#If they pull the plot carpet out from under me I will scream | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dre6ming · 2 years ago

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TDBR - the Oscars

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Pairing: Austin Butler x singer/ actress fem reader

Warning: fluff

Plot: after Austin wins his award you bump into his ex girlfriend into the Oscars bathroom.

Word count: 2000

Disclaimer: everything fake, no shade no nothing, just respect for all parties and remember this is all FICTIONAL

"Baby, I'll just go to the bathroom ok? I'll find you after?" I whisper to Austin who turns his head to smile at me. "Sure honey, you feeling ok?" He asks, his attention, that was previously directed at the lady engraving his name on the golden statue, now fully directed to me. "Yes, I just need to use the toilet." I explain, caressing his shoulder, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze. "Ok, be careful!" I see him lean down to kiss me, but we are still not public so I take it upon myself to dodge the kiss. "Sorry." He mumbles, looking apologetic. "That's ok, see you soon!" I wave at him before turning around on my heels and finding my way to the bathroom.

I've got to admit it's pretty crazy, even now after all the success I've had in my career, to see myself surrounded by all these people I looked up to. I look to my right and there is Jamie Lee Curtis talking to Robert De Niro, so I have to stop for a second to just gawk at them. But only for a second, cause I don't want to be caught being a weird fangirl. As I keep walking trying to redeem myself, I bump into Pedro Pascal on the way. He and I are going to be starring in a new HBO series called "The last of us". We already filmed a couple of scenes but he and I have yet to be on set together. "Pedro, hi how are you?" He smiles at me. "I'm good good, you were incredible up there, looking fantastic. A big slay I'd say!" I can't help but laugh a bit too hard, resulting in a funny sound to come out of my nose. "Oh my, Ped, that's that's exactly right." I giggle wiping some tears from the corners of my eyes. "Listen I was on my way to the bathroom, so excuse me. Oh I almost forgot are you coming to Baz's after party? I think I send you the invite didn't I?" I ask. "Yes yes of course I'm coming, gotta watch out for my little girl." Pedro jokes, making us laugh at how serious he's taken to the role of the father figure for my character. "Ok dad." I scream running past him laughing. At this rate I'm collecting fathers like they're infinity stones.

The bathroom is not as full as I expected, that's mostly because all the big categories have been announced by now and a lot of people left for the after parties already. It's a bit tricky getting to do what I need to do in the long dark blue sequence dress, but I manage. I take a good look at myself in the mirror as I'm washing my hands, taking note that a bit of my mascara smudged, so I use a clean tissue paper to wipe that off.

"Excuse me?" A voice calls out as I'm concentrating on getting the mascara situation under control. I toss the tissue in the trash and turn around to see who was call me. I'm stunned the second I'm face to face with the person who just spoke. "(Y/n), oh my goodness I thought that was you, who else would wear a huge navy sequence dress." I can't believe my eyes, Vanessa Hudgens is standing in front of me, looking gorgeous in her black skin fitted dress. "Oh, um hi!" I put my hand out to shake, but she surprises me by pulling me into a tight hug. "You look so beautiful tonight by the way, I wanted to get to talk to you on the carpet, but you were caught up with other interviewers. I didn't want to crowd you." To be honest I avoided her on the carpet on purpose, sure my relationship with Austin isn't yet confirmed to the public and all, but the rumors are there and I'm sure she's seen most if not all of them. "Oh yeah, I was pretty crowded. It's a bummer I didn't get to talk to you, you always give such great interviews." I say, meaning every word, because in truth she is amazing at interviewing people and to not admit that would be a blasphemy. I wasn't avoiding her because I have something against her, in fact I'm actually a big admirer of hers. Austin told how things went down between them and I trust him, from his side nothing bad went down, but there was heartbreak and hurt so I can only imagine that for her it was at least as painful as it was for him, if not worse.

"That's ok, I'm sure we'll get to do it for another carpet, maybe at the Met this year if you're going." She's so sweet. "I think I am, it really depends on how my filming schedule goes."

"Oh hell yeah I saw you and Pedro Pascal got cast for that HBO series, congrats." I blush at all the compliments she's directing my way, toying with the necklace around my neck. "Vanessa, I-" the words just don't seem to come out of my mouth, because frankly I don't even know what I want to say. She seems to understand that I'm having a hard time communicating what I want to say and her features soften as her big smile comes a soft smirk. "Listen, I've seen the rumors, I don't hold it against you or him, if they are true. He was an amazing boyfriend and well maybe we both could've done better to stay together, but I don't think it was meant to be." I can see she speaks from the heart. "I just, I know his side of things, he only has good things to say about you, but.."

"Honey if the one thing holding you back is me, I want you to know you have my full support. Austin deserves to be happy, doesn't matter who it's the one taking care of that as long as he's happy." I'm surprised to say the least, but I think coming off of what Austin told me about her, I expected this kind of reaction from her. "That's so nice of you to say, I just-" she shushes me when the door opens and someone comes in. "Let's go out." She motions her head towards the door, looping her arm around mine and leading me out. "Thank you!" I whisper to her.

"So I need you to know there's no bad blood." She tells me truthfully. "I believe you, but with everything going on I just, I'm scared of people finding out and I don't know how much longer we can keep it under wraps, I mean you saw him." Vanessa seems to understand exactly what I mean. "Longing stares and tight hugs. Oh we've all seen him, you are clearly the better one at hiding all this." I laugh nervously, wondering just how bad Austin is making things look from an outside perspective. "It's not too bad." She chimes in, probably reading my thoughts. "Eh I can try and fool myself, but... in the end we will make it public so there's no more speculations, but we don't want that to overshadow our careers, so we wanted for award season to be over." I explain one of the reasons we're being so private. "I get that. Oh and here comes lover boy." She says looking over my shoulder and before I can turn my neck to look behind me, a hand settles on my hip. "Hey Nessa, what's up?" Austin says, pulling me closer to him.

Vanessa notices the small gesture, throwing me a knowing look. "Nothing much, just talking to (y/n). Congratulations by the way, it was well deserved!" She says, gesturing to the award he's holding in his other hand. "Did they engrave it?" I ask, looking down at it. "Yes, look how cool it looks." Austin says excitedly, holding it up for me to read. "Did they spell your name wrong?" I ask faking concern. "What?" He panics immediately taking a closer look at the award. I can't help but burst out laughing at him. "You little minx!" He teases kissing my cheek, before I get the chance to dodge it this time. "Austin!" I warn looking around worried someone might've noticed. "Sorry." He says quietly.

"Don't be, you look cute together. You actually seem very happy Aus, I'm glad for you. I have to get going now, but I wish you both the best. Have a good one!" She says. "Thank V, you look happy too, I saw you were engaged, how's that?" Austin asks her. His question makes me look down at her left hand, where there is in fact a big beautiful diamond ring. "He makes me happy. I'm glad we both got to be in love again. It suits you." Her words make me wonder how can she see that he's in love with me. I look at his face and don't see anything that could scream 'I'm in love', but like on cue he feels me looking at him, so he turns his head to me. That's when I see it, that glimmer in his eyes, the one that not only screams 'I'm in love' but also it projects it out into the world. "Yeah I think it does. She's the one thing that got me through this whole thing. I have you to thank for all of this, so thank you!" Austin tells her and I can see his words touched her.

"You're welcome Austin, send me an invite to the wedding." Vanessa says, giving him a quick hug and disappearing into the crowd. Wedding? His wedding? With me? She couldn't have meant that? Right? "What's wrong? Did she say anything?" Austin looks over my face and I catch myself in his eyes, looking terrified. "Oh no, no, she was actually really sweet." I avert my eyes from him, this way preventing him from looking straight into my soul as he usually does. "Then..? Oh was it the wedding comment?" Austin catches on either way. I blush deeply and try to shake my head, but there's no point in denying. "Honey she meant that as a joke, ok? I'm not proposing. Not now at least."

Not now, so he's thought about this. "Not now?" The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. "I mean, maybe sometime in the future." Austin clarifies licking his lips anxiously. "Not the near future.." he keeps going hoping to calm me. "(Y/n) I know it’s too soon, but I can't lie and say that I haven't thought about marrying you, ok? I have and I know we are not ready yet."

"Yet? Ok but how will you know when I'm ready? Cause you might be ready faster than I am, since your older and I don't expect you to wait for me." Austin chuckles, brushing back his hair. "Honey, I would wait for you a thousand years and then a thousand more. And if you never want to get married, that's fine too. Now what do you say we go home and change to go to Baz's party?" Austin caresses my cheek, smiling softly at me. "Ok." I sigh, holding my dress up and walking towards the exit where Matt waits for us to drive us back to Austin's place so we could get changed for the after party.

"Can you believe I won this?" Austin asks still looking in disbelief at his award as I lean my head on his shoulder, looking down at the golden prize in his hand. "I can." I say, kissing his neck, feeling his hot skin against my red lips. "Now you're mine." I giggle as I lick my thumb to help clean off the red lip stain. "No, leave it." He says taking my hand and holding my knuckles. "Ok my winner! I love you!" I close my eyes and relax next to him. "I love you too!" Austin tells me kissing the top of my head, letting me lean on him.

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my-castles-crumbling · 11 months ago

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Guys I did it!

Slow Hands- Wolfstar NSFW oneshot

Hi guys! This is my first E-rated fic, so let me know what you think! If you like it, I'll definitely write more :D I know it's not strict PWP but I couldn't resist adding in all the fluff and love and plot. Sue me. Also, I'm definitely going to write a Jegulus one as well, give me a few more days! Disclaimer: This takes place mostly at the end of March during seventh year, meaning that canonically, Sirius and Remus are both 18. I know they don't normally go home for Easter, but that's the only way I could make this both overage and during Hogwarts. Creative liberties and all that. Also, shout out to some of my wonderful supporters on Tumblr who have been so encouraging, @starchasersunseeker and @beautyoftheships!!! Thank you to them and so many others who are so amazing! CW: There's a bit of internalized homophobia in this, and also a mention of Walburga and Orion's A+ Parenting. And I mean...it's smut. So if you're under 18, dnr.

The first time it happens, he is in sixth year.

They return from the holidays and Sirius is tired. He’s healing. His summer consisted of running away from torture and terror and pain. He stained the carpet in the Potters’ sitting room with his blood the day he ran away. He still wakes up screaming with nightmares.

He’s sitting with James and Peter in the compartment they share on the train, talking a million miles an hour about all of the plans they have this year to terrorize the student body and work on the Map and woo Evans, when all of a sudden, the door to the compartment opens.

And Remus walks in.

He looks a bit disheveled, his hair mussed and his shirt a bit untucked to reveal an inch of skin as he heaves his trunk into the small space.

But that’s not what makes Sirius freeze.

It’s his- well, his everything. He’s taller, for one. And he’s tan. So lovely and tan, his scars popping against his skin, making a beautiful pattern across his body.

And somehow, he just oozes calm. Like, now that he’s here, everything’s fine. It’ll all be okay. And Sirius, who has had a terrifying summer dodging curses and listening to screams just feels something taking over his entire body as he looks at the boy- man?- in front of him.

It takes him a few minutes to realize he just stared the entire time the other three boys lifted Remus’s trunk above them. He doesn’t really mind.

In seventh year, it becomes even more confusing. For some reason, he can’t look away.

When Remus laughs, he wants to laugh, too.

When Remus smiles, he feels himself grin.

When Remus is around, he feels himself relax.

For the past few years, he’s been known to take girl after girl to Hogsmeade, to broom closets, to his bed, even.

He tries. He staggers, laughing, pulling a giggling Susan into the closet on the fifth floor. But when they get there, he just can’t get the image of a smiling Remus out of his head. He tells Susan he suddenly feels ill.

He asks her to Hogsmeade. They have a lovely time, walking around the busy streets and joking together. But every time they pass a store, he sees something that reminds him of Remus, and he’s suddenly distracted.

“Sirius…do you want to be here with someone else?” Susan asks shrewdly after the fifth time he goes quiet.

He’s not really sure how to answer that question.

He isn’t sure how to talk to anyone about it. How do you casually say, “I can’t stop thinking about my best friend…even when I’m kissing other people”?

He knows James might be willing to talk, but he just feels so overwhelmed, and confused, and unsure. And a bit ashamed, if he’s honest. Why is he thinking this way? It will stop, surely. Eventually, he will move on.

He has to.

He doesn’t. He starts dreaming of beautiful smiles and gorgeous brown-blonde-hair and tan skin with delicate scars.

And hands. Hands trailing up his waist and ribs. Lips murmuring his name in his ear, low and rough.

He wakes up confused, and embarrassed, and a bit turned on. And how the bloody hell does he explain that?

He starts avoiding Remus. He knows it’s cowardly and silly, but how can he look his friend in the eye when he woke up only that morning moaning his name? It’s…it’s impossible to act normally about.

He’s thankful when the Easter Holidays begin and he will get a break from constantly being in Remus’s orbit. It’s almost torture to be around him, now. To look at him and remember the things he’s dreamt about. He’s hot and flushed and confused and drawn to him and ashamed and he just wants more than anything to touch him.

So he avoids him.

But when they go to say goodbye, somehow James and Peter have disappeared from their train compartment, and for the first time in months (Sirius is very good at avoiding people), they are alone.

Remus looks awkward, as if he knows Sirius has been avoiding him, and he wrings his hands as he whispers, “Bye, Pads…see you in a week?”

The four of them have a plan to get together for the second week of break.

“Right,” Sirius whispers, cursing his brain for choosing that time to bring up a particularly detailed dream he’d had a few nights ago that involved Remus making marks on his neck that felt so real he’d had to check himself in the mirror the next day.

Of course, Remus doesn’t know that that’s what Sirius is thinking. Or Sirius sure hopes he doesn’t. Because then, Remus chooses that moment to bring Sirius into a hug.

It’s a surprise. A very…surprising surprise. Sirius is so shocked that he doesn’t have the mental strength to put up the walls he’s been putting up for ages, now, and he just melts into the hug, so happy to be close to the boy he can’t get out of his head no matter how hard he tries.

And Remus, on his part, feels Sirius’s reaction and must be happy about it, because he moves, wrapping both arms around Sirius’s waist and whispering in his ear, “I’ll miss you, Padfoot.”

Which is sweet. So sweet. Except, Sirius is a simple man. And his body has been trained, through his dreams, that Remus whispering in his ear leads to much dirtier things than real-life Remus is most likely intending.

So, of course, his body reacts.

He feels his pants tighten and he hears his breath hitch and the heat of his blush seems to envelop him. Can you die of blushing? You must be able to die of blushing, because he’s about to.

And Remus, for his part, takes only a few seconds before he must feel Sirius’s reaction. He pulls back with an odd expression on his face, mouth falling open.

“Fuck,” Sirius mutters, tears pinching his eyes, his body turning cold. “I-er-sorry,” he stutters, looking at Remus’s shock and feeling absolutely mortified.

And he runs. He just fucking runs.

“I’d like to die now,” he whines to James a few hours later, both of them laid out on James’s bed.

“Don’t be dramatic,” James rolls his eyes.

Sirius will forever be grateful to James, who is taking it quite in his stride that Sirius is having a crisis over accidentally shoving his erection in Remus’s leg, when James had no idea that Sirius even got erections for boys, let alone their mutual best friend, only hours ago.

“He hates me,” Sirius continues to wine, throwing his hands over his eyes and scrubbing violently at them, trying to erase the memory through force alone.

“Remus couldn’t hate someone if he tried,” James says bracingly. “Plus, you’ve done much worse to him, yeah?”

“Oh yeah, let’s remind me of all my other sins right now,” Sirius wails, flailing his arms. They did not talk about his horrible mistake in fifth year.

“No, I’m just-I’m just saying! He’s not going to hate you. I mean, it’s like…like a compliment, right? Like, if you find him fit, he’s not gonna be mad!” James says, trying and failing to look a bit awkward.

“Yes, I’ll shove my dick onto you next! Let’s see how we turn out!” Sirius shrieks, thankful James has cast a muffiliato around the room, as he’s not keen on Effie or Monty hearing him go on about dicks.

James grins. “Never knew you felt that way about me, Pads. I’ll have to tell Lily, of course, I can’t have her thinking I’m cheating-”

Is he going insane? Sirius feels he must be going insane. “You-are-not-dating!” he says, slamming his fists on the bed. “And Moony is going to be- be weirded out, or awkward, or something! Because not everyone is as weirdly accepting as you!”

“She doesn't hate me anymore!" James reminds him, a grin on his face. "Plus, I think Moony’s gay, too, you know,” he says next, shrugging his shoulders.

And this shocks Sirius right out of his tantrum.

First, he’s never said he was gay. Is he gay? That’s…that’s a lot to think about.

And then, there’s Remus.

“Wh-what makes you think that?” Sirius asks, ignoring the first part of his thoughts.

James shrugs again. “I always thought he and David McHowell were a little too close in fifth year. They did a lot of studying alone. And I thought I saw a love bite on his neck once,” he says with a chuckle.

Sirius suddenly feels the urge to kill David McHowell. “Right,” he murmurs, clenching his hands into fists.

“I don’t think Moony will hate you either way, Pads. He’s not that type of guy,” James says diplomatically.

Sirius just sighs.

The next week is full of contemplation. Sirius spends all his free time thinking about Remus, thinking about his feelings towards the other boy, and what it all means.

Of course, he’s still having dreams. But now, they aren’t always so pleasurable. Some involve Remus looking at him with a disgusted face, sneering at him, yelling words of rejection and hatred. He wakes screaming, just like he did last year. But this time, he’s terrified to lose the boy he’s beginning to think he loves.

It’s after one of these nights of terrifying dreams that he’s sitting alone by the window, sipping at his coffee, watching the sun rise. Remus is due to arrive tomorrow, and he hasn’t heard from him at all.

He can’t stop thinking about him.

