his ears.

"i told you sukuna would win this one!"

"yeah but i said toji would draw first blood, so pay up!"

imbeciles. savages. nothing humane about them.

in their cells, both of them do their best to clean up their wounds. but a fight this aggressive usually results in equally rough damage.

"i think you fractured my rib or something," toji grunts, wincing as he sits down. sukuna throws him an unimpressed look through the bars of his cage.

"not my fault you're weak."

toji's middle finger flies up automatically, and sukuna's lips pull up to one side. "ask them for medical if it's that bad."

"yeah right," toji snorts, licking away the blood that has been dripping from the corner of his mouth. "like they'll listen."

it's more of a curse that hybrids have a better pain tolerance than humans. the medics here never take their injuries seriously for that exact reason.

no instead, they are expected to clean up as they can and prepare for the next fight, letting their body heal as well as possible. humans have always been so hypocritical.

they both relax in a welcome silence. toji suddenly realizes how tired he is, jade eyes straining as he attempts to fix himself up. he knows the rules—damaged merchandise is treated as such.

his ears pick up the faint sound of footsteps approaching, and he realizes that it's probably shiu coming over to update them about the earnings of their fights.

but he is entirely surprised.

"wow, you're definitely a sight."

toji's eyes narrow, teeth gritting. his mood plummets, ears straightening and tail going rigid. the sound of that voice makes every bit of hatred in toji's body come bubbling to the surface. he glares over his shoulder, spitting out each word with extreme difficulty. "what the fuck do you want?"

naoya zenin looks down his nose at the wolf, a greasy smile on his face. naobito zenin stands just behind him, arms crossed with a barely visible look of disgust on his face.

toji's cousin conveniently ignores the accusatory question, peering around the cells and hallway with feigned interest. "these conditions are terrible!"

he finally pins toji with his gaze, an evil smile pulling at his lips. "well, that's to be expected for animals."

"what the fuck do you want?!" toji growls, claws digging into the ground. naoya's eyes light up at the anger, knowing full well that those claws can never come anywhere near him.

"temper! temper!" the blonde gasps, tutting at toji like he's nothing more than a child. "haven't you learned how to control yourself by now?"

"let me out of this cell and i'll show you just how much control i have." the wolf's voice is no more than a rumble, dark and ominous because there is nothing in the world that toji hates more than his own family.

naoya shakes his head, feigning a look of disappointment. "so violent. it's a good thing we put you in here. who knows how dangerous you could've been to us."

the words hit their mark, a jab of self-hatred. toji's green eyes flit over to his uncle, sharp and accusatory.

the one who ratted him out to this godforsaken place.

toji knows when normal families have a predator hybrid born into their home, they lie and cheat and hide them away from this life—too desperate to keep their child away from such danger. after all, it's not the child's fault they were born a predator.

but not toji's family. not the zenins, who took one look at him and waited for the second he turned 18 before hauling him off.

nothing but a bunch of rats.

he knows that he was worth a lot of money. a healthy and fit wolf hybrid, broader and stronger than most of his own species. and of course, his family was quick to sell him off, glad to be rid of this curse on their family—the only shame.

toji had grown up knowing he was hated, but he never thought a family could do something so horrible to one of their own. he stopped seeing the best in people after that.

"you brought this on yourself," his uncle states now, emotionless. his opinion on hybrids has not changed one bit, and yet he shamelessly comes to the compound to collect a portion of the winnings that toji earns. "born with tainted blood."

"you're acting like it's my fucking fault, old man," toji spits out, hackles raised. he wants them to leave, because all he feels when looking at them is nausea.

"it's your damn mother's fault. couldn't keep away from my brother. she ruined him," naobito's emotionless voice takes on a tone of hatred, and toji tenses. "filthy dog whore."

toji's reaction is instantaneous. he's at the bars in a second, teeth bared and spewing curses as he makes a mad grab for either of them. he doesn't care—all he wants to do is tear them to shreds. toji can feel his wounds open further, can feel blood dripping over his skin, but all that seems miniscule when they are in front of him.

the cause of every single misfortune he has ever had.

naoya hops out of the way, laughing—it is a mocking, grating laugh that echoes throughout the hall as he watches toji desperately struggle. "see see! this is why you're dangerous!"

naobito shakes his head, as though he's thoroughly disappointed, but he does not say anything else.

"anyways, well done today!" naoya continues, grinning as he crosses his arms. "you earned a lot of money for us."

toji glares at him, dropping his arm and taking a step back. somehow, being further in his cell is much more comforting than being in their line of sight. he keeps his lips tightly shut.

naoya's voice turns taunting as naobito heads off without another word. "such a shame my dear cousin wasn't born normal like the rest of us." he follows his father without a care in the world, knowing how well his words sting. "had to be born an animal freak."

the hallways is empty. toji takes a few steadying breaths, pushing the anger away because he knows that there is truly no point in keeping it. it's not like this anger has done him any good. maybe if he had gotten angry earlier, he would have zenin blood on his hands—the thought gives him a sick sense of satisfaction.

"your family fucking sucks…" sukuna pipes up from across the hall. toji scoffs out a laugh, but it is far from amused. he turns away.

suddenly the blood on his hands makes him feel disgusting—so much more animalistic than human.

"tell me about it," he mutters, back turned. his ears pick up the sounds of sukuna curling up in his corner, and in a few minutes, quiet rumbling snores follow.

toji sighs, approaching his sink and staring at the cracked mirror he's grown used to seeing himself in. he takes in his reflection, disgust rolling in his stomach.

he thinks he'd probably be considered decently attractive if he was a regular old human. but the dark furry ears, the sharp canines, and all the scars ruin him. adding his haggard clothing and feral eyes and all the blood and dirt on him, he can understand why he is considered so untouchable.

an animal in every right.

he turns the sink on. he is briefly reminded of another time, a time where he lived in a family house and slept in a futon that was warmer than anything he's ever slept in. he can remember wearing things other than rags, occasionally a yukata and other times a t-shirt. he can remember eating a home cooked meal and drinking sake and feeling sunlight on his skin.

and yet even in those better times, he has always had to hear the words of his family cursing his existence. cursing his mother's name for seducing his father and ruining their bloodline with her animal blood.

the only dark stain on the pristine zenin family.

toji sighs, scrubbing the blood from under his claws—like clockwork. the water in the sink turns a mocking shade of pink, and as horrible as it is to say, toji is glad the blood is not his.

he wipes his paws across his ragged clothes, and stares at himself in the mirror.

he isn't ashamed to admit it—but he hates what he sees.

naoya's laughter rings in his ears as he shuts his eyes.

"hey toji?"

his eyes snap open. when the haze clears he sees your features come into focus, soft and curious. your scent floods his nose, and a pleasant shiver runs up his skin. there is a quick sense of relief when he realizes that he had been dreaming of a time in the past, and he steels himself, expression indifferent as he sits up. he briefly recognizes the stark contrast between the hardness of the stone floor in his cell and the softness of your couch—his tongue sits heavy in his mouth.

"what?" he grunts, rubbing at his eyes. he tries to throw you a mock irritated glance, but either it comes off too mild or you've become good at ignoring it. "when'd you get here?"

"a few minutes ago. i got takeout." your lips pull into a teasing smile. "unless you'd rather go back to sleep?"

he pins you with a scathing glare, and annoyingly enough, your smile becomes wider. he stands up, popping his joints and following you to your kitchen table, before diligently taking a seat—in his chair.

toji silently watches you bustle around, grabbing utensils and plates to evenly distribute the food. his stomach growls eagerly, and he realizes just how hungry he is—he recognizes that his body is getting used to being fed so often, and he does not know how to feel about that.

toji's eyes zero in on silly details, not knowing why he does it. your hair is a little messy, not as neat as when you left for work that morning. you've taken off your jacket, the absence of the restrictive fabric making your movements easier. he thinks you've probably had a good day, because your expression, though fatigued, is still relaxed—a small, almost miniscule smile remains on your face.

there a strange satisfaction the settles in his chest when he notices that. he doesn't know why, but the idea that you've had a nice day rather than a difficult one puts him at ease.

"how was your day?" you speak up, briefly making eye contact with him.

(toji does not understand why the small contact makes his stomach flip.)

he grunts, nonchalant. "not bad. didn't do much."

"the injuries are good?"

toji rolls his eyes, dropping his chin into his palm as he pins you with an intrusive stare. "yeah yeah. you ask this every day."

"well it can be good one day and not good the next," you reply defensively, frowning at the chicken you're currently dropping into his plate. but you look satisfied to hear his answer.

toji chuckles mutely. "sure kid."

(the nickname came randomly. you never commented on it. he didn't either.)

he hesitates for a second, before clearing his throat. "how was yours?"

you glance up at him, too quick for him to analyze the expression, but he thinks he catches a faint trace of pleasant surprise. "it was good. boring but not bad at all."

he nods awkwardly—the internal satisfaction grows stronger. his stomach rumbles again as you walk over and place his plate in front of him, and the smell hits his nose immediately—his hunger is all consuming.

(your scent is one of the few human scents he has truly found pleasant.)

and yet he finds himself patiently waiting until you plate your own food, sitting across him quietly. he presses his hands together, bowing his head as he mutters a quiet "thank you for the food" before tucking in.

(he does not say your name, but he thinks he is thanking you—his own twisted version of a god.)

he stays quiet for most of the meal, focusing on the unique and savory taste of the food. months ago he would not have imagined being able to consume such delicacy, but all you have done since you walked into his life is show him that he can have much more than he ever dreamed he could.

you blabber about random things as you eat, telling him about something you saw or what you did throughout the day. he listens.

you're in the middle of updating him about some stupid work drama, which, as embarrassing as it is to say, toji has been looking forward to hearing about. he does not interrupt you, trying to rack his brain for all the details you've spilled the last time.

(it's pathetic how quick he finds them. something about listening to you talk that makes everything else seem useless in comparison.)

"so anyways her husband found out and got mad. but then she basically tried to deny it and said that he was accusing her of nothing." you shove a mouthful of rice into your mouth, rolling your eyes. your tongue flicks out to lick at your lips—toji's eyes shamefully trace the movement. "it's a whole thing now because obviously the dude she was having the affair with works with us too."

"what a bitch," toji answers. your eyes crinkle with amusement, eager to hear him participating. you've probably since realized that he does find your gossip interesting. but it's more than that—he does not know why it's so easy to talk to you.

"right? i hate cheaters," you mutter, stabbing at your chicken.

he does too. something about being a dog that makes loyalty so damn important to him.

(maybe that's why he feels physically ill when he thinks about leaving your side.)

you continue rambling about your cheating coworker with a newfound conviction. toji listens, occasionally dropping a dry remark, and you either laugh or nod emphatically. his lips quirk upward at every reaction. he continues eating his food—slowly so that he can match your pace. which is odd, because he was so damn hungry before.

but even as he quietly chews on the flavored meat, he finds that satiety comes a lot quicker when he quietly listens to you talk.

taglist: @h4wkz @babyblue0t7 @en-happiness @ourfinalisation @lymsfm @jazzy00001 @mahoubitch @deedeeznoots @ghost-buddies @teddybeartoji @onimira @polarbvnny @starmapz @thikcems @nonamebbsblog @echoedead @totallygyomeiswife @venussdovess @emi311 @meow-satoru @your-mum3000 @haydensjw @abadbitchblogs @marajafarli @twinky-wink @t4ters @17362939 @shadowlover321 @koko-1025 @daniella666girl @d1cklethep1ckle @an-ever-angry-bi @excedr @hibiscy @emmenic726 @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @ewwitsbella @thisisew @crystaldreamland @namjooningera @call-memissbrightside @scyia @chugao @szired @keiva1000 @yoongies-bby @giamee @hypnoctiis @nappingmoon @tananaxx @twinklingbeautifulstars @tadabzzzbee @friedchicken-tendou @cupcaketeddybehr @beaniedoodz @kvso @lily-isalittlegirl

if your name is here but you didn’t get tagged, it’s either bc your blog is new/blank/empty or you need to check your privacy settings !!

