#I am unable to reply concisely | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gangplanksorenji · 4 months ago

Text

TRIUMPH.

Pairing: IVE’s Wonyoung x Male Reader

Word Count: 5,891

A/N: Hello Orenjideul! This was just a quick fic I worked around just because of this Wonyoung look that got me on my knees. Hope you enjoy reading this one and one thing, lips.

--------------------------------------

--------------------------------------

Let’s be clear and concise, once and for all, she’s a slut.

She knows she is one, and you do, too. The world isn’t ready for who she really is, and she knows it—again, you know it too.

All is mutual with the Jang Wonyoung, because behind that chic and angelic beauty of hers that breaks standards and defies expectations, is a mask worth commending.

A mask that’s something worth concealing, only for your eyes to see.

“Please.” Wonyoung pleads, a mere attempt for you to attend to such necessities of a princess like her. Even if she’s truly one, she needs to practice something worth mentioning—patience.

Even if it’s not in her vocabulary, you’ll mark it in her own dictionary, even if it takes you thousands and thousands of tries just to make a dent, to imprint it in her brain once and for all. “You have to wait, dear.”

“No.”

“No?” Confused and dazed, a sudden reply to such an immediate remark is the balance.

You hate the temptation within you, not falling for the very thing you are destined to destroy. The false confidence in you would say your words can change her, Wonyoung acquiesced within your lips’ breath but you’re dreaming too much.

Herself fails you, but not to the point where you’re bound to really fail because soon enough, she’ll regret this.

Wonyoung grabs your wrist, an action worth perplexing yet disregarding it is the last straw as always. “Have some composure—aren’t you supposed to be with your friends? Yujin? Rei?”

“Am I?” This pretentious brat is really getting on your nerves. Ignorance is bliss at her end but you know it isn’t, her obliviousness and mere encouragement of being true. “Feels like I shouldn’t be.”

God, what made her to possibly be like this?

If the both of you are just alone together, you could have easily stripped that clothing away from her and fucked her tight cunt through and thorough, making her learn her lesson for hours but no, she’s testing you.

As much as you want your tone to be as cordial and soft as possible, it just provokes Wonyoung’s hubris towards the roof, knowing deep inside you’ll break like a dam.

“Don’t you really care, hm, Wonyoung?”

“Your cock or them?”

It’s funny how she’s still standing composed with her two feet, all thanks to you and your discipline.

You know Wonyoung couldn’t help herself at this moment, lost in the trance whenever your presence permeates with hers. Even with all of her suggestive invitations, comes a quick smirk from you or total neglect, and she hates it and you love seeing it. Knowing her attempts are futile, her last resort is going to be something unhinged that really unleashes the perfected craft of brattiness, and you’re ready for it—you just know she’s going to do it, knowing her too well.

Her question falls audible in your ears, knowing damn well it levels up the pent up exasperation towards her, and now, you’re being vocal about it. “If you think I’m going to fuck you here, think again.”

“So you’re going to fuck me?” It's the umpteenth time of her obliviousness, and you can’t just bear to play with her anymore, not when you’re going to just hear the inviting pleas that will make your ear bleed with lust.

She may think you’re a hypocrite with a feeble mind that’s unable to commit what your heart is telling you, a man not worthy for her and that possibly breaks you apart when she’s talking about your ego. You have your own tricks up your sleeves to play against, knowing how she can’t possibly live a week without your length rearranging her guts or a taste of such excellent succulence—each party has their own kryptonite, a condition that shuts both your mouths up.

If this is the case, then you’re winning by a large margin, and you’re going to be confident with that.

“Yes, you fucking slut—but not here.”

You’re getting fed up, and that curls a smile up her lips as she stops you, arms enveloping yours as she looks at you with those orbs glistening with lust and that look that brings you down to your knees—a look pleading to fulfill her needs, and you’re on your wit’s fucking end to give in.

“Please, come on, I need it—need you, daddy.” Of course, she grooms you with a name that defines your discipline, a temptation worth giving in and the commitment that’s worth the try—it’s a simple word yet it enables something within you, and Wonyoung knows how close you are to breaking.

You sigh, a nuanced breath that allows Wonyoung’s thoughts to run deep, thinking of ways that could bring herself the victory she deserves (that’s for her). “Don’t call me that.”

“What do you mean, daddy?” Another one, another fucking one and the thread that’s preventing you from falling apart from composure is getting weaker, and clearly, you’re not going to last long with her enabling words that fucks you up.

In all gravitas, you’re going to make her regret what damage she’s doing, and you’ll mark your damn words.

“You call—Wonyoung, just stop, it’s not going to work.”

“What’s not going to work, daddy?” The foreplay of words is astonishing, to say the least, her choice of words clearly a mirror of who she really is, herself and the other side of her craft. Wonyoung grabs you again by the wrist, her eyes glimmering with her only motive towards you, and at this point, it’s effortless to ignore her and her sexual pleas.

She yelps when you turn the tables around, pinning her onto the wall with her wrists gripped, making her paint that anxious face that curled up that cockiness in you. “I’m going to tell you this now, Wonyoung—you don’t really know how to wait, huh?”

Wonyoung’s lips quivers, tensed with the beast inside you unshackled and ready to pounce onto its prey ruthless, not without playing with it and that’s exactly your motive right now–-you will let her know why you own her and why such virtue should be applied on her, and you’ll make sure she’s going to learn her lesson from now on.

“Are you really this much of a slut? Can’t wait before we go home to fuck your brains out?”

Wonyoung shuts herself, her eyes in contact with yours as you hiss. “Fucking answer me!”

“Ow—it hurts, daddy!” The attempt was deemed futile, as she smiles towards you knowing she's going to be treated like how a princess deserves, equivocally, of course.

“Answer my damn question, Wonyoung.” Your tone is stern, demanding for an answer from a girl that’s bound to be compliant soon.

“Sorry, d-daddy��can’t help it when I’m around you.” You know she can’t and you know for yourself that you can’t either, not when she looks like the most ruinable girl on the planet, and no one is even close.

The twintails and that smokey makeup that perfectly accentuates her beauty is just phenomenally worth an eye-candy, not to mention her outfit that really exudes the right amount of sexiness, enough to rile you up even more, skyrocketing up to the roof.

At this point, you need her as much as she needs you, and you’re going to make sure you’ll let her know that through the acts you’re going to commit, all under your own authority.

She gasps with a harsh slap on her thighs as it is the start of the given commitment, the flesh echoing around the empty corridors was enough to let her know how you lack frivolity in these situations. “You know you messed up, right?”

“Daddy—can you just—ow, fuck…” Another slap was brought, the skin now painting a reddish hue due to how those slaps really define the sadistic fetish in you. It was another warning from her, as compliance is the best key to really satisfy you as again, she’s in no authority to retaliate, expecting to oblige every command you let out and every question your lips muster.

“From now on, fucking answer my questions or I’m going to make you drip in your panties and leave it like that—- you don’t want that, don’t you?” Your touch really sends her towards the everlasting plane of sensitivity, making her moan as you get nearer your prize yet you won’t need to do that, not when she answers with sincerity.

“N-no, daddy…”

“Are you going to follow everything I say from now on?”

“Daddy—ow!” Truly (also, frustrating), your words really don't penetrate down Wonyoung’s thick skull, her stubbornness in an all time high as another smack resonates, bringing the pain that’s possibly enough to elicit an answer from her.

“Answer me, Wonyoung.” Your eyes ignites with frustration, permeated with determination as Wonyoung fucked you up, and this is exactly her plan as soon as she’s with you and away from her friends.

“Y-yes…”

“Yes what?”

Wonyoung looks away from you, pouting as she knows her words are strong evidences inside your little game, and she can’t bear to just give in to your full control, knowing damn well that you’re going to torture her and delay her needs for god knows how long it will take you.

You know this is thing you want to be broken inside of her, and you do anything in your full power to make her be your obedient fucktoy, as that’s the best way to describe it.

“Wonyoung, you don’t want to play with me.” She can’t fight you, knowing well you’ll outpower her and knowing how much of a tough brat she is to tame, then you’ll consider measures weighing more than what she can take.

You know well that her ego is as strong and robust as her body—she won’t break apart as she’s the reason why you’re getting rougher these days.

“Answer me.”

Another attempt and she locks eyes with you, knowing there’s nothing she can do but give in.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good.” That genuinely painted a composed yet jovial expression from you, a countenance so sincere that it is contagious, making Wonyoung smile back towards you. “Let’s find an empty room and I’m going to fuck you until you see stars.”

Wonyoung broke you in a span of minutes, and that’s a victory worth a trophy—you played under her game, but you won’t let it slide, making a name for yourself for what’s about to happen to the both of you.

---

It was an easy task and Wonyoung is just ready at this point that you can’t care to check for possible things that can expose you and Wonyoung for the sinful things the both of you will indulge in.

Wonyoung’s phone buzzes, and you view the notification before she does, and she just pouts knowing she can’t do anything.

“Wow, even Yujin’s more mature than you now, huh, Wony? What’s this—it was a fun one out there, I’ll meet you later with Gaeul-unnie and Rei again—oh look, yeah, I’m not supposed to be fucking you.” You didn’t make that up, it was a genuine text from Yujin even though it’s something you would do just to tease her and make her annoyed.

“Daddy—you need to fuck me now! Yujin can wait—oh, fuck!” Your fingers tease her cunt, already dripping with her nectar. She spreads her legs apart as she raises her head high, moans reverberating around the puny room that can’t possibly shake the lewd sounds she makes.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t be fucking you yet here we are.” Your words made Wonyoung look into your eyes again, pouting as it invites you to really fulfill her needs. You inch closer towards her, and knowing how there’s still something human inside you, you want to feel and taste her, lips colliding as you lift her chin up and god, her lips are scrumptious.

You exchange torrid kisses with Wonyoung, a profound fervor laced in each second as it got sloppier to the point that you need to pull out, knowing that’s not the reason why this mess unfolds in the first place.

“Get on your knees, Wonyoung.” It’s a sudden command with an expected immediate compliance and to your surprise, she does what she is told to do, knowing that her stubbornness won’t reach any places.

That look she gives you when the cold floor meets her knees with a thud—oh god, it’s alluring and inviting as fuck, a countenance ready to be ruined.

“Good girl.” Oh, of course, the numerous praises should be a priority, knowing how it really riles her up and elevates her skills by a meter.

“Can’t wait to suck this delicious cock, daddy—fuck, it’s so hard already!” Wonyoung is just enthralled for what reward she would receive, and your hardness just strokes herself to think that it’s always her that makes you feel like this—that’s not entirely true yet Wonyoung is the ultimate reason, the epitome of invitation and indulging into the temptation.

It’s like you have her on autopilot, already ahead and perceiving the series events that will unfold—she has her dainty, modelesque fingers up on your belt, unbuckling it swiftly as her eyes on the prize shackled behind the frustrating fabric.

“Your cock must be aching down here, daddy, no?” It’s rhetorical at this point, and you can’t care enough to articulate an answer, knowing how frustrating her leisure pace is making you.

“Just undress me and suck me off, brat.” Wonyoung laughs at your despair as she quickly does what she’s told to, your pants down to your ankles and without any hesitation, your boxers in the same boat as you pants. Wonyoung fucking drools all over your length as it sprung free from its clothed restraints, an immediate envelop of her finger around the base elicits the finest nigh-inaudible moan from your lips.

Wonyoung doesn’t waste her precious seconds, she never do as it’s evident, her lips wrapped around the red-purplish crown and suckled onto it like it’s candy—she always sucks you off like somebody’s going to steal your cock away from her. Wonyoung doing everything in her power to pleasure you, even in different techniques is an unmatched experience of euphoria, and that alone is commendable and is one of the reasons on why you adore her.

“Keep doing that—god, your lips are really made for my cock.”

“Of course, daddy—don’t forget my throat too—actually, my holes are made for you.” Wonyoung doesn’t shut up about that, knowing how well-deserved she is every time you use her and she’ll brag about how she is worthy for you.

“Just shut up and do what you’re best at, princess.”

Wonyoung is eager and the trifecta of bliss really lives up into her masterclass: she leaves no inch unsheathed with her saliva, her tongue rapidly working and the warmth permeated around your shaft thanks to her mouth—god, she’s perfectly slutty and talented, and it’s just her lips to start off the show.

Both you hands gain the leverage to fight your battles—yours gripping those twintails as an outlet to the finest gratification coursing within you, and Wonyoung grabbing your hips to pull you closer, and herself delving deeper in the process. The amalgam of tears and her makeup starts, rivulets running down her cheek perfectly captures the “lustful pulchritude” as you call it—in the shorter terms, it’s where her face just gets fucked up due to herself testing her own limits.

You admire it, honestly, but eventually, she inevitably gags and she fights it.

She despises the fact that she isn’t able to take anything that can ruin her worthiness, wrestling to fight the reflex of pulling out. Seconds pass by and she looks strong but then, gives in to her defeat.

“Don’t take things you can’t, Wonyoung—take it easy.”

“Daddy, I can—watch me, please.” You’re all eyes with moderate expectations for what she’s about to do, and god, what a sight it is.

Wonyoung is taking you all in, mouth kissing your base as she stays there for seconds before bobbing into your succulent shaft rapidly, earning herself the rewards of her oral expertise—your moans, shuddering and a reply to the pleasure she brings.

Well, it seems like she was playing with you earlier, her tongue swirling around your length effortlesslt and taking all of you in every bob she does—you’ll dismiss the fact that she’s still gagging around your length, her attemps of hiding the supression of the inevitable, knowing how you’re pretending to be oblivious about it will make her feel hubristic and complacent.

You won’t lie knowing your mouth can only spew the truth, barrage of compliments that follows every other bob, whether verbal or just indistinguishable sounds—with an angelic mouth like hers, a lie is a mere attempt of dismissal of such a gift.

“Your mouth, Wonyoung—holy shit, keep doing that.” She does what she’s told to, bottoming you out even if it’s just one of those mindless cries of pleasure that’s masked as a command. You tug her hair harder and reply with a pace unmatchable, a mess all over her chin and the continuous seeping of her drool on her crevices that signifies insatiability. She slobbers all over the hard muscle, ebullient and voracious, all in the name of pleasuring you and satisfying her needs.

“God, I love your cock so much, daddy—thank you so—fucking—much!” Her lips pucker onto the leaking tip, every word emphasizes a kiss onto the head that just uttered the best moans she could possibly hear. Her constant kisses resonate around your ears, a pandemonium of lustful actions that defines hunger as she resumes her bobbing that’s just an immaculate experience.

Kiss, bob, swirl, slurp, look, repeat, ditto—it’s a pattern that hypnotizes you, the brunette, twintail slut blurs your vision down to the heightened focus of her head and her head only.

Her shine is approaching is dullness, her authority to slobber all around your length being hindered knowing you have other plans on ruining herx starting on her throat.

“Stop, Wonyoung.” She continues a little more, greed being her worst enemy as seconds later, there’s no other option but to obey you.

“What's wrong, daddy? Did I do a bad job?” She must be crazy to think that, that Wonyoung-ego-favored-opinion aside.

She’s nowhere near atrocious, you just need something to occupy yourself and work your muscles up.

“Princess, you did not.” You cup her cheek, then advance your thumb towards those lips of hers, playing with the saliva that ruined such beauty and reassured her. “In fact, you’re amazing—I just need to use your damn throat.”

Of course you do, because since the start of this session, you’re dying to fill up the missing piece that makes her complete, everything satisfied and dismissing the deficiency.

The sudden upheaval didn’t faze nor bother Wonyoung, aware to the fact that you are in full control, not her—you don’t care if you’ll satisfy Wonyoung’s needs more than what she can take or the inadequate fulfillment, because you seek to discover more of what can gratify you.

“Oh, daddy—but will you fuck me after?” That is something that you should assess, ignoring her question with a distraction in mind and an action she can’t retaliate to follow up the question—lodge her throat with your cock, where it truly belongs.

“Shut up and take this cock, Wonyoung.” You reclaim full control, a tug on her twintails is where you lost it, enough to state the obvious—this is what you need to do, fulfill your destiny and claim your prize.

She’s a ruined mess, and you’ll add more to what she made you to be.

You elicit a grunt as you bury your cock deep in the slutty throat of hers, letting her choke on it as it’s evident between each reflex, fighting its way to let you know she can take it all, no matter what hindrance may cost. It didn’t take long before you resumed your profound thrusts, making her bawl and ruin that makeup that perfectly accentuated her intimidating yet glamorous look—it feels like she did that just for you to ruin and cherish, and that’s exactly what’s happening.

You let go, an ounce of mercy shown within seconds as she gasps for air and smiles with your roughness. “Daddy—ugh, p-please—I can t-take more, I can take mor—”

There’s no outlet for her to recover, playing with the risk of asphyxiation that Wonyoung wouldn’t mind, knowing how much she favors herself choking all over your length slamming down her throat. Your pace stays the same as before, moderate yet striking in every oscillation of your hips, making her close her eyes every time your tip hits the back of her throat. Her hands grab your butt, pulling you closer as her nails dig deeper due to the harshness you ensue, and if you didn’t care as you’re selfish to fulfill your own pleasure. You maneuver your hands to grip onto those perfectly-tied twintails harder, mustering the harshest of thrusts possible, the crevices of her mouth an evident mess with the saliva that seeps out of it and eventually, you pull out to admire the sullied work you’ve done.

“Hah—hah, daddy, god—I want more of this, please—more!” She never shut up as soon as she gets to talk, ultimately begging for you and nothing else. Those pleads of hers are always getting answered knowing that’s bound to happen due to the nature of the room, an atmospheric lustful session between the both of you.

You’re always in awe with how soft her lips can be and how her throat feels the best, maybe even rivaling the tightness her cunt brings. Those luscious, plump lips really know its purpose, and she always display her true intentions, a gift no one one can rival and a talent worth mentioning, albeit great but needs more polishing—you’ll dismiss the bias and the gratification that fucks up the way you’re composing a verdict, she can improve her techniques but damn, she really is a talented person after all.

She bobs in tandem with your thrusts, not giving a care if it messes her outfit that’s tantamount with her face, an aftermath for the sinful things the both of you have done with Wonyoung’s mouth as the primary medium of the scene. Eventually, her gag reflex gets tamed, allowing to be rougher than before and so you did, mustering a velocity from your hips that defies her expectations.

At this point, she’ll crumble but she remains robust, determined to take whatever you want her to take, even if it’s over her limits—it’s all about trust and discovery between the both of you, experimenting onto something that piques your curiosity or fulfilling what the other one needs. Her muffled gurgles and inaudible murmurs throughout every thrust you do are protests against her incapabilities to take everything and the satisfaction you bring towards her. With your roughness and the mess you’re indulging her into, you can’t help but think if you’re going off the line, a rivaled thought that lingers within you as you’re treating her way too belligerent.

She doesn’t object to your actions, even encouraging you to do so and at the end of the day, she’ll be ruined no matter what, and this is just the start of a supposedly spectacular show of lust.

“God, Wony—you know how great your throat fucking feels? Oh fuck—it’s s-so good—I can really fuck your face all day, baby.” It’s unhinged, raw and honest, and that permeates that genuine scintillation of her eyes, full of satisfaction and the anticipation of what you can say, hopes to stroke herself and that ego.

She smiles even with your unstoppable thrusts, and eventually, got to see it whole with a sudden action, giving her a breather and to give yourself some space to prolong the pleasure and delay the impending end of such an introduction.

Then, an idea clicks within those muscles of your brain, something that isn’t new to Wonyoung but unfamiliar as an experience.

Your belt and her wrists, the connections stated the obvious, hinting a way to dance with creative art of lust.

“Hands behind your back, baby.” She complies immediately, turning her around to envelop her wrists with your leather belt, securing it right in place as her movements being hindered races a thought within you, and it’s a brilliant sight—the thought of Wonyoung being unable to use her hands to possibly retaliate, a vulnerable figure all for the taking, god, that’s just the chef’s kiss.

You bring her down to knees again and resume with one goal in your mind: to finish what she started.

Her throat fits like a sleeve in each thrust, bottoming out your entire length with gags alongside it too. Her being helpless sets up an ante with the challenge, forcing more effort onto fucking that mouth of hers that’s just begging you blow it all inside it, paint it all white.

Wonyoung begs for it too, eyes yearning towards her favor to taste it all and you can see it in those eyes of hers, even if she doesn’t need to utter a word on where she wants you to finish.

Your relentless pace resumes, handling and using her throat like it’s one of her tightest holes imaginable, a pleasurable outlet to release everything. You pinch her nose alongside every thrust or four, making her choke all over your length, where her cheeks flush redder than before, desperately gasping for air but is unable to due to you. The obscenity looks like an endless scene, feeling like everything is slowing down as the only things that clouds your mind is warmth of her mouth and the urge to ruin her throat.

She takes it all, the aftermath evident as her face is apparently ruined, chin dripping with her drool and onto the woolly top that perfectly compliments her styling, now being drenched and deemed to be useless yet again. You constantly pull out to let her catch her breath, give her seconds to recover and plunge it all in her throat while maintaining the vice grip on her, a cycle on-repeat. At this given moment, she’s a vulnerable cocksleeve for you to be satisfied, and she’s no less a slut that can’t do anything but comply to you—you’ve broken each other, and it just took a bratty tease from her and a merciless facefucking from you.

“Daddy—gah, a-are you gonna cum? Please, daddy, spill it down—hah, down in my throat—down in my throa—glfh!”

“Shut up and take me in like you always do.” Wonyoung looks up at you as you plunge your cock down those familiar walls, her eyes full of glint, begging due to the numerous chokes she’d done and her makeup now a mere mark for what is once was, a pulchritudinous sight that’s meant to be sullied. “You don’t tell me where I want to cum—I decide where it should be and you don’t deserve a load down your throat.”

You lean, hindering your thrusts as you keep your length where it belongs, her mouth agape and eyes fixated towards you. “Brats and greedy sluts like you don’t deserve to swallow.”

Oh. It’s funny to think that she could be rewarded in her favor, despite her utter compliance. You’d love to make her choke onto your dick while you deposit every spurt of cum down her throat but no, there’s no room for that and she should know her lesson well after this.

With a statement worth digesting, it’s clear at that point that any plea she wishes to do will bound to fail, and so she just lived with the punishment, but still a reward considering she loves what’s coming next.

Your thrusts are ephemeral, short-lived knowing that you should conclude this act in a great fashion. You pull out, letting her catch more oxygen which she is depraved of as she shifts onto that familiar face that signifies that she’s ready for what’s about to come—tongue out, eyes closed, and lips quivering, it’s just the perfect recipe for something worth a try.

“Then paint my face, daddy—please, please! All on my face—you hot cum all over me—” Her words just draw you closer, as you stroke yourself to the lewd sight of her face and knowing the reservoir is breaking loose sooner, it’s time for her to take it all.

You tug her hair to point your tip onto such a beautiful mess and there you do, shooting ropes and ropes of cum onto that deserving visage, covering the pivotal parts that’s needed to be coated of—her nose, forehead, cheeks, and most importantly, the culprit of all these sinful matters, her lips. She moans through warm spurts she becomes blessed with, a with more lewd sounds elevates your experience, grunting with the orgasmic trance you’re now indulging into that’s lasting longer than what you expected, possibly Wonyoung playing a big part on that and you thank her about it.

