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luveline · 1 year

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I am humbly requesting a steve zombie au where the reader gets hypothermia hehehe😌

ty for ur humble request babe ♡ steve zombie au —steve freaks when you show symptoms of hypothermia. fem!reader 2k

"Steve, I think there's something wrong."

Steve raises his head to show he's listening, keeping his gaze on the map. You say it through shivers, sleeves pulled down over your makeshift mittens. "What's wrong, honey?"

He's noticed you aren't yourself today, and he thinks a soft tone is the least he can give you. The stupid map in his hand is tattered, creased down the middle from folding and unfolding. He thought getting to Michigan would be easy, walk in one direction and keep on, but you both need to eat and rest and the weather is too cold to go any further. He needs to find a residential, tonight.

"I feel off. I'm tired and I…" Your mumbling drifts off.

Steve shoves the map under his arm, "What? Tell me."

"Cold," you say, slurred, offering your hands. "I can't feel my fingers."

You're wearing socks over your hands, the best gloves Steve could offer. He takes them with a severe frown, unhappy when the cold of your skin permeates through. You're ice.

"And you don't feel well?" he asks, feeling up your arm to your neck.

Steve digs under the layers of your shirts, hoodie, coat, feeling for your pulse. It feels alarmingly slow. He'd never guess from looking at you how slow your heart is pumping.

Steve doesn't know everything, but he knows you're not supposed to be this cold for this long. You shiver as his fingers warm your neck, a pained hum coming from the very back of your throat as he pulls you in for a hug.

"Okay," he says, rubbing your back even though he knows it's pointless. "Don't worry. We can't stay outside anymore, huh?"

Steve aches to have to drag you down road after road, stretches of streets littered with little protection to offer. The roadside stores here are rocked by the elements, windows smashed and ceilings caving in. You're stumbling by the time a crop of houses appear in the distance, lethargic. Steve thought it was bad that you were cold, of course, but this is a more primal fear. You're not cold, you're freezing, actively freezing.

"You're okay," he says again, his gentlest reassurance. "Sweetheart, just a few more minutes. See that house, the big brown shutters? That's where we're going. Can you do it?"

"I can do it," you murmur.

"I know, but it's my turn to ask stupid questions."

Dead trees line the street, a planter of flowers by the door turned to crisps. Steve props you against a beam of wood holding up the angled porch roof and opens the screen door. He tries the handle on the interior. It's locked, a good sign.

He's admittedly feeling the adrenaline of your imminent demise. Furious with the world and circumstances and himself for letting this happen, Steve kicks the door down with three big kicks. The bang rings like a shot through the entire neighbourhood, he imagines, but there's no time to worry about it.

"You have to–" little gasp, Steve's head hurts, "have to sweep the house," you say as he pulls you inside.

If there's something in here, he has to risk it. Out of options.

He's as softhanded as he can manage dropping you into a seemingly intact couch. The room appears untouched from whoever left it, rather plush, it's a room Steve would've liked to live in.

He grabs your face. You meet his eyes, startled.

"I'm going upstairs for blankets. If something happens, you yell for me as loudly as you can. You don't have to say anything, just scream. Seriously."

"Yeah," you say breathlessly. The last street of walking and the few steps has exhausted you.

"Don't sleep," he says severely.

"No, I won't."

Steve dumps his bag on the floor. He backtracks to the porch to grab yours and wedges the splintered door closed using your bag as a temporary stopper.

You must be hypothermic, cold for days, too cold to sleep last night, and it's all Steve's fault. We can do it, he'd said, just another push. He hoped for better standing further out of Indiana. None of it will matter if you get sick.

He spins to walk up the stairs, falls weak and rushes back into the living room to check on you.

"Everything's okay," he says, taking your face again into his hands and kissing your forehead. It's purely selfish.

You touch his elbow. "I know."

Steve takes off his jacket and puts it over your lap. The house is vaguely warmer than outdoors but it's far from enough to make a difference to you. Heart in his throat, he bounds up the stairs and onto the landing, an L-shape with one bedroom straight in front and four doors on left. The smell of gore coming from the closed master bedroom explains how it could be this clean; it wasn't uncommon at the start of the apocalypse for people to lock themselves in, kill themselves and their families. He has no interest in seeing it, nor unleashing the mould spores that come with decomposition. Whatever blankets were in there are worthless now.

He takes a left and opens the door with a slam. A teenage bedroom not unlike his own back home, a simple comforter on the bed. He grabs it and tosses it on the landing, dipping into the second room. Bathroom, nothing worth having. The third room is a utility room with a jackpot of folded sheets, towels, padded quilts, and a comforter rolled into a log. He throws everything onto the floor and forgets the fourth door, arms fit to burst with fabric as he descends back downstairs.

"Steve?" you ask.

"Yep, yes. I'm here." He drops the blankets at your feet. "Are your clothes damp?"

"I think… no."

"I'd tell you to take off your jacket," he begins, shaking the biggest comforter out over you as he talks, "but I want as many layers as possible. Come here, sweetheart. Lift your back a little." He tucks you in like a pastry. "Good. Good, thank you, sweetheart."

"You're being very nice," you mumble, your eyelashes twitching like you've dimes weighing down your eyelids.

"I'm always nice."

"No," you say, your head falling back into the couch cushions. It's a family couch made of soft fabrics, not the showy leather piece you'd expect in such a mammoth lodging. "You're okay, though."

Steve piles blankets on top of you. The cold is eating at him too, his nose stiff, his hair standing on end as gooseflesh ripples over his arms.

When you've been sufficiently sandwiched, he feels your face again. You're already warmer, his hand creeping down into your shirt to feel for your pulse. Ropey.

"Sweetheart, I need you to try and perk up," he says, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

"Not feeling perky."

"Ah, but you're always perky. You're my sun, 'cos I'm so awful," he says, panic lining his plea. "You are. I'm going to make you something hot to eat."

"Hot air?" you ask, slinking further down into your hump of sheets.

"I think we might be in luck."

He speaks too soon, really. The cupboards are lackluster. The can of soup he'd been hoping to find doesn't materialise. But there's a small can of ravioli, enough salted fish to make any tom cat happy, and a jug of water beneath the sink. He looks at it and sighs in relief. You have two litres of rainwater in your bag, and that had been the rations. This is one less thing to worry about.

Steve makes sure that there kitchen door and the patio doors in the lonely dining room are locked, taking a big cooking pot from the pantry (depressingly empty bar a bag of sugar spilled on its side and a sack of grain) and a saucepan from atop the stove. He checks the gass but he's never that lucky, resigning himself to a typical campfire when it doesn't work.

"Steve, put it back on," you say as he comes back in, your eyes a little wider, slightly more alert. You've pulled your arms out from under the blankets, with his jacket in your hands.

Steve has kissed you before. You haven't talked about it out loud —he'd like to think a lot has been said in hand-holding, in spooning, and in you hand carding through his hair. He's eager to kiss you again, dumping his findings to hold your wrists. "Thank you," he says, kissing you clumsily, your lips cold. "Now put your arms in. I'll pull the blankets up."

"Can you kiss me again?"

"I'm trying to make you some hot water."

"I'm warm enough already. Please?"

Steve kisses you again. This time, he closes his eyes, puts his hand against your jaw. The sound of your lips pressing to his seems loud in the quiet.

He pulls away with a final peck. "Are you feeling warmer?"

You blow breath up your face. "Bet so."

Steve rolls his eyes and turns away to make a campfire in the stolen pot. He'll boil some water in the saucepan for you to hold like a risky hot water bottle, and make some warmed ravioli. It'll be sweet. And tomorrow, if you're feeling better, he'll scavenge for supplies in the neighbourhood. Tonight, he'll burn the kitchen chairs. They don't need them anymore.

"Settle in," he says, opening his backpack for the fire starters and matches. "We'll stay for a while, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Sorry for the fuss."

"Are you kidding?" He can't look at you. He'll probably cry. "It's cold. You were cold, and we didn't– I knew your coat wasn't good enough but I just thought… well, it's my fault. It is. And I– I care about you so much," —he says it in a rush, true but unused to admitting his feelings to you or anyone— "I can't do this without you. I'll take better care of you, I swear. It won't happen again."