755 notes · View notes

mattsfavoritestar · 3 months ago

Text

ICEBREAKER , chris sturniolo

synopsis… inbox request !

warnings… toxic!chris, exbf!chris, hockeyplayer!chris, mentions of violence, mentions of cheating, minor mention of bloody injury, degrading, little bit of manhandling (good way dw), hair pulling, spanking, rough fingering, rough sex, unprotected p in v, lowkey public sex

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

“my ass feels like it’s going to fall off” you say as you rub your hands together for warmth. you already knew how cold the ice rink was yet you still decided to wear a skirt, thinking that your fleeced tights would keep out the frosty air. “i don’t know what’s more stupid, the fact that you wore a skirt or the fact that you’re wearing it for ch–“.

you quickly covered your friends mouth as you felt blood rush to your cheeks. “i'm not wearing it for him! i just thought it looked cute,” you grumbled. that was a lie. you did wear it for chris. you remembered how much he loved seeing you in one (as much as he loved the easy access). “okay, look at me.” your friend says as she grabs your shoulders.

“we caught him texting other girls, remember?” she says. you frown at the vivid memory. he had you wrapped around his fingers with that stupid smile and his baby blue eyes. you found countless of nudes (which weren’t yours) in his camera roll along side the many dirty texts to multiple contacts, yet he still somehow looked somewhat innocent in your eyes.

“now c’mon, we’re here for your brother not him” she says before walking towards the entrance. as you followed behind, you gave yourself a mini pep talk on how you were gonna completely ignore his presence and focus on your brother. you were so caught up in your head that you didn’t realize someone walking into your direction. right as you collided into his chest, the stranger quickly steadies you by your waist.

“careful” he says with a smile. you noticed the jersey being a number 12 with the opposing teams color. with a quick apology, you removed yourself from his hands and made your way to the arena. little did you know a fuming chris caught the whole interaction with a deathly grip on his hockey stick.

“another goal for the boston bruins!” the announcer shouts as the crowd roared. you were jumping as you clapped for the team. so far, the game was going smoothly with barely any penalties. a glimpse of chris’s number 3 jersey catches your eye. you watched as he rushed to the puck with determination. on the opposing team, number 12 surpasses him and hits the puck to the opposite direction.

it seemed like chris didn’t care for the puck anymore as he raced towards number 12. a series of gasps follow as chris harshly shoves him to the floor. the game pauses as the players watch chris rip his helmet off and toss it. he climbs on top of 12 and takes off his helmet then delivers him a punch to the face followed by another. and another.

the referee blows the whistle multiple times but the screeching sound fell deaf to chris’s ears. you saw your brother as well as number 2 race over to pull chris off him with a slight struggle. chris pushes both of them away from him then gets off the ice with an angered expression.

his coach meets him at the gateway as he yells at chris for attacking the opposing teammate. the entire time his coach is lecturing him, chris was looking around the bleachers. then his eyes locked on you. his face was flushed from the cold mixed with heated anger and his hair was damp with sweat. a small smirk found its way to his lips as he watched you practically check him out. you couldn’t lie, your body was providing you with a warmth that went straight to your core.

chris breaks eye contact as his coach tells him to go cool off in the locker room. “alright ladies and gentlemen— we’ll be back after a brief intermission” the announcer says as players start to exit the rink. you looked over to your friend— who was distracted by trying to get a close up of number 12’s bloody bruised face. you slipped out of the bleachers then left the arena in search of the locker room.

your heart hammered as you slowly opened the door. you haven’t spoken to chris in a week, which was the longest you’ve gone before giving in. the lights were dim and the room was quiet. you knew chris was in here since his gloves were laying on the bench in-front of you. “chris?” you called out cautiously.

you jolted as you heard a locker door slam shut followed by a heavy sigh. as you drew closer to the sound, you saw a trail of chris’s gear leading up to where he stood. he was leaning on the lockers with his head tilted up as he breathes rapidly— as if he was trying to catch his breath.

“miss me already?” he says as a devilish smirk forms on his face. you said nothing as you pad over to him and analyze his hands—which were closed into a tight fist. you take one of them into your own and lift it to eye level. his knuckles were bruised and dried with blood, you were unsure if it was his or the other guys.

“why’d you do it?” you ask in a soft voice. chris scoffs then snatches his hand away. “why? you worried ‘bout him or somethin’?” he rebuttals. you sigh as you meet his eyes and search through them. you could never understand chris or why he does things like this but you sure as hell try to.

“saw you gettin’ familiar with him earlier so i thought i’d introduce myself” he shrugged. a frown painted your face as you recalled the countless of times that chris has gotten friendly with other girls in front of you. “but chris— we’re not together anymore” you reminded him.

you watched his eyes darken as an angered expression formed onto his face. you gasp as he harshly grabs your waist and pulls you closer. “yeah?” he says as he leans closer to your face, “didn’t i tell you that y’can’t ever leave me?”.

he flips you both over and roughly pushes you into the lockers. you’re body burned more then ever but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or arousal. probably both. “chris m’not here for this” you say trying to convince yourself more than him.

“no?”, he leans down to your neck and trials kisses up to your ear, “then why’d you follow me in here?” he whispered. you give him no response. a shuttered breath leaves your lips as chris continues to attack your neck with kisses and occasional bites. your fingers curled into his jersey, pulling him closer and causing him to smile against your skin.

you gasp as he suddenly flips you around to face the locker. you felt him tug your tights down along with your underwear. the cold air against your skin made you shudder but it quickly surpassed as the harsh contact of chris’s palm connected to your skin making heated blood rush to that area. “said y’not here for this yet here you are in a skirt f’me— fucking slut” he scoffed.

you whined as he roughly grabs your hair and forces you into an arched position, your bare ass against fully clothed pelvis. you felt two of his fingers swipe through your folds then slowly enter you as he towers over you, watching your expression as he tucked his his bottom lip between his teeth.

your eyelids dare to shut as your jaw hung open with not so quiet moans leaving your throat. “did y’think he could make you feel this way?” chris snarled. you replied with a near scream as he picks up the pace. your legs shook as an unexpected orgasm came over you. you didn’t know if the blood in your cheeks was from embarrassment of cumming to quickly or pure desire as you felt your body yearn for more.

chris laughs as he delivers you yet another sharp slap to your ass. he removes himself from you completely but before you could turn around, you felt his hands grip your waist tightly. you felt his throbbing cock prodding at your entrance, slicking itself with your arousal. you tried pushing yourself closer to him but he held you in place.

finally after what felt like ages, chris sinks into you slowly. “fuck baby— i needed this” he groans. your cheek was smooshed again the cold locker which contrasted to your burning skin. chris didn’t waste a second as he immediately picks up the pace, going deeper inside you everytime.

chris places one of his hands beside your head while the other nearly forms a bruise under his grip tightening. “look at you letting me use you— but y’not here for this, right?” he mocks your words with a small chuckle. your jaw hung open, your cries fell deaf to your own ears while a buzz replaced the lewd sound. with a slight whine, chris delivers one final harsh thrust then roughly pulls out.

he jerks himself off as ribbons of white painted your bruised ass. your legs shook with a dull ache, you were sure they would give out any second. you didn’t realize that he pulled out before you could finish but regardless, you wouldn’t really care anyways considering the lingering high from his fingers. loud banging at the door startled the two of you, “yo chris, coach needs you back on the ice!” a teammate shouted from the other side.

you were shocked on how you made it back to the bleachers on your own with your weak legs. “hey where’d you–“ your friend did a double take before taking in your appearance then giving you a disappointed look. a hockey jersey with ‘c. sturniolo, 3’ printed on the back that stopped mid thigh covered your clothes, leaving only your fleeced tights on display.

#𝓒𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝓢.#𝓒𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝓢. ♡︎ 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 #𝓒𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝓢. ♡︎ 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠 #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolos #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

577 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 days ago

Text

Cannibals [Chapter 10: Arteries and Rain] [Series Finale]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), blood and violence and death, Alicent desperately trying to bond with her freak children.

Word count: 4.6k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

The same hand that once turned a key in the locks of closets and trunks, that moved his game piece across the board until it landed on the same space as yours and sent your bat hurtling back to the start, that shoved you into an ice-flecked stream in the Vale, that yanked you, bruised you, pushed you, trapped you, tore off your clothes, unraveled your braid, committed sins that others believe are beyond redemption; now you grasp for Aemond’s hand and it is not there.

I’ve lost him, you think, splintering like a shell struck with a mallet. I was too late.

Then the Cannibal dives and banks steeply, and your outstretched, searching fingers close around Aemond’s wrist.

He slams into the Cannibal’s side, grabs a jutting black spine with his other hand, and pulls himself upwards to where you are. The ground is closer, the field and the castle and the Gods Eye where the bones of Daemon and Caraxes and Vhagar will spend eternity in the sunless depths. The wind is cold and vicious, howling in your ears. From where the Cannibal torched the Northmen, dark smoke billows into the air and makes your eyes water, makes your lungs burn.

As the Cannibal descends, Aemond speaks to you only once that you can hear. He is still panting, trying to catch his breath from the fall he had believed would kill him. He shouts to you over the roar of the wind and the deafening whirr of dragon wings: “I always knew you were worthy.”

On the shore of the Gods Eye, Cregan Stark is down on his knees. He has surrendered to spare the lives of his remaining men; thousands of soldiers are flocking to yield with him, their empty hands held high in contrition, submitting to the orders of troops carrying Aegon’s banner. You recognize your uncle Gwayne Hightower among them. Criston looks up at you as he holds Cregan at the lakeshore, a blade to his throat. The Cannibal soars past a group of Northmen sprinting for the trees, deserters, cowards, and they are engulfed in flames. As one of the men burns, your dragon scoops him into his mouth and bites down, fangs impaling flesh, jaws crushing bones. There is a muffled scream and then nothing. You feel the Cannibal’s hunger being dulled like you’ve eaten something hot and bloody yourself, boar or venison dripping with grease.

You land near Criston and Cregan Stark, the gales from the Cannibal’s wings rocking the trees and making waves on the dark, enigmatic blue of the lake, a color that reminds you of Aegon’s eyes. The Cannibal is already impatient, lurching from side to side. He wants this stranger off of his back. He will tolerate no one but you.

“You should dismount,” you tell Aemond, and he promptly finds a path to the earth, scrambling down the onyx-black spines that protrude from the dragon’s thorax and taking several hurried strides away. The Cannibal glares at him and growls, steam rising from his flaring nostrils. But he can feel who Aemond is to you—ricochets of animal lust and episodic tenderness and doubt and surety and hatred and love—and so the Cannibal refrains from killing him.