“Daddy, it’s so warm—oh, so much for me. Thank you so much, daddy.” Wonyoung coos, admiring the reward, a deserving fruit of her labor as her eyes tells stories worth mentioning, all to mention how much she’s thankful for giving her what she truly needs, even if it’s not in the way she wanted it to be.

Looks like she hasn’t learnt her lesson, taking the opportunity whenever the time comes as she takes advantage of it.

“Wonyoung, no—not yet, I’m pretty sensitive.”

“But don’t you want me to clean you up? Clean me up too and let me taste your delicious cum?” Her choices of words truly tests your temptation, and you can’t ignore that, letting her have the liberty to do her own post-show endeavors.

You hand your throbbing, still rock-hard length and scooped dollops of semen that’s all over her cheeks and forehead, letting her suck the tip and savoring the taste of such delicacy, as she calls it. She hums in satisfaction through each bob, and that almost makes your legs fail, the dynamic of the sensitivity of your head and the pleasure her mouth brings being a wonderful treasure you’ll be selfish about. She licks all over your length, tasting each inch of succulence and satisfaction alongside with swirls that’s just the cherry on top. You hold her chin and tug on her hair lighter now, an outlet to fight with the dynamic of gratification and the reassurance on how much you’re loving the way she blows you. She’s in a hurry, mostly, a little off sometimes yet you thank her absolutely for letting her mouth be used for your pleasure.

The satisfaction paints her face and that makes you smile, letting her do where she’s best at for more seconds until you stop, senses coming back heightened as you realize the both of you are in no place to sin.

“You’re not going to fuck me anymore, daddy?”

“Wonyoung.” You help her stand up, wiping her face with the tissue on her bag as you pretend to be in disbelief (half of you says you are, and the half of you says you’re just cautious) which earns from hers. “We’re still in public—we’ll do it once we get into your place.”

Again and thankfully, Wonyougn didn’t utter a word nor became stubborn and complied with you, having a semblance of hope that you’re taming her.

Maybe you aren’t and she’s still riding with the flow, but who knows? The final test will be held later and with that, you’ll assess and observe if you really made a blow and a change on Wonyoung.

---

Of course, Yujin knows what the both of you have done when the both of you are together, knowing how much Wonyoung shares towards her and that alone, piques Yujin’s curiosity.

“You’re a madman, you know that? What if someone caught the both of you, no?” Yujin’s thoughtful remarks are heard through the phone, and you can only imagine how she’s taking this half-serious.

“I mean, she started teasing me and shit and how am I supposed to ignore that for minutes?”

“Still, I’m just scared for the both of you—like how the fuck you guys do your thing. I don’t really know with Wonyoung, most of the time—that girl just seems to be hornier nowadays.”

You laugh, agreeing with Yujin about the latter part. “Yeah, it’s crazy with that girl—by the way, did Wonyoung meet you yesterday?”

“Yeah, and she walked slower than usual, all thanks to you—haha!” The predicament starts, shaking your head with embarrassment and knowing how understanding Yujin can be, you’re reassured that she’s not taking things too much of a deal.

“I mean, she started it—”

“I know, I know—I know how much she can be like this—anyways, thanks for the treat yesterday! We really enjoyed it.”

That earns a smile on your face, Yujin’s genuine tone on the phone being the fuel that satisfies your happiness in a different way.

The both of you say your goodbyes and hang up, not before a dumb smile through the phone until it fades, a faint voice calling your name as it increases in volume as soon as the figure comes nearer.

“Yeah?”

“Who called you, Daddy?” Wonyoung rests her head onto your shoulder as you look at the metropolitan view, then catches your gaze towards her, feeling the contentment and joy through the days you’ve been with her.

“It’s just Yujin, baby—are we still going to watch the movie you want us to watch?”

She didn’t even doubt, nodding as her eyes sparkled with love and the excitement to bond with you these days. “Of course, daddy—maybe we could do something after it, too, if you want?”

You laugh with her invitation, and this time, it’s more soft and pouty, unlike yesterday. It’s genuinely hard to resist her with the look she’s giving and the fact that she’s Wonyoung, so without even thinking twice, you utter what will make her happy.

“If that’s what you want, baby.”

Wonyoung’s grin is such a sight to see, a genuine emotion that can cure any sadness. Knowing you’re still admiring the metropolitan nature around, she leaves you be, not without a hug and a kiss to show you how much the feelings are mutual.

You reminisce and laugh with how freaky and wholesome the days went, a dynamic that’s now a part of your life. You sigh as a ding in your phone distracts you, and being curious, you check on it only to be perplexed with what it is about and the most surprising part of it is how it’s out of the blue.

Unknown number at 18:55 - “Good evening. I hope this message gets to you. Apparently, there’s a suspicion between the possible happenings of the people in the school council. I wish you to be at this meeting that will take place in the university’s audio visual room, alongside the other members and the suspected culprits, this Saturday noon, just before the sunset.”

You’re just hoping it’s not the people you have in mind, and most certainly, not you and Wonyoung because your reputation will be besmirched in no time, and you can’t afford to let that happen.

Guess the both of you won, yet what can be the cost?

#ive smut #ive x male reader #wonyoung x male reader #wonyoung smut

1K notes · View notes

sewellsheart · 4 months ago

Text

Merciless Haze - Part 4/4

Summary: He turned back to face her, and as soon as Sophie saw what he was holding she was unable to shift her gaze. She removed herself from her sheets to sit on top of the quilt, eyes not once wavering from the blood bag in Nate’s hands. Her top lip twitched at the feeling of her fangs descending.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, minor blood play that might actually count as food play depending on how you look at it

Word Count: 7.3k (🫣)

Pairing: Nate Sewell x f! Detective (Sophie MacNamara)

Note: Y’all this is my first time writing smut, and on top of that it’s M/F smut. I’m a lesbian with no experience with cis men. So all I can say is: I definitely tried! (lowkey a little proud of it)

Tags: @agentnatesewell @nat-seal-well @itsmistyeyedbi

Read on AO3

The glow of the presentation screen was the only light in the Facility conference room. Sophie was seated towards the front of the ovular meeting table, listening intently to the lecture Elidor had prepared for her. She hadn’t been particularly keen to provide even more of her blood to the Agency, especially considering how poorly that had gone before. Elidor, however, was someone she trusted as an individual. He was methodical, concise, and trustworthy. She had approached him, asking if he would be interested in researching something for her and, more importantly, if he would be willing to keep it off the books.

He had been hesitant, Sophie had certainly understood why — she wasn’t one for breaking the rules herself — but upon hearing just what she wanted looked into, he had agreed. With the promise of disposing of it as soon as he concluded his research, Elidor had drawn five sizable vials of Sophie’s blood, used his high security to access samples of concentrated vampire venom, and set to work.

“I could survive it, then?”

“You could,” The fae replied. “But the circumstance would have to be just right, as well as the dosage.”

Sophie leaned back in her chair, “How would we go about measuring that?”

Elidor let out a lighthearted chuff, “There’s no ‘we’ here, Agent. After we walk out of this room, it’s all you.” His gold eyes met hers. “All I can determine here is that you’ll be walking a very fine line between death and immortality.”

Sophie sighed then pursed her lips. “Well, tell me what you found.”

Elidor tapped on his computer, displaying three different images of her, now very recognizable, blood cells. Using a pointer, he brought her attention to the left-most image.

“This is your blood straight out of the vial, nothing has been done to it. As I’m sure you can see, there’s already abnormalities.” Sophie nods. Elidor shifts his pointer to the second image. “This is your blood’s reaction to a dose of Turned Vampire venom.”

Sophie squinted at the screen, “I don’t see a reaction.”

“That would be because your macrophages ate all the infected cells before it could do anything.” Sophie opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by Elidor’s hand raising in a halt. “Let me continue, it makes more sense as we go,” His pointer shifted to the third image. “This is the reaction to Natural Vampire venom.”

Once again, Sophie’s well-trained eye was unable to stop a difference. “Am I immune to it, then?” She masked the disappointment in her voice, but it didn’t stop her heart from clenching in her chest.

“Not quite,” Elidor tapped his computer again, displaying a new slide with two more images. He once again indicated his pointer at the left image. “This is your blood when introduced to a double dose of Turned Vampire venom. Think of it as if you had been bitten by two Turned Vampires at the same time. Again, the same reaction, or rather a lack of one.”

He brought her attention to the second image in the lineup. This one, Sophie could see, was much different.

“This sample is where things change. I mixed one dose of Turned Vampire venom with one dose of Natural Vampire venom.” Elidor once again looked her in the eyes, a proud smirk on his face. “It worked.”

“It worked once.” Sophie replied blandly.

Elidor rolled his eyes. “Ever the pessimist, you. Have a little faith in me,” He clicked his computer once more, ten more images appeared. “I did eleven trials, there’s a ninety-point-nine percent success rate.”

“Elidor, I appreciate that you did more tests, but eleven is hardly a stable sample size, and there’s still a possibility that with this combination I wouldn’t turn.”

The fae stared at her, unimpressed. “Unless you plan on providing me with four more liters of your blood, this is the largest sample size I can provide,” he hesitates for a moment. “As for turning, I should rephrase. This venom mixture has a one-hundred percent success rate in turning you,” his pointer hit the eighth sample image, “this, though, is the problem.”

Sophie studied the image, it only took a glance to understand what had happened, but she wanted to know why it had. The image displayed the same altered red blood cells as the others, but this sample’s cells looked wilted and tired. The cells were dead.

“How long did it take?”

“For them to die? Four hours, but the signs were there by the two hour mark.”

Sophie nodded slowly, “Do you have a theory as to why?”

Elidor’s lips tightened, “My best guess is that the cells infected by the venom multiplied too quickly. In a turning, the cells infected by venom multiply exponentially. It essentially brute forces its way through the body,” He sat down in the chair across from Sophie, seeming a little lost in thought.

“You know well enough by now, turning is a painful process. I believe you’ve forgotten how dangerous it is though, Sophie. Plenty have died before reaching the ending stage,” Sophie looked back to the slide, willing it to reveal something more to her. There was nothing left to see though, just dead red blood cells, suffocated by the force of the venom that had contaminated it.

“I assume you didn’t bother with a double dose of Natural venom, then?” She prodded.

“I almost didn’t, but you’re as thorough as I am. I did one test,” the next slide appears on the screen, displaying a single image. The result didn’t shock her.

“How long did this one take?”

“It took significantly longer to actually kill all of the cells, the dying phase started earlier but was severely prolonged,” he grimaced, “I can only make the assumption that it would be a torturous death.”

“Turned Vampire venom effectively dilutes the Natural Venom, then?”

“In essence, yes. There’s a bit of a detachment between the two,” Elidor looked up at the ceiling in thought, “I’d have to get into the genetics of it, but to put it plainly, there’s just certain aspects of being a natural vampire that can’t be replicated in a human vessel. Turning changes a lot about a person, but it can’t change too much without killing the afflicted individual.”

“I suppose there’s not much of a point in having the ability to turn people into vampires if it will only ever kill them,” Sophie rubbed her fingers against her temple and squeezed her eyes shut.

There was a long silence in the room, broken only by Elidor’s voice, the gentlest Sophie had ever heard it, “Are you sure you want to do this, Sophie?”

Sophie opened her eyes and sat up, looking him dead in the eye as she gave a stern nod.

Elidor replied with a few small, slow nods. “Well, you know what you need, now. What’s your plan?”

Sophie pursed her lips, “I suppose I’ll arrange something with Farah, see if she’s open to being involved. I doubt that Nate would have any objections to being-”

“I would strongly advise that you do not utilize Agent Sewell’s venom.”

That took Sophie aback some, “And why is that?”

“I can’t disclose any more than that, I’m afraid. Confidentiality, and all. You’ll have to discuss it with him,” he stood up, “Is there anything else I can help you with, Agent?”

Sophie, still mulling over Elidor’s comment, shook her head.

Elidor gave her one final nod before he disconnected his computer and plunged the room into darkness.

—————

“Sophie.”

Nate felt breathless. There she was, standing on her own two feet, alive despite everything she’d been through. Next to him was Adam and Elidor, a case of blood bags at their feet, but as soon as he looked into her deep green eyes, it felt like they were the only two in the room.

She looked unlike she ever had before, her face appeared gaunt, and her hair was unkempt and tangled. She had, what Nate could only assume, was her own blood running down her chin. Her fangs had descended, and the expression she donned was something very familiar to him. Hunger.

She remained as beautiful as ever.

She also had to return to her room before something of severe consequence occurred.

Nate approached her swiftly before she could take advantage of their surprise, grabbing her by the waist.

“Nate—”

“I’ll help her, Adam, don’t work yourself into a fuss. Let the others know to stay away,” He gave a pointed look at Elidor. “Especially you.”

Elidor nodded. “I’ll be back to check on her when she’s less… instinctual.”

“We would recommend it,” Adam replied.

As Elidor strode away, Nate felt Sophie’s abdomen tensing, like she was checking just how strong his grip on her was. Before, Nate wouldn’t have been the slightest bit concerned about his ability to hold her back. Now, he had no idea what she was capable of.

Though perhaps he didn’t have much to be concerned about, as Sophie seemed to be content to remain near to him. Nate had never seen a newborn vampire so calm before, he was almost concerned that there was something wrong.

Adam looked back to him, “Are you sure about this?”

“Completely.”

“We do not know the extent of her strength now.”

“There’s nothing she could do to me that I couldn’t heal from.”

He nodded, eyeing Sophie cautiously. Clearly, Nate hadn’t been the only one to notice her odd behavior. Adam picked up the blood case from the floor, pressing the handle into Nate’s free hand. Sophie didn’t even spare Adam a glance as he entered her space.

“Take the case, make sure she gets enough, but not too much. You know the protocol. I’ll inform the others,” He hesitated a moment before following the same path Elidor had just taken.

As soon as Adam’s back was turned, Nate pulled Sophie back into her bedroom, closing the heavy wooden door and locking it. The second he did so, Sophie fell into him, letting out a distressed hum. The sound made Nate’s chest ache. He guided her back to her bed, placing the case at the foot of it.

“Ya rouhi, mo chuisle,” He climbed onto her bed, still holding onto her, and settled them in the center. He made a mental note to change her bedsheets for her.

Sophie seemed intent on keeping her face buried in his neck, apparently fixated for one reason or another. He allowed her to relax into him as she continued to release gentle hums, which grew softer as he began to pet down her hair. Then he felt the warmth of her breath and the blunt press of the front of her fangs.

Ah.

Well, that wasn’t how he’d intended for this to go, but it certainly explained why her focus had only been centered on him. Vampires didn’t tend to take note of each other's scents while their blood was still in their body. Even outside of it, the potency was more noticeable than any possibly desirable scent. Nate couldn’t help but feel a little flattered.

Adam may have emphasized protocol, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t perturb him. Instinct wasn’t always a bad thing, and if her instincts were telling her to bite, he wouldn’t stop her.

“It’s alright, my love. You can.” He felt her open her mouth, one of those fresh fangs testing against the skin of his neck. Nate mentally braced himself for what would undoubtedly be an unpleasant feeling. Sophie was wholly instinct right now, she wouldn’t be able to release the pheromones to—

Oh. How wrong he was.

Nate wasn’t able to contain the pleased groan that left him as she sunk her teeth in. With each pull she made, he fell further into the feeling. A first feeding was usually a messy affair; ripped open blood bags, numerous stains, animalistic behavior— but here was Sophie, clasped onto his neck, one hand firmly gripping onto his back, the other pressed on his hip. Only Sophie, floating in a cloud of delirium, would be in so much control she would put effort into being considerate.

She was perfect, absolutely perfect for him. He would never meet someone like her again, and his all-consuming fear of losing her was diminishing. Just as he was about to gently coax her off, she retracted on her own.

Sophie raised her head from his neck to look at him. Some color had returned to her cheeks, her bright red hair adding to the glow. His blood was smeared over her teeth and lips, her fangs still out and Nate just now noticed that they were larger than average. He couldn’t have stopped the burn of arousal that ran through him if he tried, nor the descent of his own fangs. Nate took a rare, necessary breath to center himself. That reaction is something that could be explored later, preferably when he wasn’t responsible for the first feeding of the love of his life.

A first feeding that would have to wait, apparently, as Sophie was beginning to look less coherent by the second. He had forgotten just how much rest was necessary for a newborn vampire. He looked behind him and was reminded of the state of her bedsheets, mottled with blood and sweat stains.

Nate frowned, that wouldn’t do. Sophie had done nothing but suffer in the past ten days, the least he could do is provide her some basic comfort. He turned back to face her, the fatigue was dragging her body down, but she remained awake.

“Let’s get you over to the couch, mo ghrá,” Nate stood, then picked Sophie up from her place on the bed. He set her down on the couch tucked into the corner next to her bookshelf, ensuring she was comfortable before he left through her bathroom door.

He turned the faucet of the bath on, letting it run while he returned to Sophie’s bedroom to change her sheets. He made quick work of it, quickly stripping the bed of its beige sheets and well-loved quilt with dark green silk sheets and a quilt of his own, before returning to Sophie’s side.

Her eyes were closed, her chest completely still. Nate pursed his lips before brushing a few stray hairs from her face. Her chest jumped and she blinked her eyes open, apparently he caught her on the edge of sleep.

“I have a bath ready for you, love.”

Sophie once again hummed in answer.

Nate helped her move into a sitting position, pulling the oversized Agency-provided white gown she wore over her head before once again picking her up and taking her to the bathroom.

He set her in the pleasantly warm, still shallow water, placing a folded towel under her head for support before grabbing a washcloth. Lathering soap onto the cloth, he set to work gently cleaning Sophie’s tattooed skin. He couldn’t help but admire the work as he went, even as familiar as he was with it. He rinsed over the angel on her thigh, the bat on her sternum, the skeletal lovers on her forearm.

That piece was the newest addition, only a few months old, but it was quick to become his favorite. She never said it outright, but he knew she had used a candid photo Farah had taken of them on the balcony of her apartment as a reference. The position was exactly the same, Nate had been pressed behind her back, his head settled on her shoulder, his hands over her abdomen, her arms crossed over her chest.

He smiled at the memory as he finished cleaning her, rinsing the remaining soap away before pulling the drain plug. As the bath emptied, Nate gathered Sophie’s long hair and quickly braided it. It was loose and sloppy, but out of her face.

Sophie’s eyes had once again closed at some point, but the habitual rise and fall of her chest told Nate that she was still awake. With the bath empty, Nate gently patted her down with a dry towel before doing his best to wrap her in it, picking her up one final time to return her to her bed.

After placing her down onto the clean silk, he went over to her dresser, pulling out one of her oversized t-shirts and a pair of boyshorts. He quickly dressed her, surprised by the fact that she was still somewhat conscious and helping him do so. As soon as she was settled, Nate walked around the room, shutting off the lights, before undressing himself down to his boxers and joining her.

In the darkness, Nate watched as Sophie settled into a deep sleep. For the first time since her turning began, Nate felt tired, too.

—————

“No romantic life-altering decisions by the fireplace for you, then,” Farah sighed dejectedly. “Here I was, getting everything in order to create a trail of rose petals leading to Nate’s room and your immortal future.”

Sophie would’ve rolled her eyes if she had the energy for anything that wasn’t trying to figure all this out. She was lying on the long couch in the sitting area, her fingers ceaselessly tapping on the wooden frame.

“What time were they meant to be back?”

Farah looked over at the, rather regal looking, grandfather clock in the corner. “Twenty minutes ago,” She chirped.

Sophie let out a deep sigh, growing more impatient with every passing minute.

Farah gave her a quizzical look, “You don’t need to be worried about them, they’re just on patrol. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this anxious before.”

“It’s not anxiety.”

“You sure? ‘Cause it sure feels like it. It’s practically radiating into me.”

Sophie gave Farah a weary frown.

“Wow, you really are in a mood,” She chuckled, then looked towards the heavy wooden door of the living area. “They’re back now, I can hear them.”

Sophie pushed herself off of the couch and onto her feet, rushing out of the room and toward the warehouse entrance. Nate was mid-discussion with Adam and Morgan when Sophie approached them briskly, her full attention on Nate.

“Shit, what the hell did you do?” Morgan gave a deep chuckle, ignoring the disapproving look Adam gave her.

Before Nate could reply to the quip, Sophie grabbed his arm with urgency, but kept her voice soft. “I need to talk to you.”

Nate nodded at her, looking a little surprised by the gentleness of her tone, considering her approach. “Of course, lead the way.”

Sophie gave a quick nod of greeting to Adam and Morgan before leading Nate to his room. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Sophie turned towards Nate, and suddenly felt herself beginning to panic.

Farah had been right about the anxiety, then.

Nate’s brow creased in concern, his hands came up to rest on her shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. “What’s wrong?” His left hand came to caress her neck, his thumb gently brushing her jaw. “Did something happen?”

His touch brought Sophie back to herself, easing her pulse. The anxiety still buzzed, but the panic subsided. This was Nate. She could tell him anything.

“I had some blood tests done.”

Nate’s eyes widened at that. “What kind of tests?”

“I wanted to see how my blood would react to vampire venom. I had them run trials.”

“The Agency allowed a turning test? I’ve never heard of them giving that kind of approval,” he hesitated. “Especially not for someone they seem very keen on remaining human.”

“I didn’t give it to the Agency. I asked someone to do it for me, no documentation.”

“You what?” There was no anger in his voice, just surprise. He let out a gentle laugh, “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you disregard the rules.”

Sophie fixed him with a determined look. “I’m allowed to make decisions in my own life, and I’m allowed to be educated in those decisions,” She replied stubbornly.

“Yes, you are, absolutely, you are. What did you find out?”

Sophie heaved a sigh, “It’s going to be complex,” She thought about her next words carefully, Nate’s head titled in curiosity. “I was… advised that I should not use your venom.”

Nate leaned back a bit, his hands falling to Sophie’s arms. “That doesn’t surprise me, unfortunately.”

“Why?”

Nate worked his jaw in thought, “It would likely be too… unpredictable, is the word, I suppose. There’s many aspects of my abilities that I’ve had to learn to manage and control. My venom is not one I’ve ever had a need to keep in check. It’s very rare that the agency would allow a vampire under its employ to turn a human.”

“We may have a problem, then. I’ll need two of you, and one of them has to be Farah.”

Nate gazes at her warily, “I’m afraid I’ll need you to walk me through this.”

She does.

—————

When Sophie woke up, she found herself warm, clean, and comfortable for the first time in days. She opened her eyes, her head was resting on Nate’s bare chest, their legs intertwined.

Sophie nuzzled into Nate’s chest, taking a deep breath to take in his scent and—

Had Nate always smelled this good? She was accustomed to his spiced, earthy cologne but this was something entirely different. Lifting her head, Sophie looked up to find Nate’s deep brown eyes already focused on her.

“Good evening, my love,” He said, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“Evening?” She looked at her walk clock, 21:38. She couldn’t even remember the last time she was awake. Sophie looked back at Nate, who almost appeared startled with a wide-eyed expression. “Is… something wrong?” Her voice had certainly had better days.

Nate just gave a single stunned laugh. “I wasn’t expecting that you’d be able to respond, let alone be so coherent.”

Sophie cleared her throat, trying to rid it of the roughness as she turned to lie on her back. That was when the room started spinning. Sophie closed her eyes, pressing her hands over her eyes.

She felt Nate turn onto his side to place his hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. “Are you alright?”

