#The Voices: mallory. every time. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

macfrog · 6 months ago

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backspin | bbf!frankie

surprise! we're taking a quick detour to fuck around with our brother's best friend again. what else is new.

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x fem!reader summary: you try to get even with frankie. it works. warnings: reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, enemies to lovers, mention of throwing up, alcohol consumption, cursing, oral, more dickhead frankie and more sassy reader word count: 6.3k

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So, you fucked around with Frankie.

It’s no big deal, right? It was just a one-time thing. There was tension, you guys relieved it. Scratched an itch. Served a purpose. You still fucking hate the guy, and he still fucking hates you.

Nothing’s changed.

Right?

Mal sprays wine all over the kitchen table when you tell her. Gargles a, Sorry – fuck – sorry, through what little of the alcohol is left in her mouth.

You wipe your face clean in the crook of your elbow. It’s in your fucking eyelashes. You blink the room back into focus, and – “Jesus, Mal!”

Dark droplets teeter around the edge of the table, threatening to plunge straight down onto your mom’s chair cushions – thus damning you to her very own personal hell for all eternity. You can feel the flames licking at your feet already.

Your best friend rips a sheet of paper towel and drags it over the wood – white bleeding violet at the first swipe. “Why’d you tell me as I was taking a sip?”

“I didn’t think you’d fucking hose me down,” you hiss, taking the soaked crumple from her hands.

“You didn’t think I’d be a little surprised that you and Catfish Morales hooked up? Are you fucking ser–? Actually, you know what? I’m not that surprised.”

You glare at her from the sink, upper lip curled.

Mallory Bennett has been privy to your every thought since you were six years old. Hand in hand, arms swinging as you marched into first grade together.

Most days, you barely have to open your mouth – one flinching expression, one flash of eye contact, and she can parrot your own thoughts back to you.

Francisco Morales going down on you two nights ago is the first thing you’ve ever had to confess to her. It’s the first thing she never saw coming.

“Shut up,” you breathe, eventually thawing and sweeping over to your chair. The table sticks to your arms when you sit back down.

“There’s a lot to unpack there, alright? A lot of tension. I mean, you gotta fuckin’ feel it. You two hate each other’s guts! And you’re both single, and you’re only here for two weeks. And – he’s Santi’s best friend. It’s just…it’s the perfect storm.”

Another exasperated sigh passes your lips. You settle back, eyes closed, and lift your palm. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

“You wouldn’t’ve told me if you didn’t wanna talk about it. Was he good?”

“Mal.”

“Was he?”

“I was drunk. I don’t remember.”

“Bullshit.” Her face screws up; the gold hoops wobble from her ears. “Like hell you don’t remember. Tell me.”

Your eyes slip from her over to Ange. The old pup pushes herself to her feet with a huff, her joints stiff and bones frail. She moseys over to your side. You scratch the back of the dog’s neck, shrugging to Mal.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way to a free round of drinks, I’d remember enough to share.”

“Fuck you,” she snorts, voice rounded by her wine glass. “Maybe that just means you gotta do it again – sober.”

You scoff.

Angie looks up at you – watery eyes blinking, tail slowly fanning.

Mal’s already recounting the time Frankie snitched on the two of you for raiding your mom’s makeup bag. She waves her hands in the air, eyes bulging.

Do it again. The thought actually makes you want to laugh.

You and Frankie – you and Catfish, hooking up again. As if the first time wasn’t a total mishap, the biggest mistake in judgement you think you’ve ever made.

He drove you home, he made you come, he left.

One nil, right? You have one up on him. You got yours, and he probably went home and jerked off to the thought of it. Alone in his room, tongue licking at the corners of his mouth where he could still taste your release.

You won.

You won, against Frankie Morales.

“…and then fuckin’ – Pope tried to help us tidy it up, remember? He was scrubbing the hell outta the lipstick on the mirror. But that asshole – Frankie,” she seethes, “he went downstairs as soon as your mom came home. As soon as she…And he fucking ratted!”

She growls, balls her fists. Screws her eyes tight shut like the enraged eight-year-old she was back then. She still has the same little crease between her brows. “What the hell got into you that night? We hate him, junior!”

Ange slumps to the floor with a sigh.

“Me too, girl,” you mutter to her, twirling the base of your glass. You look back up at the crazed woman opposite. “I don’t know,” you insist. “I was drunk, we were on our own…It just happened, alright?”

Her shoulders roll in a shrug. She lifts her glass to clink the neck of the bottle against the rim, purple wine spilling in a swirl. “Maybe it’s the start of something.”

You scoff. “Mal. Come on.”

“I’m serious. Perfect storm.”

“Nope. No storm. Stop that.”

She jabs a tipsy finger in your direction. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you messed around with your arch fucking menesis– arch fucking…with – with Frankie, and you just – still feel nothing for him?”

“No,” you admit, “I feel plenty for him. I hate his fucking guts. I used to wish every birthday that he’d disappear. One time in church, when Father Joseph told everybody to bow their heads ‘n pray, I actually asked God to kill him for me.”

“Not Father Joseph!” Mal shrieks, grinning. “He was so fucking hot, by the way, for a dude with no hair. When the sunlight caught that cueball just right…that was a real fucking miracle. Goddamn.”

You bat her snicker away. “Me and Frankie used to brawl so bad that our moms had to separate us,” you continue. “I had to sit in the front seat if we drove anywhere – and that still didn’t stop him! He’d reach around the headrest and flick my fucking ear.”

“You gave as good as you got, though. I’m surprised he can even still get hard, the number of times your foot…” She swings her leg and kicks your thigh softly. “He was an ass, I know.”

“He was an ass then, he’s still an ass now. That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay,” Mal concedes. Her dark, glossy hair surfs around the lip of her wine glass when she leans in. “But you wouldn’t’ve told me unless it was still on your mind. ‘s all I’m saying.”

You throw yourself back with a quick, angry shake of your head. Your tongue flicks over your top lip.

“All I’m saying,” she repeats, holding her hands up.

But I won, you think – in a petulant little whine. Like you could shake your fists and stamp your feet at the same time. You got one up on him. He – he made you…

He made you come. He saw you. Felt you. Tasted you.