You climb down from your dragon and walk to where Cregan Stark is kneeling. Criston is gaping at you, thunderstruck. Aemond steps closer to you and draws his sword. He carries the weapon that belonged to Aegon before he was burned at Rook’s Rest, the Conqueror’s sword Blackfyre. Aemond is watching you, and you have the impression he is trying to tell you something. You feel echoes of the wounds the past year has left in him: regret, shame, the most inescapable pain he’s ever known. He doesn’t want you to have to feel the same things.

You recall what Mother, standing defiantly behind the iron bars of her cell, once told Rhaenyra: Perhaps you imagine that you will kill every last Green, and all of our loyalists throughout the Seven Kingdoms, millions of people, and therefore you will have no use for bricks upon which to build a lasting peace. But I think that would be a mistake.

Cregan Stark, tall and rugged and with dark hair that runs to his broad shoulders, bows his head. He seems stoic, but his breathing is rapid and you can see his jugular pulsing madly in his throat. He has never met you before, but there’s only one person you could be. “Princess.”

Snowflakes and cinders fall from the sky. Escaped strands of your silver hair blow in the wind. I hate him, you think. But nothing I do now can raise the dead. And there must be a future for those of us who are left. You say to the Warden of the North: “Yield and you will live.”

“We yield,” Cregan Stark agrees immediately, placing his sword on the ground in front of him. It is Valyrian steel; it is called Ice. If he obeys, you will let him keep it. “We will return to the North at once.”

“No,” you say. “You will march south to pledge fealty to the king. And your men will help us rebuild, since their support emboldened Rhaenyra’s treason.”

Behind you, the Cannibal snarls and gnashes his teeth, stained with fresh blood and flecked with shreds of organs. He is the largest claimed dragon in the world. Vhagar is dead, and so are Caraxes and Syrax, Dreamfyre and Meleys, Moondancer, Seasmoke, Vermax, and Arrax. But there are some beasts left as well. Vermithor, Silverwing, and Tessarion are free. Nettles is somewhere far away with her mount Sheepstealer. Sunfyre is healing on Dragonstone. Little Joffrey Velaryon has the young creature Tyraxes, and his silver-haired brother Aegon has Stormcloud. The juvenile Shrykos was orphaned when Jaehaerys died, but Jaehaera still possesses Morghul. And so both the Targaryens and their dragons will live on for generations, and perhaps forever.

“Yes, princess,” Cregan Stark replies, gazing with thinly-veiled horror at the Cannibal, a monster that only someone who has known hatred could see beauty in.

You tell Aemond and Criston: “The Cannibal and I will escort you to King’s Landing to ensure your safety. I’ll keep him as far from your men as I can. I know he unnerves people. Believe me, he doesn’t want to be so close to you either. Not unless he intends to eat you.”

Criston is sheathing his sword. Aemond is smiling, faint and tentative but proud, so proud.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you arrive it is raining in King’s Landing, cold and misty and grey; soon there will be snow. Winter will last a year, or two, or five, but you will survive it. Aemond is already sending letters to Dorne and the Triarchy to forge trade agreements that will help supply the realm with food. He feels responsible for attending to this. His destruction in the Riverlands has endangered everyone. You rarely speak to Aemond, nothing beyond logistics. You are relieved that he survived, and your fury is waning like a crescent moon…but you don’t know what to say to him. Each time you try, you think of Luca and Jace and all the others, and your words crumble like bodies charred to ashes. Aemond gives you space and silence, but he watches you, and sometimes you overhear him telling the soldiers stories of the Conqueror’s wife Visenya, the same reverence in his voice he’s had since childhood.

At the gate of the Red Keep, Mother rushes out and embraces you first, collides with you, collapses and sobs into your shoulder as you hold her like a good daughter would. She is so thin you fear you will shatter her. Jaehaera and Maelor follow after Mother, so much older than you remember them. Jaehaera runs to embrace you too, but Maelor hesitates by the gate. His sister goes back for him, promises that everything will be okay now, and walks with him to where you are crumpled on the cobblestones with Mother. Jaehaera hugs you tightly, but Maelor is still frowning. Perhaps he does not remember the details, but he knows he has the sense that you once betrayed him.

“I’m so sorry, Maelor,” you whisper. “I would never hurt you. I would burn anyone who tried to.” And he relents and allows you to bundle him into your arms, and once he’s there he finds it feels like home.

Mother is weeping for Helaena and Daeron and Aegon. “Aegon is alive,” you say. “He is wounded, but he is safe and has been in hiding on Dragonstone. Aemond has arranged for a ship to bring him here. You will see him tomorrow or the day after.”

“Long live the king!” Criston shouts, you all echo him, Mother with an astonished smile and tears glistening in her large dark eyes. Her firstborn son is back from the dead. She will have the chance to try to learn to love him properly.

“My girl, my brave girl,” Mother says, touching your face and your hair. Your eyes are savage; you smell like smoke. “What’s happened to you? Rhaenyra told me that you’d given birth to a baby at Heart’s Home, that she and I shared a grandson, but…” She looks around, hoping that a maid will appear carrying an infant with Jace’s pug nose and unruly dark curls. And there is such a child, but not in the land of the living. You explain this, and Mother takes your hand and leads you to the sept, and for the first time in your life you join her without protest. Together you light candles for those who were lost, and a little more of your bitterness burns away as the wax melts into pools and cools like lava that runs into the sea.

The king returns to his city, and the smallfolk pour into the streets to welcome him. He is ashamed of his scars, his infirmity, the fact that he must be carried in a litter, but to them he is a man who has suffered just like they have—maimed and marooned and grieving martyred loved ones—and proved that there is hope for a different sort of future. That first day, Aegon spends ten hours on the Iron Throne listening to the stories of his people and learning what they need, you and Aemond standing on either side of him. Each time the Cannibal flies overhead, growling in a rumble like thunder and casting a vast shadow, they do not shrink away but beam up at him as their protector, their assurance that no further harm can befall King’s Landing. Women embroider him into their blankets and pillowcases. Children carve tiny wooden figurines of him. Cregan Stark and his Northmen bend the knee, as do representatives from scores of other treasonous houses. Aegon pardons them; but he grins wickedly when the Cannibal’s roars quake the Great Hall and battle-hardened warriors tremble.

You wait until Aegon is back to see Rhaenyra. You go to the dungeon with your brothers, Mother, and Criston, and you stand in the same place Rhaenyra did when she agreed to marry you to Jace. You were supposed to save her son. Instead, your love for Aemond condemned him.

What was our marriage for? What was any of this for?

The woman who once aspired to be queen and paid the price in blood is a ghost, hushed and weightless, hunched in a corner with her knees to her chest, her long unkempt silver hair thinning. When she sees you, she crawls to the door of her cell and grips the rusted iron bars with skeletal hands. Her watery eyes are frantic and darting like a trapped animal’s. “My children—”

“They are unharmed and still at the Eyrie with Rhaena,” you say, and Rhaenyra sobs in relief.

“Please let them live,” she begs you hoarsely. It is difficult to reach the Eyrie in the winter, but you could do it on the Cannibal. You could raze the fortress like Aemond burned Heart’s Home.

“Because you showed the same mercy to Helaena and Daeron?” Aegon seethes.

“They are helpless, they are blameless. It was my decision to go to war, not theirs.”

“And you shall atone for it,” Aegon taunts, leaning heavily on his walking stick. “I will take you to Dragonstone and Sunfyre will eat you alive. How do you like that, bitch? He’ll start at your feet and work his way up, and you will feel everything.”

“Jace would want her to be spared,” you say quietly.

“I’m not taking suggestions from the delegation of the dead.”

“I’m serious,” you say. Aegon’s scarred brow furrows, Criston is incredulous. Aemond is watching you thoughtfully, his right hand resting on Blackfyre’s hilt. Only Mother is not startled; instead she is studying Rhaenyra wearily, perhaps wondering if she can stomach the mercy the gods would want her to extend to even the most vile of sinners. “That’s why Jace married me,” you remind them. “So his family might survive even if the Blacks lost the war. And he swore to do the same in return. He was kind to me. When he traveled here to King’s Landing, he ensured that Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor were treated well. He would have protected Mother if our side had been defeated.”

“And so you’re proposing…what, that we free her?!” Aegon exclaims.

“Her dragon is gone. Her cause is hopeless. But half the realm fought for her, and if we are to earn their loyalty rather than merely compel it with force, we will need to offer concessions. We could give Driftmark to Joffrey—he is allegedly a Velaryon, after all—and allow Rhaenyra to reside there under guard. When her sons with Daemon are grown, we can marry them into the great houses that allied with us in the war. Both branches of the family will survive, and eventually they will grow back together through marriage, just as Jace and I learned to care for each other.”

“She��s a traitor.” Aegon glares hatefully at Rhaenyra. “She’s a murderer, she’s a monster.”

“She could make the same accusations against Aemond, or you, or me,” you say calmly. “Consider it. Take it to the council. You are the king, and it is your decision either way. But this war began with Targaryens devouring each other. And if we continue to succumb to this fury, this fire…then someday there will be none of us left, and our bloodlines and our dragons will be myths and nothing more.”

You turn to go, and Rhaenyra’s bony hand strikes out from between the bars of her cell and seizes your wrist. In a second, Aemond is there; but you shake your head and he retreats. You are not in danger. Rhaenyra cannot hurt you now.

“Where is Luca?” Rhaenyra asks you, pleading and pitiful, terrified of the answer. “Where’s the baby? No one has spoken of him, not the guards, not the maids. The people don’t seem to know he exists. Is he dead?” The tears that well up and glitter in your eyes reveal the truth before you can say it. Rhaenyra nods, weeping. “Aemond killed him when he burned Heart’s Home, didn’t he?”

Once you lied for Aemond on the night Luke died over Shipbreaker Bay: Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat. And now, just as instinctively, you refuse to disavow him. “No,” you say solemnly, agony choking your words, Aemond looking at you, racked with guilt and entirely mystified. “Luca died of fever three days before the attack. It wasn’t Aemond’s fault.”

“So Jace’s line has ended.” Rhaenyra has lost him all over again. She releases your hand and sinks to the stone floor, kneeling there despondently.

“Yes,” you say, briefly touching a palm to one of her jagged, waifish shoulders. And you feel a flicker of something you would have thought was impossible: sympathy, compassion, kinship. “But you still have Joffrey.” You still have a son of Harwin Strong.

You leave the drafty gloom of the dungeon and return to Maegor’s Holdfast, where life is beginning again. Maids are stripping away every vestige of Rhaenyra’s tenure here. A hundred cats, once brought to the Red Keep by Grandsire, trot lazily through the corridors and groom themselves on windowsills. You take Jaehaera and Maelor with you to collect seashells on the chilly, fog-swept beach and teach them how to make mosaics. You craft one depicting Vhagar for Aemond, and give it to him without a word. He brings you a new roost for bats, forget-me-nots painted onto the oak wood box, a deep blue velvet cover to blot out the daylight.

Each night your bed seems to grow bigger, more lonely, more unnaturally vacant. When you are here…think of me, Aemond once wrote to you; and gradually, like mountains are formed over eons, you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Several weeks after you arrive home, you bleed for the first time since you gave birth to Luca, your body healed and replenished, your corporal almanac beginning again. Soon you will have another child. Soon your hatred and your grief will fade even further, never disappearing but becoming cool to the touch and clear like glass. The flow of blood is heavy, and your cramps are terrible; but you know what will relieve you.