"You know what would really warm me up?" you ask.

Steve turns on his heel. "Let me make you something to eat."

"Not hungry, just cold."

Steve tamps down a giddy smile into one more respectable. "Let me feel your pulse," he relents, lifting the heavy layer of blankets to climb inside. Its roasting, the warmest he's felt in weeks, and your arm is alive as he slides into your side.

He puts his hand against your neck, waiting for a steady bump.

"Am I cured?" you ask.

Steve sighs in relief. "You're cured."

You wrap your arms around him. Life with you and in this situation is an endless rise and fall. Something shitty happens, you scrape by, and, as a victory, he gets to hug you in the end.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Steve asks.

"You just said I was cured, Steve," you mumble, digging your face into his shoulder. "Just. Stay here. Keep feeling me up."

"Not what I'm doing."

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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jackhalljrs · 1 year

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g1rld1ary · 8 months

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come home with me ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ hbd lockwood & co!! this was meant to be for the anniversary but as always I have greatly miscalculated the english timezone... (also totally feeling pre-valentine's excitement!!)

➻ word count: 3720

➻ synopsis: when your bus breaks down in the middle of the night, one Anthony Lockwood may just be your knight in shining armour

➻ warnings: slight mentions of drinking, clubbing & drugs, lucy making slight suggestive jokes if you squint, reader is shorter than lockwood, sharing a bed, fluff

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You sat in your bus seat, checking you still had all your cash and your fake I.D. Satisfied, your purse snapped shut, changing shape as you gripped it tightly. Although you took the bus fairly regularly, you felt much more alone tonight than you had in a while. You’d left your friends and their ‘galentines’ celebration early, not in the mood to go clubbing but not willing to ruin their vibe. Plus, you weren’t ready to celebrate a holiday all about love so soon after being dumped.

You fiddled with the bracelets on your wrist mindlessly, knowing you were still a long way from your family’s apartment. You quickly scoped out the rest of the bus. A few middle aged couples — you imagined they were returning from sweet Valentine’s Day dates and ready to be home and in bed before one. You thought it was sweet that their love was stronger than their fear of the Problem, though the iron lined buses probably helped quell their apprehensions. Your eye caught the only other young person on board, a boy around your age who was staring out the window, rapier hanging off the edge of the seat and into the aisle. An agent, clearly, though you wondered why he was alone when they usually travelled in teams.

You quickly averted your eyes, not wanting to be caught staring at anyone who could proficiently use a sword. You bounced along in the seat until the bus began to slow, jerking the passengers around aggressively. When it came to a proper halt you felt a spike of panic run through you. You were all alone in an area you didn’t know and still at least a half hour cab ride from home way past curfew. To top it all off you were in your heels and new slinky dress, prepared for the safety of a club and not the outdoor weather. You were going to die, you were sure of it.

Then the lights flickered and dimmed. Great. You were almost certain this was the end when the doors were locked too. You rolled your eyes as you watched one of the adults jiggle the door around until it could be forced open, then reluctantly followed the rest of the passengers out onto the street. Just your luck, you were in the middle of a random residential street with no overhead covers except a tiny iron bus stop fifty metres away, which you reluctantly let the older couples hide in. At least the ghost lamps were on, and your very average senses told you there weren’t many ghosts out tonight; were you the only person in London — dead or alive — who didn’t have a valentine?

You watched as the bus driver pulled open the hatch to expose the engine, tinkering around nervously to hurry and find the issue. You leant against a ghost lamp as a shaky protection and felt a few freezing rain droplets land on your bare arms. Fabulous, the night was just getting better and better. You watched the driver huff in frustration and glance around nervously, you doubted you’d be getting back on the bus anytime soon.

You slid down the ghost lamp until you were sitting on the damp ground, past trying to impress anyone at that point. You telepathically tried to send your friends a message that you were going to be found probably ghost touched or hypothermic in the morning. You breathed a sarcastic laugh to try and convince yourself it was a joke, but you could feel the panic rising in the back of your throat. At sixteen you were not equipped to be stuck on the side of the road well into the night, past curfew and pathetically unarmed. You could feel someone’s stare and couldn’t tell whether it was at your sad excuse of a dress or at your position on the ground, but you were past caring, not even trying to shield yourself.

“Sorry, everyone, but I can’t fix this. Your best bet now is getting a cab and getting inside as soon as you can,” The bus driver explained apologetically, and some of the couples groaned, eyeing out the street for a taxi. You were past the point of feeling phased, tilting your head up to face the sky and embracing the storm on your face, not even thinking about the mascara tracks being run. When you reopened your eyes there were only a few people left; the driver, one couple, the teenager and you. You stood reluctantly, trying to think of a way to get yourself home.

You cracked open your wallet sullenly, expecting exactly was in there. A few dollars; enough for a few drinks but not nearly enough for a taxi to where you were going. You sighed, feeling defeat creep upon you as you tried to come up with any other method of getting home. You could return to the club — if you survived the walk — but even then your friends would be either too drunk or too high to be of any assistance. A huge crack of thunder drew you from your thoughts, a lightning storm was definitely brewing. Amazing.

You sighed, stress manifesting as the hot tears beginning to stream down your face. You felt utterly hopeless. You had nowhere to go and no way of contacting anyone, you couldn’t even use a payphone to call your parents as you’d promised you’d stay in while they were away for the weekend.

“Why tonight?” You asked the sky, more to express your irritation than to search for an answer. You could hear the agent escorting the couple down the street to a cab, easily soothing their fears with overconfident assurances. You knew he’d returned only by the occasional drag of iron against cement accompanying his footprints, presumably his rapier. Unknown to you he watched you as he approached, taking in your dishevelled state. You were pretty, undeniably, but the mascara smudged from rain and tears and your hair stuck to your face and shoulders made you look like you might’ve seen better days. He sucked in a breath and approached you.

“Hi,” He said, “I’m Lockwood.”

“Y/n.” You turned to him, hoping he’d realise you had no interest in talking.

“I know this sounds really creepy, but will you please come home with me? Promise I’m not trying to murder you, but this storm’s not getting any better and I can’t leave you to the ghosts in good conscience. My house is only a few blocks away; I live with another boy and a girl, both my age so we wouldn’t be alone. You can take all the precautions you like — keys between the fingers, walk on the other side of the street if you want,” He rambled and you sized him up. A lanky boy with a sword or the ghosts? You figured you had a better chance against him if it came to it.

“Ok.” You nodded, trying to smoothly push yourself off the pavement and appear well put together in front of the strange boy.

Lockwood led the way, holding the umbrella over his head. You followed a few feet away, cautious to be out of reach, just in case he did want to hurt you. Though you were jealous of his prior planning for the rain.

“Here, take my coat. You must be freezing.” He held it out to you and you gladly accepted, spaghetti straps doing nothing to fend off the cold. The coat was warm and enveloped you entirely, sitting below the hem of your dress. “So, are you in school?” He tried to break the silence.

“Yeah, for history. You?” You cringed as you realised the redundancy of your statement — his being an agent of some sort was more than obvious and only emphasised by the rapier he held out in front of him. He answered kindly anyway.

“I never did much school, I’ve been an agent as soon as I was allowed.”

“That’s cool, you in a big agency?” You asked, and Lockwood beamed with pride.

“Not exactly — not yet. I run my own agency, soon to be the best in Britain. Lockwood and Co, you might have seen us in the papers?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Your own agency, huh? That’s big stuff. Wish I could say I’d heard of you, but I avoid the papers when I can, it just depresses me. You might have to be just Lockwood tonight if that’s alright,” You joked and Lockwood laughed out loud, giving you a glimpse of an illuminating smile.

“Just Lockwood is perfect,” He answered, and the conversation quickly moved on, the two of you quickly losing the awkward silences.

“I got caught up in my research — a first, believe me. If I’d known about the bus and the weather I would have just caught a cab, or bailed earlier which is far more likely.”