“Can’t sleep, Sirius?” The voice of Euphemia Potter jolts him from his reverie and he turns to see Effie holding her own mug, shuffling to meet him.

“A lot on my mind…” Sirius murmurs vaguely, gesturing to the chair next to him for Effie to sit.

As she sits and places her mug down, she looks at him with careful, loving eyes. “I’m happy to listen, if you’d like. I’ve been told I’m decent at it.” A smile. Her hand on his.

And, for some reason, this is what breaks Sirius. A mother’s love, an offer of affection.

So, he squeezes the hand back, closes his eyes, and whispers into the still air, “I think I’m gay. And…I don’t know how to feel about that.”

And he feels a returning squeeze, Effie’s other hand come to join their connected ones. He opens his eyes hesitantly to take in Effie’s warm, loving expression.

Relief washes through him.

“Oh, Sirius. You know Monty and I love you so much, right?” Effie whispers, pulling him in for a hug.

He nods, choking back the tears that threaten to spill over. “But what if…what if other people don’t?” he asks her shoulder, hiding his face there.

Effie pulls back and holds him at an arm’s length, looking at him deeply. “The people who matter, the people who are good? They will. Whoever you’re thinking about…does he matter? Is he good?”

Sirius nods again, tears falling now. Remus is the best, he wants to say. There is nobody better.

“Then, he’ll love you. Perhaps not in the way you want. But if he is truly good, he’s going to accept you for you.”

He can’t sleep, the night before Remus is set to arrive. He is nervous, and terrified, and still a bit embarrassed, and he has half a mind to run off to Peter’s to avoid the whole damn situation.

But he’s talked to James, who is again, a fucking amazing friend, and James has set him straight (ha), and told him he needs to sort his shit out, because they have exciting plans for the rest of their final year, damn it, and no telenovella drama is going to mess them up.

So Sirius waits, tearing at his cuticles with his teeth, as noon ticks closer.

Effie and Monty are both working, so he and James are lounging on the couches in the sitting room when the fire roars to life and a slightly-sooty Remus Lupin steps out.

Instantly, Sirius’s breath is taken away.

How, how, has Remus gotten taller since they’ve last seen each other?

As James greets Remus with a quick hug, Sirius has trouble forming words. Until James, smiling a bit evilly, says, “Sirius, I thought Remus could share with you? I forgot to tell you, I promised Pete he could share with me when he arrives tomorrow.”

Suddenly, all of Sirius’s gratitude for James is gone. How will he survive sharing a room alone with Remus for a whole week? But he can’t exactly refuse with both James and Remus staring at him, so he just smiles and nods when James suggests Sirius help Remus with his things.

James is mysteriously absent when Sirius and Remus arrive upstairs, and the awkwardness between them is making Sirius so tense he almost starts cracking jokes just to ease the strain.

But Remus begins speaking: “Erm…had a good summer so far?” he asks, turning around to set his trunk on the cot set out for him, and Sirius does not stare at his arse, thank you very much.

“Fine,” Sirius says, silently begging his body to remain calm as Remus again bends over to pick up another bag.

But Remus suddenly sits on the cot and sighs, looking at Sirius nervously. “Padfoot….are you mad at me?”

What?

“What?” Sirius asks, trying and failing to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Why the fuck would I be mad at you?”

Remus gives him a strange look. “You…you’ve been avoiding me for months. And then, the train.”

“Right,” Sirius nods. They weren’t going to avoid this, then. “I…I’m sorry. I’ve been…been trying to not make you…uncomfortable. But on the train…I just…yeah, I’m sorry.”

Remus looks confused at this. “Uncomfortable?”

Is he going to make him say it out loud? “Erm…yeah. Because…because of my feelings.” There. That should do it.

But he can’t even read Remus’s expression, now. “Feelings?”

“Don’t make me say it, Moons,” Sirius whispers, feeling ashamed now that he’s faced with the boy he’s been thinking about for so, so long. He can’t even look in his eyes.

“Ah.”

And there it is. His voice is cold. And Sirius just knows that Remus hates him. And even though he doesn’t want to, he feels himself tear up. “I…I tried, Remus. Believe me.” It takes everything in him to look beseechingly into Remus’s eyes. “I tried to…to not feel this way. To not feel so…so strongly. But I just…well, you’re quite perfect,” he lets out a humorless laugh, “you really are perfect, with your smile, and your hair, and gods, your hands, and you have no idea how hard it is to not love you.” He’s babbling. He’s babbling and oh, gods, now he’s gone and said that.

But Remus’s expression is changing into one of…of shock? “Wait…what?”

Sirius laughs derisively again. “I’ll find a way to get over it. It’s…it’s just taking more time than I thought, I g-”

There are lips on his.

Fuck.

Remus’s hands are on both sides of his face, their lips connected, moving slowly, and Sirius has completely lost his breath again. What is happening?

Remus pulls away, just an inch, and stares into his eyes. Sirius can feel his legs almost give out at the way Remus is looking at him.

“Please…don’t get over it,” Remus whispers in a low voice, and Sirius almost moans at the words.

“I…” he can’t form sentences. English? What’s that?

“You’re an idiot,” Remus says, his face still inches from Sirius’s own. He moves his hands to Sirius’s waist, wrapping them there securely, and moving them backward slowly.

In the back of his mind, Sirius registers that they are moving towards his bed.

“You think I don’t love you?” Remus whispers into his ear, making him shiver as they take another step backward.

His knees hit the bed and Sirius sits, quite flustered, as Remus stands over him, brushing his lips along his neck.

“You think I haven’t loved you for years?” Remus asks, slowly kissing down Sirius’s neck and pausing at a spot to suck, making Sirius moan just a little. “I thought you were being awkward because you found out. And you didn’t love me.”

“F-fuck. I- I really had no idea, t-to be honest,” Sirius tries to say in a normal voice as Remus’s hands find their way to his hips, under the bottom of his shirt, to the bare skin there.

“Idiot,” Remus repeats, his voice almost fond, as he brings their lips back together.

And Sirius has had a lot of dreams about kissing Remus Lupin. Too many to count at this point, really. But they all pale in comparison to the real thing.

The way Remus kisses him is passionate and hungry and cuts through every single one of his senses. He feels surrounded as their tongues come together in the same moment Remus brings his hand up his shirt, spreading his fingers along his chest, making Sirius arch his back slightly, pushing into the touch.

“Can I-?” Remus asks, pulling away from the kiss to graze his lips against Sirius’s jaw.

But Sirius doesn’t even care what he’s asking to do. “Yes. Anything, yes,” he breathes, and he swears he can hear a little moan escape Remus’s red kiss-bruised lips.

He almost cries of happiness as Remus’s beautiful, perfect fingers start to undo buttons on his shirt, pulling it off his body and throwing it haphazardly on the floor. “Beautiful,” Remus mumbles, pulling their lips back together and trailing his hands up and down Sirius’s back, making him shiver.

Trying to keep his brain half in his head, Sirius pulls back and yanks at Remus’s shirt as well, half-hard just thinking about the way their chests will come together like their lips; no fabric between them.

But Remus suddenly freezes.

“No?” Sirius murmurs, sitting back a bit.

Remus stares, seemingly thinking about it.

“You don’t have to, Remus. But…you know I think you’re perfect,” Sirius whispers, hoping to Merlin he’s saying the right thing in a seemingly very important moment.

Apparently, he has, because Remus pulls his shirt off quickly, averting his eyes as Sirius gazes at him hungrily.

It’s not as if he’s never seen Remus shirtless. But like this? He looks like a god. And Sirius tells him so, only blushing a little bit.

“Fuck,” Remus murmurs, seemingly without even thinking about it, before crashing their lips back together.

And gods, he was right. A shirtless Remus Lupin is surely the way Sirius will die, because suddenly everything feels ten times more intense. As if just the fact that they have shed one article of clothing each has somehow made this all the more important. All the more consuming.

He revels in the feel of Remus’s fingers along his back as he trails his hands on Remus’s spine as well. Both their breaths hitch when Remus traces against a spot that makes Sirius moan, and when he’s about to blush and pull away, Remus does it again.

Yes, this is the way he will go. He’s not upset.

“Sirius…we need to stop,” Remus whispers, pulling their lips apart again.

Now he’s upset.

“Why the fuck do we have to do that?” he finds himself almost whining before he can stop himself. Yes, he is completely in control. Not needy at all.

“I…” Remus stutters, looking down and blushing, wringing his hands a bit. He looks quite embarrassed.

And then, Sirius looks down, too. And he sees it.

Lord save him, Remus is hard. And judging from the bulge in his pants, he’s fucking huge. And suddenly, Sirius wants nothing more than to touch him.

“Get on the bed,” Sirius orders before he can stop himself, and looks up to see Remus looking both hopeful and shocked.

“We don’t have-”

“I want to. If you want to,” Sirius breathes, almost praying that Remus will say yes. Because fuck, he wants to see. He wants to touch. Damn it.

But Remus has always been a smart person, so Sirius is glad that he’s not stupid enough to argue, and he instead almost throws himself onto Sirius’s bed, settling into the pillows. And, without a moment’s hesitation, Sirius sits directly on his lap, legs pinning him down.

And then Remus, the absolute god that he is, brings his hands to Sirius’s hips and guides his body down, until their bodies are grinding together. And if Sirius wasn’t hard before, oh god he’s hard now.

He’s moaning, clenching his eyes shut and just feeling the way their cocks brush together. It’s surreal, and when he opens his eyes again, Remus is staring at him with such reverence that he almost comes right there. Instead, he moves his hips again, their clothed cocks rubbing together in the most delicious of ways, eliciting a moan from both of them.

“Sirius...” Remus breathes, eyes wide and pupils blown, as Sirius continues to move his hips, and if he died before, he must be in heaven now. He must be.

He lets out a whine when Remus lifts his own hips to meet his, because even this little shift makes the friction so much better, and he can’t help but pull Remus closer, pull their lips together, tangle his fingers in Remus’s hair and just push their bodies as close together as possible. He wants to be closer, to be surrounded by this boy, to be one person with him.

He’s desperate with his movements now and he hardly cares, as he grips onto Remus’s hips with his knees, tangles his fingers in his hair roughly, keens wantonly as Remus bites at his lip. He just wants.

And then, as if Remus is reading his mind, he finds himself flipped over, sandwiched between Remus and the bed, and Remus’s hands are splayed on his ribs as he begins to kiss slowly down his stomach.

“Rem-” he barely gets out as lips attach to his nipple and suck, making him arch bodily off the bed, moaning loudly.

“D’you want me to stop?” Remus’s voice is ragged, now, and his hot breath is by Sirius’s waistband.

And Sirius thinks he will absolutely die if he stops.

He must have said as much out loud, because Remus chuckles, his fingers nimble as they undo Sirius’s pants.

“What do you want, Sirius?” Remus’ rough voice comes again as he removes Sirius’s pants, throwing them to the ground quickly.

“You,” Sirius moans, quite past being embarrassed about his neediness.

And perhaps he’s imagining things, but he swears he can hear Remus murmur, “You have me, love.”

And that’s that. He’s quite ruined for everyone else, thanks.

But he’s distracted by Remus kissing back up his body, swirling his tongue around his other nipple, just long enough to make him groan, and their lips are together again and he’s lost in the sensation.

But he soon feels the bulge in Remus’s pants pushing lightly against his hip, and he’s reminded of what he saw earlier, so he quickly reaches down and helps Remus rid himself of his pants as well, panting as he does so because, fuck, Remus has amazing thighs, alright?

The tenting in Remus’s boxers is enough to redirect him, though, and he (quite bravely, he thinks), reaches out and grazes his hand over the damp hardness there.

What was his favorite sound before this? Well, it doesn’t matter. Because now, it’s the sound that Remus makes as he closes his hand around him. It’s like music.

“Fuck, Sirius,” Remus chokes out, before shoving him bodily back on the bed.

And Remus, quiet Remus who would not hurt a fly outside of the Full Moon, is suddenly pinning him to the bed, murmuring, “Can I touch you? Let me touch you, please.”

And Sirius moans, nodding fervently, his hands suddenly freed as a frenzied Remus Lupin is pulling down both of their boxers, grabbing both their cocks in his hand, and wrapping his hand around them. It’s…well, Sirius is quite proud of himself for holding it together, if he’s honest.

And Remus is kneeling over him, one knee on either side of him and breath hot in his ear, as he begins to move his hand over both of their lengths, both of them moaning together. His other hand pins one of Sirius’s to the bed and their eyes lock. And Sirius feels so fucking seen. Like someone is looking into his soul. He’s been given a handjob before, sure. But it was nothing like this. Nothing so intimate. Nothing that made him feel so close to someone.

“You’re perfect. Fuck, Sirius, you’re so fucking hot,” Remus murmurs, and Sirius just keens, scratching at Remus’s back with his nails of his free hand as Remus quickens his movements. “I’ve wanted this for ages,” Remus continues, biting at Sirius’s earlobe and making him emit a rather-embarrassing mewling noise. “Wanted you.”

“Remus,” is all Sirius manages to say, so overwhelmed by the feeling of Remus touching him, the feeling of their cocks together. He’s so unbelievably hard, harder than he’s ever been in his life, and he feels the pleasure building in his spine, his toes starting to curl.

“Wanted to touch you. Wanted to make you fall apart like this,” Remus murmurs in his ear again, and by gods, whoever taught that boy to talk like that deserves a fucking medal. Because right now, Remus looks powerful. And in control. And Sirius feels weak, in the best way, sprawled out on the bed, pinned down and moaning wantonly.

“Come for me, Sirius,” Remus whispers, as if he can tell that Sirius is close. His voice is ragged, now, and Sirius registers in the back of his mind that he must be close, too. “I bet you look so fucking hot when you come.”

Sirius lets out the loudest groan yet, so close to coming that his back again arches off the bed. Remus talking like that is doing things to him, for sure, and even though he’s usually proud of his stamina, he’s sure he won’t last much longer now.

“Come for me, baby. Let me see you.”

The name is what does it. White light explodes from behind his eyes as he all-but screams Remus’s name, painting both of them with his release as he shakes and wails from the pleasure. It’s the most amazing feeling in the world, the high of the orgasm, the feeling of Remus’s one hand on him, the other pinning his arm to the bed, Remus’s body on top of him. He’s surrounded by Remus.

And then Remus comes, too, whispering Sirius’s name like a prayer, hand still wrapped around both of them and moving slowly, making Sirius moan and squirm.

And when Remus collapses next to him, Sirius has a split second of terror, where he worries that this was all, somehow, a dream. Or that Remus, despite his confessions in the moment, doesn’t feel the same way. Until Remus groans, reaches for his wand, and waves it, cleaning both of them, before pulling Sirius close to him, spooning him and nuzzling into his hair. “You’re beautiful,” Remus mutters. “So fucking beautiful, Sirius. I…”

And Sirius feels so safe. So sated. So loved and happy.

“Love you,” Remus again murmurs into his hair, and Sirius grins to himself, blushing a bit, despite the fact that Remus literally had his hand on his dick not two minutes ago.

“Love you too, Moons,” he whispers back, closing his eyes as his body begs for sleep.

And then, there’s a knock on the door.

“Oi! As thrilled as I am that you two’ve sorted your shit out, Mum and Dad will be back in half hour and neither of you were smart enough to put up a Silencing Charm. So while I go Obliviate myself to try to forget what I just heard, perhaps you two could put some fucking clothes on?”

He turns to lock eyes with Remus, who looks just as mortified as he does. Shit. Poor James.

What'd you guys think? I know it's not all-out sex, but I decided to ease myself in. If you like it, I'll write more, don't worry. Click below to leave comments and kudos if you feel so inclined!

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autumn-grace · 1 year ago

Text

The Lingering Pain of Empty Hands

Summery: In 1793 Benedict goes missing at a fair. Twenty years later Eloise keeps running into the same man while investigating the case of one famous Lady Whistledown.

A story exploring the complexities of loss.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, lyrics etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author Note: This is the first time I post a story on Tumblr. I have a very small idea of what I am doing.

Chapter One: A dead child’s shoes

Rating: M Length: 5.2k

1/10

“I miss you more than I remember you.” - Ocean Vuong

Aubrey Hall, 1799

Violet knew something was different the very moment she stepped into the front hall. She stopped abruptly. Eloise, who was holding onto her hand skidded over the polished floor to a halt a foot in front of her. Sara behind them, with Francesca on her hip and Daphne by the hand almost walked into her.

Looking around, nothing seemed entirely out of the ordinary. A footman had quickened his step into an uncommon speed to disappear through the serving room. It made her notice the slight frown on Ranson's face which was otherwise perfectly under control.

“Ranson, where is the Viscount?”

“Upstairs, my Lady.”

She looked up as if she could see him through the ceiling. “Do we have visitors?”

“Let go of my hand, mama!” Eloise complained and began to tug at her hand.

“No, my Lady.” Ranson answered while she admonished Eloise with a raised brow. It did little, she just continued practising her will. Daphne shushed her in a perfect expression of their nurse, trying to grab her arm. Said nurse was somewhat distracted by the youngest girl, trying herself to escape.

Violet knew not how to put that nagging feeling in her stomach into words. But it made her let go of Eloise's hand and it made her pace to the staircase. Eloise was at her heels, emitting excitement with the sudden action.

“You stay with Sara!”

“But where are you going?” She continued her venture alongside her mother.

“Eloise!”

“Papa!” She quickened her step further, overtook her mother and climbed the stairs to where her father now stood, a few steps down from the landing.

“You are back early.” He addressed Violet, his tone flat. Eloise reached him and jumped towards him. Distracted by watching his wife, he pulled Eloise up to his arm, not listening to her as she began telling him of a herd of sheep. (The one which blocked their carriage for almost two hours on their way here).