Sophie gave a placating hum. “Dizzy,” she said, moving her hands to lay on her stomach.

Nate clicked his tongue, as if he were chastising himself. “I waited too long, but I wanted you to get some real rest,” He brushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear, “You must be hungry, let’s get you something filling.”

As he moved off of the bed, Sophie’s eyes followed him curiously. He walked over to a case sitting at the end of her bed, unzipping it. He turned back to face her, and as soon as Sophie saw what he was holding she was unable to shift her gaze. She removed herself from her sheets to sit on top of her quilt, eyes not once wavering from the blood bag in Nate’s hands. Her top lip twitched at the feeling of her fangs descending.

That sensation would take a while to get used to.

He climbed back onto the bed, and Sophie winced a bit at the realization that this was a less than preferable place to be doing this. “Not the breakfast in bed you’re accustomed to, is it?” Nate chuckled.

He presented the bag to Sophie, “No, not quite.” She replied as she raised it up to her mouth, giving a shy glance to Nate, before opening her mouth and letting her teeth sink into the bag.

Her brow furrowed for a moment, unsure what to expect, before it finally hit her tongue and she was able to relax into the relief. Even she was surprised by how quickly she took to it, like it has always been in her nature to drink human blood from a small silicone sack.

The effect was immediate, she could feel herself satiating a hunger that had been silently taunting her for days. Still, she maintained her resolve, not allowing herself to fall into an animalistic haze, though she could feel the urge creeping up her spine.

She hadn’t even realized that her eyes had closed in her focus. She reopened them to see Nate, a strained look on his face, watching her throat move as she drank. If her observation of his reaction gave her an idea, she couldn’t be blamed.

She was, previously, only human.

—————

Nate was once again baffled by Sophie’s self-control. He could count on one hand the number of first feedings he’d been witness to, and not one of them had been this calm. Even after coming to know her so intimately, she still managed to surprise him.

Nate found himself having to continually reinforce his own self-control as his eyes clung to the bobbing of her throat. His gaze lifted to find her looking at him with as much intensity as he felt, but there was something playful there too.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” Nate said with an amused smirk.

Sophie’s jaw loosened, allowing some of the contents of the bag to rush down her throat and slip out of her mouth. Nate’s hand rushed forward, catching the droplets before they could stain the quilt beneath them. His hand remained there as Sophie drank down the remainder of the bag. As Nate shifted to get her another, Sophie grabbed his hand and — before he could react — licked up his palm, gathering the small pool of blood into her mouth. She swallowed it down, her eyes unwavering in their attention on him.

“Nate,” Her voice still raspy from a lack of use. He couldn’t help but lean in and kiss her.

Sophie immediately began to run her fingers through his hair, it was down, just as she liked it to be. He hadn’t put it up once in these last ten days.

He moved to pull Sophie into his lap, desperate to be as close to her as possible. The taste of blood in her mouth alongside her familiar flavor had Nate’s head spinning and his own fangs dropping. He was struck with the realization that this was the first time he’d felt her mouth against his since that morning at the Facility. He hadn’t known then that that could have been the last time he kissed her.

Nate pulled back, kissing down her neck, tasting the blood that had dripped down her warm skin, “I could have lost you,” His voice broke, and he breathed in her scent to center himself, “I almost lost you.”

Sophie gently tugged his hair back, forcing him to look at her. As if he would be able to focus on anything that wasn’t her.

She kissed his forehead. “You didn’t.”

He felt his eyes sting as he pulled her back in, even closer, until they were chest to chest, their mouths working in sync. Sophie let out a soft, low moan, and that was the end of Nate’s patience for the day. He broke their kiss and shifted his hips, maneuvering Sophie onto her back so he was on top of her, his forearms framing her head, his body between her legs.

He looked down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her green eyes bright and aware. She no longer looked starved, the sharp lines of her pretty face not harsh, just defined. Just Sophie. Nate opened his mouth but found himself lost for words.

She smiled at his awe of her, and Nate noticed that her once slightly crowded front teeth and incisors were now perfectly straight. The scar that once ran through her right eyebrow from an “incident” when she was a child was now gone, the only indication of its existence being the beginnings of new hair growth. He couldn’t stop himself from brushing his hands over the bushels of flowers she had tattooed over her collarbones— she had always complained that they had healed poorly, leaving them raised. As his thumb traced the weaving flora, he felt nothing but the softness of her skin.

“What is it?”

Her question pulled him out of his study of her. “Your scars are gone,” he answered, a gentle smile gracing his lips as a bittersweet feeling ran through him.

“Ah, I had forgotten about that part,” she reached her hand up to caress his cheek, then guided him back down to her.

The brief break in their heated moment came to a quick end as their lips met again. Nate had to have her, he had to hold her and know she was okay, and alive, and herself. Sophie’s nails raked down his back as his hands slipped under her shirt, pushing it up her torso. He broke their kiss for a moment, encouraging her to lift herself so he could pull it off completely.

With her upper half fully exposed, Nate kissed down her neck, leaning on his left forearm as he squeezed her breast with his free hand. Every gasp she let out was another sign of life, an additional reminder that despite everything, she had survived.

Nate’s kisses lead him further down, over her left collarbone and breast before his mouth latched over her nipple, teasing it with his tongue.

“Nate!” Sophie’s hand tugged on his hair, pulling a low groan from him.

His free hand came up to pinch her right nipple before wandering down to where the band of her panties was snug against her hips. He released her breast from his mouth, giving a quick kiss to the hanging bat on her sternum before he encouraged her hips upward to pull off her last barrier. As her panties slid down her long legs, Nate wondered if she were taller now. He’d been too occupied when last they stood together to notice.

Sophie leaned up to tug down the band of his boxers, which were doing absolutely nothing to hide the evidence of his arousal. He adjusted his position to push the fabric off, then it was just him and Sophie — naked, together, and alive.

He leaned forward to kiss down her stomach, leading to the trimmed, coarse hair of her sex. Normally, this was when Nate would take his time to tease by nipping at her inner thighs, kissing everywhere except the place she needed him most. There was a time and place for those games, and now they had so much time. The games could wait.

Instead, Nate immediately licked at the wetness of her core, his tongue trailing upwards to gently flick at her clit. The choked gasp Sophie gave in response would be replaying in his head for days.

“God, Nate!”

The way she said his name when they were together like this was addictive, another hit of dopamine every time he heard it. He redoubled his efforts, wrapping his strong arms under her equally strong thighs and gripping her hips to pull her wet cunt against his mouth.

He knew exactly how she liked it, this was a well-practiced dance between them, but was never any less thrilling than that first time on that picnic blanket in the sunshine. His tongue circled around her clit again and again until it was firm and sensitive, then he sucked—

“Ah, fuck, Nathaniel—”

There it was, that was how he knew he was doing well. He continued his ministrations, Sophie’s moans and gasps only growing louder, especially as he pressed one of his long fingers into the wet heat of her cunt. He felt his cock twitch in interest at the feelings of her walls squeezing at his intrusion, a feeling that was only exacerbated with his addition of a second finger. He flexed his fingers, seeking to press up against that soft spot he’d come to know very well. Sophie’s thighs tightened around his head and he knew he had found it.

“Right there, yeah—hah—don’t stop—”

As if he would ever consider such a thing. He looked up her body to meet her eyes, the rich brown of a forest floor meeting the green of the pines above it, and watched as she came undone on his fingers and tongue. He worked her through her orgasm, not pulling away until it was clear she was beginning to get overstimulated. As he raised himself up from her heated center, Sophie grabbed his hand, still wet from her orgasm, and licked what remained off his fingers.

He was impossibly hard at this point, something Sophie had taken note of as she used her free hand to grip his straining length. Nate let out a groan, the pressure of her hand offering a desperately needed relief. Sophie’s thumb ran over his tip, spreading the pre-come that had gathered there over the rest of his length. Nate looked down their bodies to watch her work, her long, dainty fingers contrasting beautifully with the dark lettering on her knuckles. FARE was working his cock, WELL was still holding his wrist, though Sophie had since finished licking his fingers clean.

Sooner than he would have liked, Nate felt the familiar burn of his peak coming. He reached down to grab Sophie’s wrist, bringing her to a stop.

“Not yet,” His voice was breathy and desperate.

Sophie nodded, bringing both of her hands to feel their way up his chest, before putting one behind his neck to pull his face down to hers. Their mouths met once again, this time slower, but no less passionate. Nate’s still hard cock was resting on her pubic bone, catching Sophie’s attention.

Breaking their kiss, she quietly murmured to him, “Want you, please.”

How could Nate ever say no to a request like that? He leaned back, gripping himself by the base, before guiding his tip into her tight heat.

He would never get tired of the feeling of this. There was something so special about it, only with Sophie. She was closed off and stubborn— a result of a difficult upbringing and a clear lack of positivity in her life —but here, in the privacy of their coupling, she opened herself up in the most intimate way, and did so with such genuine love it made Nate’s heart ache.

He pushed in slowly, wanting to feel and cherish every moment of this. His gaze moved from where their bodies met to Sophie’s face, her mouth was open, letting out only small gasps, and her brow was furrowed in want. Again, their eyes met, this time as Nate bottomed out and Sophie let out a satisfied moan.

He waited a moment for her to nod, the way he always did, before he finally let himself go.

He created a steady pace, ensuring each stroke was long and deep, hitting all of the right places for her. Sophie’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her, until he felt every inch of their bodies moving together in tandem. God, it had been quite some time since they’d taken it slow like this, not having had the opportunity since Sophie moved into the warehouse full time.

He was lucky they were able to be together like this, lucky that she wasn’t six feet under, lucky that instead of hearing her death rattle he was hearing her beg him for more, beg him to touch her.

Nate let one of his hands slither down their bodies, his thumb finding her clit, stroking it in pace with his thrusts. He groaned as he felt her tighten around him in response, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Luckily for him, she clearly wasn’t going to be able to either.

“Oh Christ, Nathaniel, I- close, so close—“ Sophie let out a broken keen as she reached her second peak, her ankles locking together behind him, pulling him in further.

“Sophie,” was all he could manage to say as he came in response to her walls spasming around his length. He worked them both through it as he spilled inside of her, giving a few more shallow thrusts before coming to a stop.

Sophie’s legs unlocked behind him, dropping to his sides. He shifted, letting his softening cock slip out of her. If he pulled back to appreciate the sight of his spend dripping out of her, well, that was between them. Sophie was well aware of his proclivities; this one in particular they shared.

Nate rolled to his side, Sophie moving with him so they were left in a mirrored position of how they woke up. Her arm came up to rest on his chest, her hand holding onto the strong muscle of his shoulder. He looked down at her, his gaze softening at the sight of her satisfied smile. He brushed a lock of her wavy red hair from her cheek, his hasty braid from the night prior proving to be less than useful.

Even now, Nate was still surprised by how taken he was by her beauty.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Sophie’s hand moved to caress his stubbled jaw. “I missed you too. So much,” she hesitated a moment, but said nothing.

A heavy feeling swept over both of them.

“I’m sorry,” Nate broke the silence, “For how this went. It wasn’t what I wanted for you.”

Sophie gave a small shake of her head, “You don’t have a single thing to apologize for,” she stopped him before he could disagree. “Nate, this was always going to be a difficult process. There was nothing you could have done.”

Nate looked up at the ceiling, “No, I suppose there wasn’t,” he let out a sigh, “but you deserved something peaceful.”

Sophie gave a small, rare chuckle at that. “Considering the life I lead, I would have been shocked if I was able to achieve something as impossible as a peaceful turning,” She tapped his jaw, encouraging him to return his gaze to her. “Don’t linger on this, love. It’s done now.”

Nate let out a breath, “For that, I’m grateful.” He brought his hand up to her lips, letting his thumb pull down her bottom lip slightly. He couldn’t help but smile, “They suit you.”

Sophie huffed a laugh, “The fangs do?”

He nodded, “They’re rather long, they make quite a statement.”

“Well, I’m glad you like them.”

“I think I more than like them, ya rouhi,” he gave her a quick kiss before moving to sit up. “The fact that they’re still down, though, tells me that you’re still hungry.”

Even Sophie couldn’t deny that, and she wasn’t going to complain about getting to see Nate bare from behind while he went to get her another bag.

—————

“Aw man, I was hoping you’d be, like, seven feet tall!” Farah exclaimed from where she was splayed out on the antique couch.

“Thank fuck she’s not, the stares we’d get would be even worse.” Morgan said from the table she was sitting on in the corner.

That was the greeting Sophie received upon entering the meeting room of the Warehouse after twelve days. She wouldn’t have wanted any other kind.

Nate entered the room just after her, “Farah, no shoes on the couch, please.”

Farah rolled her eyes before over-dramatically tossing her legs off of the couch and getting onto her feet. In a flash of motion, she was in front of Sophie, grinning, the glow of sunshine spilling through the windows creating a halo around her. “So? Let’s see ‘em, Soph!”

Sophie grimaced at the nickname, but decided she would humor her this one time. Giving her a less-than-enthusiastic smile, she showed Farah her fangs.

“Woah,” Farah’s eyes widened, and even Morgan looked over curiously at her reaction. “Guess we know where your height went, those things are impressive.”

“Have you figured out what else you have going on?” Morgan asked her.

Sophie looked back at Nate, “There’s a lot we still need to figure out, but we have a few ideas.”

Nate nodded in agreement, his arm coming up to wrap around her shoulders, “It will take awhile for her to settle into her abilities enough for us to run tests.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Adam opening the door. The sight of her close friend was a welcome one; the last time she recalled seeing him was when she was wracked with fever in bed. Now, she was met with one of his rare smiles. “It is good to see you well and on your feet, Sophie.”

“That’s an understatement, I thought you were a goner for a second there,” Farah’s chuckle was quickly silenced by sharp glares from Nate and Adam.

“Relax, both of you,” Sophie said to the men at her side. She looked back at Farah, “In all fairness, I did too.”

“It was seriously scary there for a second, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with talking about that! Processing trauma and all, ya-da, ya-da. Looking on the bright side, though, I’m not the youngest vampire in the unit anymore, and Nate got his scary dog privileges back!”

“My what?” Nate said, looking a little baffled.

Sophie stared at Farah, thoroughly unamused.

“See, you’re already back in practice!” Farah pointed out, earning a snicker from Morgan.

“That is enough of that for the time being, we have a meeting starting within the hour.”

Farah groaned, “You’re no fun.”

As she turned to walk towards the meeting table, Sophie realized that the glow she had seen around Farah before was, in fact, not from the sunlight.

“Why are you gold?”

That had all of the vampires turning to look at her. Sophie turned her head to look at Nate, still with his arm over her shoulder, only to find him smiling at her in awe. Farah was back in front of her when she looked forward again.

“Are you… seeing my aura?” She looked positively enthralled by the idea, “Where are you seeing it?”

Sophie gestured vaguely around Farah’s head and shoulders.

“You are! You can see my aura!” She bounced back and forth on her feet, “Oh this is going to be so fun, I’ve never gotten to see someone figure out their abilities.”

“It is not usually under such pleasant circumstances,” Adam commented from the table.

“I’m kind of surprised you ended up with something so…” Farah seemed to chew over the word she was thinking of, “personal, I guess. You’re not exactly known for your people skills.”

Sophie wished she could disagree, but Farah was right.

“She’s a detective, Farah. Auras reveal important information about a person’s personality and mood.” Nate explained, but only received Farah’s blank stare in return. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Motive. It would help her determine motive and reliability.”

Sophie’s chin tilted up at that thought, “Why can’t I see yours, then?”

“You’re still settling into your abilities, I’m sure you’ll be able to see it in time.”

“Yeah, we’re not all as easy to pick up on as Farah,” Morgan commented from her corner.

“Oh, so I’m the easy one? News to me.” Farah playfully shot back.

Sophie, Nate, and Adam stood back as the other two began to bicker.

“There is much to learn about you yet again, Sophie,” Adam said, breaking their observation.

“Just when we thought we had it all figured out,” Nate chuckled, looking at her with no small amount of adoration. “What a journey this will be.”

Sophie gave a shy smile, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Nate kissed her forehead in response as Adam returned to his meeting preparations. Sophie wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him into an embrace, tucking her head into the side of his neck. They stood there for a moment, just holding each other in the comfort of the warehouse, surrounded by family.

“Thank you,” She whispered into Nate’s neck.

“For what?” He asked, his voice light and gentle.

“For giving me this.”

#she’s hereeeeeee 🤭#thank you all again so much for the encouragement and comments #it means the world #re: merciless haze #the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell #oc: sophie macnamara #my writing

13 notes · View notes

cavalierious-whim · 2 years ago

Text

Heel (NeuWrioLette)

Wriothesley gets to spank Neuvillette cause he's had a bad day. Part of 'by the strange pull'.

Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter, and here on Patreon!

“So good for me.”

Neuvillette jerks as Wriothesley’s hand presses against the curve of his spine. There is hesitation from them both as Neuvillette sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring. It isn’t fear. Gods, no. But there is a thrill there, a tendril of exhilaration that claws through his chest as his alpha perks in interest. A little teeth gnashing, a little bit of fight. A low growl bubbles from his throat, unable to be held back.

Wriothesley’s hand stills, thumbing digging into his spine to rub circles. “Is this still okay?” he asks. Not in judgment but genuine curiosity, a need to know. An out. He always gives him an out.

And despite the way that his instincts squirm, Neuvillette wants to see this through. “Yes.” A soft murmur as he tucks his face into the meat of Wriothesley’s thigh, spread over his lap, ass in the air. Mostly naked—from the waist down, his shirt rucked up above his hips.

Wriothesley is careful as he touches him. Soft, sweeping motions. Gentle. Intended to not spook. He knows the sorts of instincts that Neuvillette wrestles with which makes his submission all the sweeter. And Neuvillette wants to give into him. Wriothesley needs it that day; needs to unwind and let loose, to take pleasure in something that calms him. To gain back a shred of control after a taxing day of work.

The irony isn’t lost on either of them. Neuvillette is often amused that one alpha is soothed by the other because by all accounts it should be the opposite. But they’ve never been the standard—either of them. Their natures have always been contradictory to others but complimentary to themselves.

Wriothesley’s chambers are chilly. The air is damp and humid. The couch is utilitarian, unlike the posh fair found in Neuvillette’s home.

“We’ve never done this before,” murmurs Wriothesley. His hand is hot against his back, unwrapped, bare, searing hot against Neuvillette’s skin. A grounding weight. Already Neuvillette feels his alpha shrink underneath it, lulled by the way Wriothesley drags a thumb down every notch of his spine.

“I’m aware.”

“We don’t have to—”

“Wriothesley.” He doesn’t immediately answer. Neuvillette shifts, turning his face back to look at him. Wriothesley’s face is pinched, contemplative. He still smooths his thumb over his lower back, tracing the edges of each vertebra, as if he’s counting his words alongside each movement.

Neuvillette doesn’t smell distress. Hesitation, yes—but that is standard when they enter new territory. “Wriothesley,” says Neuvillette again, “do you need this?”

Wriothesley’s eyes meet his. “No.” An honest answer. That was something that Wriothesley always promised him—the truth. Even though he’s had a bad day, even though he’s wound tight and frustrated and just wants to let go; he can do that with cuddling, scenting, and a nice cup of tea.

But Neuvillette knows him. “Do you want this?”

Ah, there it is. A crack in Wriothesley’s composure. His nostrils flare. His eyes glint with mischief. He brushes his knuckles down the length of his back, palming over Neuvillette’s ass. Heat rises. Neuvillette’s alpha shifts, but in arousal, not disgust.

“Yes,” says Wriothesley.

Neuvillette smirks, the subtlest curve to his lips. “Then do your worst, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley’s eyes narrow at that. The tease never fails to land, which is why Neuvillette often abuses it. A surefire way to rile him up. Wriothesley’s fingertips dig into his asscheek, testing the give. “Safe word?”

Most would roll their eyes. Neuvillette does not. “Sigewenne,” he replies, clear and concise.

Wriothesley snorts. “Be serious.”

“I am.” Nothing would call their play to a stop quicker than crying out her name. Or Sedene—but Wriothesley is still annoyed that she dumped a pitcher of water on him when he last fell asleep on Neuvillette’s office couch. The levity works; Wriothesley relaxes, the tension easing from his form. “This is about you,” continues Neuvillette. “Do as you wish.”

“It’s…” Wriothesley finds himself tongue-tied. Thinking too much. Battling with those inner demons of his. Taking too long. Neuvillette didn’t think himself needy but growls in annoyance. That earns him a sharp pinch against his asscheek and a heated gaze from Wriothesley.

There it is. That resolve. That edge of alpha that makes Neuvillette’s blood sing, both in arousal and defiance. Wriothesley’s nails dig into the soft flesh of Neuvillette’s backside and he hisses, jerks, bucks slightly to pull away. But Wriothesley’s grip on him is too strong, holding Neuvillette firmly against his lap.

“Should I punish you?” he muses. And no, no, this isn’t punishment; he’s just teasing, which only makes the alpha in Neuvillette’s chest bristle in annoyance. Wriothesley hums, loosening his grip, thumbing over the red spots Neuvillette knows must be there.

“I do believe that it’s my job to dole out sentences,” says Neuvillette in a low purr.

“And if it’s you? Who doles out your sentences?”

Neuvillette’s chest burns, itching to fight back at the question. But he reels in those instincts and bites out, “No one.”

Wriothesley squeezes his asscheeks, spreading them slightly. Neuvillette shudders, feeling exposed and on edge. But pleasure curls, too, heat rising in his gut at the way Wriothesley stares and takes his fill. “Oh?”

“I am the law.”

Wriothesley’s expression shifts, his mouth curling into a feral grin. “You have no jurisdiction here—which was something you gifted to me.”

Neuvillette clicks his tongue. “And yet you don’t use it—”

A crack slices through the room. Neuvillette’s ass cheek burns, white-hot, aching in the wake of Wriothesley’s palm against it. He grunts, sinking forward, chest against his thighs. Ow. But then he groans as Wriothesley soothes out that twinge, kneading at the muscle.

Hesitating again. Gauging Neuvillette’s reaction. The space is thick with alpha pheromones and mildly tense. But it’s good. Gods, it’s— Neuvillette tilts his face, cheek against Wriothesley’s thigh as he inhales, drowning in the leather and tea scent that he’s come to crave.

His instincts flare. Claws dig into the meat of Neuvillette’s thigh—but that is it. He shifts, those fingers curling into the fabric instead.

Wriothesley’s thumb is gentle as it sweeps over the swell. “More?”

Yes, yes yes. Neuvillette lifts his hips and bites out an affirmative, which makes Wriothesley chuckle.

“Should I make you count?”

Neuvillette blinks at the thought. Oh. His knee-jerk impulse is to pull away but there’s something about the request. And the other part of his brain, that rational part, the part that’s laden and thick with lust—he wants that. There is power in giving up control and there is no one that he trusts aside from Wriothesley. A game of cat and mouse as they explore boundaries and to what lengths they can milk their vulnerability.

Want curls in Neuvillette’s gut. He’s about to reply when Wriothesley beats him to it. “Yeah, count them for me. I want to hear it.”

Another smack, this one against the other cheek, one that leaves stinging pulses. It burns through Neuvillette’s being, heat coiling in his core, winding tighter and tighter.