“Tell me about it. My friends are out clubbing and I’m here walking in the rain with a stranger — uh, no offence.”

“None taken,” He assured you, “Wait, how old are you?” He didn’t think you looked old enough to get into a club, although the smudged makeup may have had something to do with it.

“Sixteen…” You trailed off, suddenly afraid he would judge you for your bad habits.

“So you’ve got a fake ID?” He raised an eyebrow at your nod. “Lucky. I tried to get one once but my associate George yelled at me for forty minutes straight, I never tried again.” You giggled at his explanation, the image making Lockwood seem younger, less intimidating than he’d initially been.

You moved closer as you walked, eventually ending up under the umbrella and feeling much warmer without the violent rain. As you talked more you noticed Lockwood was quite attractive, in an odd sort of way. Despite his old fashioned attire (you didn’t think agents typically wore shirt and ties), he had the loveliest smile and soft looking hair, though some of it was plastered on his pale forehead, unable to escape the rain entirely. What stood out most though, were his cheekbones. They were impossibly defined and quite dreamy, if you were being honest.

You talked about all sorts of unexceptional things, and you had the impression that Lockwood was doing his best to entertain you and distract you from your previous mood. It was working though, so you had no complaints.

“I’ve got a bit of sensitivity — very average — but I’m not going to waste my adolescence being stuck in the nightwatch ‘cause I can’t make it to really being an agent,” You laughed softly, “So I figured if I studied history I could be of more use, learn more about the Problem and all that.”

“You’d get along famously with my friend George, he’s obsessed with trying to figure out the Problem. For me it’s about the action, knowing that I’m actually putting all these ghosts to rest and having a meaningful impact on people’s lives.” You watched him circle his sword in the air, keeping the few Type Ones around further than they’d been lurking.

“Is that why you started your own agency?”

The walk seemed much shorter once the two of you started talking, and soon you’d arrived at Lockwood’s house, 35 Portland Row. The outside was unassuming, but beautiful in the classic English way. You caught a glance of the Lockwood & Co sign and couldn’t help but smile; you could feel the love and passion Lockwood had for the company from the small discussion you’d had about it. As Lockwood pushed open the front door a woman was just heading up the staircase in the hall, but turned at the noise.

“Jesus, Lockwood, what time do you call this? I was getting worried! Who’s this?” She looked at you, and you couldn’t help but feel self conscious under the beautiful girl’s stare. You thought she looked a bit teasing, and realised what conclusions she’d drawn. Embarrassing, but understandable.

“Luce, this is y/n. Y/n, Lucy, my associate. She’s staying with us tonight; our bus broke down and getting her home at this time is practically impossible.” Lucy nodded, but the amused twinkle in her eye didn’t dull.

“It’s nice to meet you then. I’d offer for you to bunk in with me, but I’ve got a nasty flu coming on and I doubt you’d want me anywhere near you.” She gestured down to the thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders and the steaming tea in her hand. You smiled to absolve her of responsibility and she waddled back up the stairs and into the dark.

Lockwood, in turn, led you up to the first landing and into his bedroom. He rifled through a chest of drawers as you tried not to snoop, eyes instead catching on the alluring movement of his fingers. He eventually handed you a t-shirt and some tracksuit pants.

“They might be a bit big, but they’ll do for the night,” He sounded embarrassed and you smiled in thanks. “The shower’s just down the hall, second door. You can go clean up.” You thanked him again before heading for a much needed shower.

You stood under the hot water, more than mindful not to take too long. You were so caught up in being grateful to be alive and not ghost touched or stranded in the middle of London that the weirdness of the situation hadn’t fully caught up to you until now. Once dried you put on the clothes Lockwood had given you and laughed slightly at your reflection. Despite your figure the clothes still unexpectedly swallowed you. It made sense since Lockwood was so tall, but you found it funny nonetheless.

You returned to find Lockwood sitting on the edge of his bed and stood in front of him awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed.

“So, um, I’m not a great sleeper so I think I’ll go read in the library for a bit and probably stay there. You can take the bed.” His previous easy confidence was gone, and Lockwood suddenly looked his age again, innocent and awkward.

“Are you sure? I can take a couch or something, I don’t want to intrude.” Lockwood assured you that he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon anyway, and he was sure you needed the bed much more than he would. You bade him goodnight shyly, and thanked him for the millionth time before climbing into his bed, ashamed to admit how much you liked the pillow that smelt like him.

However, once it was just you in the dark, all your previous exhaustion had dissolved and you were wide awake, too on edge to sleep. You were in a strangers house on the other side of the city in the middle of the night, you very well may not live to see another day. Logically you knew you were being dramatic, Lockwood and Lucy both seemed lovely and genuine, but then again, so did Ted Bundy.

You felt like you’d been lying in bed for hours when the door creaked open and you inadvertently made eye contact with Lockwood creeping in, looking admittedly adorably soft in his worn pyjamas.

“Sorry,” He said, “I needed an extra blanket. Can’t sleep?” You used the light from the hall to glance at the clock, almost two o’clock. You shook your head softly, feeling almost guilty when he’d given up his bed for you. Lockwood stood in the doorway for a moment, seemingly hesitant about something. “Do you, um, do you want me to read to you for a bit? It always worked for me when I was younger.” He sounded sheepish but you thought he was the sweetest person on earth at that moment. You agreed quickly, and he slotted himself in on the other side of the bed.

You huddled in to face him and Lockwood cleared his throat softly. He had continued on from where he’d evidently left off in the library so the plot was a mystery to you, but his soothing voice worked wonders in calming your thoughts, weary eyes closing quickly to send you into a cozy sleep. Lockwood, unbeknownst to you, fell asleep uncharacteristically fast after you, novel left upside down on the nightstand. Despite his usual aversion to sleep, having a warm body and small snores next to him strangely made him want to start getting eight hours a night.

Lucy was assigned to wake Lockwood for breakfast the next morning upon George’s request, and silently sent a prayer before pushing open his door, wary of what she might find. To her surprise (and personal relief) you two were in bed together, but not in the way that she’d dreaded walking in on. You were both totally clothed, your head resting on Lockwood’s chest, his arm around your waist, effectively keeping you burritoed in the blanket. Lockwood’s eyes snapped open, a habit he’d never detested more, and groaned at Lucy’s good humoured snicker when they locked eyes. She shut the door behind her quickly, leaving Lockwood to deal with things on his own.

You woke not long after, feeling Lockwood stirring next to you and his breathing start to become irregular.

“Morning,” He slurred, still half asleep and wanting nothing more than to pay off his sleep debt with you keeping him safely in bed.

“Good morning.” You smiled sweetly, already in a good mood. You bent to collect your clothes off the floor, eyeing your dress with mild disgust — it would be quite the walk of shame home.

“Keep the clothes.” Lockwood gestures casually to your outfit and you shook your head vehemently.

“I can’t, they’re yours!” You protested but he seemed not to care at all.

“I don’t need them, just have them. They look good.” You flushed and dropped the fight, words lost in the vacuum of your brain. You busied yourself with rolling the cuffs a few times so it wasn’t quite as obvious they weren’t yours.

Lockwood led you down to the kitchen, asking you about your plans for the day. You were met with Lucy and one other boy in the kitchen, Lucy sitting at the table already tucking into her meal while the boy was standing by the stove.

“I mean, come on Lockwood, you couldn’t have given me any warning we had a fourth for breakfast? Bloody good thing we had enough eggs or it would’ve been you going hungry!” The boy muttered to himself, apparently unaware of your entry. You locked eyes with Lucy who was holding back her laugh and Lockwood coughed uncomfortably.

“Morning, Georgie,” He smiled an amused grin, practically blinding you in the early morning. George froze as he realised he’d been caught, then doubled down his mood with a glare in Lockwood’s direction but it simply bounced off the charm he oozed and you smiled. You introduced yourself quickly and explained the situation, not wanting to uphold the tension in the room. George wasn’t exactly as warm as Lucy, but then you got the impression that it wasn’t in his nature to be.