He knows what you sound like, whimpering his fucking name. Drunk on him, begging him not to stop. And now, the image of him fisting his cock over the memory of it feels less like a victory, and more like –

Another fucking loss.

You have no idea what he looks like, coming undone. No clue what his fragmented moans sound like as they tear from the bottom of his throat and rain down over you. You don’t know the weight of him in your hands, the wet slip of his tip as he leaks over your tongue.

Mal’s onto something new. Taken by a Facebook post from some girl you went to high school with. Biggest head I ever saw on a fucking baby, she mutters, wincing and then sprinkling a handful of salted peanuts on her tongue.

Frankie’s cocky smirk clouds over the sight of her at the opposite end of your kitchen table.

Francisco fucking Morales. The asshole wins again.

All at once, you hear his rotten little jeers in your ear – curbed painfully by his middle finger searing across your lobe. You feel his heavy palm on your skull, fingers scrunching roughly into your scalp.

A temper boils between your ears, heavy over your head. It feels juvenile, as if it’s armed with a Barbie in one fist and a juice box in the other. Sunken and wallowing in shame and rage, red-hot waves which wash over you as Mal cackles at some video on her phone.

You feel Frankie’s hands around your legs; the flicks of his hair tickling the inside of your thighs. The swarm of butterflies deep in your belly as you watched his figure swagger back across the street to his truck.

Loss after loss after loss. Each one wearing a satisfied smirk and a Standard Oil baseball cap.

Each one staining deeper than red wine in varnished oak.

You grit your teeth.

Frankie –

fucking –

Morales.

Santi floats the idea of a barbecue. Because of course he fucking does.

He says his place is too small, too many neighbors in earshot – and as long as Ms. Teller takes both hearing aids out, she won’t even know it’s happening.

“Just the guys ‘n us,” he chirps. “You, me, Will, Benny…Fran-kie…?”

You gag down the line. Body instinct whenever his name is mentioned, worsened by the latest developments in your relations. Ange glances up from her spot beneath the oak tree – her milky fur stark against the velvet green grass.

Santi chokes on a laugh. “Mal, too, if that helps with the Catfish thing.”

You lean the phone on your collarbone, sitting forward to apply a second coat of polish to your toes. The red gloss shines in the early morning light. “He is not welcome in my house.”

“First off: not your house. Second –”

“My house for the next eleven days.”

He says your name flatly. It sounds like a door being slammed. It shuts you up as though you’re nine again. “…Second: he won’t be in the house. He’ll be in the backyard.”

“You owe me,” you protest. “For ditching me the other night. I’m cashing in, Santiago. You want a cookout? No Frankie.”

Your brother sighs. “And how am I supposed to explain that to him, hermana?”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Santi mutters something incoherent, though you know from the razor-sharp tone of voice that it’s no compliment. Still – he’s a man of his word.

Eventually he agrees: no Frankie at the barbecue.

The store is chilly, plucking goosebumps along your arms.

You round the aisles, scanning your list. You’ve been battling with a janky front wheel which has squealed and veered off-course at every fucking turn. It almost mowed over an elderly woman in the meat aisle.

You’ve cleared most of what Santi told you to get. Drinks, ice, buns, meat, corn on the cob. He wanted to use Mom’s dinner plates – but that, you countered, runs the risk of them being scraped, chipped, or worst of all, smashed.

That’s not a risk you’re willing to take. So you’ve piled in some paper plates and plastic cutlery, too – just to be on the safe side.

The cashier cuts a familiar figure at the checkout: her navy apron and full-cheek grin. She’s a staple sight from your childhood – a pair of dimples and sweet giggle trailing after you as you’d follow your mom’s skirt back out to the parking lot.

Her eyes widen and she clasps her hands when she notices you approaching. “Well, would you look who it is?” she sings.

“Hey, Pol,” you say, fanning yourself with your scrawled shopping list. “How you doing?”

The belt jolts your supplies closer to her bejeweled fingers.

“Same as always, honey. Rockin’ and rollin’. What brings you back to town?”

“Housesitting, dog-sitting…Santi-sitting. Mom and Dad are on a cruise.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she says, nodding. “She told me last week. Caribbean, right?”

You nod, sucking a deep, unenthused breath in.

Pol hums, smiling to herself as she clicks the barcode for your hotdogs into her computer. She begins telling you what her granddaughter thinks of second grade – her two times table and the tadpoles they’re keeping in class.

Your eyes sweep around the store as she chats. Everything looks the way it always did, a time capsule from the nineties. Speckled floor and fluorescent lights; placards hanging overhead which sway each time the great glass doors pull open.

Baskets of fruit and veg lined alongside a lawn set on offer. Beside that, heaps of flowers and stacked planters. Beside those, a discarded shopping cart. And beside that –

Frankie fucking Morales.

Well – the silhouette of him. It’s pretty bright outside. But you’d recognize the outline of that dumb baseball cap anywhere. He’s talking to one of the assistants.

You hand Pol the cash Santiago gave you, and she trades it for a receipt. Dumping your bags back into your cart, you nod to her in thanks and stalk off towards the sliding doors.

Frankie tosses and twirls a pack of cigarettes in his hand. The assistant is telling him about some big college football game.

Your grip tightens on the janky-wheeled cart. You feel your skin begin to heat; prickling all over your arms, flushing down between your shoulder blades. Gathering somewhere south of there.

But you walk by him with purpose, choosing to ignore that warm feeling. Choosing to ignore…him.

He doesn’t turn. Thankfully.

The doors grant you exit and you give your cart one good shove across the threshold, back out into blinding daylight and sticky heat.

“Alright, man,” Frankie’s voice calls from behind. “Good talkin’ to ya.”

You nail your eye on the car. It’s, like, fifteen paces. You can make it fifteen steps without having to deal with him, right? If you take longer strides, it’s probably more like ten.

Ten steps, and then you’re in the sanctuary of your car. You don’t have to see, speak to, or deal with him.

So why are you slowing down?

You’re slowing down. You are. You’re borderline fucking loitering. Quietly hoping he’ll notice, catch up, maybe talk to –

You click the unlock button. The car beeps in response.

Five steps out. The front wheel is rattling. You’re doing your best to ignore it.

Four.

Three.