“One,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed as Wriothesley’s hand soothes the hit. His palm is cool against Neuvillette’s ass, light-handed and sweet—and then it lifts to lay another hit across the upper end of both cheeks. A fresh spot, one not yet marked red. Neuvillette moans, head tilting forward to rest against Wriothesley’s leg as he manages a breathy, “Two.”

His ass is hot. Rippling, stripes of pain pulse through his backside, setting his nerves alight. Neuvillette’s nostrils flare. Sensitive, so, so sensitive.

“Look at you,” murmurs Wriothesley, admiring the pink tint to his skin. Another strike, this one lower, against the underside of Neuvillette’s ass.

“Three,” he hisses, the word choked off. His cock twitches. He—he shouldn’t… This is for Wriothesley, for him to let loose some of that tightly coiled aggravation. And while Neuvillette didn’t think he’d be uninterested in such affairs, he underestimated how quickly he would rise to the equation. His cock hangs between his thighs, half-hard, aching as it slowly fills out.

Wriothesley sighs, his tone caught between awe and fondness. “You’re actually counting,” he says quietly.

Of course he is. It’s what he asked, for no? And even if Wriothelsey had been teasing, even if he didn’t actually expect it, the entire point of this is for Neuvillette to submit to his whims. The further their play wears on, the easier that becomes. He craves Wriothesley’s hands against his ass, the bite of his spanking, fingers sinking in and squeezing at his flesh.

Neuvillette could look at him; he could twist to the side and knows Wriothesley would look like a wreck if they locked gazes. The tension has melted away from his body. His touches turn sharp as he settles into his role, delighting in how Neuvillette squirms in his lap.

Two competing alphas, one at the mercy of the other. A rumble rolls through Neuvillette’s chest and he tamps it down—

But not before Wriothesley hears it.

He spanks him again, this hit against his right cheek, striking a place that is already tender. Neuvillette gasps, surprised at how the pain radiates, spreading from the center of impact, outwards. He throbs—both his ass and his cock.

The touch pulls back. Neuvillette chases it. The juxtaposition is too good, the mixture of pain and pleasure. His cock is fully hard now, heavy as it hangs, dripping from the tip. Neuvillette shifts, twisting just so, grinding his length against Wriothesley’s thigh without thinking about it.

“What’s this?” Wriothesley traces a finger down the smooth curve plane of Neuvillette’s perineum and the seam of his balls.

“I—” Neuvillette groans, legs spread and Wriothesley's arm slips between his thighs to drag a knuckle down his cock.

“Oh, you like this.”

“I—”

“Distracted. So desperate. Is that why you forgot to count that last one?”

Fuck, he didn’t—

“Four,” says Neuvillette. “Four—”

Wriothesley instantly relaxes, his hand falling away to cup his cheek. “Sweetheart.” The endearment curls annoyance in Neuvillette’s chest as his alpha snarls, but he sinks into it nonetheless, tilting his face to kiss Wriothesley’s palm. “I was just teasing. A little fun.” Wriothesley’s thumb traces his bottom lip. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

Neuvillette finally looks at him and finds Wriothesley watching back with a half-lidded, libidinous gaze. He’s just as affected. Arousal spices the air, and not just Neuvillette’s ocean-spray scent—no, the tang of lather and black tea lingers too.

“Do you want more?”

The expected question, the out that Neuvillette is always given if his alpha isn’t in the mood. Tension coils through him, hackles half-raised, claws tight around Wriothesley’s thighs. Neuvillette didn’t expect to be so affected by this but Wriothesley’s hand, firm against his ass, has him writhing in his lap beyond the point of no return.

“Please.”

Wriothesley’s throat bobs. “Fuck,” he curses. “You’ll be the death of me, won’t you?”

There are worse deaths to have. They both know it. Wriothesley squeezes Neuvillette’s cheek sweetly before his hand pulls away. “Come on, Sweetheart—”

“Wriothesley.”

A chuckle. “One day,” he says, combing through Neuvillette’s hair, mussing it.

Never, thinks Neuvillette, even though the name has grown on him. Even though he loves the soft and gentle way Wriothesley says it. Stripped bare as he lays out his intention. It’s quiet, how he does it. Underhanded. Subtle.

But Neuvillette is no fool.

Wriothesley’s thumb dips into the cleft of Neuvillette’s ass, pressing against his hole. Rage flutters through him—just for a second. The gnashing of teeth as his alpha jerks, recoiling. “Easy there,” says Wriothesley, stroking from his hole, down to the smooth strip of skin below it, digging his thumb into it.

Just like that, all those instincts that rage settle, far too drunk on lust to put up a fight. Neuvillette moans as Wriothesley’s thumb works its magic, moving back to press against his rim. The barest pressure, not enough to sink in, but enough to be felt, the promise of more lingering there.

And then Wriothesley spanks him with his other hand. It’s jarring. So different from the sweet words that drip from Wriothesley’s mouth and the soft-handed touch of his thumb that rubs his hole. Neuvillette’s skin is hot. It stings, red from his hand, Neuvillette knows.

He forgets to count, mind fogged as his hips roll, grinding his cock against Wriothesley’s lap. Anything for friction. Neuvillette’s cock aches, his ass stings, his entire body a live wire ready to tip over the edge.

Wriothesley too. Neuvillette can feel the hard line of his erection straining Wriothesley’s trousers. He rubs his cheek against it, inhaling the musky scent of Wriothesley’s arousal. He moans, a wanton keen that earns him another spank.

“Gods, you’re—” Wriothesley brushes his bangs back and takes in the sight of him. Neuvillette must be a mess, sweat beading on his brow, lips dry as he lips them. He rolls his hips again, his breath hitching as the tip of his cock catches against the rough fabric of Wriothesley’s clothing. “That’s it, Sweetheart. Just like that. ”

Neuvillette is close. Between the white-hot pain that sears through his backside, the thumb against his hole, teasing a promise, and the way his cock is trapped underneath him against Wriothesley’s leg, he’s nearly gone. Wrung thin. Wasted.

“I—you—”

“Don’t worry about me.”

How can he not? This was supposed to be about Wriothesley unwinding and instead, Neuvillette humps his thigh like an omega in heat, like he’s desperate to be bred, like he needs to be fuck full with his knot. His alpha snaps at that thought, finally baring its teeth. He should roll them over and pull at Wriothesley’s clothing. Give him his cock instead until he’s settled nice and deep. All those thoughts back from his blasted rut come barrelling back.

Wriothesley tugs at Neuvillette’s chin harshly. “Heel,” he says, authoritative.

And fuck if that doesn’t—

Neuvillette whines, nodding, realizing just how deep his claws had sunk into Wriothesley’s thighs. He eases off, murmuring an apology, which is promptly ignored.

“So good for me,” says Wriothesley instead, back to palming his sore ass, relishing in the way that Neuvillette hisses at the praise.

And it hurts—but it hurts so good, the sort of pleasure that pricks the base of his spine. He shudders, rutting against Wriothesley’s lap. “Archons.” Neuvillette’s voice is raspy with his. Wriothesley encourages it, lifting his thigh against him. That thumb still rests against his hole, tracing Neuvillette’s rim, a fucking tease. “Please—”

“No, like this,” cuts in Wriothesley.

“Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley dips close and brushes an errant lock of hair behind Neuvillette’s ear. He nuzzles his temple, inhaling, moaning at the smell of him. “Against my leg,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think you’d get off on the spanking but shit, it’s hot. Almost as hot as you grinding against my thigh.”

He’d rather be fucked. Neuvillette aches to be filled, Wriothesley plastered against his back, heavy and hot. He’d choke on his addicting scent and the heft of this cock. Drown in the feel of him, in his need for him—and even Neuvillette’s alpha has calmed, purring at the idea.

Heel, indeed, he thinks. Happily so. And maybe it’s because he’s spent an eon training his beast, but Neuvillette feels safe like this. Even with his alpha pushing back the tiniest bit, it always eases, always gives in because Wriothesley is safe.

Neuvillette rolls his hips, seeking out more friction. Precome stains Wriothesley’s trousers, making a mess of them. Claws dig into his ass, dragging down the swell, leaving red welts in their wake.

“I should fuck you,” says Wriothesley, that damned thumb of his tugging at Neuvillette’s rim. Not enough to sink in, but the pressure is blinding all the same. “Later. We’ll tuck into the sheets and I’ll slip in and fuck you nice and slow.”

Another spank, a light-handed slap that sings through the air makes Neuvillette come suddenly, spilling all over his trousers. He groans, drunk at the thought of dressing down for the night. Of staying over, wrapped in Wriothesley’s arms.

He hasn’t done that yet. Their trysts and affairs are always cut short, their duties more important than their wants and needs. They haven’t had the chance to explore such things, but Neuvillette thinks that it would work out fine. He buries his face in Wriothesley’s lap, desperate to just feel him, a churring whine caught in his throat.

“Hey.” Wriothesley’s hands leave his ass in favor of Neuvillette’s face. “Hey, come back to me. Are you okay?”

“I’m—”

“Does it hurt?”

Neuvillette hums. Yes and no. The sting has buried itself into his skin and he knows sitting will be uncomfortable. But it’s a good ache, the sort that sinks into your bones, the kind of reminder that stays with you in the most delicious of ways.

Wriothesley is too kind. Neuvillette moves, twisting, and curling into his lap. Uncaring of the mess he’s made, he just needs to be close, to press his face against his nape. He nips at Wriothesley’s scent gland, nosing at it, licking it.

And Wriothesley just sighs, tilting back against the couch, giving him all the access that he needs.

Instincts both rage and settle. A contradiction. Neuvillette is pulled in two directions as he mouths at Wriothesley’s neck, fangs catching on his skin, desperate to sink in. A tug at his hair; not hard, just enough to bring him back too. When Neuvillette meets Wriothesley’s face his gaze is sweet, amused, even. The scar underneath his eye crinkles as he laughs, his grip on Neuvillette’s hair loosening.

“Needy thing,” teases Wriothesley before pulling him forward for a lingering kiss.

Neuvilllette’s blood lulls, heavy in his veins. Exhaustion wafts over him like a tidal wave, jarring in how hard it hits. “You—you’re—” Neuvillette paws at Wriothesley’s cock, only for his hand to be caught around the wrist.

Wriothesley tugs it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against his pulse. “No need for that.”

“I want—”

“Oh, I know you do.” Wriothesley presses into his space, nosing at his nape. “Gods, you always smell so good. But you should rest. We can deal with me later.” Then his voice dips lower near his ear. “And don’t think I don’t want you. It’s taking everything that I have not to roll you over and fuck you right here. But.” That tone is gone the moment he pulls away. He brushes Neuvillette’s bangs back and sighs at the sight of him. “I think you’d be a pillow princess.”

Neuvillette narrows his eyes at the accusation. “Not if I fuck you into the bed instead. You’d look so good on my cock.”

A challenge. They always have these little half-hearted spats. Wriothesley gives him a wolfish grin. “Want to find out?”

Time comes to a standstill. Neuvillette sits across his lap, his cock soft, half-naked, thighs smeared with come. His heart is in his throat. His alpha, though—oh, there’s interest. Desire spreads through him, heady and hot.

“It isn’t fancy,” says Wriothesley then, hesitant. He drags his thumb down the length of Neuvillette’s arm over and over, in a repeated fashion. A nervous gesture. “Meropide. Celestia knows it's cold and damp. My bed is too small too. It’ll be cramped, but—”

“I want to stay.” Wriothesley blinks. Neuvillette’s lips part and surprisingly, his words come easy. “Wriothesley, you don’t need to talk me into staying. The idea appeals to me. I was thinking about it when—”

Wriothesley kisses him again, harder, longer, tongue slipping between his teeth to seek out his own. Neuvillette sinks into it, kissing him back, fingers digging into the back of his neck.

“You’ll have to share my clothing,” murmurs Wriothesley when they part. “And I can’t cook here—I don’t have a kitchen. We’ll have to get breakfast at the canteen. Everyone… they’ll…”

“We are a terribly kept secret.” Everyone knows. They couldn’t possibly not, not with the way they stink up the space together, with the way they smell of each other, drenched in shared scents. Not that they were hiding, to be perfectly honest.

Wriothesley smiles, the tension easing. And then he smirks. “So? Spanking?”

Neuvillette scoffs. “What happened to ‘Wanting to let loose?’”

“No, no, this conversation is about you now.”

“It is not.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.”

More laughter. More lingering kisses. Wriothesley’s hands smooth over Neuvillette’s sore ass, making his alpha roll over and keen. For now, he’ll indulge. Let Wriothesley’s hands wander before draping himself in his clothing.

Tomorrow morning though, the game resets, and Neuvillette has his sights set on revenge.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #genshin smut #omegaverse #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #alpha/alpha #wriothesley/neuvillette #neuwriolette

4 notes · View notes

justplainwhump · 2 years ago

Note

4 for tyler

When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn? (from this ask game)

Oh this is a very good question, as in, I am somehow unable to answer it. Firstly, he just isn't usually scared. He's tall and muscular and pretty chill, and he just doesn't find himself in situations that would scare him.

I would generally say, flee. Not outright run, depending on the situation, but just like, getting himself out of it. Second option, fight, because that seems like the appropriate thing to do in his worldview. However, while he may be rather strong, he isn't a good fighter at all. So that approach won't get him far.

These are the general responses however; facing the bigger, more chilling and constant fear that has been creeping into his life in the form of his scary employer, it's, in fact, fawn (too long) - fight (too late) - freeze.

I'm sorry this is probably not as concise a reply as you were hoping for, but I still had fun thinking about it - thank you so much for asking!!

#tyler ask

6 notes · View notes

natedevereaux · 4 years ago

Note

Uhmm - happy birthday!

I hope you you had as nice a day as possible to this point, even if Imodna didn't become canon in CR just yet, and that you got a chance to rest for a while. Here's to your "new year" bringing more rest and peace of mind overall!

awww anon thank you so much, you definitely made me smile you're so sweet 🥺�� I really appreciate it! and yeah, my day has been pretty good so far, got to finally rest from work and watching the cr3 ep was great even if we didn't get imodna canon lol (i do appreciate the mention tho sdnjfdkjsd, and yeah yet is the key word. hopefully xD they did have some nice scenes tho). And i'm gonna play some harry potter board game with friends now which is fun :D And yeah again thank you so much, also i'm a bit taken aback by you knowing it's my bday dfjkndfjks but i guess i did mention it while rambling in some of my tags, just didn't think anyone actually reads them xD so yeah that was really nice of you to send an ask about it, hope you have a great day too :')

#asks #anons #also i guess #laudna x imogen #cr spoilers #?#<333 #i definitely feel like my ask replies are long. sorry i am. unable to be concise to save my life #but i do really appreciate it <333

1 note · View note

novantinuum · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, I was just wondering if you had ever thought about what would have happened in your story "Hollowed Moon" if you had continued it. I always thought it was such an interesting setup that could have gone in so many different directions. And there really aren't other stories focusing on Stevonnie and Spinel, so it was unique!

Hiya!

So, I do have some half-written, half-plotted out material to share. I gave this story some consideration the other day, and came to the decision that I don't have the desire to finish it out, alas- I have far too many other active WIPs to add it to the list. There's a few good reasons why I discontinued it, anyways... intimidation over the huge surge of attention it was getting back in 2019, some rude comments from overzealous Spinel fans, (I know everyone isn't like this, but a certain segment of the Spinel side of the SU fandom kinda burned me over time, hhh), and a future chapter containing a sensitive topic that I wasn't in a good headspace to write about at the time.

But! Anyways! Below the cut is all the existing material I have for Hollowed Moon past chapter 14, consisting of a mixture of descriptions, sketchy dialogue, and prose. It honestly feels nice to finally be able to put this story to an official rest.

Chapter 15

“I... I saw her.”

“Who-?”

“I saw Pink Diamond. I saw you, in this exact garden, in a dream. I- it was like I was experiencing everything through her. She explained your game, tapped your nose and told you to smile, then warped away—“

“That’s it, that’s what happened, almost exactly! But how could you even know that, I never—“

“I don’t know,” they blurt out. “I have empathic abilities, and sometimes that makes dreaming a little weird, but I have no idea how or why I saw any of this.”

[Pause for Stevonnie to think]

“Spinel, I’m so, so sorry,” they whisper brokenly. “But I think... she left you here.”

“What...?”

“She said she’d return, but before she warped away she whispered goodbye, like she didn’t actually intend to make good on that promise. She was lying to you,” they choke out, voice thick.

“No. No,” she says in clear denial, “no she’s not. She can’t be! She told me she’d come back! I can wait! I just have to wait—“

“But she’s not! She... she can’t, because Pink Diamond is gone. She- she was shattered, Spinel. Five thousand years ago, on the Earth. I- I should’ve told you this from the beginning, and I didn’t, and I- I’m so, so sorry—! But she left you behind, and now she’s never coming back.”

[Silence. Tears brim in Spinel’s eyes. Her eyes grow dark, pained, and then she glares at Stevonnie with such venom it almost knocks them backwards in alarm. ]

“NO!” she screams, tears streaming down her faded pink cheeks.

[She tears her feet up from the roots and runs away, using her arms like an orangutan to vault herself forward super fast so Stevonnie can’t catch her.]

___

Chapter 16

AN: Content warning for self-shattering attempt. Part of the reason why I had to stop writing this story at the time. I considered pushing the plot another way, but it didn't feel authentic to how I believed this scenario would play out for Spinel when she didn't have a direct target for her anger. Without someone to actively be jealous and upset AT, I could only imagine her breaking inwards instead of outwards, feeling that she's utterly failed in her life's purpose. Nothing more than a description for this chapter... and it'd be a short one.

[When Stevonnie finds her, she’s smashing her fists against her gem in her sheer anguish. She’s already cracked it. She’s glitching. It looks terribly painful. She’s about to strike her gem again when Stevonnie intervenes.]

___

Chapter 17

[Post timely intervention. Spinel is still cracked at this moment, though... her form glitching as she cries.]

“I was... her best friend,” she cries, fat, glistening tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was supposed to make her happy! Why wasn’t she happy? Why didn’t she come back?“

[Spinel reasoning that maybe if Pink came back for her, she wouldn’t have been shattered in the first place]

“What did I do wrong?” she whispers hoarsely, gazing pleadingly into Stevonnie’s eyes. “Wha- what am I doing? Why do I wanna hurt myself so badly?”

“Shh, now,” they reply, tears of their own brimming at the crease of their eyes, and pull Spinel’s head to their chest. “I’ve got you...”

___

Chapter 18

They know their throat is tight, and their voice scratchy. They know they’ve never sung this song in front of another living being, since it’s something personal they composed alone on one of their late nights back on Earth, thinking about all the difficult days Steven and Connie have had to face over the months. Pair this with their active crying, and there’s no way their singing will be anything pretty.

But pretty doesn’t matter right now.

Stevonnie opens their lips, and— clutching the broken hearted Gem close, rhythmically rocking with her back and forth— lets the wandering melody emerge from within.

“I guess I have to face That in this awful place I shouldn’t show a trace Of doubt...”

“But pulled against the grain I feel a little pain That I would rather do Without...”

“I’d rather be Free, free Free...”

[Hoarse, Spinel starts singing with them.]

“I’d rather be Free, free Free...”

“Free, free Free...”

“From here...”

[Stevonnie holds her tight while crying, their tears healing it back up.]

___

Chapter 19

AN: Don't have anything but a single bit of dialogue in this chapter note- I'm assuming I intended it as being a good few hours after the events of chapters 16-18... when Spinel has calmed down a little and has a moment to reflect on the upsetting news she's just received.

“I think... I always knew,” she says, voice hoarse. “In a way. It was so obvious how she felt about me.

___

Chapter ?

AN: From here on out, the plot hasn't been split into individual chapters.

[At some point shortly after chapter 19, Lars and his crew locate Stevonnie in the garden, and pick them and Spinel up. The next few bits of dialogue and description takes place on the ship.]

Rutile twins: “I haven’t heard of Spinels being produced in over five millennia.” “Me neither!”

Rhodonite: “Yeah, I heard they stopped making them entirely after the rebellion on Pink’s colony.”

[A bit of overwhelming conversation later, no one really noticing Spinel's conflicted emotional response to so many Gems hovering around her at once.]

Padparadscha: “I predict that you’re both going to make Spinel feel very uncomfortable aboard this ship.”

Rhodonite: “I’m sorry, we don’t exactly meet new Gems every century.”

Rutile twins: “Yes!” “It’s just been us until we met our captain!”

Fluorite: “Our new huuuuman friend helped us escape the tunnels on Homeworld. Now... we’re slooowly making our way back... to Earth.”

Spinel: “Earth?? You’re going to Pink’s world? But why? I heard she... was shattered.”

___

[Spinel feeling a sense of kinship with the idea that there’s other Gems who didn’t serve their rightful purpose and are now escaping their life on Homeworld to be free of that. Because now, without her Diamond, since she was unable to keep her happy, she’s an Off Color too. She failed her given purpose same as them.]

[Discussion of Earth, and the rebellion, and how there’s Gems living free there. And how Pink’s colony was siphoning life away, and that’s what these Gems were fighting to protect. Stevonnie points out all the plants and wildlife that used to live in the garden, and asks her if she felt happier when it was around. Spinel says yes. Stevonnie says that this is what the Diamonds are destroying, with each lifeless colony they forge. Everywhere they go, dead wildlife lies in their wake.]

Spinel: “I... guess I never thought of it that way.”

[(Stevonnie adds...) And while they’re very sorry for the personal connection there, and can’t imagine how painful that must be, that’s why Pink Diamond was shattered.]

[Spinel is given an open choice... Lars gives the invitation to stay with him and the Off Colors, and Stevonnie offers for her to come with them back to Earth. It's not a hard decision for her in the end, though. She's always dreamed of seeing what was once Pink’s planet, ever since she heard the Diamonds bequeath it to her.]

___

Stevonnie: “Okay, so… before we go, I need to be honest with you about something." [deep breath] "I’m actually a fusion of two separate people who are close friends. You... know what fusion is, right?”

Spinel: “Duh, o’course! What, d’ya think I was made yesterday?”

[...]

Stevonnie: “But even with that, I can’t be together as me all the time. Steven and Connie, the two who come together to form me... they love hanging out with each other so much, but they also have their own lives! Other friends, other hobbies, their own families. They still talk when they’re apart, but they know it’s okay to do things alone, too. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

Spinel: [shakes head no] “No...?”

Stevonnie: [sighs] “I understand you’ve been left behind. Believe me, I know how bad that feels. So the last thing I wanna do is make you think I’m doing that too.”

Spinel: “Y-you— you’re going away?” Stevonnie: “Unfusing, yes.” Spinel: “But Stevonnie, you—“ Stevonnie: “Spinel. No matter what, you are my friend. Steven and Connie consider you a friend, too. And my hope is that you’ll keep making a whole bunch more on Earth, so you’ll always have people around who know and love you. But that can’t always be me, okay?“

___

[At home... on Earth. There's a bit of a close call for Pearl when Spinel arrives, and recognizes her as Pink's second pearl. This is news for Garnet and Amethyst and Steven, the first of which had somewhat suspected that Pearl used to be in the diamonds' service, but never knew for sure. Pearl, of course... can't say much on this due to her gag order... not that anyone else knows about that yet... but does manage a very concise and PD=RQ free explanation about her past in Pink's court, and her transition towards being a Crystal Gem:]

Pearl: “Rose Quartz set me free, and I’ve been a part of the rebellion ever since.”