You find Aemond in the small council chamber, where he spends so much of his time. Sometimes he is in meetings with Aegon and Criston and Mother and the rest of the king’s advisors, sometimes he is examining maps and making calculations. But often he is simply here alone and empty-handed, the weight of the past year mooring him like an anchor does a ship. He does not seem to hear you come in. He is sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, his melancholic blue gaze on the floor. He is mourning Vhagar. He is mourning what he once had with you.

You sweep across the room to him, crimson gown, bare feet. You lift Aemond’s chin and say, soft and gentle: “Enough.”

He looks at you as if he’s not sure if this is real. Then after a moment, he smiles. “I missed you.”

“I know.” You flash a mischievous grin, taking several steps back from him. “If I ran, do you think you could catch me?”

“I do.”

“I’m very fast.”

“But you want to be caught.”

Aemond lunges for you; you snatch your hand away just as his fingernails are biting into the vulnerable flesh of your forearm. You bolt to the other side of the small council chamber, careening around the table. Aemond follows, his silver hair flowing behind him, his boots thumping against the floor. He grabs you, hurls you against the wall, pins you there with his hips as he rips off his black leather tunic and kisses you messily, deeply, gulping down all the time he’s lost. Your hair is torn from its braid. Your pulse is racing, low moans spilling from your lips. Aemond is not taken aback at all when he reaches under your scarlet gown to find a bundle of bloodied rags tucked between your thighs. He whisks them away and replaces them with his right hand, rough and forceful.

It’s been a year since he’s touched you this way, and you’ve had a child since then. You stop him, a palm pressed to his chest. Suddenly, you are self-conscious. You must warn him. “I don’t look the same as I used to. I don’t feel the same.”

“You’re still you,” Aemond says tenderly. His thumbprint traces the arc of your jaw, skims down the front of your throat, ghosts delicately over the scar that begins at your collarbone. This is where he mended you with a needle and thread; this is where he almost lost you. “You belong to me, you always will. Nothing can change that.” Then he kisses you again, and you are drunk in it, warm all over and melting into the forbidden ancient magic you share, the violence and the hatred and the devotion and the love, the insatiable hunger that thuds in your tangled arteries.

Aemond drags you to the table and throws you down onto it. You can feel bruises blooming like violets beneath your skin, the hot euphoric pressure of trapped blood. You try to crawl away from him, scratching your way across the table. Aemond grips your ankles and hauls you closer, wrenches you onto your back, pushes your thighs apart and buries his fingers in you—slick lust and clotted blood, muscles loosening with desperate need—and unlaces his trousers with his other hand so at last he can take you as a husband would. He leans down over the table and seizes your jaw to hold you still, watching your face as he pushes himself inside you, knowing that he’s not hurting you, knowing that you are whole again after a year of having pieces carved away.

Aemond thrusts carefully at first, and then hard and deep, and you hook your arms around his neck and pull yourself upright so you can taste him, whisper to him, moan and whimper into his sweat-damp throat. Aemond tugs down your bodice so he can stroke and bite at your breasts. And you feast on each other until you are both satiated and gasping for air, your blood staining his skin and trickling down his legs, the table painted with smudges of viscous red. Before you leave together for a bath murky with soap and steam, Aemond drags his tongue over the wood, drinking your copper and iron and youth and desire; and when he smiles at you with blood on his lips and chin, you lick his face clean.

Later that night in the hour of the wolf, his tasks of governance behind him, Aemond comes to your chambers and climbs into bed beside you. And he holds you like he did when you were a girl he had shoved into a frigid stream in the Vale, burning up with fever as The Stranger stood in your doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are married on Dragonstone. You and Aemond ask for Aegon’s permission and no one else’s. You want Mother there even if you fear she will not be able to hide her disappointment, but she and Criston attend and make no complaints, standing together amidst the black volcanic rocks and the mist, murmuring back and forth about the many oddities of your house. You don’t mind; you are glad they have each other. It is very lonely to be surrounded by creatures so different from yourself.

Jaehaera and Maelor giggle as they chase minnows and skittering red crabs around the tidepools. Aegon watches them from where he is sprawled on the wet sand swigging his wine, smiling wistfully, effusively admiring the seashells they bring him, heaps overflowing in their tiny hands. When Vermithor roars from the other side of the island, Maelor looks up and gazes intently through the fog as if someone has called his name. Perhaps one day he will claim the Bronze Fury. When you return to Maegor’s Holdfast, you will give him the small oak dragon that Aegon once carved for you.

Afterwards you tell Mother, blood from the ancient Valyrian ceremony still drying on your lips: “You were right.”

She is puzzled, her brow crinkling as she dabs gingerly at your wound with her green handkerchief, embroidered with the Hightower of Oldtown. “About what, dear?”

“A year ago, I didn’t know anything besides how it had always been with Aemond. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. But now I do.”

Mother distracts herself by tending to your lip, some infinitesimal way in which she can mend you. Her white hands are wrinkled and frail. Her coppery hair thrashes in the cruel wind. “You being happy brings me peace.”

Your voice goes quiet, somber, ashamed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save Helaena and Daeron. I’m sorry I failed.”

“Oh, darling, it wasn’t your fault. We tried, didn’t we?” Mother says, smiling sadly and cradling your cheek. And then she tells you for the first time in your life: “I’m proud of you.”

During the short journey home, you sail past the island of Driftmark, where Rhaenyra, her three surviving sons, and Rhaena now reside with the council’s assent. As you peer over the side of the ship, you spy sapphire dorsal fins of sailfish rising up through the frothing surf, and you lift Maelor so he can see them too. In King’s Landing, there are statues being chiseled out of marble to be placed throughout the city, not just effigies of Jaehaerys and Helaena and Daeron but also Jace, Luke, Baela. The old wounds must be stitched closed. The realm must be united again. The Targaryens must not allow their hunger for fire and blood to turn inwards, lest the last of the Valyrians and all their dragons perish from the earth. Your first son will be named Lucerion after the child you lost; Aemond has already promised this. Jaehaera, sweet and benign like her dead mother, has been betrothed to Jace’s brother Joffrey.

When his wings have healed enough, Sunfyre flies home to King’s Landing to be with Aegon. When fragments of Vhagar’s bones and teeth wash up on the shore of the Gods Eye, Aemond has them brought south so he can burn them. The Cannibal does not slumber in the Dragonpit, nor does he seek you out for comfort or companionship. He ranges far and only comes to you when kindling threats make you hateful again. There are rebellions in the Riverlands where Aemond has made generations of enemies, but Harrenhal and its vassals are always loyal. Since the day you claimed the Cannibal, you are rarely ill. Your chills and fevers and headaches have vanished like a dead language no one is left to remember.

One day summer will return, and there will be roses and blue jays in the garden again, ladybugs and dragonflies and forget-me-nots. But tonight snow is falling outside, hushed and powdery, and you are reminded of when you were at Heart’s Home with Luca and Jace and Lady Caro. You miss being able to talk to Jace; you are grievously aware of the absence of Luca’s fledgling weight in your arms. Aemond knows this, and he understands that you are in need of a distraction.

On the floor of your bedchamber as a sweltering fire crackles in the hearth, the five of you are gathered around the board. Jaehaera and Maelor are finally old enough to play. Jaehaera has inherited Helaena’s yellow butterfly; Maelor’s game piece is Daeron’s purple shadowcat. Your new bats are scrabbling out of their roost and gliding through the window you’ve left open for them. Their names are Ocean, Sorrow, Stream, Winter, Dreams, Rain, Peace.

Presently, it is Jaehaera’s turn. She tosses the dice but they tumble too far, clattering across the room. Aegon helps her fetch them. Maelor asks if you will help him make a mosaic of Vermithor the Bronze Fury, and of course you agree.

“I love you,” you say to Maelor as you comb your fingers through his white-blonde hair, and he stares up at you, bewildered. Perhaps no one has ever told him this before. You say it again, smiling. “I love you.”

Now it’s Aemond’s turn. He rolls the dice, pretends to misread nine dots as ten, lands on Aegon’s space and sends his piece back to the start instead of yours.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x y/n

214 notes · View notes

neongalaxiie · 3 months ago

Text

TW: Blood, Description of Injury (not in detail)

"This is the last straw."

The villain stood over the hero's battered form, all bloodied and bruised. The hero raised their head, not without difficulty, and saw the scowl plastered on the villain's face. The hero shuddered. "W-what do you mea—" Their sentence ended in a violent coughing fit, hacking up more blood in their palm. The villain crouched down in front of them as they settled, grabbing both the hero's wrists.

"I'm not letting you do this, going out there and risking your life. This little charade we had going on was fun, but it's gone too far." The villain's gaze dropped to the hero's hands, then down their arms, their suit. Where their body wasn't decorated by a series of cuts, a blossoming bruise lay just beneath the unbroken skin. The villain's face betrayed their concern and, the hero noticed, a hint of pity.

The villain locked eyes with the hero, and their expression hardened again. The hero gave them a sad smile, straining their split lip. "It's fine, Villain. This is my job. I chose this life, so I guess I have to deal with the bad stuff, too."

"It's not fine!" The villain almost roared, throwing their hands up to their head. They were up in the hero's face the next moment. "You could've died! And I'm the one who has to suffer for it! You... you..." The villain stared into the hero's eyes, pained. Their eyebrows drew close, first in sympathy, then with a resolve.

The villain sighed and dropped their head, standing up. They turned their back on the hero. The hero said nothing, only cocking their head in response. The villain turned their head back to the hero, and their voice took a low and dangerous quality. "You could've died. I'm not taking that chance anymore. From this day onward, your career as a hero is over."

#my writing #writeblr #writing #creative writing #writing prompt #writing promts #female writers #writer community #writerscommunity #hero x villain prompts #dialogue prompt #hero x villain #villain x hero #villain #slightly possessive #hero #angst #tw blood

284 notes · View notes

joannasprose · 1 month ago

Text

KNUCKLE VELVET

description:

“. . .Nothing hurts like you do. Like the way you say I love you.”

Following VI’s ‘betrayal’, the heartbreak, and cruelty that rests in her heart, she begins to embark on a path of full of physical and mental depravities that threaten to kill her tenfold.

That is, until you find her again.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

read part two here!

pairings: vi x reader, caitlyn x violet

word count: 1.4k

content warnings: angst, violence, denial of feelings, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, 3 parts series.

authors note: sorry for being gone for a little while !! I did not have any motivation to write but now it’s Christmas break so I’m hopeful I’ll write a little more <3 I hope you guys enjoy this have a good holidays 🌀 also my inspirations were knuckle velvet and the carpet ep by ethel cain - hence the chapter title and wip name :P ( also cross posted on ao3!! my user is joannasprose if u wanna read it there! It’s also linked in my navigation :) )

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

Her knuckles are aching—swollen and bloody from her fights. Fights that were, at first to make money for herself, yet now has turned itself into something formally depraved. Perhaps another form of self-deprecation, of hurt and of the brutality in which she finds herself subjectedto.

Everything begins to hurt—the throbbing in her head, the pain of childhood melancholy, and most recently, a rebirthed heartbreak. The memory of Caitlyn's cruelty is wedged between her ribs, along with her fingers and in the wounds that won’t heal.

So maybe that’s what it is, her reasoning for putting herself on display: for digging her nails deep into her skin as her fists meet her next unfortunate opponent.

But as she lays half awake in her bed, reminding herself that she cannot help anyone if she won’t help herself, a prolonged breath leaves her mouth.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

YOU FIND YOURSELF sat in the stands, hands in your lap as the crowd's cheers begin at a simmer and slowly shape into a boil. The hairs on your skin have created goosebumps in anticipation, waiting unnervingly as you wait for her to enter the stage.