The wheel spins, flitting like a confused compass needle, and stops dead in the opposite direction. The cart hurtles out of your grip for less than a second before you recover it and haul it close to your car, cursing under your breath.

But a force – stronger, steadier – reaches around your body and takes hold of the thing. It guides it back to course. A force which, when it speaks, sounds a shit ton like –

“Woah, lil Santi,” Frankie mutters, and your chest leaps.

You freeze in your tracks. His weight is still around your back. He’s right fucking there, when you turn to look.

The brim of his cap bumps against your head. He steps back with a smirk on his face. He’s so fucking smug, you could slap him. “You tryna cause a goddamn accident with that thing?”

You pull a disingenuous smile. “Hey, Fish. Ever tried minding your own business?”

He feigns a wounded sound and clutches his chest. “Ouch. I’m just looking out for ya.”

“Feels more like you’re pestering me.” You pull on the door handle and slot the first bag along the backseat.

Frankie lifts his chin, peering in at the contents. The star-spangled plated, the dripping bags of ice. “Having a party?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.

You yank the bag from his sight, spinning to push it alongside the others. “Nope.”

He crosses his arms. “Sure looks like you’re having one.”

“Well, I’m not.” You slam the door and turn back to him, staring blankly.

“Forgot,” he sniffs, “you need friends to have a party.”

“Hilarious. Those shit jokes how you make all your friends?”

He nods, impressed. Pouts his lips like an annoying little fish. Suits his stupid fucking nickname. “Then why’d Benny call ‘n ask if I’ll be at Pope’s parents’ tonight?”

Shit. Fucking – Benny.

You sigh, eyes rolling closed. Your fingers massage your temples. “It’s not…it’s…”

“Cookout, right? Yeah. That stings, baby. No call, no text. You owe me, remember?”

“I owe you jack sh–”

“Two drinks,” Frankie clips, holding a finger up to shush you. “Three, if you count saving your car from one hell of a scratch.”

“Fuck off,” you breathe, and then give voice to, “It’s a small gathering of friends, and – now you, apparently.”

He sways forward, bumping the cart into your hip. “You need me to bring anything?”

You heave it straight back at him, hopefully hard enough to bruise. “Tranquilizer gun, if you’ve got one.”

“Can get something even stronger, if it’s a party you’re after.”

Your eyes thin. “Wouldn’t be my mom’s favorite for much longer if she found out you were doing coke in her backyard.”

Frankie smiles. That trademark Catfish grin. “I’ve done worse in her kitchen, baby.”

He’s so goddamn cocky. So full of it, it makes you want to scream. He studies you, eyes shadowed by his cap. His hair flicks out around his ears, dark curls doused in golden sunlight.

When your eyes trace the shape of his jaw, the wiry hair above his top lip – the faint flicker of a memory glows across your skin.

The weight of his hand on your stomach, pinning you to the bed. The bristling feeling ghosting the inside of your thighs. Your desperate wet, his tongue covering ground across your body like claiming territory.

Every shade of wrong. Ignoring every atom in your body – betraying every version of yourself for ten minutes of euphoria. He brought every numb nerve under your skin to attention, the second he knelt between your knees.

But he’s looking at you now, the same way he did the other night. It’s boyish and dangerous. A naked match just waiting to fall.

Maybe you’re waiting for an excuse to drop it.

Frankie gives his cap a quick tug, and makes off for his truck.

“See you at seven, Garcia.”

Daylight melts into dusk and with it, goes the sharp sting of summer. A pale blue rolls across the horizon, covering the yard in a hazy sort of chill. A relieving breeze, like satin over newly burned skin.

You’re still fucking sweating.

“Are you going to help me, or you just gonna lie there and text your girlfriend?” you call across the yard.

The dark figure spilling over the edge of the hammock grunts in response.

“Santi.”

Your brother groans, rolling free from the marigold fabric. He strides across the lawn, swinging an arm down to ruffle Ange’s ears. “Not a girlfriend,” he says, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “She’s…she’s more of a…”

You lift your hand. “Not something I need to know.”

He laughs and looks at the spread on the table. He lifts the corner of a tricolor napkin, straightens a plastic fork. The foil over the hamburger buns crinkles. “We did a good job. Looks great.”

“We?” You scoff, slapping his wrist away. “Yeah, me and the fucking dog, more like.”

“How much did it all come to? The food and shit?”

You shrug. “Like, forty dollars. I don’t know.”

“Gave you sixty. Where’s my change?”

You frown, hands on your hips. “If you don’t know how to budget properly, that’s not my problem.”

“And if you don’t know when to just lie and say you spent it all, that’s not mine. Twenty bucks, kid.” He holds his hand out, fingers beckoning.

The squeal of the gate interrupts, followed by a barrage of voices. Will and Benny and Mal and – as you lean back to watch them parade through the yard, you spot the figure of Frankie at their heels.

“Pope?” Will calls. “Pope, do me a favor. Remind me which one of us threw up at Busch Gardens that one time. Remember – right after we rode Gwazi?”

Santiago chuckles. “I remember Mallory wearing her raspberry slushie.”

Will guffaws in Mal’s face.

“I spit up!” she protests. “I spit up in a flowerbed. I was not wearing my slushie.”

“You were fluorescent pink the whole day,” Will says. He slings an arm around your shoulders. “You remember, lil Santi?”

You frown. Yeah, you fucking remember.

You remember being forced to sit between Frankie and Mal the entire way home. Santiago got dibs on the front seat by pretending he was carsick, and Mal had to sit by an open window so she didn’t stink your dad’s car out with all her raspberry-flavored puke.

You and Frankie bickered the whole journey. Both absolutely certain that the other was leaning too far over your seats. Your dad vowed he’d never let you both in his car at the same time, ever again.

“Mhm,” you grit, shooting daggers at your best friend.

She mouths a Sorry, and then places her salad bowl in the middle of the table. “Enough about throwing up. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

The boys spend twenty minutes arguing over how the barbecue works, before a single bit of food is cooked. You and Mal watch from the table, sneaking Ange slices of cheese and giggling when Will and Benny break into their fifth argument of the night.

Santi and Frankie take charge, shoving the brothers out of the way.