Lockwood and Lucy upheld forced small talk as you became nervous in the new environment and George simply had no desire to talk, at least, until Lockwood had the bright idea to get the ball rolling.

“So Georgie, y/n actually studies the Problem. Like, academically.” It was like a switch had flipped and suddenly George had so much to say you were overwhelmed with it all. You tried to explain your research area as best you could while trying to politely ask questions about his own knowledge and make a good impression. Lockwood must have sensed your anxiety as he put a hand on your thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze under the table, chuckling softly into his eggs.

Your meal passed quickly after that, and you felt strangely at home in the cozy kitchen, amongst three people who were total strangers only hours before. Yet, it had to come to an end at some point, and it was soon time for you to go.

You collected your things, profusely thanking each of them for not only saving you (Lockwood), but also for the ridiculously delicious breakfast (George).

“You really saved my life,” You said, as Lockwood disregarded yet another thanks.

“It’s nothing, you would have done the same. You, uh, you should come around again sometime.” You beamed, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, I have about a thousand more questions for you — not an exaggeration,” George said, and you easily agreed to share more of your research with him.

“Plus, we like seeing Lockwood blush,” Lucy added cheekily, and then it was your turn to blush, forcing your eyes down to the floor as both George and Lucy laughed at the pair of you, mirror images in your embarrassment.

Although it may have looked like you were making a post-Valentine’s Day walk of shame, you were gleeful. You hadn’t at all imagined your night would turn out as it had, but you’d made new friends — and maybe the start of something more, and managed to avoid being ghost touched which you always counted as a win. You ignored the judgemental looks you received in slept in joggers and club ready heels, and delighted in getting home before your parents arrived back and noticed you were missing.

You locked the door to your apartment behind you and dialled the number Lucy had made you promise to call when you were safe and sound, hanging up with plans for dinner at Portland Row the following week.

You flopped back on your bed and grinned. You were sure you’d see more of Lockwood & Co in the future.

145 notes · View notes

daddyhausen · 8 months

Text

commission 3/4 for @coleskingdom

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡「 THIS NIGHT BELONGS TO US 」｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

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「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 AEW MASTERLIST 」 | 「 WILL OSPERAY MASTERLIST 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — when threats of violence against your girls hightens, you have no choice but to recruit will and his gang for protection

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+, [ MINORS DNI ], mentions of sexual violence, mentions of injury, alchohol, gangs, daddy kink, submissive x dominant, dom!will, sub!reader, praise, hair pulling, dirty talking, rough sex, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, blowjobs, oral sex [ male recieving ] male + female orgasms, groping, vaginal creampie, internal cumshot

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 5.6k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x will ospreay

「 GENRE 」 — smut

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @violetmacher @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwrites @adamcolesbaybay

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

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his tired eyes roamed the bustling london streets, still so full during the midnight hours, drunks getting their fill of cheap irish whiskey, slumped against desolate brick and rusted metal of a war torn city, steam and smoke billowing around their almost lifeless bodies from the factories and mills of the surrounding streets. whores nestled in alleyways, presenting themselves on street corners, naked, flaunting their bodies for him and his men, hoping they’d throw a couple of pounds their way for a good night’s fun. one whore in particular almost threw herself atop of his larger lackey, davis, running a manicured finger down the opening of his shirt, tracing shapes into the dirty blond almost light brunette tufts chest hair, beckoning him to bed her. he refuted by grabbing the back of her head, his large palm caressing the blonde, boyish bob of her scalp as he pulled her in for a sloppy, half-drunken kiss before stumbling to catch up to his other members.

the piss coloured lighting from residentials, reflecting a murky green in will’s natural gunmetal blues, would flicker off in haste. the silhouettes of mothers frantically rushing to put their children to bed, husband’s standing idle at the window, just barely peeking behind the sheer curtains, eying him down with a weary glare. after the war, one thing remained certain, he was still the most feared man this side of the thames. eyes would watch him cautiously, fearful and uncertain of his next move, a simple glance from him would send children scurrying back to their mother’s arms, and grown men to divert their attention to their shoes.

will straighten his cap, shielding his eyes from any onlookers, tightening his coat around the toned build of his figure, more for anonymity rather than comfort. the moon casted a heavy shadow upon him and his lackeys, them looking more like apparitions of evil over human beings. davis and kyle trailing behind in a joyous saunter, in a conversation amongst themselves. will remained silent, taking in the dull drone of the london cityscape he’d oddly missed so much while away. it was no serine french countryside, lined with vineyards and lush greenery he’d see in glimpses between fighting in bloodsoaked trenches. but there was comfort to it. it was home. the war changed will something fierce, he’s always been one so stoic, calloused, outright ruthless, but the things he’d seen, men torn limb from limb, their bodies blown from the trenches in chunks of meat and blood spray, bone and viscera. painful cries parted their lips, agonised screams ripped their vocal chords. grown men, respected soldiers desperately clinging to overworked nurses, cowering into these women, calling out to them as if they were their own mothers. he could still hear said screams at night, the pounding against the walls, although just in his mind sounded startlingly realistic, keeping him awake more nights than not.

he fiddled with the switchblade buried deep in his coat pocket, the metal cold against his calloused fingertips, hushing davis and kyle behind him as the velvety red lighting of the drunken angel’s tavern came into view. the exterior nestled in a side street, behind faded red brick and rotted tumbler slabs. it was a quaint little hotel will would frequent before the war, even less now since his business ventures forced him out of the city for months at a time.

“you think skye’s working tonight?” kyle, the youngest of their trio beamed at the recipient of his affections. blue eyes glimmering with hope, the act earning him a small shove from davis. the hotel was known to offer more…intimate services let’s just say.

“god kid, you're still head over heels for that girl?” davis quipped, a hearty chuckle leaving his lips. “you know she’s a whore right?”

“she loves me, she said so.” kyle frowned, annoyed at the mocking tone leaving the lips of his comrade, burying his slender figure into the warm cotton of his overcoat, as if to shield himself from the embarrassment, cheeks flushed red despite the meek august breeze.

will paused, coming to a halt in front of the hotel. a thunderous thud at his feet, a drunkard lay at half unconscious, blood and spit spraying onto the tips of will’s freshly polished oxfords. the red leaving an almost indelible stain against the shiny black, he’d surely have to get them re-done now. will peered up through sunken eyes, fixating on you, the madame of this refined establishment, wiping the dirt and grime from your hands, evidently being the one to knock the poor drunk on his ass.

“go home to your wife, john”. you spoke with a sombre yet annoyed tone in your voice, wiping the ruby red lipstick that had smeared down your chin. john, the aforementioned drunk, tugged at will’s dress pants in a feeble attempt to pull himself up, a bruised eyes and bloody nose, still oozing with fresh crimson met will’s gaze, putting two and two together to conclude the situation. john hobbled to his feet, eyes widening upon being face to face with london’s most feared, scurried away with a terrified gasp, nursing the possible broken nose you’d given him.

you flattened the skirt of your dress, assessing yourself in hopes that you were still modestly presentable for such revered gests. pearls still knotted in a matted mess around your neck, your hair in shambles as you tried to tidy yourself. you gave a soft, relieved sigh upon noticing the trio.

“ah, you boys are back! come in, come in!” you spoke in a rather chipper tone despite the rather odd circumstances that predecessor it. kyle and davis were quick to scoot by, offering a subtle nod in greeting each. will was quick, in your attempt to turn around, he grabbed your wrist tightly, his entire palm encapsulating the bone.

“and here i was thinking you’d retired from that line of work”, he spoke in hushed whispers, eyes flickering about the entryway for any suspicious stares. “i don’t think daddy up there would be too pleased knowing his daughter is still whoring herself out, and in his pub no less”

will pointed to the heavens with a smirk. the line of work he was suggesting left you offended, retorting with a scoff.

“says the one who’d require my services every sunday?’ the sarcastic quip on your part made will release his grip on your wrist.