In all honesty, you feel a bit stalkerish. You had never found yourself trying to formally talk to her—in your defense, it had been seven years since then. Since everything went wrong and since everyone had changed. Yourself included.

And perhaps, if she had truly wanted to see you again, why hadn’t she come to find you. To scrape up the pieces of a broken love and pull you in her arms again? You try desperately to pull yourself out of your thoughts as you see her, finally, stepping out of the archway and in the attire you always saw her in.

To anyone else who might not have known her as well as you did, they might have brushed her off as just another Zaunite. One who raved in the spotlight and indulged in the delights Zaun had to offer. But you knew better.

You could see it in the indents of her skin—and though you had never come too close to her, your vision along with where you sat had been enough for you to recognize her anywhere. There were rumors that she had come back; rumors of her being in acquaintance with a piltie, others speaking of the havoc she’d caused around the streets of Zaun, sometimes even Piltover.

When you had first acknowledged them, your heart ached. For her, and then for Jinx, for Ekko. And sometimes, even for yourself.

The roars of the crowd hadn’t died down, in fact, they had grown louder when her opponent had finally come on stage. He was five times bigger than Vi in size, and usually, you hadn’t wondered whether or not she would win. Vi was a skilled fighter, fast on her feet, and level headed.

But now, as you watch her bring her balled fists up to her face, her eyes shuddering, her stance becoming wobbly as she puts her left foot in front of the other—you shamefully begin to wonder if she could truly win it, with the way she looks now.

In the first round, and even half of the second, she had the high ground. Blood was split, from his face and from her knuckles. But slowly, her movements had begun to deter, the sways becoming a more prominent factor in it all. And in the split of a second, one dipped in blood and in alcohol—his fist met her face and she’d hit the ground.

You couldn’t help but bring a hand to your mouth as a gasp left your throat. She didn’t get up, not this time. But her limp body laid there, unmoving on the ground as the crowd counted. All you could do was there, all you could do was watch as someone unknown to you, lifted her off the ground, and carried her out of the ring.

For whatever reason, seeing her like this pained you more than anything. In truth, you didn’t like the fact that she was doing this to herself. Nothing good had come out of it. In your eyes, she didn’t look happy or grateful from the outcome.

Just tired and hurt.

And so there you found yourself, standing from your spot and sifting through the crowd. Some cursed at you for blocking the view as the man below gloated his victory—but you didn’t care for it. Desperate to find her.

But you stop at your tracks at your realization. Find her and say what? You think to yourself.

You’d been gone, she’d been gone. She’s moved on so what is there left to say? But you push your hurt and questions aside, resuming your hair and leaving out the doors the brawling scene.

When times had become unbearable, much like this one, you found yourself thinking of the past.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

THE NIGHT IS how it should be. Your body pressed up against hers as the wind whistles, as those grueling goosebumps come around as they always have, and as Vi speaks, “Are you even listening?” She asks, looking down to your face resting on her shoulder, a crooked smile on her lips.

“Of course I am,” you say, smiling as she rolls her eyes.

“Oh sure,” she begins, trailing off before resuming, “what was I talking about then?” An even wider smile finds itself on your face—recalling the moments prior to this one.

“Um…the intricacies of…structures?” It’s silent until a laugh pulls itself from Vi’s throat, the pearls in her gums taking their place on stage as she speaks, “seriously? Did you even try?”

You pull yourself away from her, slapping her shoulder playfully as you bite your lip, “Dude! Can you blame me? It's freezing cold out here. My skin might freeze and fall off my bones.”

Vi hums in response, turning her attention to the city—the buildings that stand oh so firmly, all beautifully made in their own ways.

The silence is evident. Apparent enough to make you anxious as you take it all in.

Giving into the silence, you speak, “Vi? What’s wrong?” You follow the path that her eyes lead to. But to no avail, all you find are scattered lights and people who look like ants compared to the both of you.

“Nothing I just…” she says, beginning to bring a hand to ear to her, a sheepish smile on her lips now as you look at her. “I just don’t want this to end,” she says and then she looks at you. With a look of endearment and love and anything you’ve found yourself dreaming of.

“Promise me you won’t change. Promise me you’ll always be with me.” A smile finds itself on your lips as you lift a hand to her cheek, watching as she closes her eyes and grabs your wrist, gently.

“I promise. I won’t change. Not now, not ever.”

You say, genuinity laced across your lips.

Because it was true. It was, you’d truly meant it.

———

It hadn’t been that hard to find her.

A turn down an alleyway and you saw her.

Alone and slumped against the bottom of the stairs. For a long moment, you just stared. Unsure of how to approach her and what to do. Even now, would she have remembered you? Even after all those years, thinking of her and wondering where she could have ended up, had she thought of you?

Or were you just simply another thing abandoned and forgotten.

Undermining that fact, you stalk towards her anyways, gently and with precaution.

Finally, as you’ve set closed, watching her heaving on the sets of stairs, you see her for what she is now: a raw, gaping wound.

Hesitantly, you lift your hand to her shoulder, desperately wanting to push her into a sitting position. But the moment your hand falls close to her skin, she reaches out her own to grab your wrist. Not gentle like it used to be, but harsh.

A startled breath leaves your throat, wanting to pull away but she still holds on to you.

Her vision is squirming, her eyes are looking in every direction before befalling you.

Before her hand loosens and is gentle once again, like you’ve always known.

But she’s let go of you now as she speaks, “y/n?”

to be continued. . .

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

KNUCKLE VELVET

CHAPTER ONE: MISUSE OH

#vi x y/n #vi x you #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi #arcane season 2 act 2 #arcane #fix it of sorts #arcane x reader #arcane x you

201 notes · View notes

souliebird · 9 months ago

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 19]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.6k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

Frank, admittedly, isn’t as fit as he used to be.

Running through the desert, carrying all his gear, used to be an everyday thing he could do no problem, but now, running through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he finds his breathing to be a bit labored.

Then again, that might be because he’s pissed off. He, Jones, and Red were in the middle of setting up for a night of surveillance, something Red insisted they do, when the costumed idiot took off into the night without a word.

Normally, Red will give them the damn courtesy of letting them know before he disappears to protect his flock, so him just starting to bolt had Frank and Jones scooping up their shit and following.

One thing Frank’s learned while working with Matt Murdock is to trust the bastard when it comes to his senses - when he says they need to clear out, there is usually a damn good reason to start running. But he has always given a reason or a head’s up - taking off like this must mean something is going down.

Jones gave up trying to keep pace a few blocks back, but Frank is determined to find out what the hell is going on. Red has the advantage of not hauling an additional fifty pounds of gear, and he has taken to parkouring over the roofs, so has gotten about a block and a half ahead.

Frank can keep him in his sights, at least. He’s making a bee-line right towards Chelsea and that’s causing a pit to start to grow in the Marine’s stomach. Not many things override Red’s deep seeded commitment to his city and only one of those things resides outside Hell’s Kitchen.

He adjusts his grip on his bag and forces his legs to move faster.

The buildings around him shift from businesses to residential and about two blocks into the change, Frank knows what set the Devil off.

His little girl is in the middle of the sidewalk, crying hysterically as her mother struggles on the ground against some fat fuck in a business suit. Frank only sees the attacker for a brief second before fury incarnate grabs him by his thick neck and slams him into the ground by Mom’s feet. The sound of a skull being cracked rings clear before it's covered by angry roars and the crunch and squelch of someone’s face being pounded in.

By the Grace of all that is Holy, Red’s baby seems to not care her dad is about to kill a guy and scurries to her Mommy now that she is free. Frank kicks his ass into gear to get there before she can be traumatized anymore.

He doesn’t know if the little girl recognizes him or not, but she doesn’t fight it when Frank picks her up. She clings to him desperately, burying her face against his neck and just sobbing. Instincts he forgot he had kick in and Frank bundles Minnie up in his duster, rocking her and trying to soothe her the best he can.

“Hey, hey, sweet girl, it's okay, it's okay. I gotcha. Everything’s gonna be okay, I gotcha.”

Frank cups the back of her head, careful to not tangle his fingers up in her curls and turns her away from her bloody mother. He needs to check on you, to make sure your wounds are something he can handle, and they don’t need to take you to the hospital, but he can’t do that with a crying toddler in his arms.

“He hurt my Mommy!” The baby wails and his heart just about breaks. He wants so badly to join Red in stomping the piece of shit’s head into the pavement for endangering such a precious child, but he knows he can’t. She can’t witness any more than she already has.

As often as Frank takes digs at Murdock for being an altar boy, he can’t let Red’s daughter see him lose control and step over the line he swore to never cross. He’d never forgive himself for causing that trauma for her. So, he hugs the little girl closer, kisses the top of her head, then grunts, “Red!”

Murdock stills mid-punch, his bloody fist raised and ready to continue his punishment. He looks feral - he is snarling, and gore has splashed up onto his face. He is shaking with rage and for a brief moment, Frank can see why he claims to have the Devil in him. Then, just as his little girl cries for her Mom again, control returns to him. Red tilts his head in a way Frank knows he heard something, then he pushes himself up into standing.

Red rips his gloves off, throwing them to the ground, before taking the few steps to clear the gap between him and Frank. He barely starts to rasp out his daughter’s name before she’s turning in Frank’s arms and trying to throw herself to him, sobbing.

“DADDY!”

The noise Red makes is not at all human as he crushes his baby girl to his chest. A new round of loud tears start and Frank knows he has to work quickly before they start attracting attention.

He pulls his duster off and throws it around Red’s shoulders, trying to hide his garish costume. Murdock seems to realize what he’s doing - he curls into it while ducking his horn-head and moving towards the shadows as he comforts his daughter. Frank can’t hear what he’s saying - his voice is low and the crying covers it - but honestly he doesn’t care.

He turns his attention back to your limp body on the ground, dropping down and letting his knowledge of field medicine take over.

Your forehead is bleeding pretty bad, but a quick assessment of the wound tells him it looks worse than it really is. You’ve got a pretty good gash, but it is shallow, and he doesn’t feel any bone breakage under it or swelling. You’ll need a few stitches, and a hell of a lot of ibuprofen, but you won’t need a hospital. You probably passed out from a combination of pain and exhaustion from an adrenaline rush.

Still, Frank checks your neck before deciding to move you, just to make sure it's safe.

As he starts to press his fingers along your spine, Jones finally makes her appearance, jogging up to the scene.

“What the fuck?”

Frank barely looks up as he growls out his reply, focusing on his work while formulating a plan in his head, “It’s his kid.”

“Oh shit,” she replies, then after a beat, “Is he dead?”

Frank barely looks over to the beaten man in question - his chest is still rising and falling so that’s good enough for him. “Nah, not yet. Call it in - then meet us up in her apartment.”

He rattles off the address and apartment number as he scoops you up into a fireman’s carry. He’s glad he doesn’t have far to go, because your weight, plus his gear, isn’t doing any favors to his back. As he gets you situated, Jones steps over to the attacker and nudges him in the side with her boot. His face isn’t recognizable as human, but that isn’t what she comments on.

“What is that smell? Did he shit himself?”

“Fuck if I know, just call it in,” Frank grunts as he begins to trudge towards the right building. “Red, let's go!”