“We are. Mother fell ill with a nasty cold. I did not want the children to catch it.” She explained, her voice stiff.

“I am sorry to hear she is not well.”

Violet walked towards him. Going left in order to pass him by, he drew a bit to the side, effectively blocking her.

“Where is Colin?” Edmund looked over her shoulder down to the foot of the stairs where Sara now followed them with Daphne and Francesca. He smiled at them and waved.

“Where do you think he is? Will you let me through?”

“How about we have some tea and refreshments? I was just on my way downstairs.”

She forced him to make eye-contact with her by fixing her gaze upon him. And she knew the moment he faltered and met her eyes. Knew he had done what she asked him not to do.

“What have you done?” She whispered, asking the question anyway.

“Nothing. Violet, I just... I...”

“What!” She enunciated, “Have you done?” She brushed past him. Started to run towards the north corridor. He was at her heels. Eloise screamed behind them, running, too. Sara, in turn, called after her.

It was chaos. First around her and then in the very centre of her heart the moment she fell through the door to Benedict's room.

His bed was gone, his dresser, his shelves empty, the carpet rolled up and pushed to the side, the walls painted in a dull, greyish white. The sunny yellow gone.

“No...” she breathed. Stepping inside, frantically looking around. She turned again to run to the door. She needed to find all his things. She needed to. Energy buzzing through her, providing her with enough strength to bring this room back to its former state.

But then there was Edmund blocking her way.

“Violet, I am sorry...”

“Where is everything? Tell me now. Tell me!” She pushed against his chest so he would step out of the doorway. He caught her hands instead.

“It's all packed away. Nothing is gone.”

“His clothes?” She demanded. “His animals?”

“Violet, I swear...” he started.

“I have never asked for anything much, have I? Have I ever been a difficult woman? Have I? Edmund?” It was desperation forcing her words.

“It was nothing but a museum of despair, my love.”

“You lost our son. You lost him and I not once blamed you for it. The least you could have done is leave me my despair!” She shouted now, certain her voice would break into sobs any second. Eloise, who had first pressed herself through the gap between her father's legs and the door frame, now retreated into the opposite direction, scared by her mother's rage.

“It's all I have left of him, my memory, my pain is the only thing that reminds me that he was real. And you take this from me, too. LET GO OF ME.”

She pulled away from him, from the hands on her arms, from the shocked expression on his face.

“What have I done to you that you punish me so? I asked you to leave me this room. I asked you only of that one thing...”

Now, she crumbled. A sob dragged through her chest and up her throat.

“How could you? That's all that I had left of him.” She cried. “Have you forgotten him? Do you no longer care?” She weeped and when he only looked at the floor, she turned around herself, once, twice.

She suddenly felt as if she stood in her little boy's tomb.

Bloomsbury, May 1814

Ben arrived at work a little earlier than he usually would.

His night had ended at five. Charles woke at least once every hour. Sophie was in and out of bed as many times. He had pulled Alex over to his side of the bed in order to act as a barrier between the commotion and him, but it made the little one restless, clearly feeling he was no longer beside his mama. As a consequence Ben spent all night awake behind closed eyes.

In short, the night was ruff and hoping he could leave earlier made him decide to leave half an hour earlier than usual.

He made it almost to the office building when a carriage came through the gates onto the courtyard, cutting off his path. At first he gave it little notice but then it stopped right by the door he had to enter. And it was when he planned to walk around it that something about the vehicle demanded his attention.

“Have I something in my face?” The young woman who had stepped out of the carriage barked into his direction. With a raised brow she waited for an answer.

“No, Miss,” tumbled from his lips eventually and she made a step closer, folding her arms in front of her body, tapping her index-finger against her arm.

“Then consider not staring. It's rude.” She leaned back into the carriage and pulled out a stack of books, turned and rushed away, her servant at her heels.

Ben had not stared at her so much as at the carriage she had arrived in and the crest drawn onto the dark, polished wood. It could not be. He must simply be wrong. He took a small step towards the vehicle. The coachman nodded at him, suspicion in his eyes.

But he was not wrong, was he? This had burned itself into his memory. It was the crest on the carriage which had driven away from him, had left him behind. After which he ran until his young legs had given out under him and his lungs protested strongly by constricting into desperate gulps for air.

He shook himself out of the memory. Took several steps backwards.

If it was the carriage he believed it to be, it did not matter.

And still, Ben found it impossible to form a clear thought as he made his way upstairs and to his desk. He was so early that he was the first one in.

Not being able to gather his senses proved his work rather difficult. And strangely enough, also a little dangerous as he soon learned, especially considering he was an illustrator. He tried to prepare his workload, gathering his materials and sharpening his pencils. He noticed not how his heart thumped all the way in his throat until the sharpening-knife logged itself against the side of his finger, leaving him bleeding.

Frustrated, with blood spreading over his tongue as he sucked on the wound, he shoved his chair back, creating an irritating sound as the wood carved into the floorboards.

“Are you alright, Mr. Atwood?”

He had not noticed Edgar entering the room. The young apprentice, barely sixteen, looked at him, part worried and part confused. Ben nodded, put the knife on his desk.

“I cut myself. No worries.” He explained a moment later. Edgar had found his desk since, put his bag on the floor to its side. He sat down on his chair and began to search through his things.

Ben in the meanwhile had stood up and made his way to the window from where he had a view over the courtyard and found the carriage still there. It was early morning, not many had started their workday yet. He wondered what that girl wanted here? Surely, she did not have an appointment. Public business started at eight. That was another hour and a half away.

“Mr. Atwood? My mother gave me this to give to you. It is for you and Mrs. Atwood.” Once again Ben tried to pull himself to attention, he turned his head and the boy stood only a few feet away from him. Had he paws for feet?

He held his hand out, a package in it. The brown paper was held together by a single string, Benedict smiled and shook his head as he took it. The thumbing in his throat lessened considerably. “Your mother is truly a kind woman, Edgar.” Making sure Edgar looked at him, he nodded in thanks.

Unwrapping it, his first assumption was proven true, this was for the boys, a cardigan, looking just about Alexander's size, with some room to grow into. It was held in a soft beige colour with a small rabbit stitched down to the front. He would love it.

“Mother says it's a light wool and will be perfect for summer.”

His shoulder softened and his nervous heart eased. The kind gesture warmed his insides and made it possible to get his thoughts in a line. “Tell Mrs. York how very grateful we are.”

“Gladly,” Edgar nodded and smiled before taking a seat on his desk. Ben tied the cardigan into the paper again and as he looked out of the window before returning to his desk as well, he found the carriage gone.

That night he dreamed of nothing but running after the carriage. His eyes snapped open every time that he fell to the ground in his dream, unable to contain the speed needed for it to stay just barely out of his reach. Forcing himself to inhale and exhale and with the sensation of his son's hand firmly logged into the material of his nightshirt, he drifted off to sleep after. Over and over and over.

It was the forth or fifth time that night, when opening his eyes the room was brightened by a little bit of light. He was unable yet to contain and deal with the terror running through his veins before he looked to the side and met directly with Sophie's worried gaze. She was feeding Alexander, who was still half asleep. Charles on the other side of her, not yet awake.

“It's not real,” she whispered and he swallowed, lifting his hands to his face to rub it, rub some sense into him. Seeing little stars dance in front of his eyes made him stop, his hand then reached out until he found Sophie's.

He rolled to his side and into her, his hand slid under her nightdress, up the top of her leg and then to her swollen belly.

“You tease.” She breathed and clicked her tongue softly. He grinned as he buried his face into Alex's back, searching her skin for any traces of movement underneath.

Thinking only one thing: but what if it was true?

And then he forgot about the carriage. He forgot about the dreams. As he always did.

It was only weeks later that it was coaxed to the surface again.

Usually it was months and years between those instances. And usually it brought about only a fleeting emotion, an understanding, a few nights of nightmares. Ben could file it away under confusing childhood memories and recognise that it no longer held any power over him, and then go on about his life.

After all, it was twenty years ago. He had been a boy then.

At this point, he had a life, it had become his own. That thing that was his childhood nothing more than a distant memory, one that sometimes, rarely these days, clenched at his heart.

He might never forget the sheer panic of watching the carriage with his father in it drive off without him, but he remembered it today as through thick, coloured glass. That and mostly everything else from before as well. He had a brother, Anthony, that had always been true, he was always sure of that and how he had been his best friend. He remembered an enormous garden and a large forest and sometimes it all was so clear he could wander through it in his imagination. He remembered always holding onto his mother's hand.

But how it came to it, his father leaving him behind, pushing him to the ground and going home without him, the years had washed that away, corroded his memory into something fragile, something unreliable. Trying to reconstruct what happened nowadays led him to a different conclusion every time. So he tried to let it rest, let the joy of the presence direct his course. His father might not have wanted him then, but the same was not true for his wife or his sons now. Nothing else mattered.

Still, he found it a sheer impossibility, that thought. Sometimes, when he indulged in it. How could someone not want their child? Every time the memory fought its way to the forefront of his mind he could not fathom it. They would have to go over his cold dead body in order to get to his sons, and then there was still Sophie to fend them off. No question asked. He would protect them, would never let any harm come their way, he had sworn that.

Naturally, he was not a naïve man, had seen children suffer alongside himself. Had shared the last bit of his dry bread with a little girl that showed him a warm place to sleep. Two days later he watched a man throw her body on the bed of the carriage which picked up the dead every morning. Throwing her shoes into the alleyway for the next poor thing. (It was how he had gotten his own pair of shoes only mere weeks before that. They had belonged to a boy named Peter, who was very good at stealing apples.)

He had seen a woman sell her son. He had witnessed a father beat his daughter until her skull creaked. He had seen it all and more. He was not naïve, but it still rendered him incapable of understanding the how. Not when he loved his own so much it made his chest hurt.

It all boiled to the surface again when he needed to return to work late on a Friday night to bring in a revision to go into print early on Saturday. He went past Mr. Atkin's house to gather his final approval which cost him an extra twenty five minutes of polite conversation with the man's daughter in law, he would much rather have spent with Sophie. Ultimately he would have stayed an hour or two if it meant a raise.

It was then almost half ten when he excited the master lithographer's office.

He took on a quick step through the cold spring air. With his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, he watched the cobblestone under his feet. His bag dangled in his back and as he did so often these days, he used the way to calculate their current expenses and how the new baby would influence them. They could not wait for their new little one, it was a firm and undeniable truth. But it would mean that a new suit had to wait for at least another eight months to a year and Sophie needed new shoes, it was a priority.

Being distracted by numbers, he nodded to the night-guard and crossed the street with a quick glance in every direction. He considered taking a shortcut when it happened, he crossed a puddle in a confident jump and ended up swinging backwards as he almost but not quite ran into a woman standing in the shadows of a house.

She raised her hands and shrieked as he tried to regain his balance and not tumble to the pavement. It was in vain, he landed on his behind.

The woman exhaled in a huff. “You again!” She stepped out of the shadow and looked down at him and he looked up at her, raising a brow as he too recognised her. “What are you doing here?”

“I shall rather ask you that question, Miss.” He drew his knee in and climbed back onto his feet, rubbing his hands together and looking at his shoes hoping not to have scratched the leather... or, and he tried to look around himself to see, destroyed his trousers.

“I am an independent woman, my reasons are my own.”

“I see...” he bit the insides of his cheeks so as not to grin, these words could come right from Sophie's mouth.

She raised her chin, responding to the humorous challenge in his words. Their eyes meet and had it not been for the moonlight casting down on them, it would have been impossible to tell, but her eyes were red and swollen and there was still some wetness to her cheeks.

The sadness in her eyes jolted through him because he felt as if he recognized it.

“Who are you, anyway? So I know which name to give to my best friend in case you plan an abduction!”

Something rattled in his soul. “I, Miss. I do not plan an abduction. In fact I am very much interested in you finding your way home safely.”

“Your name!” She repeated and rubbed her thumb under her eye.

“Atwood. My name is Ben Atwood. I am an illustrator for Atkin's Press”

“Ben Atwood. Well then, nice to make your acquaintance. I must be on my way.”

She took a hold of her frog and took off. “Stop. Miss. Tell me your name!” She made a full spin, danced around another puddle. “Bridgerton is my name, Eloise Bridgerton. Remember it well!”

It was Sunday afternoon when Ben sat on the floor of their small flat in order to think hard and clear about everything he knew about his childhood. Despite the sun flooding the room, most of the occupants napped. On the sofa their two boys slept soundly. On his thigh rested Sophie's head winding herself halfway around him, making sure every part of her body was warmed by the sun.

His hand rested absent-mindedly on her belly and her fingers were folded around his wrist from the last time she had moved his hand to where she felt the baby move. On his other knee lay a notebook and in his hand he held a pencil.

He was almost sure to have been born in the winter of 1786. He assumed that his family lived in London, or at least most of the time. He was firmly sure that he had two brothers, one older and one younger. He was seven when it happened. He could not with certainty say what exactly happened.

On the open page stood the name Bridgerton. Nothing more.

Bridgerton.

Admitting that it sounded familiar frightened him and so instead of exploring that familiarity not only around the name but also within the face of Eloise Bridgerton, he tried to come up with a reason for why all of it was but a coincidence.

His eyes wandered through the room and he inhaled sharply when his sight rested on his youngest with that same nose and those distinctive brows and oh, if his eyes were to open, he would look right into the very same orbs he had identified in that girl on Friday night.

Sophie's palm stroked up the length of his arm, pressed her thumb into the muscle of his shoulder and went all soft as it ran up his neck and landed just at his jaw. He followed her hand and he took her wrist in his and kissed her palm, only to place it where it had been on his jaw in order to lean into the touch.

“Tell me where your mind is at,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. “I cannot for the life of me remember how it came that I ran after that carriage.” Her fingertips caressed over his forehead and then into his hair, combing through them. “I don't think my father left me there on purpose. And I know not why. I try so hard but I cannot reconstruct the course of events.”

His dream went like this without a fail: His father shook him, his angry face right in his, screaming at him, he saw it happening but there were never any actual words, and then he pushed him, kicked him when he was already on the ground. Ben then scrambled to his feet and ran for all he was worth, he ran and ran and ran until he woke up the moment he collapsed and understood there was no catching up with it.

His understanding of what actually happened, any possible memory had since suffered drastically. Once, when he was younger, he had understood that this dream had not been the reality, but the reality had been what slipped from his mind. It was the weaker opponent. And not only that. If he thought about it today, a father himself, he doubted the reality was any better than his dream, that it had occurred under less brutal circumstances, that his father had treated him less poorly. For if he cared, would he not have felt his son’s heart and soul shaking so feverishly through his whole body, emitting from him in waves? Should not a father have felt that and be driven to act with love and kindness?

While Ben contemplated his past with gritted teeth, Sophie picked up the notebook on his knee.

“Bridgerton,” she read in a soft voice and his attention turned to her so easily. “Ben Bridgerton.”

“Benedict,” The name fell from his lips in nothing but an accidental sigh.

“Benedict!” Sophie repeated and set up as fast as her pregnant body allowed. Their eyes met. His breath quickened. His heartbeat, too. And while emotions rushed through him he found impossible to name, she smiled at him. Her other hand landed on his chest.

“It's alright,” she tried to sooth him as he knew not where to with his hands. He found the notebook that had fallen down between their bodies and he wrote it down as if he was afraid to forget it again. He put down Benedict right over the Bridgerton and his heart thumbed audibly far up in chest. He almost felt sick with the sensation.

“I don't understand why I cannot remember it,” he whispered as her arms wound around him. His chin rested against the side of her head. “I was there. I did not fall on my head.”

“I know. It must be frustrating. It will come back. But you cannot force it.”

But he wanted to. With irredeemable impatience.

He wanted to will it into existence, needed it.

Then Sophie's lips found his jaw and she pressed an open, wet kiss against it and he succumbed to her love. Some of the winding frustration eased from him.

“It's alright. We will figure it out,” she whispered. “Just not now. It needs to come to you, not the other way around.” She was right. She was. It did not change that inkling deep in his bones that it never would.

Her hand drove along the inside of his thigh. “Sophie,” he breathed and lowered his head to catch her lips with his. His eyes closed. Her lips against his the most familiar feeling, her love, her calm, her presence, all at his fingertips.

She was able to distract him in a matter of seconds. He was easy in that way.

There was nothing calming about the storm that followed. He crawled to his knees and he drew her up to her feet and they fell into the bedroom and against the door within two heartbeats. He let her open her church-dress fearing he might rip it, but it did not stop him from falling to his knees in front of her, lifting her leg up over his shoulder while holding her strongly with his hands against her hips.

“Sophie,” he mouthed against the inside of her thigh and she panted in something he would describe as helplessness. But she was not helpless. She was his wife, the strongest woman he knew, the cleverest, too and the most loving. “Soph,” he breathed, air gulping through her lungs.

“Shhh,” she begged, shakingly. The dress fell away over her shoulders but she was so unsteady despite his strong hold that her hands fell on top of his head. The heavy smell of her arousal filled his nostrils and she gasped just as loudly as he had called her name a moment ago when his lips closed around her pearl.

“Ben! Oh.” He took two fingers to her middle, gave her warm, swollen lips a caress, gave her no warning before driving them up into her. And her accompanying scream was just barely contained by her hand falling against her mouth. Her hips began to chaise his movements. Within a mere minute she came apart above him.

He put her foot back on the ground and he stood up and her hand was still over her mouth, but it was shaking and tears short from overflowing. As he pulled her hand away, words overflowed her lips. “I need you. I am all empty.”

He needed to close his eyes and steady himself against the door so weak did her utterance make him. Deep in his stomach the already tight knot of arousal twisted into something primal and his hips twitched in answer. He kissed her hard.

“How I need you, too,” he growled, his voice deep, almost guttural. As he already turned to their bed and drew her with him, she had the sense to lodge a chair under the doorknob while simultaneously trying to draw her dress away over her head.