___

[At some point between the last scene and the next, mention how Spinel had a bit of a relapse... she ended up poofing herself, and reformed differently. A little bit closer to the smudged mascara and frayed pigtails look of canon, but no rotated heart. Unlike in canon, she has a solid support system amongst the Crystal Gems, and she's working hard to recover from the heartbreak of Pink's abandonment.]

___

[Final scene is set post A Single Pale Rose. Steven and Connie fuse, and Stevonnie goes to find Spinel to check in on how she's taking the news. The final line of the fic is as follows:]

Spinel: “I know you’re not her, not really. And I know you’ll always be a better person than she ever was. But in some silly cyclical way... back in that garden... it’s almost like Pink came back for me after all.”

#su #spinel #stevonnie #su fanfiction #my fic stuff #hollowed moon #this isn't REALLY 'my fic stuff' since it's unwritten but #i think it deserves to be here. this is the full unfinished plot of a fic that got the most exposure of anything i've ever shared in fandom

21 notes · View notes

stingslikeabee · 3 years ago

Text

psa asking threads length/multiple threads

I just wanted to take some time to address my mutuals in relation to my threads - I am aware I write more than most, and that long replies can get discouraging or intimidating or just demand more time (and where does one buy time, right?).

If you ever find yourself unable to carry forward a thread because of length - please let me know. Threads are my favorite writing method (and I tend to view asks as drabbles all over the timeline or fun ‘what ifs’, if you may) - but I don’t want my partners to be thrown off or to lose muse if my writing is leading to such outcomes - for whatever reason.

Anyone is more than welcome to message me to have shorter interactions taking place simultaneously, or to ask me to be more concise (although no one is ever required to match the length, of course) - I am willing to adapt if it means my mutuals will be more comfortable, really.

Thank you! :) Mari.

#ooc!#psa #I just saw a couple of psas in this regard #and I wanted to make my own #I know my replies can be daunting because of the size #I RAMBLE guys I know #and I don't want anyone to feel anxious for having to deal with them #just let me know and we can work something out :)

3 notes · View notes

erinxneil · 5 years ago

Text

3. Please hold my hand.

I didn’t forget about prompt #2! I just had an idea for #3 and I’m doing these prompts in whichever order I feel like. If you have any requests for the next prompt, as you want to see it sooner than later, simply message me! The prompt list is here and I am more than willing to write it! :)

this is going to be a long one, so I hope you enjoy, I spent a long time on it <3

masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

TW: Graphic depictions of crime

Summary: Spencer gives up hope for himself way too easily.

>>>These will all probably be Spencer Reid X Reader unless someone requests something different :) Also, this one I will leave up for interpretation- if you want to view it as romantic, it can be, or if you want to view this as platonic, it can be!

“So, we know that our unsub tends to kill quickly. He uses a long dagger, and slits the victims throats from just below the jaw and drags it all around. The victims die almost instantly.” Hotch spoke.

“Well, then I guess we can rule out sexual sadist. There’s no sexual component to the crimes, and the kill is quick.” I replied, examining the photos on the board in front of us.

“Yes, but also the autopsy report from the past three victims shows that they were missing for eight hours before they were killed, so we don’t know what he’s doing to them during that time.” Spencer rebuked my claim. Of course, the genius has something to say.

“While that may be true, there are no obvious wounds on the victim other than the slit throat. While one of the three victims also had a stab wound in her side, this was likely just to slow down the victim, as there was skin beneath her fingernails. She probably tried to escape. But none of the other victims have any other wounds, so while he held them for 8 hours, he didn’t touch them.”

Spencer chuckled. “Yes, Y/N, but I think we can both agree you don’t need to physically touch someone in order to torture them.” I nodded. That’s very true.

Morgan coughed. “Well, now that we’ve discussed the possibility that our suspect is a sexual sadist and have been unable to agree on a concise point..” He trailed off. “What’s next? Why does he target females in their forties?”

Emily glanced up. “He probably had some sort of rejection from a female in his life, who fit the description that his victims have in common. Tall, white, brunette. Maybe a girl he liked, or his girlfriend, or even his mother. Either way, some sort of traumatic life event caused him to strike out like this.”

Hotch intervened. “We can discuss this more on the jet. Grab your go-bags, wheels up in 30. We’ve been asked to come to California, where these crimes are occurring.” He left the room without another word.

“Well, this should be an interesting case.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

I took my usual seat on the jet between Prentiss and Reid. Morgan sat across from me with Hotch and Rossi on either side of him, and JJ generally sat to the side alone, since she liked to catch up on her sleep the moment we were able to.

After debriefing for a while, the team had come to the conclusion that the killer was likely a male between the ages 20 to 30 who had felt rejected by his mother at a young age. She likely kicked him out of the house, where he found solace in some hobby that would hopefully be identifiable at the scene. Due to the precision of the cuts, the unsub likely has knowledge in the medical field, and may even work in a hospital. This would be the first place we would check when we landed.

“Good work, team. Try to get some rest in before we land.” Hotch stood and moved to the front of the jet, where he probably wouldn’t take his own advice.

I squirmed in my seat, trying to get into a comfortable position. Everyone around me had already fallen asleep. Or so I thought.

“Having trouble, Y/L/N?” I sheepishly glanced up at the voice, coming from none other than Spencer Reid.

I sighed. “I can’t get comfortable. I’m exhausted and got no sleep last night, yet I can’t seem to fall asleep.” Spencer offered me a small smile and patted on his shoulder, nodding down at it.

I blinked. “Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a both-” “I really don’t mind, Y/N.” I smiled in thanks and rested my head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Reid.” I murmured, already sleepy. He was so warm.. and smelled like strong cologne.

I fell asleep quicker than I’d like to admit.

-*-*-*-*-*-

“This is gold.”

I woke to the sound of giggling and photo shutters. Still dreary, I groaned quietly and attempted to burrow myself deeper into my pillow.

However the pillow felt a lot more solid than usual.

I slowly opened one eye to see Emily, JJ, and Morgan peering over me. Morgan held his phone, taking countless photos, while Emily chuckled quietly and JJ rolled her eyes in amusement.

“What’s going on? Did we land?” I rubbed my eyes tiredly before looking beside me and realizing I was practically straddling Reid. I jumped in surprise, scrambling off of him, which caused him to wake and the others to laugh.

“Morning sleepyhead, sleep well?” Morgan teased.

“Actually, I did. Did we land?” His groggy voice took me by surprise. I felt my cheeks tinge, knowing the rest of the team had caught me basically cuddling into him as we slept. Screw Reid’s chest for being so comfortable! I usually sleep with a body-sized pillow, and in my sleep, I must have mistaken Spencer for it.

“Yes, lovebirds, we landed.” Emily laughed at us, walking off the jet, JJ following shortly behind.

Reid shot me a look of confusion. “Lovebirds?” He looked to the side, trying to recall his memory, before his eyebrows likely shot up in realization. “Right, uh, well... I’m just going to go meet the others.”

Spencer walked away, scratching behind his neck in embarrassment. Morgan sent me an amused look. “Got anything you wanna admit, Y/N?” He shoved his phone in my face, showing me the photo of me sprawled across Spencer. I had one leg stretched across him, my head on his shoulder, and a hand on his chest. Meanwhile, Reid was resting his own head on mine, while his free hand was wrapped around my waist. If I had seen this photo of anyone else, I would have immediately assumed that they were a couple. Even looking at the photo, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t adorable. But this was Spencer and I. That would never happen.

I rolled my eyes. “So childish. There’s nothing going on between us.” I shoved him playfully before joining the rest of the team outside the plane.

Hotch stared down Morgan and I as we left the jet. “Alright, is everyone all set? No more groping before we leave?” His face was deadpan however there was a hint of humor to his eyes. My jaw dropped, trying to hide a smile. JJ, Emily, and Morgan burst out laughing, while Reid covered his face with his hands to cover his red face. We walked toward the car that was waiting for us, Morgan highfiving Hotch as he passed him.

“Not cool, Hotch..” Reid grumbled.

-*-*-*-*-*-

When we arrived at the crime scene, all traces of humor were lost. The jokes had been forgotten, as we strode up to the police tape and began analyzing the scene.

Hotch turned toward us. “Alright. Y/N, Emily, Reid, and I will analyze the scene, while Morgan, Rossi, and JJ will go to speak with hospitals around the area. Anything you can find will help.” We all nodded and set off to begin our tasks.

Emily looked at the photos as she examined the scene, to ensure that nothing had been moved. Emily, Reid, and I headed toward the bedroom, where the crime had been committed. I fell behind slightly, pulling Spencer back with me to talk as we walked.

“Hey, about earlier, I’m sorry. I guess I get kinda handsy when I sleep.” I chuckled. Spencer grinned. “It’s fine, Y/N, in case you hadn’t noticed, you weren’t exactly alone.” We laughed and nodded. There were no hard feelings, and we both were content. It was time to focus entirely on the case.

“Hey, I found something!”

Reid and I quickly moved into the room. Emily was on the floor, below the victim’s desk.

“...Um, Em? What are you doing?” I stepped closer to her, raising an eyebrow in confusion. Emily took a photo with her phone, before crawling out and showing us the picture. Beneath the desk, there were strips of paper, seemingly cut out of a book, glued to the underside. We read the quotes, trying to decipher them.

The first quote read. “Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to feed us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.“ “This is from Hamlet.” Emily and I gazed at Reid expectantly. “This quote is known to reference the morbid obsession with death that Hamlet holds. These quotes weren’t chosen randomly. I’d assume that not only has our unsub read Hamlet several times, he’s also analyzed every line in order to fully comprehend what each segment means. He’s basically saying that death is inevitable, as we all will succumb to it eventually. Our unsub is confident, and is flaunting the control he has in causing the deaths of his victims.”

“That explains the single slice to kill them.” Emily comments. I nodded. “True. The unsub seems to have some sort of obsession with control, as if he prides himself in it.”

We moved on to the next quote, that read, “You can’t ever reach perfection, but you can believe in an asymptote toward which you are ceaselessly striving.” Emily and I looked over at Spencer. He paused for a moment before nodding. “When Breath Becomes Air. Dr. Paul Kalanithi wrote this. It’s the autobiography of a neurosurgeon.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “He reads books related to medicine, as well? He must be very dedicated to his job.” Spencer skimmed through the rest of the quotes. “Or self-taught...” He trailed off. “The rest of these quotes are also from medical books. Either we were scarily on point with out assumption of his job, due to how much he studies them in his spare time.. or the profile is wrong. He may not even be a doctor at all.”

We all looked at each other.

“The only other quote that doesn’t belong to some sort of book about medicine is the quote “It was extraordinary, now, how clear her mind became all of a sudden.” Lamb to the Slaughter. “All of these quotes are somehow related to him and to murder. He wanted us to find these.” Spencer announced.

Emily sighed. “Isn’t this a bit too much effort for a serial killer focused on revenge?” “Not if he was psychotic already. Perhaps that’s the reasoning behind his mother kicking him out when he was younger? He might have shown some sort of signs of psychopathy and due to the differing times, there was more of a stigma around mental issues. She likely made him feel as if he was alone.”

I paused, looking at Emily’s phone when something caught my eye. They both glanced at me. “Y/N?”

Grabbing a tissue, I crawled on the ground and looked around, spotting what I had seen in the photo. I picked it up with the tissue, and showing it to Reid and Prentiss. Peeking slightly from beneath the desk, as if it had slipped from the unsubs grasp, was a small slip of paper, tallied with 18 marks. The pen color changed throughout the paper.

They furrowed their brows and looked up at me. I sighed.

“There’s more victims than we are aware of.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

After informing Hotch what information we gathered from the victims bedroom, he called JJ, expecting that they wouldn’t have found anymore information.

However, surprisingly, they had.

Within the past 8 months, there had been atleast ten victims who came in with similar wounds as our victims, however the cuts weren’t as clean. There were mistakes, such as jagged marks, or the slice wasn’t deep enough, or there were several slices around the body rather than one slit in the throat. They had never tied the murders to our current investigation because of the differences in attacks.

“He was practicing...” Reid realized. “Y/N was right. There’s more victims than we initially realized.”

Hotch dialed Garcia.

“Your brilliant and beautiful is speaking, how may I be of assistance?” “Garcia, I need you to look for any cases of stabbings in the past 12 months in our area, primarily attacks that are focused near the throat.”

“Your wish is my command, my gorgeous friend.” The sound of typing ensued. “Alright, in the past 12 months, the furthest attack was 9 months ago, and there are 26 documented attacks, 22 of which are focused around the neck.” Hotch spoke, “Alright, now can you narrow that list down to brunette females between the ages of 35 and 45, above the height of 5′6″.” “13 results.” The team shared a look and nodded.

“That sounds about right, as we can’t assume that all of his attacks went reported. Before he became serial, he probably began covering his tracks.”

I thought for a moment. “If our unsub is attacking victims that resemble his mother, wouldn’t it be likely if his mother was one of his victims?”

Reid glanced at me and nodded in agreement. “It’s common that serial killers who kill for revenge often kill people who resemble their actual target, however over time the high dies down as they know they aren’t killing who they actually wanted to kill. Our killer probably killed a few victims before killing his mother herself. After killing so many people, he’d gotten a taste for it and became unable to stop.”

Hotch spoke again to Garcia. “Garcia, can you look for how many of those victims have children in their 20s or 30s?” “Of course I can... There are 4.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

Hotch gathered the information from Garcia regarding where their families lived, and we decided that we would split up and speak with them in the morning. In the meantime, we would spend the night in a hotel. We all got separate rooms, and we were told to rest well, as tommorow would take a lot of strength.

I got to my room and took a shower, taking my time and enjoying the feeling of the burning water on my back. Today had been a long day, but the trip over was the best I slept in ages, so I couldn’t really complain.

After showering and getting into pajamas, I slid under my covers, although unsurprisingly, I was unable to sleep. I settled for scrolling on my phone in bed, hoping that sleep would eventually take over me. While looking at Rossi’s Instagram photos from a party he went to last weekend, I heard faint shouting from down the hall. I checked the time to see it was nearly 1 in the morning.

Confused and worried, I grabbed my robe, and my gun, and walked over to the door. I opened it, to find none other than Spencer Reid, fist hovering over the door as if about to knock.

He jumped back in surprise at my appearance at the door. “Uh!- Y/N! You’re awake!” I raised an eyebrow at him and took in his appearance. He wore a friendly smile, however the creases in his brow and the bags under his eyes were impossible to not notice.

“Spencer? What are you doing here?” He looked down at the ground. “I uh.. I couldn’t sleep.” I tilted my head to the side in confusion and he continued. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come over, it’s just that I know you’re always up late and you have trouble sleeping yourself sometimes and I-” I cut him off. “Spencer, did you want to come in?” He smiled softly and walked in as I stepped aside.

“Thanks. Sorry again.” “There’s no need to apologize, Spencer. Are you okay?” He grinned tightly. “Of course. I’m just exhausted, yet can’t sleep and I didn’t really want to be alone. I can just crash on the couch.”

I scoffed. “Spencer, don’t be ridiculous. You can take the bed.” He shook his head. “No, Y/N, it’s yours, I can’t ask you to sleep on the couch in your own room.” I thought for a moment. “Would you be okay if we slept in the bed together? Obviously nothing would happen, but we both can’t sleep and I think we’ve realized that we sleep better near eachother.”

Spencer’s cheeks tinged at the mention of this morning. “Y-Yeah, that’s okay with me.” I smiled and sat beside him in the bed.

He looked over at me, tilting his head in surprise. “Y/N, do you sleep with your makeup on?”

I laughed softly. “What are you talking about, Reid?” He ran a hand through his hair, unsure how to proceed. A smile spread across my face as I realized what he was implying. “Spencer, I’m not wearing makeup.”

Reid’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh!- Uh, sorry then. I just... thought you were.” I grinned before sliding down, staring at the ceiling above us.

“Spencer, how long have you had night terrors?”

He froze for a moment, before shifting uncomfortably. “What happened to not profiling our coworkers?” I turned to face him. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. I’m just worried about you.” He sighed before turning to face me as well.

“I’ve always had them, they just got a lot worse once joining the BAU. And it seems like the more cases we do, the worse they get.” I nodded. “Have you ever seen someone about it?” “Once, but I had to stop because I criticized their techniques since I knew more about what they were doing than they did.”

Laughter bubbled in my throat. “Only you, Spence.” We laughed together for a bit before a comfortable silence settled between us.

“Y/N?” “Yeah?” “Thank you.”

I smiled. “Of course, Spencer.” He hugged me, and we remained in the position, and I fell asleep to the scent of pine and cinnamon.

-*-*-*-*-*-

“Alright, the groups will be as follows- Emily and Y/N, Morgan and Reid, JJ and Rossi, and I will go alone. We will split up to interview these families. Keep in mind that they’ve just lost a loved one. If anyone happens to find anything, inform us and we will meet up. Do not engage with the unsub if you happen to find any information. Your reasoning will fall upon deaf ears. Understood?”

We nodded, and set off. I sipped my coffee, reminding me of the events of this morning. When I woke up, Spencer was gone. I assumed that he left so that things weren’t awkward again in the morning, until he returned. He had brought all of us coffee, and thanked me again for last night. I grinned at the coffee he gave me, as he remembered that I take it black. Beside the fact that he has an eidetic memory which helps him remember these things, it was still a sweet gesture.

After about an hour or so of speaking with the family, we realized there was no way that this was our unsub’s family. Their dynamic was too loving and there was no resentment that could be seen between any of the children. All of the children were also present, and none of them gave any noticeable reaction or indication that they were guilty when we discussed the murders.

As Emily and I headed back to the car, we received a call from Morgan. “Hey, girls. I think we’ve found our guy. The dude had one sibling who explained that his brother always had a tense relationship with his mother. His name is Chase Matthews. Garcia’s currently trying to locate him right now. His brother said he would be at work at this time, but he isn’t sure where he works because he isn’t necessarily involved in his life. Chase was also kicked out of their house when he was younger because his anger tended to scare their mother. If we can find where he works, then we can find him. “

I thought for a moment before a realization crossed my mind. “A butcher-shop.”

Emily looked at me. “What makes you say that?” “He’s done extensive research on the quickest way to kill someone, and has been using test subjects until he perfected his technique. If he isn’t a doctor himself, a butcher is the perfect job for practicing slaughter. He even tried to tell us with the quote from Lamb to the Slaughter.”

Morgan responded, “Good work, gorgeous. I’ll tell Garcia to look for butcher-shops in the area and I’ll text you and the others the address.”

When he hung up, I received a text moments later.

Only butcher shop in the town. Gotta be here.

We left to the address and arrived only moments after Reid and Morgan, as we were closest to the location. We met up with them, to see Morgan on the phone.

“Are you serious? Ugh. Thanks Garcia.” He hung up before turning to us. “Garcia says that for this shop, Matthews’ shift ends in five minutes. We can’t risk him coming outside and seeing the cop cars when they arrive along with all of the agents standing outside of the building. We can’t wait for the others. We have to move now or we’ll lose him.”

Spencer interrupted, “But didn’t Hotch say-” “I know what Hotch said. But this is our only shot.”

We nodded before heading inside. Emily showed her badge to the worker at the front. “We’re with the FBI. We’re looking for a Chase Matthews.”

Immediately, clashing sounded from the back, and a door slammed. We all rushed toward the noise and followed him out the door.

“Chase Matthews!” Morgan screamed. “Stop right there!”

And stop he did. Behind the butcher-shop was a town park. Chase grabbed hold of a woman walking the path and held her against him, butcher-knife against her throat.

“Another step forward and she’s dead.”

We all stopped in our tracks, guns aimed toward him.

“Everyone get out of here!” Emily yelled out to the others in the park. They quickly abided, leaving the park in a panic.

“Don’t come any closer. I can kill her quicker than you can shoot me.” We froze because we knew he was right. He could kill her in just a matter of moments. Regardless, Spencer stepped foward.

“Reid what are you-” “I’ve got this.”

We watched in anticipation, worry across our features.

“Look, Chase, I know how you’re feeling.” The unsub scoffed. “No, I’m being serious. I know how it feels to feel betrayed. I understand how it feels to be rejected. Unwanted.” My heart sunk at his words.

He continued, slowly walking foward.”It doesn’t have to be like this. I know that you felt that killing your mother and anyone who reminded you of her was your only choice. But look at this girl. She looks nothing like your mother. This isn’t neccesary, and you know that. I don’t think that you want to hurt her.” Chase glanced down at the terrified woman and seemed to be considering his words.

“Just let the girl go, and we can talk about this.” Cautiously, the unsub let the girl go. Emily quickly pulled her away from the man and comforted her.

“Thank you. Now please, there’s no need for weapons. Discard your knife.”

Chase glared at Reid. “I’m not an idiot. All of you have guns.”

Spencer paused for a moment before placing his gun on the ground before him, and gesturing for us to do the same.

Morgan scoffed. “Reid, don’t be stupid.”

Spencer glanced at us. “Please. I know what I’m doing.”

“This is a bad idea, Spencer.” I scolded.

“Just trust me.” I frowned and placed my gun on the ground beside me, Emily following suit and Morgan, several glares later, also did.

“Thank you. Now please, give me the knife.

The unsub seemed hesitant but nodded, and held out his hand. Spencer slowly took steps forward. As I watched what was about to happen, the faint hint of a smile on Chase’s face mixed with the knife’s placement on his hand lead me to understand what was about to happen.

“Spencer, wait!-” But it was too late.

We watched in horror as the unsub gripped the knife in his hand before stabbing Reid just below the ribcage. He fell to the ground, blood pooling out from him, as the unsub sprinted in the opposite direction.

“Reid!” I screamed and rushed toward him. Morgan and Emily grabbed their guns and ran to him aswell. “Go, chase after him, I’ll stay with Spencer. What he needs from you right now is to catch him.” Morgan was terrified, but his anger took over and he sprinted after the man faster than I’d ever seen him run before. Emily followed shortly after.

I quickly dialed 911, and then took off my shirt and placed it over his wound, applying pressure in an attempt to stop the blood-flow. “Reid, you’re an idiot, but you’re going to be okay. Hold my hand.” I reached out the hand that wasn’t pressed against his abdomen for him to hold.

He closed his eyes. “Don’t waste your time, Y/L/N. The man knows his anatomy. He’s probably pierced some sort of vital organ. If the bleeding out doesn’t kill me, that will.”

I shook my head, tears glistening in my eyes. “Shut up, Spencer, for once you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re going to be just fine. Just hold my hand.”

When Spencer mentioned that someone can be tortured without anyone physically touching them, this is exactly what that feels like.

Reid coughed. “Lets just face the reality, Y/N. It’s not going to happen.”

I shushed him, voice becoming higher with fear. “Reid, stop talking. Save your energy. You are going to be fine. Just, please, for the love of god, please hold my hand.”

Whether it be out of his own fear or pity for me, knowing it would make me feel better, Spencer finally let his hand fall in mine. I kept strong pressure, tears falling down my cheeks, until the paramedics arrived.

-*-*-*-*-*-

“You’re an idiot. If you weren’t in a hospital bed I’d be slapping you right now.”

Reid laughed weakly. “Jeez, it’s great to see you too, Y/N.”