He knows he doesn’t have to explain the plan to Murdock - fucker heard him the first time. Red falls in line and by some miracle, his little girl’s crying has tampered down. She’s still crying - Frank would be more concerned if she wasn’t - but she’s tucked herself close to her Dad and seems to be just more upset than actively terrified. Frank’s got no idea what Murdock could have possibly done to soothe her, but he gives him props for doing it so damn fast.

He can hear Jones calling for an ambulance as they enter into your building, and once in the lobby, Frank wastes no time barking another order, “Take off your helmet.”

That earns him a glare, or what counts as a glare from the Devil, and Murdock uses one hand to pull his cowl off and stuffs it between his chest and his daughter before starting for the stairs. Frank is right at his heel and being so close means he can finally hear what Red is repeating to his girl.

“Just listen to her heart, baby, everything’s okay. You know that sound. Just listen to her heart.”

Frank has a good guess what that means - his theory about passing out from exhaustion and pain is probably correct. If your heart isn’t in crazy panic ‘I’m dying’ mode, you should be fine after a good night’s rest.

The only problem they encounter in the climb up to your apartment is your door. They have to do a weird song-and-dance of Frank turning so Red can get into your purse to get keys while also making sure Minnie can’t see your face. He hasn’t gotten the chance to clean you up in any way and he’s not going to let any little girl see her mom like that if he can help it.

Once they are inside the apartment, Frank goes right to the couch to lay you out. As he does, he says over his shoulder, “I’m gonna call Curt.”

Just because you don’t need a hospital doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see a medical professional. Frank knows what he is doing, but he does not trust himself to stitch up your face. Someone with delicate hands needs to do that, and the best person he knows for that is Curt.

Murdock, however, disagrees.

“Call Claire,” he counters firmly.

Frank knows better than to argue - this is Murdock’s family and Frank ain’t got a dog in this fight. So, once you are down, and his gear is dropped, he fishes out his phone to call the feisty nurse. As he does, Red starts back towards what Frank assumes is the bedroom, talking in a sweet tone to his little girl, “It's okay, Frank’s gonna clean Mommy up, then we can go see her. She’s just got a scrape, everything’s okay.”

Frank focuses on his task at hand - as the line rings, he raids the kitchen for washcloths, bowls, and paper towels. He’s on his way back to the couch when Claire finally answers.

“What did he do this time?”

A little smile forms on his lips at her bluntness - he’s always liked Claire and her no-nonsense attitude.

“Ain’t him. His girl got mugged, hit her head pretty good,” he explains, as he dips a washcloth into the water to start on cleaning you up. The cut on your forehead is still bleeding, but only a little by this point. He’ll have to retrace their steps to wipe away any blood droplets, so they don't leave a trail right to your door.

“So, take her to the ER.”

He hums at the response, then adds the crucial element, “His little girl saw it all.”

The line is silent for a good five seconds before Claire is swearing, “I’m on my way. How bad are we talking?”

He feels a little for the nurse at the moment - she’s always having to deal with Red broken and battered and is probably thinking she’s going to have to do some sort of impromptu surgery. He gives a rundown on your injuries, then adds, “Your stitches are nicer than mine.”

“Exactly what a lady wants to hear. How’s the kid?”

“Physically ok, but probably going to have nightmares for a while,” is his honest reply. There wouldn’t be an attacker left to pick up in an ambulance if Minnie had gotten hurt - he would have made sure of that no matter what Red would have said.

Claire groans in response, “I don’t know anything about child psychology, Frank.”

“No one’s expecting you to.”

The nurse may be a miracle worker in the eyes of Red’s little vigilante group, but no one in this world is qualified to deal with all their mental problems.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there. You’re lucky I’m on this side of town already.”

Claire hangs up on him and Franks stuffs his phone back into his pocket. He’ll need to call Mirco later to set up a camera on your building, something similar to what he’s got for Karen, and arrange for some background checks on the neighbors. The area seems to be working class just trying to get by, but isn’t that just all of the city now? Even if one drunk-off-his-ass guy just made some stupid decision, it put you and the kid in danger and that is a no-go in Frank’s book. As much Red will huff and puff and growl, his family falls under Frank’s sphere of protection and that isn’t something Frank skimps on.

So, a full security upgrade is in your near future.

But that is something he’ll figure out the details for later on. Right now, he puts his full attention in cleaning you up.

The worst of it is the cut on your forehead. He folds a washcloth and sets it on the wound to help the remaining bleeding stop, then moves onto your cheeks. You’ve got some gravel stuck there, but he doesn’t see any glass or metal. There’s some bruising, but he doesn’t think it will be anything to fuss about - it will fade away within a day or so. He’s seen worse coloring on a hickey. The bastard who attacked you didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing, or he was too sloshed out of his mind to be coordinated.

Overall, you are just pretty banged up.

But nonetheless, Frank takes care to make sure it just looks like you are resting, even putting the throw blanket left on the couch over you to hide the grime stains on your clothes.

Red and his creepy bat ears must be listening, because as soon as he goes to dump the bloody cleaning water, he’s coming out of the bedroom with Minnie. She’s still in his arms, clinging to his neck like a koala, but her tears have stopped. She’s still sniffling, though.

Frank hangs back as the little girl is brought to her Mommy and his heart damn near breaks again when she starts talking.

“She’s just sleeping?”

“She’s just sleeping,” Red confirms. He carefully kneels down beside you and makes slow, exaggerated movements as he puts his hand over your heart. “You can feel, too. Just sleeping.”

He watches as the tiny little girl untangles herself from her father and stretches to put her hand next to his. She scrunches up her nose and gets a look Frank has seen a million times on Red.

“Boom. Boom. Boom.”

“Exactly, boom. Boom. boom. The same heart-noises Mommy makes when she sleeps.”

They stay like that for a few seconds before little hands go up to your face and Minnie is examining your cuts.

“He hurt Mommy,” she says so softly that Frank wants to stomp back downstairs and unload his Glock into the asshole. “She has ouchies.” She turns so quickly in Red’s arm that Frank sees him jump just a little - probably still on high alert - and she slaps both her hands on his cheeks, “You have to kissy it better.”

Her voice is so serious and demanding, he’s surprised Red doesn’t instantly comply. Instead, he kisses his little one’s forehead.

“A doctor is going to come and make sure all her ouchies are taken care of. Then we can kiss it better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Her curls bounce as the little girl whips around to address Frank, ordering in the same voice, “You have to kissy it better, too.”

He damn well knows better than to argue with a three year old girl - Lisa could put him in his place like no one's business - so Frank simply nods with a, “Yes, ma’am.” Red doesn't look thrilled at the agreement, but he's not the one who's opinion Frank cares about.

Her brown eyes sus him out, narrowing a fraction before he passes whatever criteria she has and Minnie turns back to her mother and father. “When is she gonna wake up?”

“She'll wake up when she's done resting,” Murdock gently advises. “She needs lots of rest right now.”

Frank knows what question is coming before it is even asked. It is the universal toddler question.

“Why?”

Red, it seems, needs to spend more time with his kid because he looks completely baffled by the question. He repeats the word, which just gets parroted back at him, and Frank can practically hear Lisa and Frankie chanting along with her.

Why?

Why would you need lots of rest in a way a terrified toddler would get it? There's a slight hint of panic in Red’s sightless eyes as he fights to find an answer and Frank takes pity on him.

He steps forward and asks the little girl, “Have you ever played really hard then needed a nap after?”

Attention swings back to him but this time he is prepared for it. Minnie considers his question, then nods, and Frank gives her a soft, friendly smile. “Same thing, sweetheart. Your Mommy’s body worked really hard and now she needs a nap.”

“She needs a nap,” the baby replies and then, to his amusement, proceeds to stuff her fingers into her mouth and suck on them. He's got no idea what that means, but Red’s shoulders relax a fraction, so he assumes it's a good thing.

He wonders if she's starting to get tired now that the action is over. He can't imagine why they were out in the first place, but he has to guess it was to get something from the store. That is his experience with bringing a baby in their pajamas out at night - there was something needed that couldn't wait until morning. That would also explain the black bag in your purse.

He looks to Red and his girl - Murdock has sat himself on the floor beside the couch, facing you, and Minnie is tucked in his lap, sucking her fingers still. Both of their focus seems to be on you. So, Frank lets curiosity get the better of him and he goes to snoop.

There’s a bottle of Pedialyte nestled inside the bag, and by the tiny bit missing, he has a feeling he knows who it is for. He looks from it, over to the sweet child sitting in Red’s lap, and decides she probably still needs it if her mom went out in the middle of the night for it. So, he turns his snooping to the kitchen and opens and closes cabinets until he finds the one holding sippy cups. All of them have Braille labels on them and he briefly wonders what each says before grabbing one with Big Bird on it. He gives it a good rinse before filling it up halfway with the blue liquid.

He removes his tactical vest before he heads back to the living room. He thinks of it more of a sign for Red than Minnie. The little girl might be scared of the skull art, but he hopes it will help Murdock relax. He’s putting on a good face for his daughter, but Frank can see the tension in his jaw and how on edge and angry he must be, and he can’t be blamed. He knows how emotional Red can get and he’s surprised he’s managing to keep it together - so subtly letting him know ‘there’s no danger here’ and Frank isn’t a threat to his family might just get him to stop grinding his teeth.

He approaches slowly and somewhat loudly, while holding out the sippy cup, “Here you go, sweetie.”

Minnie blinks up at him with those wide brown eyes and he can see the exhaustion starting to creep in - getting a bottle might just knock her out. He has to lean down so she can take it, but as soon as she does, her hand drops from her mouth and she politely mumbles, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

“What is it?” Murdock questions, nose twitching to try to figure out the smell. Frank doubts he’s familiar with the drink, but soon he’ll have it memorized.

“Blue Pedi-lyte,” the baby grumbles before the spout goes right into her mouth and she starts to nurse it. Almost instantly she starts leaning back against Red’s chest and Frank knows right away she’ll be asleep within minutes.

He checks his phone as he goes to take a seat at the kitchen table. Claire should be here any minute and it's a toss up if Jones comes up or not. He’ll wait until everything is all settled to head out - he does want to make sure you are okay and he’s not going to leave Claire alone with an upset kid and her Dad-devil.

Frank brings up his texts to Karen to start typing out that the op is a bust, when Murdock’s quiet voice interrupts his train of thought.

“Thank you, Frank.”

“Nothing to thank me for, Red. It’s your family. You don’t gotta explain that to me.”

“Still, thank you, Frank. I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Murdock.”

---

a/n: frank has entered the chat and assumed Alpha Dad role. his family now.

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath

@allllium

@anehkael

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you

565 notes · View notes

annon-guy2 · 7 months ago

Text

Potential Collection/Compilation Game Poll

Feel free to explain your vote in the comments or reblog sections down below.

15 notes · View notes

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 months ago

Text

Words: 5,218 Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, after the war, Negan is imprisoned Warnings: language, Negan's mouth, violence, injury, fear and anxiety, frightening scenarios, Soft!Negan, Protective!Negan Summary: Negan has to figure out how to defend you when he's locked in his cell. A/N: This is the second to last chapter of this series!

Dante only laughed and walked over to the chair, scooping up your ring of keys off the seat. “Were you trying for these?” he asked, jingling them at Negan.

Negan stared back, a heavy shadow falling over his face. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I was.”

The silver of the keys glinted in Dante’s hand. Negan’s heart was pounding.