Pope passes over the meat, while Frankie mans the grill. He lifts his cap and wipes his brow with his bicep, giving his head a shake as he flips burgers and turns sausages.

And no, you’re not watching him. You’re focused on Mal and her story about some guy from work. Or – it might be a guy from her yoga class. The instructor, maybe? You’re not sure. Frankie just flapped the collar of his shirt and the hem lifted, exposing a sliver of his tummy.

You’re not watching him, though.

He runs his tongue along his top lip, focusing on the sizzle and spatter of the grill. His arm tenses, turning the tongs over and over. Wide shoulders stretch when he reaches for a plate.

He’s laughing quietly at whatever Santi’s babbling about at his side. His eyes are stuck on the barbecue in front of him. His fingers twirl around the tongs again. He never looked so lean and so broad and so fucking different, all at once.

Weird different. Good different?

You feel your cheeks flush with heat. This time, it’s not so much anger, as it is –

Oh, shit.

Mal gets up for a refill at the same time Santiago jogs inside to grab more meat. You and Frankie are alone on the patio – Will and Benny are kicking a ball for Ange to chase on the grass.

Morales turns, and you instantly stare down at your beer. You take a forceful swig as he approaches.

“Hotdog?” he asks, holding a plate down to you.

“Huh?”

He glares at you and scoffs. “Are you dumb? Hotdog.” He slips it onto the table in front of you.

You squint at the grill marks, and then squint up at Frankie. Puzzled and…offended, at the same time. You come back to your body with a jolt. “Why the hell are you–? Have you laced it with something?”

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, tongue between his teeth. “No, I haven’t fucking laced it with anything. I just figured you should have the first one, since you put all this on for us. But – Jesus, give me it.”

Your fingers lock around the paper plate when he tries to steal it back. For all that he’s a dick and might actually try to poison you – you’re fucking starving.

You figure you can stomach the poison.

Frankie sighs. He lets go. “I’m tryna be nice, alright? You know nice?”

“I know nice. You’re not it.”

“Shut up and eat your hotdog, lil Santi.”

You mimic him in a squeak as he strolls off, shaking his head. Still, the second he’s back at the grill, you rip into the hotdog.

Frankie stays at the opposite end of the table for the entire meal – closest seat to the barbecue, and furthest seat from you. There’s too much chatter, too much hilarity being thrown back and forth between you for either of you to kick up a row.

Probably better for the guys’ sakes, but – you want to fucking row.

It’s like a hit, now. A rush of electricity, any time Frankie looks at you for longer than it takes his face to twist into a grimace. You’re hunting for ways to ignite something – anything. Looking for an excuse to drop that naked match and set the whole thing alight.

Because it’s fun, when you’re in the heat of it. Feeling his eyes on you, as hot and angry as flames. Being suffocated by the smoke of it all; breathing in less and less air and more…him.

And, anyway – who knows you better than the one person who pisses you off the most?

As the sun is snuffed by the heavy hand of dusk, you disappear to a quieter corner of the yard. Tucked between two thick beech trees, you throw yourself into the hammock – one leg draped over the side, swinging idly through the night air.

A beer bottle balanced on your tummy, the round base seeping a chilled ring into your shirt. The swish of leaves overhead and the annoying midges at your ears for company.

That is – until the sound of footsteps over crisp grass, and the creak of an old, splintered garden chair disturb your peace.

Frankie adjusts his cap, flatting his fringe beneath it, and sits back. “You never change, do you, Garcia? Still the same little longer you always were.”

You hold your hands out, gulping back beer – and glee. “Can I fucking help you? I’m minding my own business.”

“Thought you might want some company.”

“Not yours, dickhead. You think I’m way the hell over here ‘cause I wanted you to come annoy me?”

He hums, picking at a flake of paint on the armrest. “Sure wanted me to annoy you the other night.”

“Alright,” you clip. “Cheap shot. You been practicing that one all afternoon?”

“Since I saw you at the store.”

You roll your eyes.

Frankie slips a cigarette from its pack and lights it, tipping his chin to blow a white cloud to the sky. “You’re too much fun,” he tells the stars.

You squint through the dark, staring at the glowing cherry. “What?”

“You. You get so pissed, so easily. Always have.”

“Well, you antagonize me. Always have.”

His cheeks lift. It’s something softer than a smirk, still laced with too much attitude to be a smile. “That’s ‘cause you were always around. Everywhere Santi went, there you were. Closer than his shadow.”

“Well,” you glower, “’s what happens when you have a big brother. You’re void of love; I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I get it,” he says. “It just got fun to mess with you, after a while.”

“Uhuh,” you take another swig, “so is that what you’re doing? Messing with me?”

Frankie’s shoulders jump. “You tell me. There were two of us in your room that night.”

You swing your legs down to the grass. It’s brittle under your socks when you stand, still focusing on the end of his cigarette. “Damn, you really can’t shut up about it, can you? How many times have you tugged one to the thought of it?”

“Tugged one,” he snickers, but he seems nervous – watching as you approach. “What age are you?”

You push his knees wider, slotting between his thighs. “Which part does it for you? What sends you over the edge?”

“Come on, lil Santi,” Frankie says, averting his eye. “You’re embarrassing yourself now.”

One knee up, resting on the crease of his jeans. You lean forward and nudge his hip, lay your hands gently on his shoulders. “I bet you still hear me in your dreams.”

He scans up and down your body, lingering on your bare thigh. “Not – not gonna work, kid,” he promises, shaking his head. “You still annoy the fuck outta me.”

“Right, right.” You pinch the pale stick from between his teeth. “’cause nothing’s changed, yeah?”

His head sways in agreement. He’s distracted, watching as you lift your hand to your mouth.

You smile down at him. “’cept you know how I taste now, so.”

You slot the damp end of the cigarette between your lips and suck. Sharp, acrid heat sails over your tongue and down your throat, filling your chest in one inhale. You cough a little, batting the smoke as you blow it out.

“Tastes fucking disgusting,” you croak. “How can you smoke these?”

Frankie’s eyes never leave your lips. “You get used to it.”

You take another draw, letting the smoke soar through the space between you. “Gross,” you say, and prop the cig back between his lips. “Just like you!”

“Sh…shut up,” he groans, adjusting in his seat.

“Make me.”