Morgan rushed into the room at the sound of Spencer’s voice. “I can’t believe you! Do you understand how worried you made me? I didn’t think you were going to wake up!” The anger in Derek’s words were clear and Spencer cringed, knowing he had messed up. His expression softened. Morgan sighed. “I’m just glad you’re okay, kid. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

The team all rushed in and comforted Reid until the doctors came in and told us we all needed to clear out the room. Spencer played dead for a moment, which the doctor found humorous and allowed for one visitor in the room. After much deliberation, I was allowed to stay.

The team left and I was alone with Spencer and the doctors. I grabbed his hand and squeezed softly.

Reid chuckled, recalling the moments after he was stabbed. “You really just wanna hold my hand, huh, Y/L/N?”

I gasped and feigned offense, laughing with him. “I mean, come on, was it really that hard to just hold my frickin’ hand?”

The laughter died down and I sighed, taking in his appearance. “I feel like this is my fault.”

“Y/N, please. It’s nobody’s fault but myself. I��m the one who made you guys drop your weapons. I didn’t listen to Hotch saying we wouldn’t be able to reason with the unsub, and I paid for it.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, that was pretty stupid.”

Spencer turned his head to face me. “The doctors tell me you saved my life. The knife had just missed a vital organ, so I was wrong again, it really would have been the blood loss that killed me.”

“Wow, it must be my lucky day, proving Dr. Spencer Reid wrong twice in one day.” I laughed to which he smiled softly. “I’m serious, Y/N. Thank you.”

I smiled back at him. “Anything for you, Spence.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

God this took me so long to write. I hope you all enjoyed and as always if there’s a prompt you’d like me to do next let me know!

P.S. Out of curiosity I put this into a machine to count the words and there’s almost 5000 words in this. Just putting that out there ;p

139 notes · View notes

ruined-my-dramatic-entrance · 4 years ago

Text

Hat’s Off to You

Platonic fluff, a bit silly or OOC but not a crackfic lol, 1659 words TW: S!Janus

“What’s going on here?” Patton asked as he popped up.

After rolling his eyes and a moment of hesitation, Virgil replied, “Princey brought up some dumb idea about Janus having some weird secret hidden under his hat and now he and Logan are debating it.”

“Well, what’s all hat about?” the moral side inquired further with a grin.

Though Patton had expected Virgil to at least smirk at this, the latter instead protested, “Please, just get them to stop for now or something…”

“Okay, kiddo. Sorry about Pat — uh, I mean that,” Patton corrected himself quickly before turning his attention to the other two.

“I still think it’s probably something weird and evil, like some devil’s horns or — or pointed ears,” Roman insisted, gesturing to the vague areas that those body parts would be placed on himself.

“If Janus were to be hiding something underneath his hat — which I still have very significant doubts about — then it would probably be a result of his half-snake composition, such as a lack of hair on that side of his head, covered by scales,” Logan chimed in with an even tone.

“Well, yeah, maybe, but it still could be something… much more sinister that reveals how Thomas truly visualizes Deceit in his mind,” the prince suggested with a deep curiosity.

“Wouldn’t that be you, Roman?” Patton asked with an innocent smile.

“Wha—? No, I’m not a liar! I’m an actor but I am not Deceit,” Roman dismissed, clearly offended.

“No, that’s not what I meant, and I was talking about Janus, not evil,” Patton said, subtly reminding Roman to be kinder about the side in question. “I meant that the way Thomas views Deceit as a concept would be your creativity, kiddo,” he explained.

Roman paused for a moment. “I… suppose you’re right,” he agreed.

“That would make sense, though it would still have the influence of how Thomas feels about the concept of Deceit in genera—” Logan tried to elaborate, but was cut off by Roman.

“By Artemis’s beautiful bow, I think I know!” the creative side exclaimed with a wide gesture.

“You’ve… decided on a guess?” Logan prompted, frowning slightly in curiosity and pushing his glasses backwards as he scanned Roman with his eyes.

“Oh, brother, what is it now?” Virgil groaned, pulling his hood up over his head.

“That’s the spirit! What do you think, Roman?” Patton encouraged excitedly.

“Wolf ears,” Roman answered simply, as if the answer was obvious.

“Uh… might’ve misheard you there, Kiddo,” Patton fretted, leaning in a bit closer in hopes of understanding Roman’s words better.

“That… is an interesting guess. I suppose I could see some reasoning for this,” Logan mused, placing his knuckle against his lips in thought.

“Please tell me you’re not actually considering this, dude,” Virgil pleaded, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

“No, no, I’m serious!” Roman persisted, holding out his hands in a “wait” gesture. “From my best understanding of how Thomas views deception, he gets consistently stuck on the phrase ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ and sometimes he imagines liars as having certain wolf traits,” he finally explained. “Though, he usually only does that past 3am,” he added with a slight shrug before looking towards the rest of the group for approval.

“In addition to that, Janus does seem to... work alone, if you will, with his varying goals for Thomas — a lone wolf, perhaps,” Logan elaborated, “Wolves are also regarded for their intelligence and have very complicated social dynamics, maybe tying into Janus’s ability to use charisma to his advantage. Symbolically, wolves are also regarded as confident, which he definitely exhibits.”

“Come on, you don’t actually think Janus would have something as… as stupid as that,” Virgil disagreed, rubbing the back of his neck. Logan narrowed his eyes at the way he stumbled over his words.

“Virgil, I expected you to be less… concerned about this matter — furthermore, to mock him for it,” the logical side deduced, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “So… either you’re embarrassed about something similar or something is wrong here,” he declared, causing the room to fall silent for a few seconds.

“What’s wrong with Virge, Logan? Don’t just leave it all… ominous like that! It’s scary,” Patton fretted, looking at the side in question with worry.

At that moment, Virgil showed up, shoving aside the “Virgil” that had been there before, who was pushed into the wall and reverted back into his true form.

“Did someone say ‘scary?’” Virgil asked nonchalantly, giving Patton a quick glance before returning to glaring at Janus.

“Deceit!!” Logan yelled, pointing at Janus.

“Yes, yes, we’ve noticed, Logan, no need to sound the alarm, especially not so loudly,” Janus remarked.

“Virgil!” Patton and Roman exclaimed in unison with smiles.

“What was he doing here? What did he say?” Virgil asked, voice serious and impatient.

“Nothing much! Since I got here, he was just denying some of Roman and Logan’s theories about what’s under his hat,” Patton recounted.

“Yes, padre is right; that’s all the snake has done, nothing particularly evil or sinister,” Roman confirmed with a slight nod as if his valiant watch had kept Janus in check, whereas in reality he hadn’t really noticed.

Virgil snickered. “You mean ‘cause he’s insecure about this?” he asked with a mischievous smile as he managed to snatch Janus’s hat, revealing a pair of… dark wolf ears.

“Hah! I knew it! I called it! That was me, I was right. Got it before Logan,” Roman announced proudly before clearing his throat awkwardly and growing quiet to listen.

“Only because it was your interpretation of symbolism,” Logan muttered under his breath, petty.

“Aww, you’re like a teddy bear!” Patton commented with a gasp, “Or a puppy! Why would you hide this? We wouldn’t make fun of you for something so cute and nonthreatening!” He paused suddenly, realizing that he had just spoken the exact reason. “Ohh…” He grimaced slightly in guilt.

“Yes, well, isn’t this lovely. This is exactly what I wanted, Virgil, thank you,” Janus complained in annoyance, shooting the man in question a pointed look. “It’s obvious that this is totally a part of myself that I like and wanted to share with the group.”

“Janus, we won’t make fun of you for it, especially if you’re so insecure about it,” Patton reassured, looking around the room for agreement and receiving nods from everyone… as well as muffled snickers from Roman and Virgil.

“Grandma, what big ears you have,” Roman murmured quietly under his breath, unable to resist the temptation.

“What does it matter anyway? It’s clear I’m viewed as but a beast or a — a monstrous creature. Why would words make that any different?” Janus retorted to Patton, both his eyes and his phrasing giving away his hidden sadness.

“Well, Janus, you of all sides should understand the power that words can hold,” Logan reminded tersely.

“Regardless, Thomas could have at least chosen something scarier rather than just… an amalgamation of different animal symbols out of confusion,” Janus griped, gesturing into the air in frustration.

“Weird is better than scary if it’s constant. Trust me on this one,” Virgil insisted, though his expression turned to one of slight… sympathy?

“Trust isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Deceit responded, casting an unpleasant glance across the rest of the room. “I wonder why?” he added sarcastically.

“It’s not my department either but…” Virgil trailed off, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you of all people,” he muttered. “But… I know what it’s like to feel different and unnecessary and — and like you’re built to just be weird, to just be the outcast,” he admitted, avoiding looking into the half-snake’s eyes. “I know what it’s like but… it’s not like that here, not with them. Not with us,” he assured, fiddling with his sleeves.

“I think we all owe Janus an apology,” Patton pointed out. “I’m sorry for not respecting your privacy,” he said, looking at the aforementioned man with empathy.

“I apologize for my earlier behavior. I was curious but not considerate,” Logan chimed in concisely.

“I… suppose I’m sorry too,” Roman agreed, though he opened his mouth to say something else and closed it a moment later.

“I guess I shouldn’t have… done that,” Virgil mumbled, handing Janus his hat back. “But you shouldn’t have impersonated me either.”

“Very well, very well… I’m sorry for taking your place and deceiving you,” Janus replied, “though it did take them quite a while to catch on…”

“It is indeed odd that Janus’s impersonation of you is much more accurate than of me or Patton,” Logan commented, frowning again in contemplation.

“And that Virgil already knew about Janus’s ears,” Roman added, looking at Virgil in confusion.

“Well, I —” Virgil began nervously.

“— The little brat has done this before, you see,” Janus excused as he interrupted the anxious side. “It was terribly irritating,” he recalled about the false event, examining his nails through his gloves. “And yes, I’m afraid that the emo is the simplest to mimic -- it’s dreadfully easy,” he mocked, though said emo looked up at him when he realized that Janus had just… covered for him and his past as a dark side. That was not anywhere near what Virgil had expected.

“Ah, that would make sense,” Logan accepted with a slight nod.

“I, for one, still can’t decide whether his fluffy little ears are scary or, uh, adorable,” Roman admitted.

Janus scoffed and examined his nails through his glove. “If you’re disturbed by this, wait until you find out what Remus hides under his mustache,” he pointed out.

After a beat of silence, every other side in the room turned to him in a mixture of surprise, fear, and disgust, all exclaiming some variation of “hold up,” “wait,” or “what?!” Except for Patton, who simply remarked, “Well, I suppose we must-ask him later” with a chuckle.

23 notes · View notes

sophisticated-creepy · 4 years ago

Text

Raphael hadn’t taken more than three steps into the house before Lola pounced on him, sharing her news exuberantly in a torrent of high-pitched gibberish which took him several minutes to fully process their fervent meaning. He suffered through multiple eye rolls and sighs of impatience when he asked his beloved to repeat herself throughout her storytelling, but eventually he had the needed information to put together what had her so excited and animated.

“Tonight?” he asked at length, the last of her comments still buzzing around in his head as he looked upon Lola’s upturned expectant expression.

“I know it’s a weeknight and that you have work in the morning, so we won’t stay out too late, of course, but I want to strike while the iron is still hot,” Lola bargained. “Please?” She tried for her best impersonation of a pleading puppy dog yearning for treats to pull at his heartstrings in the hopes of convincing him to agree with her schemes.

“As long as we’re home early enough and aren’t going to wind up on the news, we will investigate tonight,” Raphael relented, cupping her face gently whilst kissing her on the forehead. She squealed delightedly, wriggling out of his hold, unable to contain her elation and anticipation at the confirmation to their nocturnal adventure.

“OhmygodI’msoexcited!” she all but shouted. She was like a kid at Christmas in a candy store, bursting at the seams to start delving into the evening’s activity for hunting the supernatural, and the only thing Raphael could do was stand back and watch amusedly as she spun around in a tizzy of excited chatter and flailing arm movements as she made her plans aloud for the night.

“Give me a few minutes to shift out of work-mode and I’ll start dinner,” Raphael recommended, grazing his lips on the top of her head before heading up the stairs as she fluttered past him.

“Good idea,” Lola agreed, now beginning to pace in a small rut in the middle of the foyer, her movements turning concise and compact, the classic signals she portrayed when her brain was narrowing in focus, making her rampant thoughts manageable in order to efficiently game plan while tying up loose ends for the mission at hand. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements with Modesta and Jack. Want to say we’ll meet them around 8:30?”

“That sounds fine to me,” he confirmed with a nod. Her excitement was contagious, and he felt the stirrings of anticipation for the investigation flutter within his heart once the official time was announced for meeting up with their friends. His mind began to wander, too, on how the night could play out, bolstering his eagerness to have the event begin as quickly as possible, but, seeing as no one person could move time along any faster than what was within their power, he could only smile in curious speculation as he walked up the stairs, Lola’s voice filtering behind him as he heard the chime of her speech as she spoke on the phone to assemble their ragtag team of amateur paranormal investigators.

“Jack, I am begging you, for the love of all things bright and holy, would you please stop fiddling around with that radio?” Modesta frustratingly requested. The constant noise of static underlined with the whine of crossed frequency signals was beginning to fray her nerves. If he could just stay on one station, the sound would be bearable, however, the overlap was too much of a bombardment in auditory information for her ears to withstand.

“I’ve almost got it,” Jack assured, messing with the long antenna of the old handheld radio. “This thing is tricky, and needs a delicate touch.”

“For someone who gave Lola such a hard time about her ancient equipment, where in heaven’s name did you unearth that piece of junk?”

“At Pyrite’s Pawn across the street from the shop,” he replied even keeled, moving now to adjust the dials. “That’s where I got my old-timey radio, too. I really admire his stuff, he has good wares.”

“Wares,” Modesta derided, smiling despite herself at his use of fantastical terms. “Any reason why you’re testing out this ‘new’ radio of yours here and now tonight?”

“Newberry is on at 8:30, and I figured since Lazare has been so spot on in regards to these weird accidents, he might be able to give us a clue about tonight’s affairs, too. Damn. I just can’t get a signal.” Dejectedly, Jack shut off the handheld, collapsing the antenna, tucking it away into its compact form. “I’ll have to play with it later,” he sighed, resting his chin in his hands, his elbows on the picnic table as he sat hunched over the wooden surface.

“Do not fret, Mr. Tech-Savvy Genius,” Modesta consoled light-heartedly as she sat to join him across the table. “You’ll get the radio working soon enough, I have no doubt.”

“Thanks,” Jack smiled, appreciating her good humor. “It’s a hard enough channel to tune into enough as it is. I think we’re just too far out of the broadcast’s radius to get a clear signal.”

“If it’s a local program, shouldn’t you be able to pick it up easily?”

“It depends on how strong the signal is and from where it’s being broadcast,” he said, straightening with a sigh as he looked to the sky. “I didn’t think we were that far away from the station building itself. Must be all these trees causing interferences. Oh, look!” he called, brightening considerably. “I think Lo and Raph are finally here.” The two watched as a car pulled into the parking space next to their own vehicle, and after the engine shut off and the headlights cut out, true to Jack's observation, Lola and Raphael emerged from the automobile. Lola saw the other couple first, waving with her full arm in greeting as she and her companion joined the duo at the picnic table.

“Hey, guys,” Lola called as they neared. “Sorry if we kept you waiting.”

“No worries,” Jack said, waving off the apology. “We had been here all of five minutes before you arrived.”

“That’s good to hear,” she smiled.

“So, what’s on the agenda for tonight, Lola? How do you see this going?” Modesta asked. She herself was eager to get the investigation underway, after all, she would be implementing new techniques of her craft, and any chance she could get to hone in and practice her spiritual abilities was more often than not a welcomed one.

“We’re here to help,” Lola stated. “That’s our main objective first and foremost. In order to help, we need to know what this entity is that’s been our ‘town legend’ for so long. If we can get clues based off tonight’s work, that will help point us in the direction of where to focus our attention next.”

“We need to establish a connection built on trust,” Raphael added. “That means being respectful at all times, and no provoking.” Both Jack and Modesta nodded in agreement, knowing full well the consequences that could arise if the spirit in the woods was treated with unfair copious amounts of disrespect. “That also means if it wants us to leave, we leave.” Again, the group was in solid agreement.

“Remember, we’re here to learn his story,” Lola spoke next.

“I personally don’t want us splitting up, either,” Raphael included in the brief, making sure to give a pointed look in his fiancée’s direction, to which she rolled her eyes. “We should stay as a group at all times for safety.”

“Agreed,” Modesta concurred, matching Raphael’s look to throw Lola’s way.

“I’m beginning to think you guys don’t trust me,” the singled out woman pouted, frowning at being the victim of such chastising looks.

“Ease up, guys, if it wasn’t for Lola’s meddling to begin with, we’d probably never be on this case to help the Hobblin’ Goblin,” Jack supplied, trying to aid his friend as the others gained up on her. He flinched back in his seat as the two soured individuals turned their scowls upon him.

“Thank you, Jack, but I also have to agree with them on this matter,” Lola said. “Did you guys happen to see which building is across the street?” She jutted her thumb over her shoulder where the others followed its direction to observe the old brownstone behind her.

“Holy shit, that’s Mrs. Trevon’s flower shop,” Modesta gasped.

“Which means…is this the park where Lazare said she was attacked?” Jack asked excitedly, pointing to the picnic table where he continued to sit, and when Lola nodded, he nearly jumped up and down in delight. “Hot damn, Lo, now that’s what I call sleuthing.”

“Now, now, I obviously haven’t confirmed it with Mrs. Trevon herself, however, this is what convinced me this is, indeed, the same location.” Lola took out her cellphone, beckoning her friends to gather close. “I took an audio recording today here at the playground. Tell me if you guys pick up on anything…unusual.” She didn’t want to color the others’ opinions, so merely pressed play on her device, allowing the recording to fill the space around the clustered bodies in the tight huddle. Jack and Modesta hovered over the small speaker of the phone, ears bent towards the item as the sound of rushing wind began to play, followed by the sound of Lola’s intake of breath, soft movement, and then came the murmur of a stranger’s voice.

“Whoa,” Modesta gasped, jerking her head back from the intruder’s words. “Play that again?”

“Is it me, or did I hear someone say ‘little witch’?” Jack asked after listening for the second time.

“That’s what I think it’s saying,” Lola shared, stowing the phone back in her pocket.

“Same as me,” Raphael nodded.

“What do you think that means?” Modesta asked the burning question on everyone’s mind.

“It means, we investigate,” Lola said frankly. “This recording should help give us the jump off point we need in establishing communication.”

“Let’s not wait another moment, then. Lola, I’m going to request that you be in charge of the digital recorder,” Jack announced, and out of a rucksack resting next to his thigh, he handed Lola a small audio recorder. “Sorry it doesn’t record on tape,” he teased, relinquishing the object. “Raph, I’d like you to operate the camcorder.” Jack passed along the video camera to Raphael. “Just point to aim, keep it steady, and this goes without saying, but make sure the lens cap is off.”

“What are you going to investigate with?” Lola curiously asked Jack as Raphael adjusted the camcorder settings to his liking.

“I am going to try something new,” he proclaimed proudly. “I downloaded a paranormal investigating app on my phone. This particular app basically traces people, marking their points of motion, turning them into a dancing skeleton.” Jack took out his phone that was secured to a handheld tripod, showing the others what he was describing. “Wave to the camera, Mo.” He pointed his phone in Modesta’s direction, and her outline illuminated the screen with interconnecting lines, circles marking her joints as well as general shape, mapping her movements from her head to her toes. Much like Jack said, her image looked like a wire armature for a sculpture’s base framework, or, as he aptly related, to that of a dancing skeleton.

“The app can also detect figures that the human eye is unable to see, so, if we think there’s movement deep in the shadows, we’ll be able to tell if it’s animal, or human, or goblin,” Jack explained.

“And, Modesta, you’ve got your pendulum, right?” Lola asked.

“I do,” she affirmed, holding up a small velvet drawstring bag. “I’ll stay close to you so when we’re asking questions, the pendulum can answer yes or no in real time while the recorder can capture answers we might not be able to hear in the moment.”

“Okay, team, are we ready to do this?” Lola asked, a wide smile lighting her face. “Let’s stick to the walking trail that goes into the forest. Knowing me and my clumsy feet, I don’t want to snag a root or step on a snake.”

“Lead the way,” Jack encouraged, sweeping his arm out in invitation towards the forest. With a spring in her step, Lola made for the walking path at the start of the tree line, her friends closely surrounding her sides, all with eager anticipation to begin their first ghost hunt together as a collective front. Entering the forest, the moonlight unfortunately became obscured by the thick branches still stubbornly holding onto all their harvest leaves, supplying the band of wannabe ghost hunters without much guidance to see where they trod. The spookiness of their environment began to morph the earlier levity of the jolly party, their pace slowing to accommodate the thicket of trees and the creatures that took refuge in their branches along with the rest of the nightlife hidden in their dwellings of brambles and bushes.

With each passing step, the sobriety of their mission sank in, and each person felt the weight of humble responsibility settle any notions of fanciful exploration, and after a sufficient amount of distance was covered, Modesta spotted a small clearing bathed in moonlight a few yards off the walking path.

“Let’s try for that clearing,” she suggested, pausing the group in their journey. In silent agreement, the four stepped off the path to enter the grounds of dried grass and leaves, the crunching beneath their feet helping to ground the energy, and once all were in the middle of the clearing, Modesta retrieved her pendulum of amethyst held together on a chain of precious stones representing the seven chakras. Dangling the pendulum above the open palm of her free hand, she closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths to center herself and connect with her spiritual guides, the pendulum remaining perfectly still in the space above her upturned hand. When she was ready, she opened her eyes to address the group.

“Go ahead, Lola. See if you can connect with the Hobblin’ Goblin,” Modesta said. Lola turned to the gentlemen behind her to validate they had their recording equipment prepared, and after taking a deep breath herself, she switched on her voice recorder.

“Hello, out there,” she greeted in a clear voice. “My name is Lola. These are my friends Modesta, Raphael, and Jack. Say hello, everyone.” The others greeted the empty space politely. “We’re here to help figure out your story. Could you please start by telling us your name?” She paused, listening to the wind lazily blow through the trees, the night sounds a comfort backdrop to the clear, starlit sky above.

“My friend Modesta is holding a pendulum that can help us communicate with you. You can make it swing in any direction for yes or no. If you understand, would you make that pendulum swing ‘yes’ for us, please?”

All eyes turned expectantly to the pendulum hanging delicately in the air, waiting for the object to start moving, but after a lengthy pause of stilted non-motion, the novelty of the suspense began to wear off.

“It’s not moving,” Jack stated the obvious, the disappointment clear in his tone.

“I understand it can take a lot of energy to move that pendulum, so it’s okay if you can’t,” Lola said into the clearing. She, as well as the others, had slowly begun moving about the open space to try and capture all angles for potential activity, Modesta staying motionless, however, to keep her movements from any accidental potential interference with the swaying of the crystal.

“Sometimes we have a hard time seeing and hearing you, so we have these equipment devices that will record you for us, so, keep talking as much as you are able,” Lola continued to encourage.

“We’d like to speak with the entity known as the Hobblin’ Goblin,” Raphael called out next. “Is he in the forest with us? Who is the little witch?” Slowly, he panned the camcorder around the clearing, but all was uneventfully calm. A twig snapped off to his right, and he turned in that direction, aiming the camcorder into the darkness, but the shadows from the cluster of trees were too thick for his eyes or that of the video camera’s to discern the source. Getting Jack’s attention, he gestured him over to his side of the glade.