Ben let go of her hand, snapped his braces free and let his trousers fall to the floor before he fell backwards onto the mattress, the wood giving off a highly offended creak and Ben raised a brow. Come August this bed had to hold another little body. Then she stood before him, freeing herself of the half corset which bound her soft breasts into a firm hold.

The afternoon sun hugged her body as she regarded him, a smile graced her lips and joy sparkled in her eyes. She looked like a true goddess as she opened the braid her hair was confined in. It fell over her shoulders in cascading golden silk and touched down to her protruding belly. The wetness between her legs glistered and he arched his shoulders into the bed as lust shook his whole body and made him infinitely harder, impossibly even. He needed to take himself into hand and give himself a stroke to calm the peaking of deep and utter arousal burning in his thighs and his stomach and over his whole skin. It did not calm his panting breath.

Only Sophie was able to do that after she crawled over his body and rubbed her wet middle right over his hard, pulsing length and he forgot how to breathe. Their hands found each other holding onto the other, a single lifeline, making them one being.

She rubbed her pearl against the weeping crown of his cock and she sighed so visceral he almost thought it had made her climax again. Their intimate locks tangled and rubbed together and he felt how her wetness seeped onto him, he rutted upwards, once, twice, his head beginning to spin.

She handled it, managed his lust driven clumsiness and took him into her hand, guiding him into her. Her hand was back over her mouth but it did not prevent her throat from whining or her chest from vibrating with the moan that followed as she took him into her.

He swallowed and grunted his teeth together, finding footing against the mattress simultaneously and he moved up into her as she moved up as well and fell down in answer. Their rhythm was confused and chaotic until it was not and he sat himself up supported by one hand to meet her kiss which became frantic before it became urgent. It swallowed some of the noises, but not all.

And when they both neared their climax, their eyes wide open, their expressions wild, they shushed each other in some strange idea of reason and when it then happened their jaws clenched shut, Ben wound upwards and Sophie cramped down over him. Their bodies possessed a life of their own as they tensed and then spasmed through the aftermath.

At some point Sophie had fallen into his arms and they both breathed heavily, open mouthed, their eyes locked, and they did not blink as in fear something could rip their souls apart if they did.

Ben did not need to be anybody but who he was at that moment. So deeply in love and utterly grateful for his children. He made a living for his family and did not despite the way in which he did it. If he served only that purpose for the rest of his life, he would one day die a very happy man. Would know that the hardships of his early years had brought the greatest gift imaginable to him.

And yet.

Something deep in his heart was in unrest. Something worked along the unconscious lines of his mind. There were hands that held his, once, a long time ago that he longed to take again, if only to shake them in a proper good-bye.

Here is part TWO

#bridgerton #benedict x sophie #benophie #au #benedict briderton #sophie beckett #fanfiction #violet x edmund #not beta read #previously posted on ao3

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gubbin-galoshes · 10 months ago

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I hadn't been in a bookstore since before COVID. I was taking a walk downtown, unwilling to go home because my mind was racing and screaming about minor social interactions and the terror of being perceived. I needed a distraction.

A bell rang over the bookshop door. A middle-aged guy behind the desk murmured a hello and stuck his nose back into a book whose title I couldn't see. He made a silent promise to ignore my presence until or unless I needed him. I was grateful for that.

I made a point to look at each title, to imagine what each book might be about, to let my mind wander to their stories and to remember those that I'd read before. Slowly, moment by moment, my heart rate came down. The only sound was the tick of a grandfather clock and the creak of my slow steps on the carpeted floorboards. The books were in no particular order save a general grouping by category.

The only one that truly made me stop was a little copy of The Glass Menagerie. This play ripped me apart in high school - maybe another time I'll make a post about it. But I picked it up and held it close while I browsed for something else to buy, because I only had a credit card.

I stopped at the art book section and happened to pull down a jacketless hardcover: The Adventures of Baron Munchausen. I didn't read the synopsis. I didn't read anything inside. The artwork was... uh.

What kind of what the fuck is going on.

I handed Munchausen and Menagerie to the guy behind the desk, and he took a long while examining them and writing them by title in his paper log, he processed my credit card and kindly sent me on my way, books under my arm and a half-hour walk home ahead of me.

They both went on my shelf until I needed them.

Recently I needed a distraction, and Munchausen seemed just the kind of absurdity to do it. I didn't know I was getting myself into a lesson in Discordia told as a parody of Don Quixote with a shit-ton of ridiculous and unnecessary deaths and lost body parts, like riding half a horse after it had been severed in an accident. There is zero continuity and no plot, just a series of tiny unrelated anecdotes grouped into chapters generally categorized by theme, much like the bookshop itself. I finished each chapter with a general sense that I had just lost a few of my brain cells.

But when you're suffering from anxiety, this Monty Python-level absurdity really does the trick. Real life stops seeming so serious when you're reading about a guy who catches geese by having them eat a string and shit it out for the next goose to eat, until he has a dozen geese strung up. Or that time he picked up the biggest cannon in the world and swam across a river with it as a prank.

....What?

Reading a chapter of this bullshit every night-- combined with the legitimately terrifying art style --has helped me sleep. I'm so confused that I forget what I was anxious about.

#baron munchausen #journal

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hardworlders · 2 years ago

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Mandala | Volume I Hardworlder - Prologue

Bear with me, my memory is hazy...

It was a long way down. Fifty stories of empty air between him and a vaulted semicylindrical skylight. Tempered window glass glittered on the roof, the stairs, the street, reflecting the red-blue lightbars like fae fire for the modern age.

Up here, golden twilight bled across the sky from an hour dead sun. Down there, downtown gathered shadow in the streets and alleys and on the eastern faces of the buildings. Somewhere a helicopter growled. Newscast. They had already lost one police chopper. A smoking husk setting fire to a grass slope between the curved ramps of the mixmaster, its jet fuel burning on six lanes.

Snipers watched him. Swat moved into the lobby below, ant-like. National guard not far behind. Unknowable tier-one operators waiting in the wings after that. His death inescapable. But something else, something more pressing, had chased him up here.

“You’ve made your own little world and you think you’re safe in it. There’s no place they can’t get to anymore. That time is over. You can either go down pretending it isn’t, or you can bring some piece of that old world with you into the new. God knows we’re going to need it.”

But he had never felt safe. Never felt powerful. Never felt like he was untouchable. He didn’t need to. He had had something better. He had never felt alone.

Until now.

Behind him, the door flew off the hinges and bounced along the carpet. He was already falling when the gun fired, a CQBR M4. He could tell by the sound, but he would have known without hearing it, the same way he knew without looking who fired it.

The round that made it under his back plate was the most painful wound of his existence. It twisted like a knife and stung like hate, burned like betrayal.

Other guns joined in, but they missed or jammed. Useless. He was already dead, a falling corpse too forsaken to stop breathing.

Air rushed over his ears, drowning out everything like the world was screaming. A spotlight flashed up and passed over him, blinding him for a brief moment, a sun-bright star turning everything else to darkness, reminding him of another world. When the city returned, he saw a jagged gap in the vaulted frame rising towards him and the body crumpled in the lobby below. Another fallen Angel.

He pulled the chute and the harness squeezed the wound. The city around him burned and the sound of rushing blood drowned out the wind in his ears. Then the old familiar feeling of flight took his spirit with it, and the pain faded to nothing. He cut right at four hundred feet up, aiming at the black mirror side of a swordblade shaped tower. A lucky spotlight caught him. Doomed him.

He barely heard the gunfire, but the tracers glowed like meteors and cracked like a body on the pavement. They zipped past his head, tore through his canopy, dug into his shoulder, and sliced paracord to nothing. The spotlight held him until he spun and dropped uncontrollably. Defeated by light. Falling into darkness. What kind of Angel?

Black glass rushed by him as he struggled for control and flew over a thin grey sliver of building so close he almost lost his legs to the AC units. As he came out from the side of the black tower, another current sent him spinning again, but not before he saw it.

Alone on a triangle plot of grass, cement pathways, and fountain ponds. Unnatural in an urban biome of glass and steel. Squat corkscrew tower of white stone, made in imitation and celebration of things a thousand years dead. He laughed. It seemed to pull him in, spiral roof coming up to meet him, to catch him, to save him. Another god damned spotlight swept him as he tried to position himself for some kind of landing. He found the flashlight button and trigger on his slung FN F2000 and fired half a mag between his feet. The disc of plastic set in the top of the spiral shattered and wildflower colored stained glass burst beneath it, flowing down his beam into the dark chapel. He fell through the ring without a scrape, as if guided.

The sudden stop pulled the harness so tight on his wound that for a moment the world went black and he floated in a swarm of glowing rainbow fragments while spirits waited out in the dark.

He returned to reality hanging forty feet up in the air, blood running down his leg, flashlights sweeping in through the doorway below, catching bits of colored glass and shell casings on the floor. He got the harness undone with sluggish movements while the beams below grew brighter and boots striking concrete echoed in the conical hall.

Just before he got the last strap off, a spotlight flashed above him, sending a solid column of white past his head and setting the colored circles on fire. The rotary blades roared over his heartbeat and a voice boomed out of a loudspeaker, wordless, barking.

The strap gave. He dropped and his legs pulled in automatically for a para fall. For a moment, he thought he would fall forever. The floor and walls were one plane of darkness beneath a blazing white oval and a scattering of prismatic shapes.

His knees came up with a jolt and his feet crashed through a chair. He rolled hard on the carpet and slammed into a cube-shaped stone altar.

A moment of stillness. Light playing on the walls. The helicopter morphed into a thunderstorm. They broke in with weapons raised, screaming.

“Hands! Lemme see your fucking hands! Hands! Drop the rifle!”

It’s on a sling, dipshit. But all that came out was a wheeze. They kept on screaming anyway. As if they didn’t want to shoot him. As if they didn’t know the guys on that first chopper.

A voice came in, clear as polished silver, floating over the screaming like real speech over TV dialogue.

“It won’t end with this.”

That’s what you think. But again, just a wheeze. He grabbed the F2000 with one hand and they shot him thirty times. He watched glowing gunsmoke rise to the disk of light above and disappear.

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teddyeyeseddie · 3 years ago

Text

Tear You Apart

Pairing: Dean x Reader

WC:1,600+

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI, SMUT, Dom/Sub vibes, Oral (Fem & Male receiving, face fucking, P in V, Unprotected Sex, Drinking

A/N: Yeah this has no plot it is just smut. BUT, THIS IS WHAT YOU ALL GET FOR GETTING ME TO 100 FOLLOWERS IN A MONTH!

Tear You Apart- She Wants Revenge

The beat of the club vibrated throughout the huntress’s body, her thighs clenching at the way the red lights casted shadows on the man she had been eyeing all night.

His maroon button up hugged his shoulders so perfectly, the black shirt layered under it left little to her imagination when she dreamed about what his body looked like.

Sipping on her third gin and tonic of the night, she finally mustered up the courage to make her way across the club and towards the man.

Once he noticed she was approaching him, the smirk on his face widened, his eyes darkening, the look on his face making her heart skip a beat. She normally wasn’t the type to approach a man in a seedy club but she couldn’t live without at least learning the name of the man that had been the source of her soaked panties all night.

“Was wondering how long it was gonna take you to bring that pretty little ass over here.” The man let out, the raspiness of his voice making her insides clench around nothing.

The man reached out and grabbed at her hips, one hand digging in, the other finding its way down to her ass. His large hand kneaded at the flesh, causing her skirt to ride up, undoubtedly showing the people behind them everything.

Her hand was quick to reach behind her, trying to pull at the fabric. The man’s hand only gripped her ass tighter, her tugging at her skirt doing nothing now.

“Now don’t get all shy on me now, princess.” He breathed against her neck, goosebumps forming across her body. She looked up at him, the man chuckling at the look on her face.

Her eyes were glassed over, wide and ready to do whatever the man before her asked of her.

“You’re a good girl aren’t ya? Gonna do whatever you can to please daddy, huh?” She just nodded her head, prompting the man to let go of her ass and wrap his free hand around her wrist as he pulled her to the exit of the club.

The man all but dragged her to the motel situated across the way, his hands quick to get the door to his room unlocked.

“You know how to use your words? Gonna tell me your name? Or am I just gonna have to call you my ‘good girl’ all night?” The man questioned as his hand trailed up her side, catching at her tank top, letting it ride up her body before he finally let it go. His hand moved to ghost over her shoulder, finally resting at her neck. He then moved it to her chin, grabbing it so she was forced to look him in his eyes.

“Y-Y/N.” She finally let out.

“Mmm.. Pretty name for a pretty little thing like you. My name’s Dean, but as long as you’re screaming for me, I couldn't really give a shit what you call me.” He backed her up, the back of her knees hitting the bed, causing her to sit down and look up at him.

His hands pulled at her tank top, practically ripping it from her body. The man didn't even bother pulling her bralette over her head. Instead he pulled the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric rest around her torso right under her breasts.

“Mmm, look at how pretty you are.” The man pushed her back onto the bed, his lips kissing their way down her body, stopping to pepper kisses above the waistline of her skirt, looking up at her from his place between her legs.

“You know, I really wanted to spend my night between your legs, but I really want to see how your lips look wrapped around my cock.” She whimpered at his words, audibly gasping when the man stood up, pulling her from the bed.

Her knees came to rest against the rough motel carpet, looking up as the man stripped, leaving him only in his boxers.

Her hands reached up, tracing the outline of his cock with her small hands. A deep groan left his mouth as he gripped the back of her head. Her fingers found their way to his sides, dipping into his waistband as she pulled them down his legs.

His cock sprung out of his underwear, slapping against his lower belly then finally settling hard and heavy between his thighs.

“Gonna be a good girl for me, Y/N? Gonna do a good job for me?” He cooed, his hand cupped her face as his thumb brushed over her cheek. She nodded enthusiastically, her hand finding its way to his hard member.

“Wanna be really good for you daddy, I’ll be so so good for you.” She breathed out.

She slowly began to stroke him, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his tip. She moaned at the taste of him.

She spent a moment only taking in half of him, her hands lazily stroking what she wasn't fitting in her mouth.

After getting used to his size, she began to take him in further, his cockhead bumping agaisnt the back of her throat, causing Dean to throw his head back as he moaned.

“Fuck baby, thought you were gonna be little miss innocent. I didn’t think a good girl knew how to suck dick like this.” Y/N's hand reached for his, leading it to the back of her head.

“Does my good girl want me to fuck her mouth, you want to feel it when you try to talk tomorrow?” He questioned. She just nodded her head, spit dripping out of her mouth and onto her breasts.

Dean pulled her off of him, giving her a moment to breathe. Dean admired how absolutely blissed-out the woman between his legs looked. He wiped at a bit of the spit that was dripping from her mouth as he tightened the grip he had on her hair.

His other hand gripped the base of his dick, he internally groaned as he watched Y/N open her mouth as wide as she could for him.

He started out slow, his pace speeding up as she got used to the feeling of being used by him. She took everything he gave her, only gagging on him once.

Dean pulled her off of him, reaching under her arms as he threw her back onto the bed.

“As much as I loved that, I want a taste of you too sweetheart.” She all but mewled at his words, her hips wriggling as he pulled off her skirt and panties in one quick motion.

He lowered himself between her legs, wasting no time getting to work.

He licked a stripe from her dripping hole and up to her clit, Y/N’s mind almost short circuiting at the feeling.

“Taste so sweet baby, knew you would..” Before she could even respond, he lowered himself back between her legs, his thick fingers finding their way inside of her.

Between the attention he was giving her clit and the curling of his fingers, she was so close to the edge. Her thighs tightened around Dean’s head and her toes began to curl. She gasped as soon as Dean pulled away from her.

“Uh uh. If you’re coming tonight you are gonna come on my cock.” Dean breathed out as he wiped her slick from his mouth. She scrambled up the bed at his words, almost hitting the headboard.

Dean sat up on his knees, gripping her hips as he slid his dick between her folds. He pressed in ever so gently and his thumb found its way to her bundle of nerves. Y/N threw her head back, her hands gripping at the sheets causing her knuckles to whiten.

“Fuck, De- Shit.” she moaned out, Dean just chuckling at her reaction to him slowly fucking her.

“You like that baby? Want daddy to fuck you harder?” He cooed. His thrusts stayed at the same pace but the force of them became stronger, causing her breasts to bounce with each thrust.

“Please faster.” She moaned out, Dean chuckled and grabbed her waist tighter, slamming into her at a relentless pace.

They stayed like this for a moment, the two of them getting so lost in their pleasure neither of them could think straight.

Y/N’s hand found its way to his lower belly, pushing at it as a sign for him to stop. She pushed at his shoulder, causing him to pull out of her.

He began to question what she was doing but as soon as Y/N made it to her knees and pushed harder at his shoulder, he got the memo.

He laid back on the bed, smirking as Y/N threw her leg over him, rubbing her wetness along his shaft. She reached down between them for his dick, slowly sinking down.

Dean clenched his jaw, admiring how her tits bounced each time she impaled herself on him.

She leaned forward, bracketing his head between her forearms as she slowed her pace, her silver necklace swaying over Dean’s face.

She began to get tired, her arms starting to weaken. She lowered her head to the crook of his neck, Dean sucking a breath between his teeth which caused Y/N to recoil.

She looked down at Dean’s chest, the shape of a cross was burned into his skin, in the perfect shape of the cross that rested between the valley of her breasts. She looked back at Dean’s face, his green eyes she became so fond of, replaced by complete black.

“Darlin’ Im gonna fucking tear you apart.”

And she let him.

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sillyrabbit81 · 4 years ago

Text

The Instructor - Part 5

Summary: Augusts confronts your betrayal.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 4k

Warnings: Dark, violence, abuse, choking, hitting, punching, orgasm denial, orgasm control, sex (p in v), mdom/fsub, switch, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, dubious consent. I tried to mention everything if I missed something I sincerely apologise.