“and besides, i have put that work behind me”. you cleared your throat. “although old johnny out there didn’t seem to take the hint”

“you want me to deal with him?” will’s voice still spoke softly, the whispers evidently close to your ear

“no. don’t worry, he's harmless. now come in, why don’t you. tell me how bermingham was”

your pre-established relationship with will was…complicated to say the least. always being present in each other’s lives, sexually for the most part, despite mutual romantic feelings, none were allowed to pan out quite so. him being groomed for military service, along with the strong underworld connections that had a choke of his family. as for yourself. you were a whore, as was your late mother before you. will would often visit the establishment you were working at during the late hours, engaging in moments of passion that would rival the most romantic of novels or the daringest of plays.

will followed you inside cautiously, eyes peering around the drunken angel’s dimly lit interior, in case another drunkard was to start something. he was instantly greeted with a swell of lively jazz and swing, brass and woodwind blaring, the joyful shrills of your girls and patrons alike. it was quite deafening for will to say the least, he had not heard such a ruckus since he got back from bermingham, even more so from france. he took note of your working girls, sitting atop men twice their age, who’s grubby hands groped and prodded their feminine flesh. their hungry eyes leering with ravenous intent, one akin to a predator hunting their prey, luring them into their inevitable demise. the entire interior bathed in the same velvety red that bled through the sheer cashmere curtains to the bleak london side streets, making the occupants inside look bloodsoaked by comparison. it was a rather lively sight, bodies squished against bodies, the scent of malt whisky and freshly cut tobacco from the most expensive cigars you could afford, for his standards at least they were still rather cheap. the stench caught in his throat, smoke watered his eyes as a puff was blown unintentionally in his direction. he figured he’d become just another body within the crowd if it weren't for your guiding hand leading him towards the bar.

“whiskey?” you offered, setting three glasses down on the table for him and his companions. will responded with a soft nod of his head, as silent as a mouse. davis already drunk on lust, eyelids fluttered shut, soft moans escaping the australian’s burly chest as one of your girls sat perched upon his lap, scantily clad, hips grinding against his own in a flurry of intoxicated passion. kyle on the other hand sat nervously beside his leader, giving a small nod in acknowledgement upon you pouring him the finest whiskey you owned. the youngest took a hastily gulp, as if it were to help calm his nerves. his eyes scanned around, searching, flickering from the dance floor, to the staircase, back to the bar, then the staircase again.

“skye’s upstairs, love.” you remarked, having previously recognised kyle’s almost puppy-like infatuation with your best working girl. “want me to go get her for you?”

“i’ll wait” he responded meekly with a sheepish smile, taking another small sip of his drink, feeling the malty liquid mingle with his taste buds.

“kid thinks he’s gonna marry her one day. he keeps saying it,” davis heckled between sloppy kisses, his large palms groping the full hips of the woman atop his lap. kyle avoided your gaze, instead letting his eyes fall to the amber liquid, halfway finished in his glass.

“i don’t see why not. skye’s a good girl.” you responded, throwing your bar rag across your shoulder after freshly drying used glasses. “and kyle…”

kyle’s eyes perked up at the sound of his name leaving your lips.

“the infatuation is very much reciprocated”

your eyes flickered to will for a moment, faltering to his hand which stirred whatever remnants of whiskey left in his glass before downing the rest of it. turning back to kyle, his canines bared as he smiled, a sine of pure joy across his lips. the youngest in their trio had been enamoured with skye since the day she started working for you, skye herself even confided in you about her attraction to the young gangster.

“anyway boys, how was your trip?” you questioned pouring will and kyle another glass. davis was far too occupied to even touch his first glass. your question is directed at will obviously, although kyle would be the one to answer.

“it was fine…” he responded quietly before will interrupted.

“i don’t wanna talk about it.” there was an unusual malice to will’s voice that your ears were not used to hearing. then again, will has never needed to use such a tone with you.

“i see…” you hummed rather meekly, your response calm and collected, a far cry from the agitated tone of will’s voice as he skulled down the remainder of his second glass, feeling the burn of the amber liquid slide down his throat. sliding your a couple of pounds for the drinks, those of which you hastily pushed back towards him. will remained silent, avoiding your gaze, accepting the pounds back. his mere presence after said trip was enough compensation to quell your thoughts. his eyes darling across the bar, silently reading the labels as a form of distraction, more from his own mind than your incessant questions.

you placed the bar rag, previously across your shoulder into the hamper beneath the till, silently reminding yourself to send skye down to the river in the morning for the laundry rounds.

speaking of the brunette, you caught her figure atop the staircase, stuffing the few pounds into the blouse of her dress that her recent client offered for her services. her eyes slightly glossy, red and swollen, full cheeks stained with dry tears and the undeniable swell and faint discoloration of formative bruising of fingers around her throat. your heart sank into your gut, it came with the territory, you skye and the rest of the girls knew that. she made eye contact with you offering a small smile, guiding herself down the stairs with slow, calculated steps, eventually joining the small gathering of you five, now four since davis had retired to the more secluded areas for the tavern’s rear, working girl in hand.

“everything alright, darling?” you questioned, her solemn expression noted, quickly diverging to the chipper skye you’re so used to. she joined kyle, the two conjoined at the hip at this point, the blue eyed boy shot a concerned look between the two of you.

“everything is fine, ma’am” it wasn’t you sure as hell knew that.

“take the rest of the night off hun. get some rest” you handed her a small envelope with the rest of her payment for the week, tips she made from tending the bar while you were out. “kyle, would you take her home please?”

the blond nodded softly at your request while skye had left to grab her coat from the back room.

“please watch over her tonight,” kyle’s eyebrows furrowed at the second half of your request.

“tell me who it was” the soft, puppy eyes soon darkened, reminiscent of a ravenous wolf. “you better fucking tell me or else-”

“listen here. do as i ask. she’s already gone through enough tonight, i don’t need you blowing a fuse and shooting up the joint” you reprimanded the blond, for if you were to tell, he would do exactly that. will’s eyes shuffled between the pair of you, silently observing the situation. kyle huffed, pulling skye close as she returned, coat in hand. she clung to his arm, holding on for what seemed like dear life as the two left.

only yourself and will left. his pupils searching for yours, only left with you gazing at the floor through half shut lids and fluttering eyelashes. your temples burned with the beginning of a headache slowly forming, taking a bottle of rum from the shelf and pouring yourself a hefty glass, downing it just as quickly as it left the bottle as if it would soothe the ache.

“can we speak? in private?” you gasped, the burn of the rum still present in your voice, the subtle croak of anguish and pleading just noticeable for will to catch on. he gave a small nod, he’d barely said a word since arriving, in a way it worried you, then again, will was never a talkative man. he followed you back behind the bar, a small entry was off to the right leading straight to your office.

it was different than he last remembered. the walls faded from a vibrant emerald green to that of sage, floral decals of the wallpaper, scratched and peeling, reminiscent of rotting roses rather than blooming ones. paint chips flaking from the windows, sprinkled across the window seals, like the asbestos that lined the walls. the room hadn’t been furnished in a while. the same desk that had been sitting there since you opened the joint, books stacked haphazardly under one of the legs for support after it had broken the last time. paperwork scattered across it, scribbles of administrations, finance and other business necessities written in fading, dried out ink. you’d placed a small single bed in the corner of the room, most nights you don’t even return home, far too busy drowning in paperwork, in desperate need to keep your business afloat.

you sat atop the bed, head in your hands, letting out a heavy sigh. patting the space beside you on the dusty pink bed spread, offering him a seat, one of which he was far too eager to accept. the two of you sat in silence for a moment, although this one seemed like forever.

“i’m struggling here will” you confessed, clearing your throat as your eyes, teary and red, peered at to meet his cool blues. will, remained stoic, expression never changing, battle hardened and almost soulless. it was the price he had to pay for his line of work. he said nothing, simply scooting over on the bed, offering a gentle hand on your thigh and a shoulder to rest your head on.

“tell me” he spoke after some time of silence, not caring that your tears stained the white cotton of his shirt, small pools of grey forming in the fabric. you’d missed this, missed his comfort, missed his touch. the war had left him with an inability to connect emotionally, the trauma he faced, the deaths he saw, the loss of friends, brothers, blood or not, made him believe he was destined for an eternity of loneliness.

you straightened up, sniffling the remnants of your tears away.