“Close, but not quite,” Dante said, pocketing them. His attention returned to you on the ground. Negan drifted along the bars to stand beside you as the doctor advanced. He crouched down and gently touched your face in a final attempt to wake you, but you didn’t stir. His eyes, narrowed and intense, landed on Dante again. If he could have burned a hole in that fucker’s face with his eyes, he would have been dead twenty times over. But Dante didn’t seem to notice.

The doctor stood over you completely still for a long moment. His expression and the feeling in the room, almost pulsing with tension, was unnerving. At length, he bent down and took hold of your ankles, dragging you away from Negan’s cell. Negan’s stomach churned as your head slipped off the blanket he’d tucked underneath it. The fabric was stained a deep, dark crimson. There was a bloody smear left on the floor where the wound from hitting the cell bars dragged along the cold concrete as Dante moved you.

“Hey—” Negan barked, gripping onto the bars with white knuckles. “What the fuck is going on?”

Dante straightened up and stared down at you before rubbing a hand over his mouth as if he was contemplating what to do. Then he looked up at Negan and smiled. He bent over you again and this time he rolled you onto your back. Your head lolled to the side like a rag doll and Negan’s stomach twisted again.

Dante stood over you, staring down again in a way that had Negan’s skin crawling. “It’s almost a shame,” he said, sighing as he bent over you again. “She’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

Negan felt his entire body, every fiber of himself revolting as Dante suddenly latched his hands around your neck violently and began to compress them, squeezing. He was shaking with the effort. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!” Negan roared. In just a few seconds, which felt excruciatingly long, Negan saw you begin to stir and he realized that you’d woken up. Your brain, suddenly aware that you weren’t pulling in any oxygen, had kicked you into survival mode, probably dumping adrenaline and all kinds of chemicals into your bloodstream to wake you up. “Hey!” Negan yelled again, a vain attempt to distract Dante.

You came to and began to struggle beneath his grip. Your boots slid against the concrete frantically and kicked as you writhed around, trying to get any purchase on the floor to get up, to reposition yourself to fight. But he was over you and had control. You clawed at his hands and arms, trying to pry him off your neck. Your eyes were wide and panicked and your face was turning red and then purple. You reached up in an attempt to scratch his face, to get his eyes, to do anything but Dante pulled back, avoiding your groping fingers. He lifted you slightly off the ground and then slammed you down onto the concrete, jarring you. The back of your head hit the floor hard. He did it again and again as you tried to fight. Your attempts got weaker and weaker, and all the while Negan was yelling, trying to distract Dante, trying to get him to let go. He was completely helpless, powerless to do anything, watching you die right in front of him, out of reach.

A few more moments and you were struggling to stay conscious again. Your face went from red to purple. Negan watched in horror, helpless, as you went limp again with Dante’s hands still around your neck. He looked around for something to use to throw but his scant cell had nothing that could even remotely be used as a weapon. Finally, his eyes landed on the tennis ball beside his boot. He stuck his arm through the bars and threw it as hard as he could at the side of Dante’s head. It struck him and bounced off. “Hey! Dr. Kevorkian!” Negan roared. To his surprise, Dante turned and looked at him slowly, and his hands lifted off you, still shaking slightly from the strain of throttling and fighting you.

You, however, stayed completely still, unconscious on the floor. The marks on your neck, raw and crimson and somehow looking almost bruised already, glared up at Negan. His heart felt like it was about to explode in his chest. Blind panic was threatening to overwhelm him. He had to get a hold of himself. He had to, if he hoped to save you. He drew in a deep breath and forced his mind to quiet. Think. Think. How the fuck could he deal with this fucker when he was locked up?

Dante straightened up, out of breath from the effort of you fighting him, and he stared right at Negan.

“You mind telling me what in the ever-loving holy fucking hell is happening right now?” Negan asked, forcing his voice to not betray his true fear and panic.

Dante wiped a dot of saliva from the corner of his mouth and stared down at you again beneath him for a moment, his chest heaving. Then, he looked back at Negan.

“I’m gonna kill this bitch. Slowly,” he breathed. “And then I’m gonna kill you. And I’m gonna tell everyone you did it, and I had to put you down,” he said, smiling. “Oh, sure, everyone will be real sad to lose Y/N here. She is a member of the council after all… but who the fuck is going to be care that you’re dead? I’ll say I tried to stop you but I was too late. And if people weren’t already divided over Michonne keeping you alive, how do you think they’re going to feel after this?” He laughed again. “No one will trust Michonne’s judgement anymore. Daryl will be broken to lose one of his closest family members. The council will dissolve. It’ll be a real shame what happens to Alexandria after that… And I’ll be here still, chipping away at it, helping it along.”

Calm. He had to stay calm. Negan gathered himself and then smirked at Dante through the bars. “That’s your plan?” he asked, throwing in a low chuckle as he stretched his tall frame out, leaning with his forearm against the bars just over his head, trying hard to look carefree. “I mean—you can try to kill me. That’s the first flaw in your grand scheme. I didn’t end up in here for playing fucking nice. I used to bash people’s heads in with a bat but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself without sweet little Lucille perched on my shoulder,” Negan said lazily. “Now, your second problem—” he started, watching carefully for Dante’s reaction. He smiled when he saw a flash of curiosity on Dante’s face. “—is that you have not known these fuckers anywhere near as long as I have. If you think you’re going to murder me and Y/N’s fine ass here, plant your little seeds of doubt, and water them with just a sprinkling of grief and come strolling home to a garden bursting with blooms of anger and division… I’ve got some bad fucking news for you, friend. That is not enough to get these people to tear this place apart from the inside out. Trust me, I’ve tried! Exhibit A: my goddamn current situation! When shit gets hard, these fuckers circle the goddamn wagons and somehow come back swinging. They are like a bad case of herpes. As soon as you think they’re gone, poof! They’re back! Trust me, it is fucking annoying, thing but they are resilient as fuck! It’s gonna take a little more than one bad inmate to tear this place down.”

Dante actually seemed to be listening intently. Negan felt some smug satisfaction that when he needed to switch it on, he could still switch it on… He hazarded a glance back at you lying on the floor behind Dante. You were unmoving, but breathing. He could see your chest rising and falling shallowly.

“So, let me guess. You’re going to tell me not to murder Y/N,” Dante said suddenly, suspicious.

Negan pulled a face and shrugged. “No, no, by all means, murder Y/N! Hell, I’ll fuckin’ help you! You think I’ve got any kind of warm and fuzzy feelings toward anyone here? They destroyed my fucking home, my community. I was king of my castle and having a grand old time. They’ve kept me locked up like an animal in here for six fucking years. And Y/N here is my most recent jailor. I can’t take a piss without asking her permission… Besides, you have to kill her now anyway because she woke up and saw you choking the life out of her... But I think the next part of the plan needs some adjustment.”

Dante glanced back at you, making sure you weren’t coming around again. He knew you were still alive. He was a doctor after all. It took time to strangle someone. As much as six minutes sometimes… and he knew you had begun to breathe again as soon as he lifted his hands. But he wanted to kill you slow. He liked the power, the fear, the control of it. He wanted you to suffer. He felt all of you, every one of you with your bloated egos deserved it.

Negan whistled a low two-toned note to get Dante’s attention again. “You still with me, doc?” he asked, smiling. Dante met his eyes again, so Negan went on. “I can help you. I think we can help each other. We kill Y/N here, and I help you make her disappear. A missing member of the council is a mighty fine distraction, don’t you think? I mean, hell—they’ll be sending search parties out to all ends of the earth looking for her. Spreading themselves thin… Meanwhile, on the home front, two determined assholes chipping away at Alexandria from the inside is better than one,” he smiled. “I’ve got plenty of reasons to want to see this place fall, and if that’s your goal then I’m fuckin’ in.”

“Why do I need you at all? I could kill her and make her disappear myself,” he retorted.

Negan shrugged and nodded. “Sure. If you think you can carry her corpse outta here and conceal it all on your own without anyone noticing something is amiss. Carrying a dead body isn’t exactly easy peasy lemon squeezy, especially when you’re on the clock. It sure as shit would be easier and faster with two people. We can probably get this shit done before the rest of Alexandria even wakes up. But,” he held his hands up and shrugged, “your call. If you’d rather fight her and then risk someone walking in while you fight me—because I promise you, I will not go down easily—that’s your choice. But I think there’s a way for this whole thing to work out the best for the both of us and I’m happy to get onboard.”

Dante stared at him. Negan could almost see the working of his mind. He hoped that his expression wasn’t giving away the sheer panic he was barely suppressing. If Dante didn’t buy in… you were dead and he was powerless to stop it.

But to his relief, the next moment. Dante reached into the pocket of his white coat and Negan heard the keys metallic tinkling as he closed a hand around them.

Negan grinned and clicked his tongue. “I knew you were smart,” he said, leaning on the bars again.

Dante approached and began fitting each key into the lock until he found the right one. It turned with a heavy scraping and thud as the bolt retracted. Dante stepped back and Negan grinned as he pushed the cell door open to sweet, sweet freedom.

Dante was standing over you again, his eyes focused on your face. The ring of keys was still clutched in his hand. Negan came to stand slightly behind him to the side and also looked down at your sprawled form. “Are you doing the job or am I?” Negan asked, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip.

Dante glanced sideways at him and stored the keys in his pocket again. “She’s mine,” he said.

Negan affected a low laugh. “Try not to enjoy it too much,” he said. Dante seemed to like that little comment, even while inside Negan felt sick, sick with rage, sick with the words he had to say, sick with how pale you looked lying still on the floor...

Dante bent over you and wrapped his hands around your throat again, squeezing, his hands shaking with effort. You came to again within seconds and started to fight, but your efforts were weak and you looked like you were trying to move through molasses. You managed to dig a fingernail into Dante’s wrist and thick blood drops dripped down onto you, staining your shirt.

Enraged, Dante drew back a hand and backhanded you across the face, still holding you down hard by your neck with the other, crushing you into the floor so you couldn’t escape him.

Those moments felt like an eternity passing as Negan waited until Dante was distracted enough for him to intervene. His eyes fell on the metal tray that had fallen off the chair to the floor and he hurriedly seized it, pulled it back and bashed Dante across the back of the head with it. The doctor let go of you and fell to the side on his hands and knees. “Breakfast is served, shitdick,” Negan growled. He tossed the tray down and it rang out on the concrete. He seized Dante by his white coat with two hands and hurled him to the side farther away from you, propelling his head into the cinderblock wall. Miraculously, he was still conscious when he fell to the ground. Negan hurriedly wound up and kicked him hard in the ribs. Dante gasped and curled over on his side from the force of Negan’s boot ramming into his ribs and stomach.

Negan’s eyes were dark with rage as he leaned over Dante again and gripped the front of his shirt, dragging him to his feet and shoving him back against the wall so hard his head slammed into it again and all the air left his lungs in a forced sound. “You’re a real fucking piece of shit, you know that? Can’t even take someone on in a fair fight without drugging them first,” he growled. “I fucking hate cowards. And I hate little shitdick cowards who hurt women for no goddamned good reason even more. Your teeny tiny itsy bitsy little balls are showing… Me on the other hand, my giant nut sack is made of Kevlar and I am not afraid of a man-on-man cage match. Shitty for you, because this one, you have fucking lost.” With that, he drew back a fist and punched Dante across the face and he kept hitting him, over and over, until the man went limp. Negan let go and his body crumpled like a wet towel.