Authors Note: FINAL PART. There are probably going to be massive plot holes, sorry about that, this was never meant to be a series, so I didn’t do anywhere near the set up needed. However, I’m glad I did do a series because I enjoyed playing around with some of the darker aspects of the story. If it sucks, I'm sorry, I just went for it and this is what came out! It probably also isn't strictly cannon, but I made use of some aspects of the MI cannon.

Unbeta'd and unedited, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Part 4

The Instructor Part 5

You thought you had felt true fear before this moment, but you were wrong. Confronted with the unyielding stare of August, your stomach twists and your mouth goes dry. You’re completely and utterly fucked.

You try to answer August, make up a believable lie, beg forgiveness, say anything. But you can’t, it’s like he can see into your soul and you know that any lie you tell him will only make him angrier.

Quicker than lightning, August’s hands grip your throat. He pushes you to the wall, uncaring as your head hits it so hard your vision swims. Both his hands push into your neck, compressing your arteries and you feel the blood pooling, building pressure behind your eyes. This wasn’t the subtle choking he engaged in when you played. No, this was Special Agent August Walker trying to kill you.

You are stretched against the wall, your toes barely touch the ground. You are a trained soldier, but August is a trained assassin, you know you won’t last long in a situation like this, you will pass out in less than a minute. Then all August had to do was keep squeezing and you would be dust.

“Why, pet?” August asks through clenched teeth.

You can’t speak, you have no air. You plead to August with your eyes, silently begging him to stop. His hands press harder and you feel him crushing your trachea with his leathal hands. You scratch at his hands, his face, his eyes. You kick with your feet, frantic, feeling yourself get weaker by the second. You get one lucky shot in and for a moment August’s grip falters as he doubles over retching in pain.

You slam the palm of your hand into his forearms and he lets you go. You run for the door, your nudity the last of your concerns. Your throat hurts as you run, bruised and raw, you gulp breath in, coughing you try and fill your lungs again. You reach the door, pull the handle. It stops, not making a full rotation.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration. You turn the lock and try to open in again. It does and for a brief moment you taste freedom.

A foot kicks the door closed and August is in front of you. You back away from him as he locks it again. In the unlikely event you live through this night, you will never forget the snarl on his face. You look into his eyes, expecting to see the eyes of a killer and August doesn’t disappoint. His azure eyes burn with such murderous intent, for a moment you think you are going to lose control of your bladder.

But there is something else there, something he tries to hide behind his fury. You search his face, trying to see past the mask and find what he is concealing. You wince when you see it. August was hurt. Your betrayal had hurt him.

“This is even more fun than the first time we fucked, Pet,” he says, mockingly. August advances on you with a bullish intent. He is magnificent as he stalks you, his loose pyjama pants hang low on his hips, his chest is taut and his thick ropey arms flex as he readies them for a fight.

You try and think clearly, maybe you should confess everything. He’s going to kill you if you don’t. If only you had long enough to check his records, but you couldn’t put your associates at risk if you weren’t sure.

Lifting your chin, you accept your fate. You ready a fighting stance, and August does too. You understand you can’t beat him, but you won’t die without a fight.

You dodge his first attack, and you’re not surprised that he led with his fists. He only needs one to land and he would break your bones. You retreat to the kitchen, praying its laid out the same as yours. Opening the draw with the knives, you pull one out. It’s not ideal, its weight wasn’t distributed well for fighting, but it was better than nothing. Your gun is in your room and you have no idea where August keeps his.

Turning the tables and going on the offensive, you make August back up and you move to the door. You hold the knife expertly, and as long as you keep August from getting his own weapon, the fight might be a fair one. You have so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you start to shake. The blade accentuates the tremors and August see’s, of course he would find your weakness.

“Put the knife down, Pet,” August orders, his voice was smooth, calm and commanding. You nearly stumble, his words sent shivers down your spine. How can he still have an effect on you? “You know I can’t let you out of here.”

You gage the distance to the door, it was still so far away. Your fear made you want to run to it again, but you knew it would be a mistake. Better to keep advancing slowly, forcing August back.

But August stops retreating and plants himself in front of the door. He stretches his neck, rolls his shoulders, his naked torso hides nothing and you see his muscles ripple under his skin. Your body and mind are in conflict, confused by the stimulus. You’re terrified of August, but fear of him and what he is capable of was part of his appeal, part of his savage, dominant sexuality. Your body can’t tell the difference and you feel it responding, your centre grows warm, throbbing and your arousal moistens the apex of your thighs.

“Please,” you murmur. Confronted with August’s obstruction and his dismissiveness of your threat, you lose hope. You feel weak and exhausted. Again, you contemplate confessing everything, but you aren’t a coward, you were realistic.

The cruel snarl on August’s face becomes a smirk as you plead. “I love hearing you beg, Pet,” he taunts.

He attacks again, this time grabbing a chair from the dining table. You try and duck but he is too fast for you and the solid wood chair cracks you over your head and shoulders. You stumble to the ground; your vision wavers and you nearly pass out. You try and get to your knees, but your arms won’t cooperate and you fall to the floor, no doubt you have a concussion. You look for the knife, see it about a metre away. With your head thumping and your heart racing, you scramble for it, but August reaches you first.

Gripping both your ankles, August uses your legs and body weight against you, flipping you onto your back. He pulls you to him, your skin rubs against the carpet and you howl with pain as you feel the fibres burn your ass and back. August climbs on top of you, his hands are at your throat again, squeezing the life from you.

“You’re killing me, August,” you try and say, but all you hear is your pathetic whimpers. You feebly punch and slap at August, but you are spent. You give up, you tried. You get angry at yourself for even thinking of giving up, but you didn’t know what else to do. You can’t win. Tears well in your eyes and start to roll down your cheeks. You squeeze them shut, ashamed that you cried in your last moments, that you gave up, that you didn’t fight.

The pressure on your throat relaxes, and you gulp in air, coughing and retching as your inflamed throat protests. You try to roll to your side to breath easier, but August doesn’t allow it, his body still traps yours and one hand still grips your throat. You feel his whiskered lips on your cheeks, kissing away your tears. You open your eyes and are consumed by his and the fire that burns within them. You wonder what your eyes are saying to his.

August shifts his hips and you feel him, hard under his thin pants. Your eyes widen, he really had been enjoying the fight. It scares you, feeling how hard and fully erect he his, aroused by trying to kill you. But you knew how hypocritical that was, because even now, terrified, a moment from death, you ache for him.

You roll your hips, sliding your bare, slick slit against August, the fabric of his pants harsh against your clit, but you feel him beneath it, and you can’t stop. You don’t want to but your craving for him was too strong.

If you didn’t know August as well as you did, you may have missed the surprise in his eyes. It came and went so quickly. His lip curled, triumphant, he had you where he wanted you, desperate, without fight left and completely his.

August’s arrogant look, his smug sneer, his complete domination of you made you lose the last shred of dignity you had and you beg for him.

“Please, please,” you whimper.

“You’re such a little whore,” August scolds you. “Do you think you can fuck your way out of this?”

You shake your head, “No.” You cry again, fat tears rolling down your cheeks in a constant stream, but you don’t stop your wanton grinding. You need to feel him inside you.

“Why are you so fucking wet, Pet?” August asks, his jeering tone warmed your face with shame.

“I don’t know!” you cry.

“Yes, you do, Pet.”

You try to turn away and hide from his knowing eyes. August won’t let you, griping your cheeks with his fingers, digging deep, the soft flesh pressing painfully against your teeth. Through your sobs you say, “Because I want you.”

“Beg me,” August’s voice changed, becoming low and hoarse. He starts to move with you, teasing you. “Beg for my cock.”

You don’t try to hold back, the words fall freely, “Please August, please.”

August tuts, “You can do better than that, Pet. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me, August,” you sob. You’re ashamed of yourself, of how wet you are, how badly you want him, how easily you submit. But it feels too good, playing on the edge as you were, where fear and arousal become interchangeable, you had never felt such bliss.

Taking his pants off, August fists his cock as he takes you in, his gaze rakes over you, lingering on your desperate cunt. Lining himself up, he teases your entrance. When he slides himself over you, he groans as his eyes close and he throws his head back. You realise, you’re not as powerless as you thought, he wants you too and just as badly.

Bringing his head down next to yours, he growls in your ear, “Keep going, Pet. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck your hot little cunt.”

You start mumbling, “Please August, please. I need you.” You throw your arms around him, grip his ass and pull him closer. Your nails dig into his skin as you urge him into you.

With a violent thrust, August enters you. Both of you cry out, your twin shouts echo in each other’s ears. “You feel so good, pet. So wet and so fucking tight.” You mewl under him. He is stretching you, painfully. He offered your core no preparation and it protested his invasion, clamping down hard. August wasn’t fucking around, if he had taken any pity on you in the past, he wasn’t this time. He pumps into you, his pelvis making long driving strokes, your walls straining against the force of his cock, unready for his intrusion.

August hooks your knees over his arms and forcing your legs wider, he is finally sheathed. Increasing his pace, he uses you, furious, punishing and without pity. He offers you no pleasure, he takes what he wants. His face above you is twisted, angry, and hateful. This is payback, revenge, hurt me and I’ll destroy you. But despite that, or maybe because you feel you deserve it, a familiar pressure starts to build between your legs.

“August,” you beg. “I need to cum, please.”

Leaning down, pushing his weight onto your already strained legs, he brings his face to yours. His eyes are dark and sadistic as he says vindictively, “No.”

You groan. You were so close, you don’t know if you can stop it. “Please!” you howl. Fresh tears fill your eyes and you implore him.

“No.” August says, his voice cruel and merciless. “You cum and I’ll fuck your ass raw.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You try and think of all the parts of your body that hurt. Your head, shoulders, legs, the skin on your back rubbing against the carpet. But it doesn’t work. Your body is so warm, tingling, your skin feels alive and the pain is dull compared to the rapture you feel.

Your body is suddenly wrest from the floor. August withdraws from you and flips you onto your knees and violates you again. You feel August’s hand in your hair and he forces your face into the floor. You heard a thud next to your head, his foot is there, and he continues his assault, kneeling on one leg anchoring himself with the other.

You bite your hand to muffle your shouts, you don’t want to give August the satisfaction of hearing your pain or pleasure. You thought he was deep before, but now you feel every impact in your gut, your core uncomfortably full from his brutal jabs. You can’t stay on your knees, your legs too weak to withstand his punitive thrusts. August doesn’t care. He digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place as he continues his ruthless assault.

Unable to stop it, you feel your release approach again. You try to deny it, but the savagery of August is too much. The feel of your bodies slaming together, the slapping of his balls against your clit, the sound of his grunts of exertion overwhelm you and you can’t stop yourself from whining, “Please, August. Please. I’m fucking begging you.”

You hear August’s malicious chuckle. “No, Pet.”

August seizes you by the nape, pulling you up to your knees and your back presses against his chest. Wrapping his hand around your neck, he holds you against his shoulder. His other hand moves over your breasts, kneading into them, squeezing them. His face is close to yours, you feel his ragged breath tickle your cheeks.

He starts whispering in your ear and he presses his rough hairy lip into you. “You fucking little bitch,” his voice was low, harsh and dripping with venom, but August can’t stop his desire from seeping through. “Who sent you to me? Who told you to whore yourself for me?” He pinches at your nipples, and you shudder against him writhing. His insults pushing you towards your climax as much as his touch.

“Was it the CIA?” he asks, sliding his hand down your belly to between your legs. Fear makes your heart skip, if he touched you there you would not be able to stop your orgasm. You try and pull away, but he is too strong.

“Did those useless government hacks, turn you into a fucking whore, or did you volunteer, Pet?” He slid his fingers over your slit, and one grazed your clit sending your core pulsing around his cock. You want to tell him he has it all wrong, backwards. He thinks he’s been caught, he doesn’t know he’s being recruited.

He slaps your clit with his palm, a quick flick of his wrists that shocks you and if August wasn’t holding you up, you would have doubled over in pain and ecstasy.

“Don’t fucking cum.” August orders, rubbing a calloused finger over your oversensitive clit. Then, he says, sadly and with regret, “You could have come to me, Pet. Told me. I would have protected you. I could have gotten you out.” His voice almost cracks as he adds, “We could have gotten out together. BE together.”

You want to tell him, you want that too. You didn’t mean to fall for him either, none of this was planned. His fingers dance over your hard nub, coaxing from you the orgasm he forbids. Frustration suddenly pours out of you. You fight him again, punching the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and between your legs.

“Why do you fight so hard, Pet?” he asks. Those simple words he said to you all those months ago rock you. It was his invitation to submit willingly rather than be pulled under by the force of his will. But it was different this time, it wasn’t just you at stake.

You beg again, “August…” It’s all you can say through your short gasping cries. You break out in sweat, the need in you was so strong it took everything you had to fight it.

“Answer my question and you can cum,” He says. You nod, vigorously, you don’t even feel shame at giving in so easily, you’re too far gone. He brings his face in front of yours. Your whole body is shaking under his touch as he draws your orgasm and confession out of you.

“Were you sent by the CIA?”

You shake your head, and whimper, “No.”

August looks into your eyes for a hint of a lie. When he can’t find one, he coos, “Good girl,” and you wriggle at his praise. He kisses you roughly, lips hard against yours. “You can cum now, Pet.”

With unrestrained cries, you finally allow the pressure in your core to grow. You feel your release roll over your contorting body. Your guttural shout signals you’re the arrival of your long denied ecstasy and tears streamed from your eyes as you succumb with immense relief.

August watched every second of your orgasm, his face studying yours as if to memorise every expression, until you were done and can’t hold yourself up anymore. He removes himself with a gentleness that was unexpected and he tenderly carries you to his room. Cradling your head against his chest, he kisses your forehead, muttering something you can’t catch and were too far gone to ask.

He lays you on your side, and you are so malleable and weak, you let him curl you into a ball before he leans over you. He lifts your chin and turns your head so you are looking at him. You give him a half smile, which he returns with a soft hum. His eyes go to your collar and a look of sadness crosses his face, a grief so intense you feel it too.

You don’t know what to say and neither does August. He does the only thing he knows how to do when he feels what some people call love. He fucks.

When August enters you this time it’s different. Although his thrusts are brutal and powerful, it’s not punishment. He is trying to make a connection, to see if there is something salvageable between you. He needs to know if he means anything to you. He drops his forehead onto yours, resting there while his eyes met yours. He holds your throat and his thumb plays with your thin golden collar.

“You’re still mine, Pet,” August says, firmly.

“Always yours,” you reply with certainty. And you were. But by the end of this night he would know he was yours too.

As if to seal the promise you made, August kisses you. His lips pry yours open and his gentle explorative tongue massages yours. When you kiss him back, you are surprised by the growl he makes in his throat. Feeling bold, you place a hand on his cheek as you kiss. He doesn’t pull away so you slide your other hand into his hair and you expect him to shake you off, like he did before. He allows it, and he slides his free arm around you, pulling your bodies together. The rhythm you find together is nothing like the primal fucking you two are used to. It seemed as though he was making love to you, as much as someone like August could.

You feel the warmth grow again and radiate from your core. August instinctively knows your close again and stops your kisses watch you again. “Come for me, my sweet girl,” he utters.

You fall apart. Your fist tightens in his hair, you tremble beneath him, while you call his name.

“Fuck,” he grunts while you fall over the edges, and he forces himself deep within you, splitting you, owning you as you feel him thicken and pulse, releasing his seed into your milking core. Then he breaks you by growling your name as he makes his final throes.

You’re both slick with sweat, but August doesn’t care and he brushes your face with kisses. He looks like he wants to say something, opening his mouth and closing it again without saying a word. He helps you get up and he walks you to his bathroom.

August runs you a bath, and he sits on the edge for a while, watches you while you bathe. He showers quickly before returning to his spot.

Finally, he speaks, but he looks away as he says it, and for the first time you see August doubt himself, “If not the Agency, then who?” He asks.

“We have no government affiliation,” you say.

He nods, “Why did they send you, was the plan always to use sex?”

“No, August,” you say honestly. “This was not part of the plan. I was only supposed to be assigned to you while I did my training. This assignment was last minute, I don’t even know how it happened.”

He turns his attention back to you and looks for the lie he believes he will find. When he doesn’t find it he asks, “Your aunt, was that a lie?”

“She’s officially missing,” you say. “Unofficially, she brought me into group.”

“Something doesn’t add up, Pet,” August says. “I’m don’t know anything that a hundred other agents don’t also know. What did they send you to find out?”

“You don’t get it. We don’t want to bring you down, we want to recruit you. I had to make sure you are who we think you are.”

You see a glimpse of understanding in August’s eyes. “Go on,” he prompts.

You watch him carefully as you explain, “My assignment was to find out if you were the one who wrote a certain manifesto making the rounds in certain circles.” He doesn’t blink. You smirk, realising he’s trying too hard to keep his face smooth. He is the one.

“And, am I?” he asks.

“You are,” you say moving down the bath. Unbelievably, knowing he wrote that poetic and chaotic brilliance made you hot again. “This operation is all wrong, too big for simple arms traders. You’re using the CIA to get the connections and resources you need.” You run your finger down August’s bare arm, tracing the ridges of his muscles and the slight protruding veins on his forearms. August watches you intently, trying to appear cold, but you see his breaths grow shallow and his jaw clench. “We have the resources to help a man like you,” You reach his hand, turn it palm up, and lay a kiss into it before holding it to your cheek. “’A man with vision’ Lane calls you.”

“Lane?” August says, he seems confused, and he should be.

“Yes, meet with Solomon Lane and you will get your new world August.” You take his hand off your cheek and fold down his fingers except for the middle one. You take him in your mouth curling your tongue around him, and sucking.