“i need protection. for my girls.” you began, throat running dry with anguish. will had offered his men for protection previously when you first reopened your establishment, although you declined. you’ve seen and dealt with enough shit that you’d manage just fine.

“and what do i get out of it” he hummed with a disgruntled sigh, not on your part whatsoever. he was surely to run out of men to those hiring them out all the time.

“you get forty percent of my monthly earnings-”

“i don’t want your money…” will let out a hefty grunt, smoothing down the scruff of his beard.

“then what do you want?”

“just tell me when them bastards are and i’ll deal with it”

you remained quiet for a moment, wanting to seek comfort in will’s words but the stubborn bastard would not let you past the gate.

“them bullet club boys…”. you responded after a brief moment. your voice grew meek and sheltered. in will’s absence, said gang took it upon themselves to wreak havock on the majority of the whorehouses and pubs in the county, them girls were nothing more than toys for them to play with, discard when they proved no use to them anymore.

“we were like sitting ducks…and god…well, you saw skye did not?”

he did. he saw the bruising and the welts, the fear in her eyes, not just hers but the other girls too. his jaw clenched tightly, almost until the point of the maw peaked out from beneath the skin. his gaze hardening to an undeniable scowl.

“not to mention they’ve been raiding our liquor supplies, we’re losing more money than ever-”

“that’s why the fuckin’ bastard told me to come alone.”

“who?” you questioned

“jay fuckin’ white”

you’ve heard of the infamous jay white and his bullet club. how he was one of the most revered mercenaries this great country has ever come across. been putting bullets in politicians' heads since before the war, you've heard, whether they deserved it or not. will briefly mentioned him the night before he left for his aforementioned trip, although he did not confide in you with the details or his reasoning for leaving on such short notice.

“it was a fuckin’ set up. that prick must have found out about the dodgy guns we sold em…” will was muttering in nonsensical phrases to himself, so deep in thought and frustration

you pulled away from will slightly, jaw tensing in your own right.

“so you mean to tell me my girls are getting abused because of your shoddy business practices?!” your fists balled at your sides, shoving him angrily, although it barely put a dent in his stance. he just stood there and took

“it wasn’t supposed to happen this way-”

“well it did. do you know how much it hurts hearing those girls say how scared they are to come into work because they don’t know if their going to get assaulted or fucking killed?!” your voice cracked through screams.

“i know! i will fix it-”

“how? tell me how you’re going to weasel your way out of this one, will?”

the both of you stood at opposite ends, despite the cramped space of your office you'd never felt so apart. will let out a heavy sigh, the blues of his eyes dulled grey with regret. he took his seat on the bed again, just as you did to him previously.

“look …i’ll send the best men i got to protect your girls…but…” he paused, a thick gulp rising in his throat, eyes searching around in contemplation. “i can’t promise something like this won't happen again. when white wants something, he won’t stop until he has it”

“what could he possibly want here? besides a fuck and a drink?” your comment seemed jovial on the surface. but the prospect made your blood boil, your business was sinking and your girls tormented all because will couldn’t play clean. will was silent for a moment, lips pursed and brows furrowed, chewing the inside of his cheek in hope it would distract him from the regret lingering in his mind.

“revenge .” he simply stated. “white knows you're…a weakness of mine”

will’s hand fell to your thigh. not in a suggestive manner that you were used to with former clientele. it was gentle. protective. dare you say…attentive, loving almost. your skin tingled mildly at the sensation, having not experienced such intimate, almost romantic skin on skin contact in a long while. will’s thumb caressed the top of your knee, the calloused pad gritty and rough like sandpaper against your exposed skin.

“that’s why he targeted you…your business…” he corrected, clearing his throat. “he knew it would kill me more to see you suffer than put a bullet in my head outright”

the gruffness in his voice varied between anger and worry, wavering between his regular tone and a whisper. you felt his body inching closer, hand still present on your thigh, although tightening his grip the slightest. the butterflies that once fluttered joyously in your stomach, now seemed like moths lingering around the barely snuffed out flame of your attraction to him. it still was there…just barely.

“will…” you kept your gaze averted, feeling the blues of his eyes running hot with his stare, burning into your cheek with a concern, on edge about your next words or if you were to speak again at all.

“i want it to go back to the way it was…” he blurted out. “us, i mean…”

“will you know that's not possible-”

“how so. i still love you and i damn well know you feel the same” his voice becoming hostile momentarily but he kept himself grounded.

“you never loved me will that was just the drink and your dick talking” you interrupt feeling a pang of guilt in your stomach, adding to the moths that gnawed holes through your insides.

“and besides, even if that weren’t the case. if you truly did love me, we’re just two very different people now. you're a criminal, will and i’m the lowly barmaid who serves your drink. our lives should only be connected by transactions''

although it pained you to say it, it was the truth. will’s life was far too dangerous for you to be fully invested in now. you did not want to spend nights worrying if he was gonna come home injured, or not come home at all. sitting on his lap and tending to his wounds while he vents about all the trouble he has caused to himself. as alluring and romantic as that sounds…you just couldn’t.

“it doesn't have to be this way, love…” his hands were still firmly upon your thigh, grip tightening as his palm caressed the skin. fingertips dancing against the hem of your dress skirt. fluttering against the frill and ruffles, a dangerous act it was.

“you can’t tell me you don’t miss it” he hummed, breath barely ghosting against your earlobe. will’s breath hitched in his throat momentarily, the memories flooding back to his mind in waves. a subtle smile forms across will’s lips. you let your eyes flutter shut, trying to turn your mind off from will’s persistent words. not that it proved much effort, he was always a persistent man.

“remember?“ he lulled. “all those nights, my cock buried inside you. how you’d whimper and beg for me, knowing that i fucked you better than any of your regulars ever could?”

oh you remembered. you remembered well. there were times the both of you would stay overnight at the establishment, curled up in the sheets of your sleeping quarters, specifically used for such enjoyment, at times having to hide him behind your dresser, a mountain of discarded clothes and bedsheets, pretending you were asleep as your madame made the rounds for the night.

and will was right…by god, you did miss it. you missed him.

“will…” you mumbled alluringly, craning your head back slightly to meet his gaze. the blues of his irises dissipated behind blown out pupils, all lust filled and needy. he gave a small hum in response, his lips barely millimetres from yours, tongue jutting out to wet them slightly. heat rushed through you, arousal ebbed and flowed in your belly, teetering between genuine attraction and lustful desire. you could close the gap between your lips if you so wanted, letting will claim you like he’d done a thousand times over, but you hesitated, staring deep into those ocean blues for a moment, gauging to see if his words were turtle genuine or just the drink talking again.

“i want to go back…” you reminisced, pressing your lips to the corner of his, trailing down his jawline and neck. the action is sloppy and desperate. a low rumble persisted in will’s throat, his adam’s apple bobbing with a thick gulp, trying to stifle the arousal that swelled within him. “i want to love you…”

his breath hitched in his throat, your palm running up and down his bulge, the outline so prominent in his pants. a groan slipped past his lips, leaving his mouth agape, no matter how hard he tried to stifle them, your touch was just too magnetic for him to resist.

“please…” your whimpers lulled him further into the sinful abyss, feeling his cock stiffen against your palm, your fingers lazily unbuttoning his pants all the while maintaining the most sultry of eye contact with him.

he gave a nod, a subtle one nevertheless, a heavy sigh fell from his lips upon the brisk midnight air hitting his shaft. the thickness bulging and pulsing in your palm. oh how he missed the feeling. with dainty movements your fingertips traced around the tip, engorged and flushed red, lossy beads of precum oozing from the slit.

“god, i forgot how big you were,” you joked, stroking the base of his shaft with tight, short pumps. will gave a hearty chuckle, one that resounded in his belly, the soft gruff chortle leaving his lips.