But he doesn’t bite. Doesn’t flinch. He just stares back, rolling the smoldering stick between his thumb and finger. Running his tongue along his teeth.

You spill the last of your beer onto your tongue, cocking an eyebrow at him, and push from his lap.

You make it no more than five steps, before that same weight from the parking lot is around your shoulders.

He pings the cigarette somewhere in the grass, and grabs onto your elbow.

“Fran– Jesus – Where are we–?”

He drags you through the dull dusk to the other side of the lawn, ignoring the click of the motion sensor. You’re thrown through a wooden door onto cold concrete before the yard light floods over you.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Weak slivers of moonlight illuminate each tool hanging from the wall. The fairy lights outside lose their battle against the darkness the second they creep through the window.

Before you can sling something mocking at him, Frankie has you pinned against the wall.

“You want me to make you shut up?” he growls, teeth grazing your neck. His fingers slip behind the waist of your shorts, plucking at the button. “I’ll make you shut up. Make you shut up all goddamn night.”

“Frankie,” you gasp, grabbing hold of his shirt. You push on his chest, walking him backwards over to the workbench.

The thing shudders when he rocks against it.

“The fuck are you doing?” he murmurs, watching as you kneel before him.

“Getting used to it,” you reply.

You pull his belt apart, loosen the fly on his pants, and pull until they’re low on his hips.

Frankie holds onto the bench with a white-knuckle grip. He lays his hand over the crown of your head, rubbing small circles. A laugh slips across his tongue. “This what you’ve been thinkin’ about?”

You ignore him, instead focusing on the solid shape in his underwear.

His hips flinch when you drag your palm along it. He’s hard already. He hisses at your cold fingers on his stomach, tensing as your knuckles skim below the elastic.

And then…he’s in your palm. All of him. Frankie fucking Morales.

You’re trying not to think too deep about it.

Your fingers wrap around him, barely meeting around his width, and you slip him from his boxers.

His cock springs free, swaying once, twice – then settling to the right.

Your mouth fills with saliva. Suddenly – there’s no way not to think too deep about it.

He’s…he’s big. He’s thick; smooth and sculpted, veins trailing around his shaft. It’s not like you ever considered what he’s walking around with before, but looking at it now – you can’t believe it’s him.

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him all the way down to the hair at his base. A wet trail, lips curving around the size of him. You run your tongue up and down, circling the tip and toying with it.

Frankie cups your cheek. “Pretty little mouth,” he utters. “Put it to good use, huh?”

You don’t need him to ask twice.

You sink down on him. Every inch of him – every aching, choking inch. Your jaw slackens to take him; nails digging into his thighs when he bumps the back of your throat.

“Oh, shit, baby,” he hisses. His hand comes down on your head a little too heavily.

You yelp and pull back, gasping when he slips out. “Prick,” you breathe, closing your lips around his tip again.

“Just too sweet with it,” he murmurs, guiding himself back across your tongue.

You suckle on him, using your hands to pump the inches your mouth can’t take.

Frankie’s head tips back, panting at the roof. His hips thrust to meet your movements. “Feels so – goddamn – good,” he moans, and you hum with glee.

You take his balls in your hands, kneading them as you work your way lower. He’s so deep in your mouth that it makes your eyes water. Each slip of his tip against the back of your throat makes you gag, pulls a lewd, muffled sound from your chest.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t be enjoying it this much. But he’s falling apart under your fingertips, he’s unwinding right before you. He’s whispering your name, begging you not to stop. Just like that, just like that, just like that. Oh, fuck, just like that.

It’s addictive. Now that you know how he looks, how he feels, you’ll never go back to before. When the most thrill he gave you was a burning temper; feeling your pulse jump in your throat with rage.

This – whatever the fuck this is – is all you know, now. Pulling threads from one another, watching the way they unravel. Watching each other unravel. Flashes of eye contact, salt and slick and sex dripping from every secret word.

Frankie’s hips jerk. His cock spasms.

You don’t want him to come down your throat. You don’t want him to climax when he’s too deep for you to taste it.

You want him all over – your lips, your tongue, dribbling down your chin. You want to mix him with your saliva and swallow; warm, salty, Frankie.

He got his taste. Now you want yours.

You bring your hands up to his thighs, purposefully pushing back off him.

His grip loosens, and he looks down. Brows low and close, eyes blown wide like he’s higher than any drug could take him.

He’s as addicted as you are.

“My mouth,” you mumble, head of his cock circling your glistening lips. “In my mouth.”

“Yeah?” he says, and the weight of his cock slaps on your bottom lip. “That where you want it, baby?”

“Mhm.” You wrap your lips back around him.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” Frankie spits, laughing. “Shit – just like that. Yeah, that’s it.”

Three, four more soaking strokes of your tongue and he’s twitching again.

You pull back only enough to rest his tip on your tongue, feeling the pulsing heat as he comes. Watching the way his face tightens, the pull of his brows as it overcomes him.

His eyes stay locked on you. Your fluttering lashes, your puffy, glossy lips. He fills your mouth and then some – semen spilling from the corners and dribbling down your jaw. And the sound he makes – this broken, scattered moan, bordering on a fucking whimper – is fucking perfect.

Frankie’s hand locks at the base of your skull, holding you steady until he’s done. His cock slips from your bottom lip. He gives one last satisfied sigh, petting your head as you stroke him slowly, tenderly – swiping kitten licks at the dripping mess of him.

“Fuck,” he moans, letting his eyes close over. His weight slumps against the workbench. “The fuck do you spend so much time yapping for when you’re that good with your mouth?”

You hum in amusement, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock. He’s softening, but still a decent size. Still a weight to it that makes your cunt clench around nothing.

One last little kiss, and you tuck him back into his boxers. You drag the back of your hand across your chin.

Frankie holds his hands out, and you pull yourself up. He fixes himself into his jeans, turning away to do up his belt. He had his cock in your throat two minutes ago, and here he is pretending to be shy.

He turns back around, half disappeared to the dark shed. “I, uh…I don’t want you to think that I came here just to…just for that.”

Your tongue dabs at the inside of your cheek, all salty. “Then this is awkward, ‘cause that’s the only reason I hadn’t kicked you out yet.”