August can’t look away. Already thrown by being discovered, he is completely transfixed by your sudden seduction.

“How?” he breathes.

You open your mouth and show August his finger sliding down your tongue. You get out of the bath and stand in front of August. You move his finger down your body, between your breasts, over your belly and between your thighs. You slide his finger between your warm folds and you hear August groan as you rest him against your entrance.

You ask him, “Have you, ever heard of the Syndicate, Pet?”

End

Tag List

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether

I have a feeling I missed someone, if I did, let me know!

#august walker #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #august walker x you #august walker x reader #august walker smut

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lesbean05 · 2 years ago

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Ronance day 4

I’m sorry for a lot of things. It being shorter than normal, for one.

TW- graphic depiction of violence

Prompt was Horror movie AU

Idk if it’s obvious but this is based on fear street 1994 idk if it kinda makes sense if you haven’t seen fear street it’s not really related to the plot at all

“Hello, this is B. Dalton’s, we’re closed.”

“Hey, it’s me, when are you getting home tonight?”

“I don’t know, I’m just closing, so whenever Ryan gets his asking-me-out attempt over with so I can lock up.”

“My God, I want to punch that asshole’s face in so bad. I’ll stay up, I bet you haven’t eaten.”

“Fine, I’ll be there in about an hour. Bye babe, love you”

“I love you too.”

Robin hung the phone up with a sigh. She began milling about, cashing in the register and locking the gate to the small store that she had spent way too long getting familiar with.

As she walked across the courtyard towards the exit, a chill ran up her spine. She pulled her jacket closer around herself, and shuddered, her jangling keys were the only sound in the eerily quiet mall.

“All alone now!”

“Jesus Christ Ryan, you dick!”

“Aww, cmon, can’t take a joke? I thought you liked funny guys.”

Ryan was your average kind of creepy asshole, and he had tonight decided to carry around a cheaply made blow-up sex puppet. Normally Robin would nod and smile until she could leave, but she’d had a really long day.

“I have told you time and again shitface, I have a boyfriend.”

“Ahh, yes, the mystery boyfriend I have yet to meet. You sure you didn’t just make him up in that pretty little head of yours?”

He pressed his finger into the middle of her forehead, and grinned, scouring her with his eyes. That was the last straw.

Robin’s nerve finally snapped, as her palm made contact with the side of his face, and he staggered back, clutching his cheek.

“Alright! I get it!”

She huffed and turned around, walking back towards the exit.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything, weirdo.”

She turned back around and noticed that the gate to her bookshop had popped back open, and she huffed, trudging over, fishing the key out of her bag as she walked.

A small thud came from inside the shop, and Robin begrudgingly ducked under the half-closed gate to find a single book on the floor. Perfectly in front of the shelf it came off. Nothing strange there, she told herself.

She bent down to pick it up, and placed it back on the shelf.

God, I have to stop watching so many horror movies. But no matter how many times she laughed at herself, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

Something dark passed through the corner of her vision, and she whirled around, almost falling over her feet, to look up and find a shadow in the should-be-empty hallway.

God.

A ghost face mask was staring right at her, and she screamed, almost tripping over, and not looking back as she raced towards the exit. As she got back out into the courtyard, she risked a look behind her and saw the masked figure hot on her heels.

She ran into one of the other stores, crouching behind the counter, breathing heavily, and waited.

She had seen the ghost face. He had a knife.

She heard the soft padding of shoes on the carpet behind the counter, and she held her breath.

Robin screamed again, as the mask suddenly popped into her view, staring straight at her, and charging towards her with terrifying speed.

She decided to make a break for the exit.

The sprint would have taken her about ten seconds.

If not for the fact that the shadow behind her managed to grab her hair and yank her backwards onto his knife, sending a jolt of fire through Robin’s body, and a guttural scream from her throat.

He stabbed her again, this time letting the knife twist, and Robin’s knees gave out as she sank to the floor. A pool of thick, sticky blood was quickly gathering on the cold concrete, and Robin’s entire body was shrieking for it all to stop. Every limb desperately flailed and clawed at her attacker, who had bent down over her to keep stabbing her front.

Robin managed to fumble the mask off.

“Nance? Baby…”

A gurgle was the last thing to leave Robin’s mouth.

BANG!

And the two were reunited.

#ronance #stranger things 4 #stranger things #nancy x robin #robin stranger things #robin x nancy #fanfic #ronancetober #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #fear street #fear street 1994 #fear street trilogy

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forrestfanfics · 2 years ago

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Deepest Desires

Antisepticeye x killer!reader

In honour of Anti's return, I wrote this based off my old OC insert where he used my OC to kill people. This is also my first time posting here so the format and plot kinda sucks.

Summary: Anti used to "possess" reader and used her to do horrible things whilst manipulating her with love. After disappearing for 4 years, he returns to her to find that she's still as unstable.

TW: mentions of murder and dismemberment, possession, mention of multiple dead bodies, blood, angst, reader might be mentally unstable, brief mention of manipulation. (please tell me if I missed any :])

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There have been numerous reports of shady activity within the facility. But none as incredibly sickening as what happened tonight when a pile of dead bodies littered the halls.

Among the countless employees was Chase Brody, a 36-year-old who was reported missing some time ago.

Security footage was corrupted but managed to catch a five second clip of a shadowy figure floating down the hall right as the alarms began to blare.

Let's move to the scene where-

A light click and the television was switched off.

You let out a heavy sigh, wiping the stray tear that managed to slipped through despite your efforts to hold them in.

The remote was tossed aside rather aggressively while you tried to comprehend what you had just witnessed.

It couldn't be him.

You decided to forget about it. It couldn't be him. It's been way to long for him to just pop out of nowhere like that.

You looked down at the carpet, stitching your eyebrows together at the red stains. You really needed to clean that out soon before it settles.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled herself up from the arm chair and wandered into the kitchen where a kettle and tea bag were waiting on the counter.

You silently put together a cup of tea with much more honey than actual tea but no one was around to tell you off for it. Not anymore at least.

Staring down at the teacup, you noticed the blood stuck beneath your overgrown fingernails. With a shaky breath, you sighed.

The tips of your nails dug under the others, scraping out the gunk and leaving smudged of red behind. You've been getting sloppier at cleanup lately.

Defeated, you focused on the tea they claimed could help you relax.

Your heart clenched in your chest as you took a sip. The news broadcast replayed in your head over and over and over.

The five seconds of a shadowy figure stuck in your head on a loop like a broken cassette, slowly chipping away at your sorrow and replacing it piece by piece with pure fiery rage.

Your bandage-covered fingers gripped the tea cup with such force, it almost shattered in your grasp.

The box was wrong. The stupid tea did jack shit for you.

It's not fair. You thought

"It's for your own good, doll," you remembered him saying, watching as his shadowy form moved back into the body of your old Irish neighbour.

You grit your teeth at the stupid nickname you snapped at him for whenever he used it. You loathed the stupid hint of Irish in his voice whenever he spoke it.

You're doing so wonderfully, doll

You're my obedient little doll, aren't you?

Only the best for my doll

You've been bad today, doll

Doll...

You let out a frustrated yell, lifting the cup over your head. "I'm not a fucking doll!" You screamed as you let go, chucking it as hard as your anger allowed.

The cup smashed into the wall right beside the kitchen doorway where a tall man leaned against the frame with his arms crossed.

He seemed unfazed by the shards of ceramic and boiling tea flying dangerously close to his face.

You let your breathing settle and stood upright, allowing your demeanour to change. Instead of anger, you just looked annoyed.

"Well, if you despised the nickname so much, why didn't you tell me to stop using it, you fucking moron?" His shaky, erratic voice sent shivers down your spine and you turned your body back toward the counter, resting your hands on the surface and putting all your weight on them.

The memory lit a flame within you.

You did. You told him time and time again, you hated it when he referred to you as a doll.

"I never referred to you as a doll, d-..." He paused when he realised his almost slip up.

"Y/N." He rolled his eyes in disgust as he spat your name like venom from a poisonous snake. "It was only a habit I developed because you were my..." He trailed off and narrowed his eyes at the back of your head and mumbled...

"You were mine."

You've forgotten how annoying it was for him to read your mind.

You clenched your fists against the marbled counter, spinning around and taking a few steps forward. "Why did you come back? How even?"

A small smirk formed on his pale, dead-looking face. "You know me, doll."

You scoffed at the use of that dreaded nickname again.

"Pathetic little Jack could never hold me for very long even if he sold his soul to the devil." It sounded almost maniacal when he laughed at his own dumb joke.

"You truly expect me to believe he held you in for four years?" You felt your heart sink at the obvious lie. If he wanted out, he could so easily achieve it.

"I don't understand why you even had to go back," you grumbled, ultimately deciding to leave the conversation.

But as you expected to walk right through the man, you were met with confusion upon bumping into his physical body.

You stumbled back and blinked a couple times in fearful shock.

"I-... How are you-"

His laugh returned, sounding much creepier up close. You were more surprised than angry right then.

"Why, I thought you and Jack-a-boy were the best of buds? Haven't you heard?" The smile on his face grew, revealing his sharp teeth and bloody gums, really shoving them in your face.

"He's dead," he laughed.

You felt uneasy. He wasn't just there to catch up. Something else was going on here and it was only just the beginning.

"I was finally able to take over his body and now you'll never have to endure his presence ever again."

You felt your soul leave your body when you finally realized what happened.

Your shaky hand landed on his shoulder, shoving him aside like you so desired to do all those times in the past when he bothered you. He didn't even flinch at your sudden aggression when you stormed out of the kitchen looking like you'd seen a ghost.

"You wanna know why I had to leave, darling?" He spoke, stopping you in your tracks.

"As a spirit, I couldn't stay too long outside of Jack's physical body. Being with you for months almost untethered me from it." He explained, watching as your head hung low and your shoulders slumped.

You hesitantly turned to meet his gaze. "But you were using my body..."

"As a puppet. A temporary host. Ever wonder why I never fully possessed you? Why I was only ever at the back of your mind?" He chuckled softly, pleased with how confused and furious you looked.

"If I used you too much, I would cut my connection to Jack and fully take over your body, ultimately killing you. And I couldn't let that happen to my darling, now, could I?"

You couldn't tell the difference between his sarcasm and honesty as he used the same petty tone when he was speaking either way.

"Well... Now you have the freedom to do anything you want without me. So why don't you leave?" You hugged your arms and made a hasty beeline for the front door of the apartment unit.

"Why? So you can clean the blood off the rug?"

You froze.

"So you have time to chop the body up and toss out the parts before the garbage truck arrives? You don't think I didn't notice this isn't your home?"

Your lips began to quiver as flashes of blood and fragments of a girl's face crossed your mind. For a moment, you glanced at the closet you temporarily stashed the body in.

"Please leave..." You quietly begged.

You finally felt the cold touch of Anti's hands on your jaw, lifting your head up to gaze into your eyes so full of emotions with his soulless ones.

"Look at you, my dear. Still such a mess even after I disappeared," he teased. "How'd you do it this time? Stabbed her with a knife? Choked her with a wire? Did you rip her apart with your bare hands?"

You reached up and shoved him away with a scoff. "This is your fault. You turned me into this! This... This- monster!" You cried.

"You think I did this?" Anti gestured to himself with an amused look on his face.

"Who else decided to use my body to murder people?" Your voice began to crack, unable to hold your tears in any longer.

"I never manipulated you into doing all those horrible things, Y/N..." Anti took a step forward, making you take one back.

"I never possessed you, Y/N." He moved forward, causing you to walk backwards, suddenly overtaken with fear as the man towered over you with a big toothy grin and wide pitch-black eyes.

"Your anger issues, your murder sprees..." Anti backed you up against a wall and leaned in to whisper into your ear. "Y/N, Darling... Don't blame me for all the things you did."

You stilled.

Realising too late that the danger you were about to experience was greater than you ever experienced with Anti in your life.

You felt yourself slipping away, body feeling numb and vision going blurry.

You tried to speak his name only to be met with a breathless whimper. And you finally felt empty as your eyes shifted from their normal hue to pitch black.

"I only enable your deepest desires"

#antisepticeye #antisepticeye x reader #character x reader #character x you #antisepticeye x you #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye x reader #happy halloween #halloween fic #x reader #jacksepticeye x you #killer reader #anti

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duskamethyst · 4 years ago

Text

spoiled.

a/n: i know i’ve been neglecting my hq bbs ever since i’ve watched bnha. this is my past work that i’ve deleted so some of you may have read this– the plot is still the same but i’ve edited some parts (it was dreadful because i don’t enjoy re-reading my work).

word count: 1.5k

genre: smut, nsfw

warnings: masturbation, thigh riding, overstimulation, face fucking

pairing: oikawa x f!reader

summary: bothering your boyfriend oikawa during his phone call may or may not be such a bad idea.

“uh... yeah?” oikawa speaks through the phone with his best bud, iwaizumi.

“n-no.. really, i’m listening.” he continues as his other hand tugs your hair just gently so he wouldn’t hurt you. your boyfriend relaxes further into the couch, eyes closed, throwing his head back and letting out a frustrated sigh.

you, on the other hand, are already bruising your knees on the carpet. tongue skilfully wrapping around his veiny cock, licking away his salty precum and deliberately teasing the slit of the tip. he groans lowly, brows furrowed as his eyes show no amusement while you stare back at him innocently (as much as you can despite having his cock inside your mouth) from between his thighs.

oikawa didn’t force you into this, you just thought it would be fun to embarrass him once in a while and getting caught doing such lewd things over the phone would definitely do the trick, right?

“hey, i’ll call you back. someone is desperate for cock.” he chuckles breathily. “not that i blame her, though.”

…or maybe it just feeds his ego more.

“OI– WHAT–” you hear the other shout through the phone, followed by a beep as oikawa quickly hangs up the call so he could leave no room for further arguments. the heavy pants rolling off from your boyfriend’s tongue should’ve given it away though surprisingly iwaizumi didn’t catch on, or maybe he just decided to shrug it off.

oikawa roughly grabs you by the back of your head and bucks his hips towards your face and sticks his cock further down your throat. the abruptness is making you choke and your nails are digging into his thighs but he ruthlessly remains to face fuck you with no intention to give you a second to breathe.

tears are prickling in your eyes as you work on your gag reflex and your scalp begins to sting from his grip. through oikawa’s half-lidded eyes, they display admiration and lust; having you between his thick thighs, balls slapping against your chin and your pretty lips wrapping around his throbbing cock like you’re aching for him and only him. he notices your hand reaching down to your already bare cunt for relief as you begin to relax and let him take control. you look so needy under him and it fuels his arousal more.

“you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow all of it, won’t you?”

you hum as a reply before his hips pick up the pace to push him to edge. oikawa lolls his head back, mouth parting with chants of ‘fuck yeah’s and praises before you feel his cock pulses and fills warm load of semen inside your mouth. panting, oikawa slowly pulls out his cock and smears your lips with a bit of his cum while you try your best to swallow the salty load and making sure not to spill a single drop.

“such a good girl,” he smiles approvingly before playfully tugging to a frown, “but i can’t accept what you did.”

“are you gonna punish me, sir?” you reply coyly, licking your lips.

“that shouldn’t be a question,” he pulls up his shorts and chuckles when he sees the disappointment on your face. “aw, how much do you want it, princess?”

you look up at him adoringly as your hands caress his muscular thighs, sending little shivers down his spine. “i want it so bad.”

oikawa taps his chin with his finger, humming as he pretends to think.

“but i don’t think you deserve it, cutie.” he coos. “all that teasing and only i ended up being the one to get off.”

“please, tooru? i’ll be good.” you plea innocently as you stand up and turn around from him before straddling one of your boyfriend’s thighs and putting your weight down for the pressure you need to soothe the ache between your thighs.

oikawa would be lying if his cock doesn’t twitch when he feels your wet cunt pressing against his thigh. but he’s a bit egoistic for his own good so he chooses to not act on it just to give you the punishment that you deserve.

“if you want it so badly, why don’t you do it yourself?” he challenges.

you begin to create friction in search of relief by moving your hips against his solid thigh. oikawa’s gaze is burning holes from your back, observing as you move before your juices slowly begin to drip on his skin.

“you’re still teasing me, aren’t you?” he groans. “look how hard you make me.”

a needy mewl escapes your lips when oikawa puts your hand on the erection hiding in his pants. his hands then snake underneath your oversized shirt to grab your breasts, rubbing and pinching your hard nipples which causes you to increase your pace from the stimulation.

“does it feel good, princess?” he leans and breathes in your ear, sending more tickling sensation to your throbbing clit.

“s-so good..” you answer in breathy moans.

“are you gonna cum for me?” he teases by lightly licking your ear, ushering you to be driven further to the edge.

you silently nod, focused on chasing after your high while your hand rubs his hard cock through the thin fabric and subconsciously causes oikawa to moan in your ear. oikawa leans down to nip on the sensitive spot on your neck and it’s just enough to send you to a state of euphoria with your pussy gushing and fluttering around nothing.

“dirty girl. you’ve made such a mess.” he snickers as your limped body leans back on his toned chest, legs partly spread with your juices spilling all over his thigh.

“you did such a good job but you can still take this fat cock, right, cutie?”

oikawa tugs his pants down just enough to free his cock before he easily shifts you on top of him to line your quivering hole against his cock. he spreads your legs with his and he holds you with one arm while his other hand rubs his cock against your wet slit, coating the tip with your essence that sends a jolt through your body.

“t-tooru... wai– ah!” he cuts you off by slowly sliding his cock inside your soppy cunt and steadies his hips underneath.

“thought you wanted it so bad.” he hisses at the warmth engulfing him and his hands wrap on the sides of your waist to hold you in place before he starts to thrust into you. your body twitches and you whine from overstimulation but the feeling of his throbbing cock deliciously brushing against your walls gradually becomes pleasurable and you find your toes curling as your orgasm begins to build up quickly.