“Got something on camera?” Jack asked upon meeting Raphael.

“Not that I can tell,” was the other’s reply. “Do me a favor and aim your phone in that direction for me, please,” he requested, pointing to the place he heard the movement. “Does your app see anything peculiar, by chance?”

Jack slowly moved the phone over the spot Raphael indicated, yet no dancing skeleton or otherwise appeared upon the screen, and Jack shrugged, the two separating, continuing to sweep the area.

“Any hits from the pendulum?” Lola asked Modesta, circling back to her friend.

“It’s as steady as a rock,” Modesta sighed in reply, “and my arm is starting to grow tired.”

“Can you hold on just a little bit longer? We’ll probably wrap things up here soon anyway if nothing starts happening.”

“Don’t forget, we have multiple pieces of equipment recording, so just because we aren’t having any personal experiences, doesn’t mean the cameras haven’t picked anything up.”

“Let’s try a few more questions to feel out the area. If we still aren’t seeing results, we’ll try a little deeper into the woods,” Raphael commented.

“Did you hear that, Mr. Goblin? We’re going to leave if you don’t make your presence known somehow. Not to pressure you or anything, but it would just be super nice if you could let us know you’re here so we can help you,” Lola called out once more into the forest. “Please, can you give us a sign that you’re even here?”

“Uh, guys? How many of us are investigating tonight?” Jack quietly asked. He was standing on the opposite side of the clearing having venture back to stand at the walking trail, his camera pointed in the direction of the two women, Raphael standing off to the side but still within sight of the viewfinder.

“Four,” Lola answered hesitantly.

“Well, there are certainly four of you on camera,” Jack replied. “Except, I’m behind the camera.”

“No way! You’ve got something on your app? A dancing skeleton?” Lola excitedly asked.

“Maybe? It’s more deer-shaped than anything, with these pretty big antlers, and on all four legs, but, in a person sort of way, too. It’s really hard to tell what it is.”

“What’s it doing? How far back is it?” Raphael asked, moving closer to the women, focusing the camcorder in the same direction Jack was picking up the anomaly.

“I mean, it’s close,” Jack guessed. “It looks like it’s just standing there, swaying a little bit, but I think it’s looking right at us.”

“Ask another question,” Modesta urged.

“Oh! Erm…thank you, Mr. Goblin, if that is you out there. We, um, can maybe kind of see you, or a deer, perhaps,” Lola floundered gracelessly. “Could you try and make it abundantly clear that this is you we’re seeing, please?”

“Guys, guys, guys, look,” Modesta aggressively whispered, keeping her voice low so as not to frighten away the creature hidden in the dark. The pendulum was swinging in large circles above her palm, the spinning growing wider, expanding as it continued gliding in its gyrating motion.

“Okay! Great! Thank you, Mr. Goblin. Just to be certain this is you, can you make the pendulum stop swinging?” Lola asked next. The group watched in fascination as the pendulum slowed its circular motion in a near complete stop, abruptly halting to once more hang lifelessly above Modesta’s palm.

“Thank you,” Lola repeated. “I’m glad you’re here. Please, can you tell us how we can help you? Is there something you need from us to help tell your story? Are you, in fact, a hobbling goblin?”

“Oops.”

Everyone turned towards Modesta as she made her small utterance. The pendulum, they all noted, was resting in the middle of her hand, one half crumpled in a pile of stones and metal, the rest still dangling from the hand that held the remainder of the now broken chain. “It broke,” was all she could mutter.

“It broke?” Lola rushed to her friend, examining for herself what Modesta claimed.

“One of the crystals broke,” she related, looking closely at the clean-cut orb severed smoothly in half.

“Is that the green one?” Lola asked, pointing to the crystal. “Which one does that represent again?”

“The heart chakra.”

“The camcorder just went dead,” Raphael shared, trying to turn on the equipment that only yielded his efforts fruitless.

“Oh, shit, shit, shit,” Jack swore rapidly, eyes wide as he stared at his phone screen. “It stood up, the deer stood up, holy shit it’s standing on two legs.” The three investigators quickly moved to stand by Jack, all witnessing as the tall image of a two legged deer decided at that moment to melt into the ground, disappearing from detection all together. As the figure made its retreat, a shrill whine of static white noise came pouring out of Jack’s back pocket, the burst of clamor filling the clearing sharply, giving everyone such a fierce start, they all jumped from the unexpected commotion.

“Jack! Turn that radio off,” Modesta shouted as she covered her ears.

“Sorry,” he apologized profusely, fumbling with the radio behind his back. Unfortunately, the radio slipped free from his grasp, clattering harshly to the ground, and as he bent down to reach the fallen artifact, through the airwaves of static, a garbled voice could be distinctly heard.

“…Little…witch….”

The radio proceeded to then fall eerily silent. Jack wordlessly retrieved the radio from the ground, too stunned to form words of any coherence. The others, too, stared at one another, absolutely gobsmacked from what they all had experienced, unsure of what to do or say next, the only aspect of their adventure holding any semblance of normalcy were the very woods they investigated itself, as crickets continued their evening symphony, owls hooting to join in chorus, the moon and stars the constant silent observers of the world beneath them.

“What are we dealing with here?” Lola whispered, the first to find her voice, the sound echoing in the quiet of the clearing.

“Whoever he is,” Modesta began, holding out the broken pendulum pieces in her hand, a moonbeam dancing on the split emerald of the chain, “we know at least one thing about him.”

“What’s that?”