He laughs, dropping your gaze. “You…” he shakes his head, “…are such a little shit, you know that?”

It’s nicer than he would’ve worded it half an hour ago. But still – having an exchange with Frankie that doesn’t involve spitting insults or jagged glares, warms your blood in a way that’s new and…unsettling.

“We should probably…” You toss a thumb over your shoulder, eyes flitting to the string bulbs outside. “We don’t want them wondering what’s…you know.”

He nods and strides over to the door. The wood squeals against concrete as he pulls it open.

The summer swirls around you again, sweetening the stuffy heat of the shed. Mal’s voice surfs through the breeze – she’s still arguing over the Busch Gardens story.

You make to step out, and Frankie’s arm halts you.

He opens his palm. “Even,” he tells you. “We’re even.”

He seems sure of himself. Sure of you. He looks you in the eye and doesn’t blink.

You smirk. Your hand slips into his, letting him shake your fist once. You stare straight back at him.

“We’re just getting fucking started, Francisco.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #bbf!frankie #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fic

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kiarchs · 5 months ago

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“no one can fuck you like i do,” (oc x nate jacobs)

requests are open!

summery; mallory and nate get into an argument because she said a random hookup fucked better than he did — and he needs to prove her wrong.

warnings; smut (obvi), p in v, choking, fighting, a lot of swearing, degradation (whore is it im pretty sure), no protection, jealousy, possessiveness, gaslighting, manipulation, toxic relationship in general, slightly dark! nate??, hair pulling.

a/n; nate definitely has a size kink… like he loves looking down at his partner and realizing how small their body is compared to his.

not proofread! Imk if i missed any warning <3

Mallory usually stayed the night at Nate’s house after every date they went on. Nate had just taken her to the bowling alley — apologizing for the last fight they had before they broke up. But, they were back together now.

Mallory left Nate’s room to take a quick shower, leaving her phone on his nightstand. Little did Mallory know, Nate took that as the perfect opportunity to go through her phone.

He did that every once in a while, just to ease his anxiety about her cheating on him.

But this time, he actually found something.

After a while, Mallory quietly walked back into Nate’s room with a towel wrapped around her body, and her blonde hair dripping water onto his carpet.

“Mal, who the fuck is Milo?” Nate asked, not even giving her enough time to shut his bedroom door all the way. His voice was calm, but Mallory could tell my the tone of his voice that the calmness was going to be very very short lived.

“I don’t know,” Mallory lied, shrugging her shoulders as she walked over to Nate’s closet.

“You don’t know?” Nate let out a sarcastic laugh, getting up from the spot on his bed and walking over to the shorter girl — and shoving her own phone in her face.

“Who the fuck is Milo, Mallory?” Nate raised his voice.

“What the fuck are you doing going through my phone?” Mallory defended, grabbing her phone from his grip. She read the texts Nate was referring too — and her heart immediately dropped.

The texts were between her and Maddy, talking about how Mallory hooked up with a guy at a party — but, that’s when they were broken up. He was referring to the text Mallory had sent, saying Milo fucked better than Nate ever could.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Nate said, leaning his head down and grabbing the back of Mallory’s neck �� pulling her closer to him.

“Who’s Milo?” He repeated, asking the question in such a calm way — as if he wasn’t hurting his girlfriend.

“A guy —“ Mallory choked out, trying to blink the tears that were forming in her eyes back. “We hooked up at Mckay’s party a few weeks ago,”

“Was his dick big?” Nate said, loosening his grip on Mallory’s neck.

“Nate, what the fuck?”

“Well you said he fucked better than me, did he?” Nate narrowed his eyes down at her.

“What if he did?” Mallory Smirked. She only said that to get a rise out of him, because no one could ever fuck better than Nate Jacobs, and Mallory knew that.

“Then i’ll kill him,” Nate said, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“Nate, you’re fucking psychotic,” Mallory raised her voice, pushing past him. Though, she didn’t get very far — as Nate put both of his hands around her throat and slammed her body against the wall, kissing down her neck.

“Who the fuck are you to call me psychotic? Hm?” Nate mumbled, biting and sucking on the side of Mallory’s neck.

“Nate—,” Mallory moaned, as he found the sweet spot on the side of her neck. Nate took that as an opportunity to suck on that spot for a while — until he was sure it would leave a mark.

“Fucking whore,” Nate laughed, moving his head back up, looking down at the blonde. His large hand moved up and grabbed her chin while the other buried in her wet hair, harshly pulling on it, forcing Mallory to look into his eyes. His face is inches from hers, brown eyes basically black from how wide his pupils were blown out, the look in them feral.

Nate picked her up, before throwing her onto his bed — the towel that hung loosely around her body flying off in the process.

Nate smirked down at his girlfriend, as he crawled above her. If theres one girl Nate Jacobs loved, it would be Mallory Collins — and knowing she slept with another guy made him want to kill him. But, he’d rather take his anger out on something more realistic.

“So, was his dick bigger than mine?” Nate whispered, leaning down and kissing Mallory’s lips.

“If it was, killing him wouldn’t change it,” Mallory smiled into the kiss, mumbling her words on his lips. Nate took that as an opportunity to sneak his tongue into her mouth. They made out for a while, until Mallory’s grabbed the waistband of Nate’s sweatpants.

Mallory broke the kiss, as she looked up at him.

“I’ll shoot his fucking dick off then,” Nate smiled, waisting no time — pulling his sweatpants and boxers off. Without a warning, he harshly flipped Mallory around so she was on her stomach.

Nate didn’t wait another second — and harshly smashed his body into Mallory, making her gasp loudly.

“Fuck — you’re always so tight for me,” Nate groaned, thrusting into her at a faster pace.

Mallory whimpered, trying her hardest not to be loud, as Nate’s family were still very much awake — and she didn’t want them to hear her. Even though, they’ve heard her plenty times before…

“Did he fuck you — this good?” Nate asked in between thrusts. Mallory didn’t bother to answer, but she let out a small moan.

When she don’t respond, he let out a low huff, moving his hand from her waist, to her throat. Nate pulled Mallory up, so her back side was smacking against his chest with each thrust. “Did he fuck you this good?” Nate repeated.

“No,” Mallory whined.