“it’ll feel even bigger once it’s inside you, love” his words are spoken through an almost breathless whisper, accentuated by subtle groans and choked moans. you licked the slit of his tip, fleshy tongue gathering precum on the appendage, tasting him for the first time in years.

you were far eager to tease him. instead letting the tip of his cock slip past your lips, a slight popping sound as he broke though the seal. thick pulsing veins danced against your tongue as you worked him over with your mouth, taking him as deep as your throat would allow, surprised that you were still able to take such a length.

his cock made a home in the back of your throat, teasing it as you gagged at sputtered around him, corners of your lips burning, feeling as if they were going to tear from the sheer girth of his cock

“fuck-” his voice echoed with a deep, throaty rumble. eyelids fluttered shut in momentary pleasure before peering down at your still clothed form, full breasts barely covered, about to spill out from your blouse. your hands fell to them, kneading the supple mounds through the clothing, feeling your nipples perk up and harden at the contact through the fabric

“that’s it love, keep going. keep suckin’ daddy’s cock, oh fuck- just like that”

will’s roughened fingertips slid through strands of your hair, intertwining in the vine-like locks, tugging slightly up, allowing you a sliver of breathing room, barely a second for you to breathe before shoving you back down face first on his cock, until the bulge of his shaft was evident in your throat.

“you always like it rough didn’t you?” he hummed through faux malice, putting on the dominant facade he was famed for. “such a good fuckin’ whore, chokin’ on my dick like this”

his lovely, albeit domineering praise made your belly flutter with such unbridled wonder, reminiscing about the times he’s previously had his dick stuffed in the back of your throat, how he’d leave you gagging around that veiny, thick shaft of his. spit seeped from between your lips, drooling down his shaft, spit bubbles gathering at the base each time you’d bob your head, his tip violently prodding at the back of your throat.

“fuck, love…” he panted. “i know you wanna swallow my cum but i gotta fill that pretty cunt of yours”

he pulled your head up, your eyes red and glassy, spit dripping down your chin. glossy and shiny under the dull bedside lamp. will’s fingers were quick to work. not bothering to undress you fully, instead letting his hands roam up the skirt of your dress, groping the flesh beneath. he pulled you onto his lap, fingers, tugging your panties to the side, the tip of his cock prodding your walls, gathering your slick around the head, just revelling in it .

“so fuckin’ wet for me…” he hummed through clenched teeth , still overly sensitive from the work of your lips. your silence was all the more alluring for him, only breathless mutters and moans leaving your lips as you lowered yourself onto his cock. the stretch of your walls instantaneous around his size, he felt it too, how you spread so easily for him. just like you always did.

your hips instantly began to work, swirl and grind against his cock, allowing yourself to embrace him completely, the generously rough yet slow thrusts he gave sent your mind reeling with pleasure.

“god, you’re squeezin’ me, love…not gonna last if you keep this up”

your cunt clenched around his length, feeling yourself buckle under the weight of the pleasure, letting him sink into you completely. will leaned in, his lips capturing yours in feverish kisses, bodied melting into one under candlelight.

“oh fuck..” you whimper, feeling his tip poke and prod at the fleshy wall of your cervix, unable to sink down on him any further, for he would surely split you in half. With eyes half lidded and a love-drunk, stare, peering down at him through your eyelashes, fluttering in and out of a lust filled consciousness as pleasure rocked your very core.

“will…” your stomach bubbled with arousal, so close and on the brink of release. will hummed softly, his cock twitching with excitement as his name left your lips with shaky whimpers, fingertips delicately trailing down his clothed torso, feeling the outline of his pristine abdominal muscles through the fabric.

“you close, sweetheart?”

you nod, instinctively to his question.

“mhm.. can feel you clenchin’ ‘round me. so fuckin’ tight” will threw his head back, biting his bottom lip to further suppress his moans.

“fuck- you gonna be a good girl and cum ‘round this dick? make a fuckin’ mess for daddy, huh?”

words were trapped like rocks in your chest, rendering you useless and unable to speak. again, you nodded, this one more frantic than the last. arousal exploded in your veins, the clench of you around his dick was enough to bewitch him, as if that had not happened already. watery sweetness gushed down your thighs, seeping down the length of his cock, not even bothering about your now ruined sheets, you did not care, the pleasure was too euphoric.

will let out a pleasured, groan, pressing his hand to the bulge of your belly where his cock was evidently protruding from the skin, feeling your tightness grip in for dear life. pulling you closer to his broad chest, sweaty skin colliding in heated passion. he released deep inside you, making sure your tight cunt milked every last drop of his cum, not leaving until he’d emptied himself fully deep into your womb.

“shit..” he muttered, attempting to pull himself out of you, despite your bodies contorted in passion.

“no , it’s okay…” you hummed, voice hoarse from begging and pleading his name. nails soothingly leaving light trails atop his shoulders, his size still firmly buried inside of you, all wet and warm.

“you look so beautiful like this,” he murmured through a soft sigh, tucking stray strands loosely curled hair behind your ear, a thumb gingerly tracing across the indent of your cheek.

”what? naked?”

will gave a small chuckle.

“well, yes for one.” he smiled. “in my arms i mean”

your office fell into a comfortable silence, the lively ramblings and music from patrons outside were dulled through the walls as you sat quietly, will’s arms wrapped around your waist tracing inconsistent shapes into the small of your back.

”i just hope i can stay in them forever..”

”trust me love…i’ll make sure of it”

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

#{ my fics : 🤍 }#will ospreay #will ospreay x reader #will ospreay smut #aew #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #aew imagine #aew wrestling #aew fanfiction #aew lb

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madangel19 · 7 months

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Oohh your quint smoke hc has given me thoughts of murder ghoul swiss inviting his prey to come smoke with him and then offering to shotgun only to pour a mixture of his quint smoke and weed smoke into their lungs before making his move

~ @atmosghoul

@atmosghoul You're a mad fucking genius with this one >:3 Swiss would absolutely get his prey high before eating them. It's like making his own edibles lol

Warnings: Weed smoking, suggestive material(nothing too spicy), blood, murder ghoul shenanigans

Word Count: 2108

Sneaking around the abbey late at night was always a risky move for many siblings of sin. Maria had heard many stories of the dark forces taking claim of those who weren’t careful. Even coming across the ghouls was dangerous at times, especially if they were hungry.

“I shouldn’t have stayed in the library so long,” Maria whispered, clutching a book to her chest. She had gotten so lost in her studies that she had lost track of time and was the only one in the library. A nearby clock read 1:30 AM and she shivered when a nearby growl filled the air. This was prime hunting time for the ghouls.

She had been told time and time again that sneaking out after midnight was dangerous. She should have just stayed in the library until morning, but something compelled her to leave the safety of the books.

A clap of thunder shook the halls around her, making her stop and gasp as she looked up. She noticed the silhouette of a ghoul perched on a high window-sill, their orange eyes watching her intensely. Maria wasn’t sure who that was, but she had to keep moving and find somewhere safe. The ghoul cocked their head, chittering softly before giggling. She knew that giggle. It was Sunshine.

Maria rushed off into the dark, the giggles getting louder and louder. She had to find somewhere safe to stay, but the more she ran, the more she noticed that she was moving further away from the residential wing. She had hoped she could find Papa Copia’s quarters. He would have made sure she was protected for the night.

“Just pick a room and hide,” Maria whispered, looking around for any door that could help her. She paused at several doors and found that they were locked to her dismay.

“Fuck. One of you needs to be unlocked,” she moaned.

The eighth door she tried was unlocked and she breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the door and walked in, immediately locking it behind her.

“Sister? What are you doing out so late?” A familiar voice questioned.

Maria realized the room was lit by a fire and smelled strongly of weed. She felt her stomach tie itself into knots as she forced herself to turn around to face the ghoul in the room.

Swiss was reclined on a couch, watching her with a surprised look in his half-lidded eyes. He had just taken a drag from a joint, smoke curling around him. The only thing he wore was a black pair of pants. His dress shirt laid on the floor. The whole room was full of smoke and Maria had to cover her nose and mouth.

“I…I um…lost track of time..studying and…and Sunshine is stalking me…I’m scared,” Maria murmured, her voice muffled by her mouth.

The multi ghoul chittered in confusion before smiling, patting the space next to him as he sat up.