“you’re clenching down on me, princess.” he whispers on the crook of your neck as you tilt your head to the side, giving him space to plant chaste kisses on your skin. his hands wander around your body; one goes down to circle your swollen bud with his thumb while the other presses your mound as he continuously rams his cock inside you.

“y-you’re gonna make me cum.” you moan, hands tugging on a lock of his brown hair and eyes screwing shut, sensing the tip kissing your cervix with each of his deep thrusts and your lower stomach starts to tighten.

“yeah? you like that, cutie?” his pace becomes erratic, fingers flicking your clit and making your body tremble above him.

“yesyesyes. tooru–”

your walls convulse around his cock as he pushes you over the edge and your lips part open in a scream of his name as you are sent into an orgasm for the second time.

“that’s it, that’s it– hah– my pretty girl.” he breathes, hips jerking faster as he also feels that he’s getting close to reaching his climax. his pace starts to stutter and with one last snap of his hips, oikawa holds you tightly and fills you up with his cum.

chests are heaving, beads of sweat already glistening on both foreheads and his hot breath fans over your shoulder, planting chaste kisses before he pulls out his softening cock. you close your legs together and shift your body to the side, nuzzling against his chest and listen to his rapid heartbeat decline to its normal pace in silence before he speaks up.

“i love you but don’t you ever do that again or i’ll–” he caresses your hair while his other arm extends to reach his phone which he realizes he neglected for too long. it’s rather odd that iwaizumi didn’t call back some time later after he hung up, but he suddenly remembers that his phone has been on silent mode.

oikawa’s face drops when he brings the phone closer to his face. the screen lights up to show a string of notifications waiting for him. you glance at his screen and notice that he has 17 missed calls from the male with a bunch of curses in the text messages.

“he needs to find a girlfriend and stop bothering me.” he nags.

oikawa is definitely going to get an earful, but it’s all worth it.

#oikawa tooru #tooru oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa smut #oikawa fluff #hq oikawa #hq smut #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu smut #oikawa toru #toru oikawa #r; writes #oikawa

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smutandfluffohmy · 4 years ago

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His Sweater #2

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George Weasley X Slytherin!Reader A/N: The time-line of events is altered for story telling purposes, something that will be very obvious if people want me to continue on with the story. I think this is the closest to slow burn I’ve gotten to in my entire fanfic career. Hope y’all can understand because asgyv my brain would rot if I tried to line it up with canon completely.

Read Part 1 here

I have no wand, no socks and I’m wearing a Gryffindors sweater. This could go south terribly fast and I’m hoping for any other cardinal direction. If all else fails I could always throw a punch and run to my bed.For the second time that morning I almost crashed into someone. Seriously an entire hallway but we are still walking on the same side.

Draco stared at me from my face to the sweater, I wish he would notice my bunny slippers too. I also wished he would’ve seen me earlier in my utter Slytherin colors pride.

“Interesting sweater y/l/n” Draco said breaking the silence, scrunching his eyebrows at me. I could feel the Slytherin pride sermon bubbling inside of him.

“Interesting ingredients Malfoy” I answered back. Ingredients to make draught of peace, I’m surprised he had the ingredients, I’m surprised he was nervous and I’m surprised he was going to do it with unkempt hair.

“This didn’t happen and we didn't see each other.” He stiffened, straightening his back the glass containers clinking together.

“Brilliant as always.” I smiled, nodding at him and he doing the same. I’m sure if someone was looking at us right now we looked comical with our overly formal head nods. Starting to walk past each other, both of us going to our destination and trying not to think much about the other on our walk there.

Me, George’s sweater and my bunny slippers were home free, all we had to do is get back to the dorms without bumping into anyone else. But I don't know if it’s my seniority over the kid or perhaps as Snape’s potions assistant I felt responsible or even because I was just worried that made me turn around “Draco.” I called out to him.

He stopped, turning to face me “Y/n.”

Perhaps I should tell him that it’s 7 drops of hellebore not 8, or maybe that it’s supposed to be stirred both counter and clock wise or how it has to simmer for exactly 7 minutes. “If it’s not silver don't drink it.” Was all I could say and by far the best advice I could give him.

“Dully noted.” He said giving me a tight lipped smile, almost forced as if I was forcing him to give me a smile. “Thanks.” he muttered underneath his breath, his tightlipped smile softening at the edges.

The walk back to the dorms was no longer nor shorter than the walk from. Tho I was a bit warmer on both the inside and the outside all thanks to George. Climbing the stairs down to the common room I felt tired and heavy.

I want to sleep.I wish I could sleep but I’m afraid if I fall asleep, I must just wake up to having found out this was all but a fleeting dream. Nothing more but a hot chocolate induced fever dream.

Slipping off my slippers I walked to the edge of the carpet. Curling my toes I wondered if the shock of the coldness would wake me up, still I had to know. Stepping on the cold floor I didn’t wake up nor did I bolt up in bed.The cold floor lets me know that this was real, I was truly awake. But I don't think one knows the true lengths the mind would go to to make up a dream.

Tiptoeing into my dorm I changed into my clothes for the day, taking extra care to fold George’s sweater in a way that both said ‘I took care of it for you’ and ‘I didn’t spend half an hour overthinking this’. Perhaps I was putting too much pressure on folding techniques but I wasn’t about to be exposed by the way sleeves folded over. Getting my school bag ready I laid everything out on the bed.

“Potions.Herbology.Alchemy” I said touching each textbook, books I’ve carried around a hundred times.But I was afraid my lack of sleep would magically turn my Herbology book into a history of magic and I wouldn’t realize till I was standing in Professor Sprouts class.

I spent all of breakfast looking for George but there was absolutely no sign of him. Every time I thought I spotted his hair from across the dinning hall it was just Ron, twice it was just Ginny and once even an overly toasted plate of hash browns.

My first class was to help Snape. A couple of over brewed potions helped keep me on my toes and for that I was grateful.

Second was alchemy.Where nothing particularly interesting happened and had me periodically sticking my hand in my bag just to double,triple, quadruple check that George’s jumper didn’t grow legs and run away.

Third was Herbology. The class I was waiting for, finally a class with Gryffindors that the Weasley twins were in. Walking a bit too quickly and a bit too excitedly to class I wasn’t the first to get there.I blame it on the ever moving stairs. Professor Sprouts lesson dragged on too long for my liking or maybe it was the fact that I was drilling holes at the back that George’s head that made it all drag on.

“Mind the Mandrakes children.” Professor Sprout said with a wave of her hand leaving us to work. Perhaps it was age that made you think of anyone younger than you as children, but we were all very grown up thank you very much.

Leaning over the table I whispered “Psst George.”. No movement.

“George” I called out a bit louder but again no efforts to look back at me. Blimey perhaps it was just how tall he was that he couldn’t hear me from up there or maybe he was just that hard of hearing.

“Bloody hell Weasley I’m calling you.” I called out again poking him with my wand, surely he wasn't hard of hearing and touch desensitized enough to ignore me. Reaching closer in an attempt to tug at his robes my wand fell to the ground as a shrill screech filled the class.

“What?Sorry can’t hear anything over the Mandrake” George said turning to face me, shrugging his shoulders with the screaming Mandrake in his hands. Surely he wasn’t that much of an idiot to pull a Mandrake out of the pot and surely I wasn’t that much of an idiot to be smitten by the smile he flashed me when he did it.

Finally I ended my day just like it began. In Snape’s classroom, only now it was my class messing up potions not first years.

I wonder if it was something I said. Perhaps the carrot comment was too out of hand or maybe they bumped into Draco or maybe he was a bit crossed because he was in fact cold. Am I thinking too much into it? Did he see my sweater fold and thought it was too messy?

Before I knew it potions was dismissed and I still had George Weasleys sweater in my bag. Getting ready for the game my mind still wandered too far for me to get it back, putting on far too many Slytherin colors for it not to be comical. The Slytherin common room buzzed with anticipation and excitement with people laying one the floor writing banners for friends and people writing friends and crushes quidditch number on banners and faces and arms.

Sitting on the stands with the game dragging on, I put my cold hands inside the neatly folded sweater that was hidden inside my robes. I wonder if there was a time limit? A countdown? Were we even half way through?Admittedly I don't know a bloody thing about Quidditch just like I didn’t know a bloody thing about another sport.

Anticipation filled me, wondering when if at all out spirit section was going to mirror that of Gryffindor. Seconds felt eternal and I started to worry that they had been caught in the act.

Before I could continue tormenting myself the colors around me changed from green and silver to reds and golds.

Pansy Parkinson that was seated just behind me looked down to her robes horrified they’ve been turned. I almost felt bad for her and nearly reached over to tell her that red was unfortunately her color. The look on her face when her ‘Go Draco’ banner had been hexed to read ‘Go Harry’ was something you expected when someone tells you you’ve just stepped on hippogriff poo.

Snape looked crossed at the entire Gryffindor house and even Godric Gryffindor as if he himself planned this all out from beyond the grave to give Salazar Slytherin a last jab. I almost felt guilty looking at the face of my professor, a fleeting guilt but nonetheless guilt. Shouts around me cheering on Slytherin were abruptly replace with cheers for Gryffindor.

Smiling looking up at the players my eyes darted around for a glimpse of George or even Fred, but they all looked the same in their uniform.

“Go George!” I yelled over the loud burst of ‘Go Gryffindor’s that surrounded me.

“Go Fred!” I yelled out for good measure, adding it as to not make him feel left out tho I doubt they could hear me over all the commotion. But nevertheless I would know even if they didn’t.

The game came to an end as Harry reached up with the snitch grasped firmly in his hand. Grunts filled the Slytherin area, cursing at their changed clothes, cursed horns and now quidditch loss. I don’t know why everyone is upset this always happens at Gryffindor and Slytherin games, in fact at this point it seemed like a poorly written Quidditch plot. The fact that Harry always caught the snitch, if I didn't know any better I would have to say Harry and the golden snitch had a pact going on.

Around me people didn’t move instead they cursed and jabbed fingers at the Gryffindor tower. They must be really be crossed at Gryffindor to be standing around complaining under snow, or maybe their sheer hatred was keeping them warm. Getting up to leave because I wasn't neither cross nor warm to be standing around.

“Where are you going?” Christy asked me stopping her conversation over the horrid color combination Gryffindor had as if ours were any better.

“I need to go to the restroom. Besides I’m too cold to be standing here complaining.” I said walking away and she promptly went back to her conversation.

Walking down the Slytherin section, I made my way to the Gryffindor Quidditch player section. Somewhere I was highly banned from being in because I was neither a Gryffindor nor a quidditch player.

“I nearly fell off my broom hearing Slytherin chant for us.” Someone who I assumed was Harry said between laughter. A smile spread on my face thrilled I did in fact contribute to a great Weasley prank.

“Having them cheer for us was bloody brilliant! That had to be your best one yet!” Ron beamed at his brothers. Brilliant I got a stamp of approval not only from Harry Potter but from the small Weasley as well.

“Yea an awfully brilliant addition.” I said stepping into view.

The room felt silent and for I moment I wondered for what reason.They’ve just won shouldn't they be happy? So why do they have such long faces. Forgetting and simultaneously remembering that I in fact was that very reason, the walking Slytherin banner for the second time that day leaving people uncomfortable. Even without the silver and green perhaps something about me just reeked of Slytherin.

“You shouldn’t be in here Slytherin.” Ron said standing up to face me.The words held so much anger my mind wondered to see if I had ever caused any misfortune to the younger Weasley.

“I-I-I” My brain forgot all words or perhaps it had forgotten the ability to form any excuses. I didn’t expect a warm welcome but definitely not this much hostility.

“Going to tell Snape on us?” Harry said quirking his eyebrow at me, great I had the look of not only a Slytherin but a snitch as well. Perhaps it was the hair.

“Oi hold on that’s no way to talk to the lady of the hour.” George called out stepping from putting away his broom and jogging to stand next to me. A arm rested around my shoulder, I wonder how much of my red face I could blame on the snow.

Fred made his way to my other side, placing his hand on top of my head. “While it pains me to admit. Y/n was the one that came up with the horn bit.” He said ruffling my hair, George shifting the slightest bit closer to me. The amount of attention was too much for me and the bizarre looks on Harry and Rons face was enough to make me want to test my luck with the unforgiving blizzard forming outside. “Tho I do think I could've come up with it if I had some time.” Fred shrugged.

“Sure she did” Ron scoffed looking between his brothers to me.

“Cross my heart.” Fred said crossing his heart.

“Then I take back my compliment.” Ron said, the brotherly hatred he had for his brother far outweighing any sort of imaginary feud he had going on with me.

“Can't do that it’s already gone to my head.” Fred shrugged earning a laugh from Harry and comments on how they had to start out sourcing their pranks now from Ron.

George lead me just outside as the conversation inside kept building with Fred insisting that it was his genius that rubbed off on me, as if I would let him rub anything near me.

“Who was it in the hallway by the way?” George whispered leaning against the door frame. The hall was too cold and I had to inch forward towards George to step just out of the cold winds reach.

I shrugged “Oh it was just Draco.” I said having to look up to meet George’s eyes, I wish I was a bit taller or that he didn’t hover over me as much as he did.

His face turning into disgust just for a split second at the mention of his name “Just Draco?”

Was it Slytherin or Draco that had this effect on people? Somehow I know he would be a nuisance regardless of his house. “He’s not that bad.He could ease up on the hair dye but he’s actually pretty decent.” I said mindlessly but truthfully. “Don’t tell him I said that.” I shook my head looking up at George already visualizing just how much bigger Draco’s head would get if he knew I thought he was anything above horrid.

“Blimey I don’t think I could hold it in, it might slip out during our daily conversation” George said laughing. I wonder if I could bottle up that laugh or if I could make him laugh again just enough to commit it to memory.

“What? Draco not conversing with people outside of Slytherin? This is so unlike him I must check to see if he is feeling well.” I said faking worry for the sometimes socially awkward Slytherin.

“I came by to give you back your sweater.” I said holding it out towards him. Perhaps this was the end of our short lived friendship, perhaps after this we will go back to hardly speaking and perhaps I will go back to staring at him longingly during Herbology.

“You should come celebrate with us.” George said completely ignoring his sweater, the way he danced around it made me wonder if I actually offered him his sweater or if my mind was playing tricks on me.

“A Slytherin? At a Gryffindor party? Oh but George what would the neighbors think?” I laughed clutching the front of my robes.

George laughed “I’ll take care of them, I’ve been told I’m quite scary.” he said. I wondered who told him such a lie or if he was even capable of being even remotely scary.

Shaking my head I tried my best not to sound too disappointed “Thank you but I suspect I’m going to have to help mend an entire teams egos.” I said offering him his sweater once more.

“Keep it.” He said pushing it towards me, his voice too soft and too gentle that I wondered if a stray quidditch ball didn’t knock me out mid game and I was now living out one of those muggle romance movies.

“Bu-”

“My arms hurt from all the bludger tossing, don’t think I could carry it all the way back.” He shrugged, I wonder how tired ones arms had to be not to be able to carry a sweater back.Maybe if I played Quidditch I would’ve understood. “Just give it back to me later.”

“George hurry up we need to start celebrating!” Fred shouted sticking his head out the door looking at his brother, I wonder if his arms were equally as tired. “You coming?” Fred said looking down at me, shaking my head I wished I could accept.

“ ‘fraid not gotta go and hear my entire house moan about Gryffindors all night.” Shrugging, I could already heard Pansys moans and feel Dracos side eye of disapproval. I wonder if they were moping around the Slytherin common room in Gryffindor robes or they were so extremely crossed that they figured out a way to un hexed the robes.

“Should’ve gotten sorted into Gryffindor instead.” George said earnestly, I wondered how different this day would've played out if I was sorted into Gryffindor my first year. Perhaps Ron and Harry wouldn't be that cross with me or perhaps they would’ve gotten something else to not like about me.

“I’ll make sure to send my complains to the sorting hat.”

Fred pointed his finger at me “We got an end of year plan we’re going to need your opinion on.” he said smiling.

“See you later then?” George asked but I wish he would’ve stated, a promise sounded more hopeful than a question.

“I’ll keep an eye out.” I nodded seeing them walk away, deciding to wait a bit before I walked out. I suspect hateful tensions for Gryffindors from Slytherins are at an all time high right now and I truly don't want to get hexed in a weather like this.

“Bloody brilliant that one, wish I would've given her my sweater. Think she’ll take my jersey?” Fred said in a failed attempt at a whisper, something told me Fred Weasley was a terrible whisperer. “Oi Y/N you still cold?” He called out towards me with his arms raised, waving them around as if I couldn't see the only other people in the hall.

“Shut up!” George said clapping his hands forcing Fred to keep walking.

“What I can’t worry about a girl’s warmth levels?” Fred said playfully shoving George.

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine

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donutloverxo · 4 years ago

Text

First time

Kinktober day 15 - Virginity kink

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - So anon asked for step dad Steve and I can't do that to Steve. This started out as step dad ransom but then me being me couldn't go through with it🤦‍♀️ so he's supposed to be your stepmoms husband which still makes him your step dad, I think.

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Warnings - 18+ONLY! smut(m/f), dub conish, painful sex, unprotected sex, implied age gap, loss of virginity, bloodplay.

Pairing - Step dad!Ransom Drysdale x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Masterlists are linked in the bio!

“Oh! Don’t act like you care. I can tell you wouldn’t give a shit if I left for an entire year. I’m not one of your barely legal bimbos you can manipulate however you like,” Karen ranted on and on to Ransom. You didn’t know what they were fighting about today - you didn’t care to find out either.

“God! Would you fucking give me a break? All you do is yap your trap all day long,” he snapped at her.

You looked at the main door, to leave your house you would have to go through the hallway where both of them were having their ‘lively' discussion, which you had no intentions to be a part of.