“That’s what i thought,” Nate laughed lowly, harshly letting his grip on Mallory’s neck go — sending her back onto the bed.

“No one can fuck you like I do,”

#nate jacobs #euphoria #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs x you #oroginalcharacter #euphoria fanfic #jacob elordi #madelyn cline #felix catton #sarah cameron #wattpad #maddy perez #party #smut #jacob elordi smut #nate jacobs smut #euphoria smut

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wisteria-blooms · 6 months ago

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sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (11/?)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST AT THE BOTTOM! (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I've missed you!) A/N: All filler no killer here... (this just needed to be written to serve as a segue to the next plot point. I have a 6:45 a.m. shift tomorrow yet here I am lol).

CHAPTER 11: Charlie tilts your world upside down with a question. (5.9k words)

CHAPTER 11: WINTER WONDERLAND

The sweater you were holding fell to the floor and landed by your feet. You stared blankly at Charlie who mirrored your expression with unwavering, handsome inquisition. The only thing complementing your stunned gaze was a silence that lingered for what felt like hours.

Your voice was far behind your thoughts when you spoke again. “I’m sorry,”—your lungs desperately pushed the rest of your sentence out as you tilted your head—“repeat that one more time?”

Charlie obliged your request. “I need you to supervise an exam for me. In a fortnight.” He stepped closer, feet landing in your lightly-sunned room for the first time. He swung over to you with both of his hands in his pockets. The gentle afternoon light danced over his face as he walked over. His posture was suave, his expression charming, his gaze gentle but holding a sense of assertion that left you no room to refuse his ask. “Be my invigilator.”

“For your… class?”

Charlie nodded.

After a few moments, his words began sinking into your frazzled brain. He must have thought you so stupid for taking so long to come to the conclusion: Charlie was asking you to be the invigilator for his Care of Magical Creatures class.

You furrowed your brows. This had to be a sick joke. Fred and George probably conferred with Charlie about the argument you had yesterday. And now as some sort of sadistic revenge plot, Charlie was going to throw you into the pits of what you hated the most. Make you relive the embarrassment of being back on that field again. Your cheeks burned from the memory of your 13-year old self being laughed at as you pulled yourself away from the Hippogriff that was staring at you, your grass-stained robes billowing behind you. But would Charlie really find that funny? You thought he possessed a touch more tact than his younger brothers.

You twisted your mouth. You were going to test the waters out without asking any questions that were too direct. “Do you really reckon I’m qualified?”

“You’re just watching over my kids as they write an exam,” Charlie explained. “Just manual labour, nothing exciting,”—he smirked—“unless you want it to be.”

You reddened immediately, then cursed yourself at your body’s lack of resistance to his words. Charlie seemed to know how to pierce your shields with some two-toned words.

Still, you wouldn’t back out. “Is there no one available at Hogwarts to invigilate?”

Charlie shook his head. “Hagrid and I are running two exams at the same time. We plan to divide the class in half. He’ll be supervising the practical component and I’ll be administering the theoretical component. After two hours, we’ll switch the groups securely, ensuring no opportunity for the students to exchange answers.”

When Charlie noted your silence, he continued: “So, no. With me and Hagrid tied up, and every other professor having snatched up possible invigilators months prior, we’re in trouble.”

You nodded silently.

“Cat got your tongue, (Y/N)?” Charlie asked.

“No, I just—I just think I wouldn’t be the best person for this job,” you stammered. Maybe you could use this as an opportunity to gauge his relationship with Mallory. “Don’t you have friends who can help?”

Charlie lowered his eyes, blue flashing through curls of ginger, and smiled, tilting the freckles of his cheeks upwards. “I wouldn’t trust them to do half as good a job as you would.”

You frowned. “You’re absolutely mad if you think I’d do well. I have no experience in academics.”

“No, really, (Y/N), I’m serious,” Charlie assured. He planted his hand on your shoulder, engulfing the bone, and gave it a squeeze. You jolted. Those damn hands were electric no matter how hard you wished they weren’t. “I know it’s just making sure they’re well-behaved, but you’re familiar with every trick possible, aren’t you? You’ve been around my brothers long enough to see past through any possible tomfoolery.”

As you pondered, Charlie bent down and retrieved your sweater. When you handed it to you, his fingers grazed yours. Another spark.

“Thank you,” you said as you took the sweater back in your possession. “About that… can I get back to you?”

Charlie smiled. “Sure, take your time.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

Even after Charlie had long left your room, you remained unmoving. In a physical sense, at least, because emotionally, your feelings were at war. It felt like bullets littering your chest, firing little sparks of anger. If Charlie had asked you just a week prior, you would’ve started packing at this very moment, taking only a moment’s rest to punch the air in celebration. Part of you still wanted to say yes, to rush out the door and tell him of course you were going with him. But the other part of you couldn’t pinpoint Charlie’s intentions with you and it made you anxious and wary. You wanted to scream ‘no’ and tell him he couldn’t keep doing this to you—pulling your affections in all directions like a rubber band just to snap you back in place. It hurt. Underneath it all, you felt terribly for treating Charlie this way just based on an assumption you’d made about him and Mallory. If it was false, and you’d lost your temper at Fred and George for nothing…

Fred. George. You weren’t ready to think about them just yet. You’d revisit your actions in a couple days when your mind was more logical.

Later that afternoon, you strolled back into Malfoy Manor. It was time to flip the switch. Charlie, off. Your family, on. A cold sun hovered above you, its glow painting the temperature brisk this November afternoon. The wind blew out the warmth in your hair, from the soft curls you’d teased into it. A cream sweater fell over your pleated, ankle-length dress. You hid your remaining skin with tights, and a pair of heels to finish everything off. With the tasteful silver jewellery dangling off your wrists, you were sure to slip by Aunt Rosamund’s scrutinising eyes without a word.

It was all too silent in the manor. But you wouldn’t be alone for long. From the opposing corridor, you saw a familiar face. Half yours, half not—Draco.

Draco’s lips were pulled straight. “We were starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“So good to see you, too, dear brother.” Your voice was deceptively saccharine, and so opposite of your unmoving face. “I so hope you’ve been well.”

“That’s revolting,” Draco barked. “Stop that.”