“Don’t be. Sunny just likes to chase. She’d never harm the cute ones,” he crowed, winking at her playfully as he took another hit from the joint. Maria couldn’t help but stare at the lit joint. She had never tried smoking weed before. This could be the perfect opportunity to try it.

Swiss noticed her staring and he smiled toothily as he beckoned her to join him with a single claw.

“Don’t be shy, Sister. You can sit with me if you want. I’ll keep you safe from whatever else is roaming outside,” he said.

Maria had heard many rumors about Swiss and how he could easily manipulate and seduce most siblings of sin in the church, but she had also heard that he had stopped ever since he started hooking up with Sister Delia. Was he a changed ghoul? Maria would find out very soon.

Maria glanced back at the closed door. There were footsteps outside followed by a soft growl. Maria shivered and quickly went to sit on the couch with Swiss. She sat further away from him, looking at the joint still held in his claws.

“You wanna smoke, Sister? This is Mountain’s personal strain. Best in the world,” Swiss crowed.

“I…I’ve never smoked before, but I’d love to give it a try,” Maria replied, inching closer to him.

Swiss chittered excitedly as he handed her the burning joint. Maria looked at it curiously, unsure of what to do.

“Just breathe it in, sweetheart. Breathe in, hold it for a moment, and then breathe out. You’ll be nice and relaxed in no time,” Swiss said.

Maria nodded and did as she was told, putting it in her mouth and breathing it in. Smoke filled her lungs and a warm sensation filled her chest as she pulled it away. The warm sensation turned to discomfort as she turned away from Swiss and coughed up smoke, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Ah, there it is. Let it out, sweetheart. It’s good to cough. It’ll hit better,” Swiss said, gently patting her on the back.

“Holy shit. You...Do you have any water?” Maria groaned, rubbing her sore throat.

“Right here, Sister. Take it easy now,” Swiss said, reaching over the couch and grabbing a water bottle. He handed it to her and Maria drank until her throat no longer hurt. When she was done drinking her fill, she placed it next to her.

“So…when do I start…feeling high?” She asked.

“Give it a moment, sweetheart. Just get comfy and you’ll feel it,” Swiss said, patting his lap. Maria nodded and laid on the couch, resting her head in his lap. She closed her eyes as she focused on what she was feeling. Moments passed and she gasped softly as she opened her eyes to see a smiling ghoul gazing down at her. She felt like she was floating.

“Oh wow,” she murmured, raising her arm and seeing it move as if in slow motion.

“Good right? It’s a nice body high that’ll turn you right into a couch potato,” Swiss said, petting her head with gentle claws. Maria’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head at the amazing feeling of his claws on her skin. All thoughts of what had happened earlier left her head as she sighed in complete bliss.

“Very nice,” she said, smiling up at the ghoul.

“You want another hit, Sister?” Swiss asked.

“Yes, please.”

“You ever hear of shotgunning?”

Maria paused. She had heard of the term, but she wasn’t too familiar with it.

“No. What’s that?” She asked.

His smile became all the more wider as his claws went down lightly caress to her cheek. If she weren’t so high, then his smile would unnerve her.

“Well, I’ll take a hit and when I breathe out, you breathe in the smoke. You gotta get real close for it,” he explained, pulling his claws away as he snapped his fingers and created a single flame on his middle finger. He then lit the joint once more.

Breathing in his smoke and having to be close? That sounded like a build up to a kiss. Maria liked the sound of that.

“That sounds fun. Let’s do it,” she chimed, getting up and sitting in a comfortable position where she laid her head on his shoulder.

The ghoul chuckled, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pulling her closer as he took a long drag from the joint. Maria watched him closely, ready to act when it was time. He pulled the joint from his lips, turning his head to her and giving her a quick nod. Maria giggled and leaned in to kiss him. He tasted like the sweetest lavender mixed in with the bittersweet taste of the smoke as he eagerly kissed her back, filling her lungs. Smoke curled from the corners of their mouths as Swiss deepened the kiss with a rumbling purr emanating from his chest.

Maria didn’t feel the need to cough this time as she wrapped her arms around Swiss’s neck. He tasted amazing and was quickly growing hungry for more. Delia was a lucky lady.

Seconds passed and she felt his hand on her chest, pushing her onto the couch with ease. Maria pulled away from the kiss, giggling and breathing smoke into Swiss’s smiling face.

“You like that, Sister?” He asked, pinning her beneath his strong body. Was he going to take things further? The very thought made Maria all the more excited.

“I do…So…what are you gonna do to me next?” She asked, her voice barely coming out in a whisper. She tried to move her arm to pull him in closer and found that she couldn’t move it. Strange, but that had to be the effects of the weed.

“Mmm, I’m gonna eat you up, Sister,” Swiss purred, holding up a single claw and letting it trail down the front of Maria’s gown, tearing it with ease. Maria shivered in delight, eager for what he had planned for her. She wished she could grind against him and feel how hard he was, but in due time, she would.

Swiss continued to purr softly as he leaned down and planted a kiss on her shoulder. Maria closed her eyes, another sigh escaping her lips at the wonderful sensation. Seconds passed and the ghoul was running his tongue along her warm skin before grazing his teeth along it. Maria felt like she was just going to melt from his touch when a strange pressure replaced the pleasure.

“Ah…Swiss?” She whispered.

No response. The pressure increased, making her all the more uneasy at what he was doing. Swiss’s face was buried in her shoulder before he slowly pulled away, blood staining his mouth to her horror.

“Just as I thought. Sweeter than anything,” he purred, getting up from the couch and picking her up bridal style. Maria opened her mouth to protest, but all that came out was a pained gasp. What was he doing?

“Let’s bring you to the others. Sunny is gonna be so excited to finally have you,” Swiss said, carrying her to the door.

Maria couldn’t do anything as he carried her into the dark. Her mind was racing as she thought of any way to get out of this. Her thoughts went to her ghoul studies and her heart dropped when she remembered what she had read about Swiss. He could easily immobilize his prey with his quintessence, making it easier to feast. Fuck…

Maria closed her eyes and when she opened them, she found herself on the floor in the ghoul den. Several figures knelt around her, chittering amongst themselves before noticing that she was awake.

“Did you fuck this one, Swiss? She’s aroused,” Dewdrop grumbled.

“Sure looks like it,” Rain said.

“I only kissed her. That’s how I can really immobilize them,” Swiss replied.

“Thanks for getting this one, Swissy! You know I’ve had my eye on her for weeks,” Sunshine giggled, nuzzling the multi ghoul. Swiss chuckled and nuzzled her back, licking her cheek and making her shriek with laughter.

“Anything for you, Sunny,” he chimed.

Maria opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out besides a ragged gasp. Swiss smirked and moved to pin her beneath him, pointed tail wagging behind him excitedly.

“You’re cute, but we’re hungry and it was Sunny’s turn to choose a sibling since we had no other options. I can put you to sleep if you want. No pain at all,” he explained, sweet smelling smoke curling from his mouth.

“It’s better when they’re in pain,” Dewdrop said. Sunshine and Rain nodded in agreement.

Tears welled up in Maria’s eyes. She had never felt so betrayed before. How could she be so stupid? She could only hope and pray that the end would be painless.

“Blink once for yes if you want to sleep, sweetheart,” Swiss said.

“Or blink twice if you wanna stay awake,” Sunshine added.

Maria looked around at the hungry ghouls and shuddered at the thought of them tearing her apart. It would be better to sleep and not feel their claws and teeth.

She blinked once, tears falling down her cheeks.

“That’s a good girl. We try to make it as painless as possible for our dear siblings,” Swiss purred, gently planting both hands on either side of her head. He leaned forward and kissed her, filling up her lungs with sweet bliss. The pain and terror melted away as sleep quickly took over Maria. She smiled, closing her eyes as she floated off into relaxing nothingness.

“Thank you for this feast, Sister,” a voice whispered as multiple hands descended upon her.

#the band ghost #ghost band #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoulettes #swiss ghoul #sunshine ghoulette #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #ghost fanfiction #fanfiction

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