Karen gave him a deadly glare - which literally gave you chills even though you weren’t on the receiving end of it.

She walked closer to him, until she was only inches away from his face, “For your own good,” wrapping her palm around his chiselled jaw “don’t forget your place. You do not curse at me or yell at me.”

He didn’t say anything back, simply holding her unwavering glare.

She looked at the stairs, her face instantly lighting up into a faux smile upon seeing you. “Darling, what are you doing there? Come here,” she said extending an arm to you. You walked down to her, she engulfed you into a hug, soothing a hand over your head, “Mommy has to go away for a while, to Paris for fashion week. I know that’s not something you’d be interested in.”

You shook your head. No, those events were a bit too stuffy for you. You dared to sneak a glance at Ransom, he was fuming. His jaw clenched hard, his face and neck flushed as he heaved. You weren’t sure if that rage was directed towards you or your stepmother.

“Fuck this shit,” he spit before leaving and slamming the door behind him. You cringed at the loud noise it made. You were relieved that he was gone, given what he had done in his impulsivity and rage, you didn’t want to be around him when he was that angry.

“Well?” Karen’s question snapped you out of your thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You better not be going to meet that Jack or John or whatever.”

“His names Jeremy, Karen, and I really like him. If you got to know him - ”

“I don’t need to know him. He does not bring anything to the table. He doesn’t even deserve to breathe in the same air as you.”

“A rich guy can treat me badly too. I don’t know why you think I can’t be happy with a normal person.” you shook your head. She of all people should not be questioning your taste in men.

“His fathers a fucking high school teacher, honey,” she scoffed. “No, I won’t have you dating a nobody.”

“Well, Ransoms a friggin' murderer!” you screamed. “What kind of man conspires to kill his own grandfather?!”

She had married him just months after he was declared 'not guilty' of not one, but TWO murders. Although, everyone knew that he definitely did it.

You begged her not to marry him. But she seemed to be completely smitten with him, besides she had never really valued your opinion or seen you as an adult.

“Say what you will about Ransom. But he has the name - he’s a Thrombey, he comes from old money. As annoying as he can be - he’s not hideous to look at either, I suppose.”

That was the only thing you might be inclined to agree with. You hated that some part of you was attracted to him. Even though, he was a terrible person. He treated ‘the help', the people who raised you and cared for you as if they were beneath him.

He treated Karen like shit - which she may deserve, you knew of her affairs and the one French boyfriend she was visiting under the guise of business.

He was however, completely indifferent to you. He never got in your way, sometimes you could feel his eyes on you, following every move you made. Sometimes you wondered... if maybe... some part of him found you attractive as well.

You knew you weren’t much to look at, especially compared to your stepmother, but then why else would he be staring so much?

Was he plotting to OFF you as well? To get you out of his way. You’d be inheriting most of your late fathers estate.

***

You closed the door behind you, as quietly as you could so as not to wake anyone. You got home a little later than midnight. You weren’t used to staying out that long but it was one of your best friends birthday.

“What were you doing out so late?” You yelped as you heard his voice.

“Ransom! Oh my gosh, you scared me,” you tried to catch your breathe.

“It’s after twelve. Who were you out with?” he raised a brow. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“Huh?” you looked down at your bodycon dress. You weren’t used to wearing clothes that tight but this one just seemed so pretty and perfect to capture Jeremy’s attention. “It’s Karen’s design,” you shrugged. It was provocative but classy and respectable which was your stepmothers brand.

“What kind of message do you think you’re sending dressing like that? If you want to be the talk of the town - ”

“Ransom, oh my god! It’s just a dress and I’m - I’m a virgin!” you confessed. It wasn’t something you were ashamed of - why would you be?

“What?” his eyes widened and his mouth gaped.

He had known you were a pretty little thing since the moment he met you. So shy and demure and pure. Of course you’d be a virgin. Like a perfect present waiting to be unwrapped.

You almost smiled at that. Stunning Ransom like that made you feel smug for some reason. “Yeah. I’m saving myself for the right guy.” you replied in a small voice, averting his gaze and looking at the carpet.

He took two long strides and walked over to you, before you knew it he had a firm grasp on your waist, pulling you against his hard chest. “And what’s the right guy like, sweetheart?”

“Someone - uh,” your brain blanked, having him that close to you, feeling his warm breath on your face almost made you black out.

He bent his neck till he was closer to your ear, “Well, don’t lose it to Jeremy or whatever. He won’t even know what to do with a sweet thing like you.”

You gasped, trying to push him away but his stance was unrelenting. “That is so inappropriate, Ransom! You’re married!”

He grabbed at your failing wrists, pinning them behind your back, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. Karen and I have an arrangement. You ever been kissed before?” he asked, his tongue peaking out to kick his plump lips.

“Wh - ” you swallowed a heavy lump of air, looking away from him, “No,” tears streaming down your face.

He chuckled, licking a firm stripe up your cheek, moaning at the taste of your tears. “We’ll fix that tonight, princess.”

You shuddered in his hold, it finally hit you. He intended to have his way with you. “Karen!” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

“She’s not home, sweetheart,” he smirked, pushing his knee between your legs, “I thought you wanted this? I heard you saying my name while touching yourself. I’ll do better than your little fingers ever could,” he grinded his knee against your core.

You whimpered, scared out of your mind for your life and ashamed. Ashamed of being caught, of being aroused and getting more and more wetter. Your hips rolling against his knee to seek more friction.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth till it hurt and then releasing it with a pop. “If you keep being good and take what I give you - I’ll make you feel good too.” He held on to your forearm, dragging you up the stairs towards his room.

“No, no... not in your room. In mine, please,” you whimpered, his nails digging in the flesh of your arm. They might have an 'arrangement' but you doubted Karen would appreciate you doing the deed in her bed.

“Fine with me,” he dragged you along, locking your door behind him as he pushed you down on your mattress.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head, quickly discarding all his clothes. You couldn’t help but shamelessly ogle him. His broad shoulders, defined chest and abs. He was bigger than any boy you knew. Your jaw dropped at the size of his cock, slapping against his abdomen when he pulled down his boxers.

“Like what you see, princess?” he smirked.

Hovering over you, his hands tearing your dress apart, you feebly tried to stop him, “That was expensive, Ransom!”

“I can just buy you another one,” he winked, rolling your panties down your legs.

You rolled your eyes. Yeah, with my own money.

Your arms flew up to your naked chest and mound, to cover up and save your modesty.

He growled, pulling them away and pressing them on the mattress above you. “These better fucking stay here all night, understood?”

You were too afraid to do anything but nod.

“Never popped anyone’s cherry before... this should be interesting,” he snaked a hand between your bodies, pinching your clit causing you to jerk away from him.

He didn't bother fingering you or preparing you, he knew you'd be tighter without it - he had about enough of foreplay anyway.

“Please, be gentle,” you requested, looking up at him through your doe eyes, pleading him - you had never felt so utterly helpless.

He cruelly laughed at your misery, his lips curled up in a devilish smirk, “I don't do gentle, kitten. You'll take what I fucking give you - ” he growled positioning himself between your legs, brushing his leaking tip over your chaste, untouched folds “and then thank me for it. Like the slut you are.”

You couldn't even begin to grasp or point out the logical fallacy of a virgin slut as his cock plunged into your heat, piercing through your virginity, splitting you in half.

Your back arched off the bed, you slapped your hands over your mouth to keep from screaming. It was painful, that was all you felt - pain. As he held onto your waist, his fingers digging in your flesh, his hips pulling out and then driving into you with an unrelenting pace.

You could not stop crying, or twisting your head from side to side. Knowing it was all you could do - he wouldn’t stop - no matter how much you pleaded. You weren’t sure you wanted him to stop.

He pressed a few kisses and nips to the crook of your neck, sucking on a spot as you held back a moan.

He propped himself up on his elbows to look down at you, your eyes and nose swollen, your make up running down your face - you looked more beautiful than you ever had before.

“You look so pretty when you cry, kitten,” he cooed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

He kept driving his cock into you, searching for that special spot as you kept mewling under him.

His heart swelled with pride, nobody’s ever fucked you before, he’s the first man that’s ever seen you naked or to be inside you.

“Do you want me to stop?” he stilled his hips, “Just say the word then.” He knew you wouldn’t.

You sniffled, shaking your head, “No, keep going, please.”

His lips curled up in a grin, taking some kind of twisted pleasure in your misery, “You’re something else, kitten.”

“Oh,” you closed your eyes, your toes curling, your legs holding onto his waist as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you.

Ransom leaned over you when he felt your heat convulsing around him, pulling your earlobe between his teeth, “This is the tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked,” he grunted, driving each word home with a powerful thrust. “You like that, kitten?”

All you could do was nod, the pain was well as much more subdued now but you were still sore and exhausted. “Yes, I like it.”

“We’re going to do this every night from now on.”

He pulled out fisting his cock over you - he wasn’t going to impregnate his newest plaything - his white, hot spend painting your stomach and titts.

Your fingers swirled the sticky substance around on your skin, you were curious to see what it tasted like. You clenched your legs shut, your pussy still tingly. This was not how you planned your first time to go but you had no regrets.

You knew you were absolutely wrong to think so but being desired by Ransom gave you a strange kind of pride.

You gasped when you heard a click, sitting up on your elbows you looked at Ransom clicking pictures of your pussy with his phone.

“Wh - what’re you doing?” you tried to close your legs but he kept a firm hand on your knee.

“Just need a souvenir,” he responded, taking some more of his cum on your body and then putting his phone in his pocket. He swirled a finger around the blood on your inner thigh, bringing it up to paint the crimson on your mouth, “Go clean yourself up. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

You smiled as he kissed you, “Okay, Ransom.”

Even with your pussy freshly fucked - you couldn’t wait for his next visit.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤❤

#kinktober #ransom drysdale x you #ransom x reader #ransom thrombey #ransom drysdale #knives out fanfic #berrys kinktober #berry writes

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wasabito · 4 years ago

Text

thank you to @sparkexplosive and @vs-redemption for beta reading it for me! merry christmas & happy holidays everyone ♥️

➽ synopsis: being a member of the royal guard is a grueling and thankless job, so you decide to remind katsuki a little of what it’s like to be young again—what better way to do that than with some healthy competition.

➽ word count: 1.7k

➽ tags: fluff, budding romance, royalty au, childhood friends

➽ author’s note: i had a ton of fun participating in my first ever secret santa!! this is my gift-fic to the lovely @katsushimaa hope you enjoy, yssa!

"So, this is where the hell you've been hiding?"

His voice tore through the midday stillness like a blade, equal parts raspy and gruff. He sounded irritated and mildly fatigued. Not that Katsuki Bakugou would ever admit to being anything less than a hundred and ten percent. He climbed off his steed, heavy boots crunching under the weight of his feet, and secured his horse against the stump you were leaning on.

You flipped the page of your book, not sparing the man even a cursory glance. You would prefer to keep your attention occupied by fictitious worlds, warriors, and battles fought in the name of love and justice.

It was much easier to allow yourself to become the bearer of fictional hardships, because at least they could be solved through a well-constructed plot with each turn of a page, as opposed to the realities of your actual life, a slow spiraling disaster in comparison.

Bakugou stood in front of you, vein ticking on his throat with every clench of his jaw. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, red gaze pinned on your hunched form. He wasn't at all the kind of person anyone could easily ignore. His very presence demanded attention and drew eyes like a magnet.

Case in point, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, you simply couldn’t.

"Please tell me you aren't going to stand there the entire time. Take a hint will you." You went to turn another page, but Bakugou reached over and snatched the book from your hands with deft fingers and speed you couldn't hope to match.

"Give. It. Back."

"Nah, I don't think I will just yet." He sneered, thumbing through the pages. "I was told to bring your dumbass back to the estate, so that's exactly what the hell I'm 'bout to do."

You blew a puff of air from your lips, eyes blazing with a kind of defiance that only burned harder the more you glared at him. "Then I guess you'll just have to drag me back kicking and screaming."

Bakugou only smirked, teeth spread in a feral grin that sent a chill down your spine.

That had always been his intention.

Almost an hour later, you stood before your parents, clothes dusty, creased, and smudged from having been manhandled like a sack of flour before promptly dumped in front of your waiting audience.

A frown marred your delicate features as they began their lecture.

Your mind drifted elsewhere the more they reminded you of your lineage and that you were royalty and how it was imperative you behave as such. You’d heard it all before, known this for as long as you could remember. As the King and Queen of your home country, your parents never failed to emphasize the importance of keeping your every move in check because of the reputation you had to uphold.

Katsuki stood somewhere behind you, and although he stayed mostly silent, you could almost hear him grinding away at his molars. The King and Queen were taking turns subtly digging into him as well, implying that his incompetence was a stain upon the royal guard perfect record of achievements. If he couldn't keep you in line, what was the point of holding rank?

They annoyed him way more than they did you, but he dare not voice it, not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders. Far be it from him to send himself to the guillotine

You both were in for a long night.

“Honestly, this kind of behavior is unbecoming of someone of your status. What will our countrymen think if they see you roaming about unattended like a vagabond?” Your father stroked his beard as if waiting for a response. But everyone in the room knew he really just liked to hear himself talk.

He was no better than a machiavellian swindler in expensive robes. A puppet if you would.

The real leader of the land was your mother. After all, she had only married into the family, having been the daughter of a mere advisor with no royal blood. She spoke little, but her glare was more than enough to convey just what she was thinking.

By the end of the lecture, you felt like all of your energy had been sapped from you, but thankfully your parents left you to retreat into your bedroom for the remainder of the day. Bakugou escorted you, following close behind.

“You’re gonna do it again, aren’t ya?”

You paused, foot nearly catching against the carpeted floors of your bedroom. Fiddling with a piece of your hair, you shrugged. “...maybe.”

“You’re a huge idiot.” Bakugou shook his head with a low laugh.

A tiny smidgen of a grin danced on your lips as you considered him. He was your childhood friend. No one knew you better than he did. And he was also the guard most assigned to watch over you and keep you safe from harm.

Despite that, you’d come to notice how much he’d changed. He wasn’t the same Katsuki you grew up knowing and you missed him dearly. Occasions like this, where a part of his guard was let down, were becoming few and far between. There had to be something you could do.

“Let’s make a wager. If you can manage to find me, I’ll do one thing at your command.”

“Challenge accepted.” He reached into the folds of his uniform, pulled out your little novel, and slapped it right into your open palm. "No matter where you run off to, I'll find ya. Trust me on that, princess."

His eyes were like candles in the night, ignited by a spark of passion. Not a single lie could be detected.

"I won't make it easy on you, Katsuki, just so you know."

"Heh, you better not." He sniffed, tucking his hands into his uniform pockets. And with a final half-wave, he was gone.

In and around the capital city, winter had completely lost it's bite. The weather was tepid, swinging a mild breeze that coasted through the countryside. It was the sort of winter where one felt as if woolen clothing were worn more for comfort than necessity. In what should have been the chilliest part of the year, Bakugou found himself traversing one of the many beaches that hedged the southern peninsula.

After a full week following the challenge issued in your bedroom, Bakugou realized you were entirely too good at evading him or any of the other guards at the kingdom’s disposal, for that matter.

Day in and day out, he spent his shifts searching tirelessly for you, just to stumble upon you in the most random of places and only when you had wanted him to find you. The running score was six to five in your favor, but he was determined not to lose to you again.

And there you were, standing at the very edge of the shore, as if a mere thought had manifested you right before his very eyes. Your loose billowing dress of soft satin waved to him like a white flag of surrender in the air. He'd finally found you.

"Not gonna run off this time?"

"Nope! You won this round." Your cheeks creased in a smile.

Given the boots he'd worn, it was no surprise that his feet kept sinking into the sand. You said nothing as he toed off his shoes and socks, bare feet settling into the depths of warm, grainy sand.

He couldn’t help but feel more relaxed. Over the past few months, he’d found himself losing sight of his goals, caught in the dredges of the mundane and routine.

The cool waters lapped at both his and your feet, fizzing and bubbling, leaving behind traces of salt. You went further into the water’s touch, your back to him as the tides licked at the your calves. Even he had to admit, the view was a beautiful one, possibly even more so with you against the backdrop.

“I’m glad you found me,” you called over the cry of seagulls. “For a second, I was worried you’d lose this round.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Tch, as if I’d ever lose to you, princess.”

“Naturally.” You laughed.

“What the hell are we doing out here anyway?”

He knelt to roll up his pants, a mere moment away from following after you like always.

“I... really just wanted to show you the view. Do you remember when we used to come down here as kids? Remember how we used to dare each other to see who could go the farthest into the ocean?”

Of course he remembered. Those were some of his most cherished memories of his time spent with you before duty to the kingdom took precedent.

You reached a hand out to him, an open invitation. “I just thought you needed a little reminder of what that was like.”

For some reason, Katsuki was determined not to meet your gaze, scowling at some point on the horizon, until you came over and nudged him with your elbow. “It wouldn’t kill you to admit that I’m right.”

With a sigh, he reached over and tugged you into a hug. You snuggled close to his chest, gripping the back on his uniform. It may have been your imagination but you could’ve sworn you felt the soft press of lips against your temple.

“Thanks... you know... for everything.”

Beaming, you leaned back to get the full view of his heated cheeks.

“Of course, of course.”

There was something earnest in his eyes that told you no matter how far you went, or however far you traveled, he’d always be a step behind you. It sent your heart hammering in your ribcage. You were suddenly all too aware of the way he held you secure against him like he would never let go.

“What are you thinking, princess?”

You blinked owlishly, taken over by your feelings and mumbling a hushed. “Oh, nothing.” The two of you were just a royal and a guard, bound to one another by duty.

If there could be anything more than that...well, only time would tell.

#pocuties secret santa #mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou fluff

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