Negan stood over him for a brief moment to make sure he was truly knocked out and then he rushed to your side, hitting his knees hard on the concrete at he fell to the ground beside you frantically. He cupped your face, noticing that you now had a split lip and red mark from Dante hitting you across the face. “Y/N? Come on. Open your eyes, doll. Come on, look at me!” Negan lifted you slightly, supporting your head and neck and gently shaking you, pulling you against him. He felt a warm, wet spot soaking his sleeve where the back of your head was resting against his arm. “Shit… You’ve got to wake up, darlin’!” He stroked the back of his fingers lightly over your cheek. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re okay…”

He stroked your hair gently, running his fingers through the silky strands, searching your face for any sign that you were rousing, but he saw none. The marks on your neck were terrifyingly dark. He could see that your skin was dotted with broken blood vessels. “Okay. Okay…” he breathed, looking around frantically. “Alright. I’m gonna get you some help,” he murmured to you. He set you down gently, cushioning your head again with the wool blanket. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead and he felt completely shaky, unsure if it was still from pure rage or the come down of adrenaline.

He stood and returned to Dante where he was slumped on the floor against the bottom of the wall. He rifled through the pockets of his white coat until he found the keys and then dragged him by his ankles into the jail cell, leaving him carelessly lying on the cold concrete.

“Enjoy your new home, shitstain,” Negan muttered as he locked the cell door, pocketing the keys. He rushed back to you and lifted you as carefully as he could. “Alright, darlin’. Just you and me now. Come on. You’re gonna be fine…” he breathed. He managed to get the outside door open with you in his arms and burst out into the sunshine.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Negan sat slumped in the folding chair beside you, absently running a hand over the stubble on his face. His eyes flickered back to you in the bed over and over again as anxiety ran through him like poison. You were going to wake up and be fine, he kept telling himself, but the wait was excruciating.

The marks on your neck glared back at him. Siddiq had stitched the split in your lower lip and your head wounds with the most delicate stitches he could, but the sight of them still made Negan’s blood boil.

Suddenly, you began to stir just a little on the pillow and Negan snapped upright, leaning forward and waiting to see your eyes open. You fought with your heavy eyelids but finally you blinked awake. It took a moment before you got your bearings and noticed him beside you.

“Negan,” you said softly. Your voice sounded gritty and thin, as if you had a bad sore throat.

Negan smiled at you, all the way up to the corners of his eyes, a soft one. “Hey, doll,” he said, clasping his hands between his bent knees as he sat forward on the edge of his seat.

You pulled in a few deep breaths and swallowed with some effort. Your throat felt raw and your head was pounding, but you were alive. ��I thought I was dead,” you mused aloud. The smile on Negan’s face faded and he reached out and grabbed your hand gently, pressing it between his. You looked down at the contact as electricity seemed to crackle over your skin from his touch. It distracted you from the pain throbbing through your face and skull for a moment.

“Close. Too fucking close. But not on my watch, darlin’,” he said seriously.

“Dante—he—I went to get my hand checked and he—he dosed me with something—”

“I know,” he interrupted you. “But you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Daryl’s dealing with him right now, otherwise he’d be here too. He’s been driving me fucking nuts pacing the room and scowling,” Negan joked.

“What happened to—” Your voice cracked and Negan stopped you.

“Shh,” he soothed you. “If it hurts, don’t talk, doll,” he said, his brow knit.

You paused, your eyes flickering between his bright hazel ones. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you retorted immediately, breaking into the tiniest touch of a smile, but quickly stopping as it tugged at your stitches.

Negan rubbed your hand between his, his thumb gliding softly over the silky skin on the back of your hand. He chuckled. “There she is,” he said. He smoothed some stray strands of hair away from your face. “You’re alright,” he said.

“Negan,” you said again, and he let the sound of his name leaving your lips again wash over him. It dredged up an upwelling of emotion and he blinked at the glassiness overtaking his vision. “What—what happened? How’d you—?”

“Ahh, don’t worry about that. Just rest. Everything is alright,” he said.

Your eyes flickered over his face and he sighed because he knew you weren’t going to let it go. He pressed your hand between his again. “You don’t remember anything?” Some part of him seized up with fear that perhaps you had heard the kind of things he’d had to say to get Dante to trust him. But you shook your head. That was a relief… the words had tasted bitter and nauseating as he’d spoken them, and the last thing he wanted was for you to have heard them, perhaps internalized them.

“Not really. Just—I remember—waking up with his hands around my neck,” you said vaguely. “I remember trying to fight him off but it was like I was swimming through quicksand and then… like being dragged under dark water...” The hoarseness in your voice had Negan’s chest aching.

He nodded. “Yeah… I—got him to unlock my cell. Took some convincing… I had to say some fucked up shit to make it happen. Acted like we were allies,” he explained. “And then when I had the chance—I beat the fuck out of him,” he growled. You watched his face darken with the memory and you gulped.

Negan met your eyes and watched as tears began to fill them. He gently clasped your face with one hand, running his fingers through your hair with the other. “Hey—doll—you’re okay. You’re okay,” he said softly. He shook his head. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, but it’s all over.”

You sniffled and could feel your bottom lip quivering as you tried not to allow yourself to cry harder. You could only speak in a whisper this time, emotion constraining your voice. “Thank you,” you managed, your eyes flickering between Negan’s, looking golden and maybe even a little glassy too as he leaned over you and stroked your hair.

“You don’t have a thing to thank me for, darlin’,” Negan said emphatically. “I’m just glad I was there to take care of—”

There was the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat near the doorway and you looked over to see Daryl standing there. Negan fell back from you and sank down into his chair again, his fingers drifting away, grieving the growing space as it enlarged and left him feeling a little hollow.

You sniffled and smiled at Daryl as his face grew less stern, seeing you awake. He came straight to your bedside and sank down on the edge. He grabbed your hand in his and gave it a friendly squeeze, his blue eyes traveling over you, hitching on your injuries.

“Negan,” he drawled, not taking his eyes off you. “Wait outside a minute,” he said.

Negan got up without arguing and headed to the door, but he stopped at the threshold and looked back at you in the bed one more time before he stepped into the hallway.

Daryl sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “How ya feelin’?”

You gulped and shrugged a little. “Okay. Sore. Tired. My head is pounding.”

Daryl nodded. His eyes were continually drawn to the marks on your throat, red and raw but quickly darkening into bruises.

“Negan said you were with—with him,” you said.

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I was. He’s locked up. Negan beat the shit out of him. I think his jaw is broken. Probably some ribs too. Fucker’s face and eyes are all swelled up. Looks like he got into it with a goddamn bee hive.”

You nodded and pulled in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Good,” you whispered.

“Look, if ya need some time, just lemme know. But I wanted to ask ya some questions,” Daryl said. “Ya need anything? Water? Ya warm enough?”

“No, I’m good. Ask me. It’s okay.”

Daryl nodded. “What do you remember about that morning? Negan said Dante drugged ya.”

You nodded. “He must have, because I felt completely fine before I went into the clinic. I went to get my hand checked out; from that gash I got on the run? Siddiq wasn’t there so Dante looked at it and then he gave me two pills. He said they were painkillers and would help with the swelling around the cut and the pain I was having. He was pretty insistent about me taking them. Then, I went to the pantry and prepared some food to take to Negan. I brought it down and then we were talking at his cell door and everything just started to go… strange and cloudy. And then I must have passed out?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Negan said ya just sunk into unconsciousness right in front of him. Ya hit yer head on the cell bars on the way down. And then it wasn’t long before Dante came walking in.”

A struck look hit you. “Right. He asked me what my plans for the day were. I told him I had to bring Negan breakfast, so he would have known I was there.”

“Yeah, or he coulda followed ya anyway. It was pretty early. Hardly anybody was up yet. Woulda been easy for him to keep his distance and watch ya. Fuckin’ creep…” he growled.

“Did—did you ask him why he attacked me?”

Daryl sighed heavily and nodded, his eyes flickering between yours. “Yeah. But he ain’t talkin’. He told Negan some things though.” Daryl considered you for a moment before he went on. “Ya sure yer ready to hear all this?”

“Please,” you asked softly, and Daryl relented.

“Negan said after you were unconscious and Dante came in, he started attacking you. You came to and started fighting back but eventually—uhh…” Daryl was having a hard time recounting it because of the swell of emotions rising in him. He wanted to march back to the cell and end Dante with his bare hands every time he looked at your injuries. He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then went on. “You passed out again. Negan somehow got his attention and he let go of you. Negan said he talked his way out of the cell. Guess I dun disbelieve that. Fucker always could fuckin’ talk. Gettin’ him to shut up is the problem.”

You let out a small laugh and smiled at that, and Daryl’s worry eased a little. “True,” you agreed.

“Then, he waited for an opportunity and—it was over. After he got Dante into the cell and locked up, he came runnin’ out on the street yellin’ for help with you in his arms.” Daryl hung his head for a moment and had to steel himself as he remembered the scene. “Fuck, for a second I thought ya were—we all thought—”

You squeezed Daryl’s hand and he looked back up at you and his expression relaxed. “What did he tell Negan about why?”

Daryl shook his head. “He said, basically, he wants Alexandria destroyed. He picked you because yer on the council. It coulda been any of us. But why he wants Alexandria gone? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. It ain’t happenin’.”

There was a thick pause as you turned over this information in your mind and you finally sighed and looked back up at Daryl. “Negan saved my life,” you said.

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. He did. For once, ‘m glad Negan was around. And I never thought I’d say that.”

You nodded and gave Daryl a weary smile. “I noticed you didn’t have him handcuffed or anything,” you said with some surprise.

“He ain’t goin’ anywhere. He’s refused to leave ya for a second. Bit annoyin’ actually… when I was tryin’ to question him. But there’s a guard at the door to the clinic. Ain’t nobody gettin’ in, and Negan ain’t gettin’ out.”

“What’s going to happen to Dante now?” you asked, a flush of anxiety washing over you like a dunk into hot water.

“Dun worry about that. Just rest. We’ll sort everything out when yer on yer feet, alrigh’? Ya sure ya dun need anything?” Daryl could see that you were fading toward sleep again. You shook your head. “Alright. If ya need somethin’, just holler, okay? I’m gonna be just down the hall talkin’ to Siddiq and Michonne.” You agreed and Daryl whistled. “Hey! Negan!” Negan appeared in the doorway looking anxious, but Daryl only tilted his head back toward the empty chair at your side and stood up. “Yer back on duty,” he drawled. He fixed a long stare on Negan as he made his way around your bed and sunk down in the chair again, but there was no tension in it for once. In fact, Daryl was almost looking at him with something like respect. Almost. Daryl took his leave.

Negan laced his fingers together and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes were searching your face and you stared back at him through bright eyes with heavy lids. “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Am I still on Daryl’s shit list?” he joked, cocking an eyebrow up.

You laughed a little. “I think you will always be on Daryl’s shit list, Negan.”

He reached for your hand, his eyes still smiling at the corners. “Am I on your shit list, Y/N?” he asked softly, closing your hand in his so gently you thought you were imagining it at first, but you looked down at the contact between the two of you and saw your skin against his. It felt surprisingly right, easy.

Your voice was raw and strained, but your answer brought a wider smile to Negan’s face. “No.”

“Thank fuckin’ God,” he said, and then he did something you didn’t expect and he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the gentle curve of the back of your fingers. “Sleep now, doll. I’ll be right here.”

You shut your eyes and drifted off.

#Protective!Negan #negan smith #negan imagines #negan drabbles #wicked wednesday #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan x y/n #negan fics #the walking dead #negan twd

205 notes · View notes