“He has a broken heart.”

~~~~~~~~~~

#newberry at night #adventure #fantasy #romance #love #magic #witches #amwriting #ghost stories #ghosts #goblins #novel writing #novel

3 notes · View notes

everyhowlmarksthedead · 5 years ago

Text

IT’S ALL ABOUT FAMILY HAPPINESS

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy, this is part of a dream I had last night. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @forest-rav3n💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Every pound is deeper, hitting your back against the wooden door covered by graffitis and signs of all kind. Outside of the bathroom, the rock music is flooding the bar, covering every loud moan you scream out. He's huge and hard, and make a good couple with your tightness. His lips are sucking and biting your throat, making sure he does a mark on it so you can remember him the next morning. Finally, your tongues meet again in a filthy and desperate kiss, without caring about the shortness of breath.

“Oh my fuckin' god!” You cry out against his mouth, with your eyes closed.

“That is what I am to you, uh?” He chuckles, thrusting your body feeling needy for more.

“Fuck your ego!” You gasp in laughs, putting your legs tightly around his waist.

“No, fuck you”. He replies with stroke straight to your soul.

“Shit... Do it again”. You beg keeping his gaze and feeling the heat consuming you.

And he does. His dick beats you deeper, enjoying the dry sound his abdomen makes colliding with yours. Kissing him again, you press your hands on his nape, feeling how the tickles gets installed on your low belly about to reach the ecstasy. You don't care if he cums inside you, always taking your pill as every morning, so you don't say nothing when his moans get louder too.

Your hips starting to move, dancing over his cock wanting for more, needing it. He already knows you're close, hitting you faster against the door, thinking for a while that you're gonna destroy it.

“Fuck, Nestor... Don't stop”. You claim biting his lower lip, before letting him find your tongue with his.

Your most pure and natural groan is drowned in his mouth, closing hard your eyes and feeling that you're choking because of the pleasure, when he fills you with the hot cum. Some thrusts before, he lets you rest, supporting his forehead against you. Taking his chin with two fingers, you lick his lips by giving him a tiresome kiss.

Putting your feet on the floor to clean all the mess and putting your clothes well on, he holds you the opened door.

“Ladies first”. He says with a triumphant smile, doing a gesture with his left hand, the same one that minutes before was between your legs.

“What a gentleman...” You joke on him, walking towards the bar.

The old bartender, Erny, is smiling at you seeing how the man goes back to his table with his friends, while you take a seat on the stool. Without asking, he serves two shots of tequila. One for you. One for him. Cheering on air, you two drink with the burning liquid ripping your throat. Shaking your head for a second you stretch your right arm to take the helmet his offering you.

“Tell your tío I need to talk' him”. He says then.

“I will”.

“It's good to see you back home, niña”. The older leaves a soft and dearly caress on your chin, leaving a kiss on your cheek.

Zipper up on your chest, to adjust the leather jacket, you wear the helmet on before having a last look of the man who has made your arrival at Santo Padre something better. You didn't ask for his number, he either, but this is a small town and you're sure you're gonna meet again sooner or later.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

Waking up after all the shots you drunk last night is an odyssey. You feel like shit, and you also look like this. Coughing and trying to clear your throat, you walk out of your room full of cardboard boxes because of the move from Boston, where you were doing your final MIR at the hospital. The smell of coffee is all around the house that, now, you share with your father and your uncle. You could rent a flat or a house, but be with family is always better. Sitting in front of them, the two men open their eyes more. Then, they look at each other.

“You have fun last night, mija?”

“Uh?” You ask serving some coffee in your cup, finding that your father is pointing your throat.

Using your phone to reflect your skin, you see the red and purple bruise in it. Chuckling and licking your upper lip with the toe of your tongue, you shake your head.

“Fuckin' bastard...” You whisper after having a sip of the hot drink, giving you some life. “I fell in love, what can I say?”

Those words impact them, slightly twisting their heads with curiosity. It's the first time in your whole life that you say something like that, and calling their interest on it. Both men leave away his breakfast crossing their arms on the table.

“He was fucking handsome, shit...” You tell them wrinkling the nose, with your cheeks getting red.

“Do you have his phone?” Marcus ask with pursed lips, deciding to have a bite of his toast.

“Nope”. You reply lying against your chair somewhat comfy on it. “But... he is unmistakable and Santo Padre is pretty small. And, shit! I love his braids”.

Bishop splits the coffee staining the table and your shirt.

“Tío, what the fuck?!”

“Did you say... what?” He asks coughing, noticing how your father is between the rage and the shame.

“Braids. I said ‘braids’. Aren't you too young to be deaf or somethin' like, ah?”

Obispo breaks in laughter almost falling from his chair, palming your father's back with no expression on his face. You start to tremble, not sure if you're feeling afraid or what. Licking your lips and putting away the coffee, you want to know what the hell is happening.

“The fucking Nestor!” Your uncle is drowning between long laughs, having to get up wrapping his own abdomen and leaning forward.

“The fuc' is so funny?” You frown starting to feel upset.

“He's Miguel Galindo's head security. My new boss”. Your father's voice is firm and concise, with his black eyes on yours. And now, you want to be swallowed up by the earth. “And we're gonna have dinner with him tonight”.

“With Nes—Nestor?”

“With Miguel!” He yells at you, hitting the table with his fist. “Stop laughing or 'amma gonna punch you in the face, primo!”

“Mierda, estás jodido, Marcus”. (Shit, you're fucked, Marcus). Your uncle can't stop, grabbing his mug to walk towards his room. “Fucking Nestor, what an idol”.

“Papi, I'm so—”.

“I'm gonna shoot him”.

“Dad! What the hell?”

“No, ‘what the hell’ you?!”

“I didn't know who he was! And I'm not going around saying who my father is”.

“I don' wan' you close to him, you hear me, mija?”.

“Why?” You ask raising an eyebrow, supporting your forearms against the edge of the table.

“'Cause he does what he does”.

“You too! And 'am sure the granddad didn't had this talk with my mother”.

Good point. A good one he can't reply. Snorting, the mexican rubs his face with both hands, shaking his head after that. He doesn't say anything else, getting up of his chair to let you have your breakfast alone.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

Your father opens you the car door, offering you a hand to go out, holding the long white skirt of the satin dress to facilitate your first steps. You're nervous, that's a reality, and Marcus can notice it. With his fingers tangled in yours, you walk towards the front door. The mexican opening it, leaves you some space to come in, being received by his boss.

“Hermano!” He says, hugging your father and palming his back.

“Miguel, she's (Y/N), my daughter”. Marcus, feeling so proud of you, push you sightly into him.

“Nice to meet you, mister Galindo”.

“Call me Miguel”. He says with a gentle smile on his face, narrowing your hand in a salute. “Más hermosa de lo que dijiste”. (More beautiful than you said).

You smile him back, placing the fine gold chain around your neck in a nervous gesture. You have had to do an exhaustive work to cover the bruise on your throat with makeup, and you're praying that it won't fade. With shaky legs you walk on your high-heels being guided by the younger to the living room. The house is huge and luxurious, the kind one that would have a man like Galindo. But when your eyes finds Nestor's, you feel like you don't have any air inside your lungs.

“I need to talk' you, hermano”. Marcus says to Miguel, calling for his attention.

“Sure, let's go”. He replies, putting a hand on your low back. “Sírvele una copa a la señorita”. (Serve a drink to the lady).

“Tequila, if it's okay”. You need it.

“Didn't you drinking last night enough, mija?” Your father is joking on you, with a serious gesture on his face and a raised eyebrow.

“She's young, Marcus! Let her drink!” Miguel laughs, gesturing to Nestor to serve you. “We will be back soon”.

You stand in the middle of nowhere with your hands behind your back, letting your gaze travel around the living room connected to the kitchen, watching sideaways how Nestor serves the glass, a soft tremble runs through your body. And it gets worse when you feel his fingertips touching your forearm in a ephemeral caress.

“Thank you”. You mutter taking the drink, unable to look at him, even if he's staring at you. “Last night was sensual... Now is creepy”.

He chuckles shaking his head, putting his hands inside the pockets of the black trousers.

“Your father knows?”

“I'm drinkin' tequila, what 'you think, ah?” You ask then, with your eyes on the horizon through the huge window, and desert behind it. “I'm sorre', I didn' know...”

“It's ok. These things happens”. He says shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, really? You usually fuck your mates' daughters in the bathroom of a bar?” Raising an eyebrow you turn to him with feigned curiosity.

Nestor place his forefinger under your chin, having a look of your neck. Seems like someone is disappointed, whilst you have another sip enough to burn your throat.

“I have never done it before”.

And you believe him, every word, because of a hunch stuck in your chest. And that fact makes you feel more edgy.

(Meanwhile at Miguel's office)

“¿Bromeas?” (Are you kidding me?). The boss of the Cartel is containing some laughters, supporting his waist against the edge of the desk.

“No bromeo, hermano. Solo quiero saber si estás bien con esto. Si mi hija quiere hacer algo, lo hará de igual manera”. (I'm not kidding, brother. I just want to know if you're okay with this. If my daughter wants to do something, she'll do it anyway). He sighs shaking his chin.

“It's okay. If they want to... have something, I can't refuse”. Miguel shrugs his shoulders cross-armed. “It's all about family happiness”.

“Well, I'm gonna torture him a little. I'm sure my daughter already told him, but he doesn't know that you know”.

“This only gets more interesting”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

“I went outside to ask you for your number, but you left so fast”.

“Yea', I had a meeting at the hospital this morning”.

“The hospital? You ok?”

“I work there”.

He draws a surprised gesture on his face nodding some times, and when you're about to continue talking your father comes back wrapping your waist with an arm. Marcus leaves a kiss on your cheek, glaring at Nestor with his eyes. He swallows heavy with his throat going up and down.

“So, where is your wife, Miguel?” The older asks.

“In Santa Madre, with my mother and Cristobal. The house is all ours”. The man replies, making a gesture with his hand to indicate keep walking to outside.

Sitting by your father's side with a leg crossed over the other, the man places a hand on it, marking his territory. Miguel, by the other hand, sitting in front of both serves some whisky for them.

“So, tell me 'bout you, (Y/N). Why you left Boston?” Galindo asks, adopting the same position as yours, lying against the back of his sofa.

“I finished my MIR and I miss my home, that's all”. With pursed lips you shrug a little. “My boss offered me to continue here, so I couldn't say ‘no’”.

“Amazing. Which speciality?”

“Emergencies”.

“Wow! Brave! It's the most complicated part of a hospital”. He says, sounding very interested.

“Well... More or less, yea'”.

“And you have fun last night, on your way back home?”

You squint at the man, licking your lips with a funny smile drawing in them.

“Pretty much, actually. I went to a bar regented by a good friend of my family. Got some shots, some beers...”

“And she also...” Your father palms your tight, staring at you causing your heart to skip a beat. “Drove my bike, rai', mija?”

“Ye—Yeah... Right, right, dad...”

“She always loved it, so I gave it to her. She likes to... ride. What can I say? It's something hereditary”. Miguel and your father laugh so rhythmic that scare you.

“Are you single, (Y/N)?”

“Why you ask?”

“Just... curiosity. I mean, I'm sure you broke a lot of hearts when you left Boston”. He comments then, with feigned innocence.

“I don' think so, but you can ask my fan club in the geriatric area”. The men laughs loud again, with your father narrowing your knee gently.

“What do you think, brother?” Miguel turns his head to Nestor, next to the glass door with his hands tangled down by his abdomen in a typical security ward position.

“About what, Mikey?” He asks trying to maintain composure.

“Don't you think she's beautiful?”

“No. I mean. Yes. No. I don' know, I didn't look at her”. You could swear he's sweating, getting worse when your father stares at him.

“Don't you think my daughter is beautiful?” Nestor swallows again heavier.

“Ye—Yes, she is... She is”. He answers cleaning his throat with a fist covering his mouth.

“Then, why did you say ‘no’, ah?”

“I didn't wanna be disrespectful, Marcus. It's your daughter”.

“‘Be disrespectful’...” Your father nods one time, having a drink of the whisky in his hand.

“Oh, sweet Jesus Christ”. You mutter rubbing your right temple.

Miguel and your father start to laugh again, and now you know what it's happening. He already know and Nestor looks more terrified than before, living in his ignorance. You hit your father's ribs with an elbow, getting up of your seat and leaving the glass with tequila on the table.

“You two are like fuckin' children... Pendejos”. You growl very upset walking towards the inside of the house.

“¡Vamos, mija, no te enfades!” (C'mon, mija, don't get angry!) You can hear your father laughing from the sofa, while you walk straight to the front door, taking your phone to call your uncle.

Closing in it loud, you continue to your father SUV, supporting your back against the huge front of the vehicle. At the third tone, the voicemail talks. Shit. You hang up the call, typing this time Angel's number. He finally answer.

“What's up, mi dulce. Everything is goin' ok?”

“Can you please pick me up at Galindo's house?”

“Yea'course, you okay?”

“Please, get me out of here”. You beg, provoking his laughter.

The front door is opening by Nestor, walking next to you and leaving some distance between both till you finish the call.

“'Amma on my way, gimme' some minutes”.

“Thanks, Angel”. You sigh rubbing your forehead with the head down.

“'You leaving?” He asks confused and cheerless.

“Yeah. My hangover doesn' let me deal with bullshit”. You reply somewhat angry. He nods biting his inner lip, looking away. “Listen, I'm sorre'. I didn't mean to give you tro—”.

“Mikey says he's okay”.

“About what?”

“About us. And your father's too. Well, he actually told me that if I make you cry, he's gonna tie me to his car and run me by the desert”. Typical of Marcus, overprotecting. “I'll finish... tomorrow at seven. By evening. If you want... we can go somewhere”.

Raising you gaze at his, finding it in somewhere, you can see he's feeling a little shy. Alcohol always makes everything easy.

“Are you tryin' to fuck me in another bathroom?” You ask then, getting up from the car whilst he's chuckling because of your words.

“Who knows? Maybe. You enjoyed it a lot”.

“You too. My father freaked out when he saw your bruise in my throat”.

“But you don' have it”.

“I'm using makeup to cover it, genius...” You roll your eyes, walking towards him as he does to placing his hand on your lower back.

“So... tomorrow at eight?” A triumphant smile is making an appearance on his lips, before pressing them against your in a dearly kiss, leaving some caresses on your back.

#mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva imagine

223 notes · View notes

godkilller · 5 years ago

Text

WRITING SWORDFIGHTS

Roleplay Thread Tips - SWORD EDITION. Because you all voted for this and are enabling me.

If your character is actively using a battle-grade katana in actual combat, IT IS KENJUTSU. If your character is wielding a wooden sword, or bokken, and they’re studying or practicing the ways of swordsmanship via sport, it is KENDO. Think of Kenjutsu as the technique of swordsmanship, especially in battle, which includes outright the ability to kill an enemy. Kendo is an artful performance, an armored/padded and relatively safe competitive sport. Aim to be as respectful as possible when pertaining to the katana, this is a centuries-old weapon with deep cultural ties. As eloquently once put by a Space Wizard, a sword is “an elegant weapon” -- they’re not toys.

There are nine basic cuts in kenjutsu that all characters who wield a katana likely adhere to -- with or without outright training to do so. KESA GIRI: a diagonal strike across the shoulder starting at the right shoulder and down to the left hip. This is mirrored for the left shoulder down to the right hip. Alternatively, KIRIAGE: an upward cut from the right hip to the left shoulder, mirrored again for cuts made from the left hip to the right shoulder. MEN: a straight downward strike to the head and across the torso. KOTE: the cutting of the opponent’s wrist, duplicated for each one. DO: a horizontal cut across the abdomen, in either direction, but most often left-leading. These cuts are almost all fatal if wielded to be so, or lead to the forceful disarming of your opponent.

Katana are meant to cut, slice and otherwise take down their targets via a razor edge and a precise swing. If wielded improperly, they can utterly fail a cut to the point of damaging the katana, or rebounding sloppily.

You don’t need to get into specifics, like what exact angle a cut is being made, but most diagonal cuts are around 45 degrees, upward or downward strikes. If your character is slashing down at an opponent, they’re likely performing a diagonal cut at the shoulder to the opposite hip. Always think about where you’re positioning your character during attacks to be considerate to the fact that you may be leaving them wide open, and realistically unable to block or parry an attack made at that possible opening.

Writing a swordfight should contain skirmishes, not prolonged spats. Try to pace yourself out. A style choice I make when writing a sword fight is making the descriptions more ‘fast’ and concise during the actual attacks, keeping things simple so that the sentences are read at a faster rate which gives the illusion of quicker moments, then becoming more descriptive and lengthy, ‘slowed down’ during the moments following -- to signify that contemplation, the lull that happens like a tide to shore. In and out. This, also, makes it easier to feel out your fight’s pacing.

Speaking, earlier, of Star Wars... lightsaber battles showed us the beauty of kenjutsu-inspired combat with unnecessary and often fatal twirls and spins added in. Unless your character REALLY can move themselves and their blade FAST, any time they spin themselves during combat is a perfect opening for their opponent to strike their back, their sides, and really.. just about everything. Try not to spin around like a Beyblade. Twirling a sword can be strategic in making an opponent struggle in attempt to keep track of your blade, its range, and everything in between, but it also makes your character vulnerable. The more time spent with your cool color guard spinning, the less time you have to react and move your blade in a way to defend yourself.

Sometimes it’s the smaller strikes that matter more than the grand sweeping motions of a blade. Making your character constantly make big swings means they’re using way more energy behind each swing, and also causes momentum to work against them in some cases: the harder and bigger their swings, the longer it’ll take for their blade to come to a stop and then return to a position that can defend.

Swordfighting is all about footing and distance. Your character should be thinking about their reach, their range, in comparison to their opponent’s. If your character is skilled with a sword, they should never be caught vibing within arm’s reach of their opponent, because that’s well within the range of the other’s sword. THE SWORD BEING AN EXTENSION IS NOT A SAYING TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. This sword should feel like a part of the wielder, an addition, not a blunt object to flail around with. For reference: most katana-length swords have blades that are roughly three feet long. Factor that into your character's arm span. Range is everything, distance and gap-closing is everything.

A katana’s sheath is made from wood, and therefore cannot fend off a full-force swing from an attacking sword, which is sometimes shown in popular anime / manga as something that can be done. Maybe, yes, the first swing or two, it can be used to defend against. Sometimes a saya may be reinforced with iron or steel or even tempered clay. Those aren’t as common, or will be used almost exclusively for show, and will add weight -- which should be factored into the entire katana’s heaviness when settled at your character’s side. Wooden saya may expand and contract during humid and hot days as well as in the cold, or other weather conditions. Painted saya may eventually show cracks and other wear and tear on their decorations due to this. What does your character’s sword situation look like? Are they proper and polished, or does their weapon have blemishes?

On that topic: If your character returns their sword to its scabbard without cleaning off any blood or other fluids that touched it during battle then I am personally hunting you down. Blades, supernatural or otherwise, shouldn’t be sheathed when dirty. Especially if they’ve made contact with skin or made a full cut that spilled blood. THERE’S AN ENTIRE ART OF “RETURNING THE BLADE” AFTER MAKING A CUT, it’s specific in removing anything from the blade via wiping or ‘shaking the blood’ from it. Blades can become rusted or otherwise damaged if not cleaned, and sheathing a dirtied blade means that now the scabbard is caking that shit onto your blade. Both need cleaning, now, you absolute idiot. I’m crying. For reference: a single thumb print on a blade left uncleaned for a week can begin showing signs of rust due to the oils of your skin residing unhindered on the blade.

Swords aren’t featherlight. Over time, a character who regularly wields a sword should have weathered hands due to the weight and grip of holding their katana, specifically this should roughen their palms. Katana are meant to be wielded with TWO HANDS. The dominant hand rests closer to the guard, and the non-dominant hand resides lower, near the end of the hilt. The two-handed grip must be separated, but not too drastically, to offer a driving force to your swings.

Writing a swing is simple, but describing the speeds and aim can require a little bit more: the fastest series of cuts were made using BATTOJUTSU, or iaijutsu, the art of drawing the blade swiftly, for example. Cuts that land will face resistance, primarily muscle and bone if they’re deep, and only should cleave cleanly if your character has invested the arm strength and drive to slice through a person like so. What style of swordsmanship does your character use? There are many different ones.

Standard katana move slowly in comparison to tanto and wakizashi, shorter blades. This is in part due to being wielded with two hands as opposed to the short swords being single-handed, and also in part due to the katana weighing more and taking up more space whilst swung.

A sword should be worn at the hip, on the side that is opposite of your character’s dominant hand, because that’s how it’s drawn: using your character’s non-dominant hand to grip the scabbard whilst the dominant hand draws the blade. There are various artful and skillful ways, including deadly teachings specifically about unsheathing the blade, surrounding this pivotal moment. Your character can get a little fancy here, or they can stay simple.

Typically, a character should not draw their blade unless they are prepared to kill, or to defend themselves via the act of killing a threatening enemy -- the traditional meme of samurai contemplating Many a Thing before drawing their swords dramatically, in slow-mo or suddenly with great lagging pauses is kind of a play on the fact that this is no silly little feat. Even if your character is perceived as careless, reckless, they can still fit in that moment of contemplation, of focus. Is your character respectful to this concept, or do they not give a shit? It’s considered disrespectful, dishonorable, to conceal your blade and draw it without indication of wanting to attack.

Sometimes that moment before or during the draw is so LIGHTNING FAST, it can be easier to simply describe the sound of the draw rather than focus on writing the actual method of unsheathing a blade in your reply. NEVER FORGET SOUNDS when describing fights: breathing, the rustling of clothes, the ‘woosh’ of a blade being swung in full through the air, the scuffing, skidding, and sliding of feet across the ground. If your blade achieves your opponent, then the cutting of fabric, of skin, and even bone can be factored in. If you ever feel unsure of what to describe, visually, during a fight -- sometimes the sounds can save you.

Clashing blades, IF YOU MUST, shouldn’t ‘spark’ like sometimes shown in anime during heated moments of swords scraping against one another. These swords aren’t meant to smack into one another, they’re meant to cut, but if your character’s sword is supernatural / enhanced, then go for it. Swords should not obnoxiously and loudly clang together, they’re not heavy slabs of metal, they’re refined and folded steel meant to be narrow and thin for optimal cutting. There is some measure of recoil on impact, your character should be absorbing some of that blow whilst the blade gathers the rest. Yes, katana can wobble and bend when in combat, but they shouldn’t be excessively doing so. This isn’t fencing.

Stabbing is pretty fucking fatal. If your character gets slashed, there’s a chance the wound is relatively shallow -- yes, it’ll sting, it’ll hurt, it’ll bleed. But a stab from a katana will be a deep wound, and will most likely mean the full blade impaled you, meaning there will be an entry and an exit wound to freely bleed from. This also ups the chance that a vital has been struck.

It’s relatively uncommon to attack your opponent’s feet when in combat, but then again most swordfighting in anime isn’t standard. Not everyone plays by the rules -- does your character? Keep in mind that if your character wants to fight dirty and strike low, this may very well leave them wide open; low strikes imply your character is leaning over or crouching, with their blade lowered too, this can be a great time to strike for their head.

A decisive moment can be a single strike coming through and ending the battle, or it can be a numerous amount of smaller strikes slowly causing your opponent to tire and succumb. Don’t always assume your character can end a fight in a single strike: this takes immense strength and accuracy, most characters can and will go down swinging.

Katana aren’t small, consider this if a fight begins indoors. ASKING TO MOVE A FIGHT OUTSIDE ISN’T JUST FOR KICKS. Prepare to wreck walls, knock over furniture, and other obstacles to obstruct your katana from making wide proper strikes. Try swinging a broom in a hallway, it just doesn’t end well. Wakizashi are more suited for close-quarters and confined fighting, which is also why samurai would wear them in tandem with their main katana to avoid being vulnerable.

Katana, even when sheathed, can still be considered hindering in small spaces or when sitting. It’s commonplace to remove the stowed sword from the tie at one’s hip and place it at their non-dominant hand’s side when seated, especially if one is in the seiza position -- known as literally the ‘proper sitting’ position where one sits on their knees, their legs folded beneath them.

Just because an experienced sword-wielder is seated doesn’t mean they’re defenseless. In fact, there are many different cuts that can be made from a seated position which actually gain more power and momentum due to the added force of half-standing during the draw. Does your character do anything special to really enhance their speeds, their strikes? Gin hides his sword in his oversized clothes, particularly his sleeves, or will strike when in a noncombative stance.

IT’S COMMON TO USE CLOTHING TO OBSCURE FOOTING, in fact that’s the main function of the hakama, the flowing garment that resembles oversized pants. The skirt-like legs of the pants hide the more detailed positions of the legs, giving the appearance of stationary poses, or gliding movements, when more is going on underneath.

What steps does your character take in order to get a solid advantage in any given fight? Do they prefer upward strikes or downward, do they prefer striking left or right? Do they like getting all up in the other’s business or are they more of a touch and go type? Is this their first time not slicing at some soaked bamboo? Have they ever drawn a live sword at another person before? Think about all of these things.

Ultimately, as long as you’re being respectful, you can really have fun with it!

#[ roleplay resource ]#[ out of character ] masquerade; hide your face #i cannot be contained.#long post

45 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

These People in This Room (Don't Shine Like You) (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Lawrence has just been crowned the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK, and Ellie is right beside her. Just like she’s always been.

a/n: omg HIIIIII! here’s my entry to the fic challenge (will it be my only one? who can say). in a shocking turn of events this is not a drabble asdfghjk but would we have expected anything concise from me? this fic was inspired by Shine and Starstruck, both by Years and Years. they are very diamond chaney songs so pls do give them a little listen for full effect! standard procedure, she/her pronouns bc they’re in drag, u know the drill. this has taken me entirely too long to write but pls enjoy some diamond chaney from the night of the crowning! (pls also collectively pretend they had an actual dancefloor to celebrate on and not just a hotel room bc i had already started writing at the point Ellie posted her BTS. fic is just one big serving of pretend anyway xo)

***

It’s somewhere around midnight, the sun has set on Thursday and Friday has crept in, and Lawrence is sitting in a booth with the dancefloor flashing bright colours in front of her, only just daring to believe that this is her actual life.

There is not a single moment that seems real. Even being one of the top four took her essentially since filming stopped to come to terms with. But hearing her name being read out, hearing the other girls cheer for her and being able to do nothing but stare at the screen in disbelief with her hands over her mouth and sob like a baby…that’s not sunk in yet. Maybe it never will. She’s still feeling the after-effects from the way the shock and euphoria had kicked seven shades of shit out of her pulse, the way the serotonin had crashed over her like a wave and the absolute unbridled lack of control she’d had over any of her emotions.

When the cameras had been cut off and they’d been given the all-clear from the producers that they could hug each other, Lawrence had only managed to stand up from the chair, still in floods of tears as Bimini bundled their arms around her, Tayce had jostled them all with the way she’d jumped up and down and yelled in delight, and Ellie had looped her arms around her neck and murmured into her shoulder, words Lawrence couldn’t hear but felt the love from regardless.

It had to be Ellie, really, that crowned her. It was a full-circle moment. She still remembers the night they met for the first time; Dundee in 2016, some time in the early hours of the morning (she’d probably called it ‘bastard o’clock’ or something similar), coming out of the bar and being stopped by a boy in half-drag similar ages with her who spoke rapidly and excitedly and told her that he’d messaged her about starting drag and she’d replied to him. The way realisation had dawned on her and the way she’d been her usual loud and boisterous self to cover up the fact she’d actually been quite bashful about the fact they were meeting for the first time.

There was no alternative, not least because of everything they’ve been through together; the years leading up to this moment and the rollercoaster it’s all been. She’s glad that they’re on a high because they’ve seen each other at their lows (been the cause of each others’ too, sometimes) and pulled through only slightly scathed, but always stronger. The producer had asked Lawrence who she’d wanted and when she, still speechless, had pointed in Ellie’s direction, seeing the tears start to stream down her face had only made Lawrence’s start all over again. They’d hugged- just the two of them this time- and the way Ellie had immediately felt like a safe place in the crazy chaos of reality reminded Lawrence so much of when they had filmed. The way even just hearing Ellie’s voice would stop her feeling homesick, the way she was a living comfort blanket.

She’d never tell that to Ellie, of course, because she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

It’s been a couple of hours and Lawrence is expecting everything to suddenly sink in any minute now. Something will click like the last piece of a puzzle and she’ll finally accept that she’s won, that the whole thing isn’t a giant and premature April fools’ prank. She turns her phone over in her hand, wondering what all this nervous energy is doing to her body chemistry. She’s got messages from her family, her friends, Kiko, the girls she works with back home. Well…some of them. But apart from reading them and frantically replying, Lawrence hasn’t checked anything else; hasn’t opened Twitter or Instagram, where the notifications are piling up like pizza leaflets through a letterbox and are equally as unwanted. If she thinks about them she can feel her stomach twist, wrung out like a wet towel.

Forty thousand likes. The Team Bimini tweet had forty thousand likes. What did her own get? Eight thousand? Lawrence thinks about the sheer scale of forty thousand people, compares it to the population of towns in Scotland. Almost Airdrie. Just under Coatbridge. She imagines a whole town of people, angry and furious and disappointed, and all of them tweeting her to let her know exactly that. She remembers in high school when she thought the whole of Hermitage was against her. She wants to tell baby Lawrence that that was fucking small fry. A thousand kids? Try the sheer scale of Bimini’s fanbase. Her breath is shaky when she tries to breathe in, like her lungs have reduced in size. It reminds her of that time in school camp when they all had to jump from a pier for some unknown-fucking-reason, how freezing the water had been and how her chest felt tight as she gasped for air. Lawrence supposes it was character building in the sense that it prepared her exactly for how anxiety would make her feel later in life.

In for four. Hold for five. Out for six.

“There she is!”

An ever so slightly slurred and wobbly voice breaks Lawrence’s reverie, and when she looks up she sees Ellie approaching her, a little unsteady even in the flats she’s changed into with a glass of prosecco in each hand. It says a lot that even at the top of a helter-skelter of an anxiety spiral, Lawrence’s heart still gives a little swell when she sees her friend. Ellie has always been able to make her feel better. She feels an almost silly sense of relief that she’s here.

Lawrence takes one last little breath in before plastering a small smile to her face. “Awrite? Where’s Mumma Diamond?”

“In her room conked out. Just got back from putting her to bed, she couldn’t hack it. Letting down the family name, that one,” Ellie huffs, sliding into the booth and squashing up right beside Lawrence, even though there’s enough space for two metres distance even if they had still been under strict instructions from the BBC.

“Tayce?” Lawrence asks, gratefully accepting the prosecco glass and hurriedly downing a too-big gulp in an attempt to calm herself down.

“Facetiming A’whora. Of course.”

“Of course. Maybe a bottle and a half of prosecco is gonny be the love potion she never knew she needed.”

“Fuck, we can only hope,” Ellie grins, already laughing through her words. “If we’re gonna be touring with them I don’t wanna have to karate chop through five layers of sexual tension every time I have to walk past them.”

Lawrence chuckles, tired but humoured and unable to not make the so-obvious joke. “You couldny fight sleep.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll fight you in a minute!” Ellie nudges her with her shoulder and spills both of their prosecco from the glasses in their hands. The gesture is affectionate and out of place with the impending threat. “Where’s Bims? Thought they were with you.”

Lawrence shrugs. “Went out for a smoke with one of the runners about twenty minutes ago and never returned.”

“Good for them. Always thought there’s something inherently sexy about a winch in a back alley.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Eh, so would you!” Ellie cries, nothing short of incredulously offended. Her expression makes her look even more like a cartoon character than usual, and it’s entirely too endearing.

“Yeah, forgot that popular phrase. It takes two to winch in a back alley,” Lawrence jokes, but her heart isn’t in it. It’s too heavy and her ribcage feels like someone laced her into a corset and pulled it too tight. She’s hoping Ellie is too drunk to notice.

Ellie sips her prosecco with her eyes on her, then scrutinises her as she swallows it. She frowns, her nose wrinkling up as she prods Lawrence with an acrylic-nail finger. “What’s up?”

Fuck.

“The sky,” Lawrence says without conviction, and the raised eyebrow Ellie gives her in return is enough to unlock her. She deflates like a balloon and brings her phone up so Ellie can see it, turning it over in her hands. “Just…as happy as I am, and as much as this is all a dream come true…I keep psyching myself up to open any social media, and I can’t, because this one fucking brain cell of anxiety keeps telling me that everyone out there hates me and hates the fact I’ve won.”

Ellie’s face falls into a frown. She gently pries the phone out of her hands and places it on the table, takes one of Lawrence’s free hands in hers and rubs her thumb over her knuckles. “But all your other brain cells know that’s wrong.”

Lawrence sighs. “So why’s that one louder than all the rest?”

Ellie presses her lips together in a badly-suppressed smile. She’s giggling as she speaks. “Because you’ve only got two brain cells.”

Lawrence splutters a laugh, shoving Ellie with her free hand. The other is still laced together with hers. As the laughter dies down and the momentary serotonin wears off, Lawrence can feel her brow furrowing involuntarily. “Forty thousand people wanted Bimini to win, Ellie. Forty thousand. You know that’s like a whole town? That’s like the population of Coatbridge?”

“ Fuck Coatbridge!” Ellie exclaims, affronted, and her shock and insistence makes Lawrence snort all over again. “Okay, forty thousand people is a town but really, what’s that to the rest of the world? Think how tiny that is in the grand scheme of things, Lawrence! Honestly, give a fuck about what any bastard who wants to send you anything vile thinks of you! You’re so amazing! You won! Fuck everyone else!”

Lawrence wants to feel cheered up. The prosecco Ellie’s drunk is making her all the more animated and lively, giving her words a determination and a passion that her speech so rarely possesses most of the time. Ellie is calm, and she doesn’t get wound up easily. There’s something about the fact she’s growing this animated over getting Lawrence to believe in herself that warms her heart a little.

Then again…

“It’s not just that, though. There’s girls from home that haven’t even said well done. Girls I’ve always supported and couldn’t do enough for, and it’s like…really? You can’t be happy for me when I’ve actually managed to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do for years?”

“Well maybe they have said well done, and you’ve just not seen it because you’ve been hiding,” Ellie gestures matter-of-factly at her phone. It doesn’t convince her.

“They won’t have. You’ll know who I’m talking about, Ellie.”

Ellie sighs a little, clearly conceding that Lawrence is right. Her grip on her hand tightens a little, and when Lawrence looks up at her in response her blue eyes hold a glint of assurance.

“Well, even if they haven’t…fuck ‘em. Onwards and upwards, chick. You’ve got ten new sisters out of this who’re always going to know what it’s like, they’re gonna be here for you no matter what,” Ellie says comfortingly. Lawrence knows why she’s said ten and not eleven, but Ellie affirms this with another squeeze and a slightly shy smile. “And you’ve always got me. You’ve always had me.”

This is true. She’s always had Ellie. Before the show, doing gigs with her and hanging out with her and going to DragCon with her. On the show, always there to reassure her or pull her out of a negative spiral or just lean against her shoulder and squeeze her hand. And after the show. Whatever that might look like. Whatever that might be.

She supposes that neither of them know yet.

“C’mon,” Ellie says decisively, holding out a hand for her as the song changes. It’s some sort of Paolo Nutini dirge, and Lawrence has to laugh at how obviously whoever is in charge of the music has rushed to attempt to find something Scottish. Lawrence can only blink at Ellie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on! ” Ellie laughs. Lawrence doesn’t know if she’s blushing or if it’s just the lights.

But she does know that she can’t leave Ellie hanging when she’s looking at her like that.

So Lawrence lets herself be dragged out to the dancefloor and pulled into a hug as Ellie sways them left to right ever-so-slightly out of time with the song, tipsy and full of affection given the way her arms are locked around Lawrence’s waist. It should feel stranger than it does. In reality, being held by Ellie feels as simple as just existing.

Or perhaps simpler than that, given the fact that Lawrence’s existence feels entirely surreal right now.

“You have to be in drag for half past se-ven,” Ellie sing-songs, bringing one of her arms out from around Lawrence’s waist and tapping her on the nose. Lawrence immediately misses it, so it’s a relief that it’s not gone for long.

“Because I wo-on,” Lawrence imitates back to her, and the way Ellie squeezes her waist in response and affirmation causes a smile and a blush to bloom on her face without her even being to control it. She rests her head against Ellie’s chest so she can’t have the satisfaction (ammunition) of seeing how she makes her feel.

It’s little moments like that that she needs right now. Anchors to keep her down on earth, to let her know that this isn’t just some really prolonged lucid dream and it’s all actually happening because currently reality is so absurdly ridiculous; she’s just won Drag Race and she’s slow-dancing with Ellie to the song that’s blasting through the speakers in the background, a parody of some American high school prom where she’s just been crowned the queen.

Moments like these- where Ellie’s holding her close as if she’s literally trying to protect her from the world- remind her that not everybody is against her. Not everybody hates her. Not everybody is wishing her a slow and painful death because Bimini didn’t win, least of all them. She knows that Ellie was never able to share what team she was on even though she hadn’t had a chance at the crown, but she didn’t have to. Not really. They’ve always been on each others’ team.

Ellie jolts Lawrence out of her daydream with the way her chest is shuddering, and Lawrence momentarily thinks she’s crying again before her soft giggle becomes audible over the music.

“What?” Lawrence tilts her head up, meeting Ellie’s scheming, smirking face.

“Can’t believe RuPaul Charles asked if you wanted to move to London, city of dreams, city of a thousand opportunities…” Ellie begins, Lawrence already laughing as she knows what the conclusion to her sentence will be. “…and you said, ‘yer awrite pal, am fine in Glesga wi the jakes an’ the Blue Lagoon chippy an’ the guy that stands on Buchanan Street and yells at everyone that they’re going to hell!’ ”

Lawrence would normally roll her eyes at Ellie’s impersonation of her accent, but she’s laughing too much at the joke that’s forming in her head to commit to it. “RuPaul asked if I wanted to move to London, and I said…”

The pair of them are almost giggling too much to get the punchline out, Ellie clocking on to how it’s going to end. In sync, the pair of them splutter out a “… NNNNAAW! ”

Giddy and happy, Lawrence rests her cheek against Ellie’s chest again. “London’s got junkies too, anyway.”

“This is gonna sound really selfish, but…don’t actually move to London,” Ellie’s voice murmurs from above her, and there’s something plaintive to it that makes Lawrence refrain from replying with a joke or a barb like she normally would. The way Ellie follows it up cements that fact. “It would probably be so good for you, but like…Glasgow would be lost without you, genuinely. And so would I.”

Lawrence can’t cry again tonight, even if it’s only because she thinks it’s physically impossible, so she just squeezes Ellie tight until she worries about her ability to breathe. “I’m not going anywhere, hen.”

Lawrence doesn’t even really know what they are, her and Ellie. They both still have Grindr and they talk about their hookups and raised hopes and broken hearts with each other like friends. But they’re not really just that. They’re affectionate, and they open up to each other with the same shared unspoken understanding of something Lawrence doesn’t understand. They hug for too long and cuddle up to each other when they’re together, and Lawrence can’t count the amount of times during filming that she’d find strength in the way Ellie would squeeze her hand without a word. They’ve woken up together too many times (why she’d felt the need to remind Ellie of that while the cameras were rolling, she’ll never know) and kissed each other more than that. Every time they say I love you they mean it, but they also mean a little bit more. There’s no butterflies or fast pulses or fluttering hearts- they’re past that stage. Everything is just natural and normal and easy.

She wonders if they’ll ever put a label on what they have. There’s a part of her that doesn’t ever want to.

“If we’re both still single by the time we’re forty,” Lawrence begins, leaning back to look at Ellie through her glazed, half-drunk half-tired eyes. “…we should just say ‘fuck it’ and get married.”

(She doesn’t even know if it’s a joke or not.)

Ellie laughs as if it is and nods as if it isn’t. “Drag wedding. We’d need to upstage Tayce and A’whora, though.”

Lawrence realises something. “I’ll turn forty two years before you.”

There’s a pause as the song starts to fade out, and it makes Ellie’s murmur seem louder than it is. “That’s okay. We don’t need to wait for me.”

The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart and the way Ellie’s talking as if it’s an actual plan makes her think maybe it wasn’t really ever a joke after all. It’s ridiculous though, and it’s all theoretical, and it’s a totally hypothetical scenario, and they’re both drunk , for Christ’s sake. So Lawrence pulls out of Ellie’s arms and takes her hands in her own, the song that’s started playing more upbeat and the opening chords inciting some sort of hope and optimism in her heart for the future that’s unfolding for the pair of them.

“One more song then bed?” she suggests. Ellie raises her eyebrows as she looks down at her.

“Whose bed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dirty Diamond,” Lawrence shoots back without missing a beat, and as the first lines of the song fill the room she leans back and begins to spin the pair of them in a circle, both of them laughing as if everything is as simple as just that room, and the music blaring out from the speakers, and the lights flashing above them drenching them in purple and pink.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #fic challenge #rare pair #uk2 #canon compliant #fluff #ortega #these people in this room (don’t shine like you)

11 notes · View notes