“But I’ve missed you so much,” you said. And what he didn’t know was that you meant it. A feeling of normalcy rushed through your bones as you looked at his disgusted expression. Your smile grew much to Draco’s displeasure. This was life before Charlie and you were nostalgic for it: being at home everyday, getting into needless arguments, and ribbing Draco.

“Get a move on,” Draco said. “You don’t want to keep our grandfather waiting.”

You stopped walking.

“What’s he doing here?” you asked.

“Our grandfather?” Draco voice pitched with incredulity at your question, making you feel stupid. “Have you forgotten how to read letters?”

“No, I’ve just been busy.” You kept your answer curt. Detailing your heartbreak to your brother was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Well, best of luck to you, then,” Draco offered with a scoff.

Draco opened the door on your behalf, the languid swing unveiling a terrifying scene. Unveiling your sure death. Well, it was beautiful at first glance: a pristine, well-kept drawing room with perfectly-shined upholstery; magnificent hand-crafted paintings with sublime streaks of oil paint; ceiling-high windows cradled by velvet curtains; teacups upon doilies upon oak tables. But what disturbed you the most were the occupants in the room, and in order, your eyes swiped over your mother, your father, your grandfather, your Aunt Rosamund, her husband, Charlotte, Clara, and Dobby. Charlotte and Clara were the only ones in the room smiling which told you a lot about the state of affairs—sordid.

Aunt Rosamund was one thing to prepare for, but Abraxas Malfoy was a different beast.

Abraxas stood tall with a cane planted on the carpet, his velvet robe sweeping down his legs. His face was decorated with deep, menacing wrinkles. His hardened blue eyes appraised you and Draco as if surmising how much of a disappointment to the family you’d become. Not you singular—you, plural. In a rare moment of unity, the pair of you looked like deer caught in headlights.

“Hello, grandfather,” you greeted first as usual.

“Hello, grandfather,” Draco quickly followed after.

Abraxas acknowledged you with a curt response: “Good afternoon.”

You found your seat next to your mother, and Draco took the seat by your father.

“Rosamund, I trust your travels were uneventful?” Abraxas asked Aunt Rosamund.

“Yes,” your aunt responded.

“And Charlotte and Clara are faring well at their boarding school in Switzerland?”

”I couldn’t ask any better of them.”

”(Y/N),” your mother whispered from beside you and leaned in. The concern on her face was visible as day. “Rosamund said she saw you on the streets earlier this morning. She said you looked as if you were in last night’s clothing. Is any of this true?”

”No,” you lied. “You know how dramatic Aunt Rosamund is when I have a hair out of place.”

Narcissa backed off and was seemingly satisfied with your answer. But her flittering glances towards you meant the conversation wasn’t over; it meant she herself suspected something. But you evaded her eyes and half-listened to Aunt Rosamund’s droning conversation with Abraxas. You heard bits about Charlotte and Clara’s schooling, vacations, equestrian lessons and—

“I don’t want to sit through a boring dinner tonight!” Charlotte whined suddenly. You jerked your head up to catch her pulling at her mother’s sleeve hem. “I want to see London.”

You had not mentally prepared for this herculean task of a family dinner. “Tonight?” you questioned a touch above a whisper, but it was loud enough to captivate the room. Then, your eyes widened, realising it was more than Draco or your mother that was going to chastise you for your lack of awareness.

Luckily, you were to be saved. Before Abraxas could speak, your father coughed and drew the room’s attention to him. Lucius looked strangely frazzled, his teeth gritted and his blue eyes darting between you and Narcissa and then briefly to his own father.

“In that case, why don’t we have your cousin (Y/N) accompany you into the city tonight?” Lucius offered to Charlotte hastily.

Charlotte was starry-eyed. She looked very much like a child that had just recovered from a meltdown over ice-cream. “Really?”

“Of course, Charlotte,” Lucius appeased. “You’ve been to enough dinners. It can become rather monotonous, especially for two bright and eager minds like you and your sister.” He directed his glance towards you, not once looking at Draco, before turning to your aunt. “(Y/N) would be thrilled to show your daughters around London, Rosamund. It would be properly enriching.”

“I would?” You kept your voice below any threshold of hearing. “I don’t recall saying yes.”

“We should profit off the short time you’re spending here with us,” Lucius cooed. The sight was revolting. He continued asking his nieces: “Is there anything you want to see?”

“Clara and I would like to go to the Christmas Market, uncle, it’s just so lovely where you live,” Charlotte answered as if she was still currying a favour. What she didn’t know was that none of this had to do with her or her wishes. Lucius was hell-bent on getting you and potentially Charlie out of this dinner with Abraxas, and a refusal to any request of hers was impossible. She could ask for possession of the manor and Lucius would sign the deed.

“Oh, splendid choice,” Lucius hummed. “There are numerous restaurants I myself enjoy in that area. (Y/N) will show you around the market and you can settle down for dinner. I will make a reservation for you right away.”

“Way to plant words in my mouth,” you murmured.

“Why are you upset?” Draco snarled. “I see it as a great way to get out of dinner with grandfather. I’d volunteer to do it if I could.”

“You wouldn’t last a minute. Your gloom and their happiness,”—you gestured to your cousins who were now rushing up the stairs to change—“are not compatible. You’d die.”

“Listening to our grandfather drone on about my lack of financial planning and carrying on the family legacy is a more tortuous death.”

“Ugh, the procession planning talk. I almost feel sorry for you.” You cocked your head, expression quickly brightening. “Hm, maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.” You slapped Draco's shoulder. “Maybe if you tried to understand women more, you would’ve been chosen for the job.”

“I do understand women,” Draco scoffed. “That’s why I have Astoria, who, by the way, is invited to this dinner and not being shown out the door like a stray dog.”

You rolled your eyes and that was enough to get Draco to leave it.

You bid your farewells before walking to the foyer to wait on your cousins. No more than ten minutes later did they come. Charlotte and Clara tumbled down the steps all dolled up and doe-eyed. If they were challenging you to a game of spot-the-difference, it was a difficult one. There was very little to pinpoint besides the colour of their plaid skirts and sweaters. Both girls took to white stockings and Oxfords, cable-knit sweaters, cloaks, and fuzzy mittens to keep warm. A bow in their hair completed the look.

You tapped the heel of your kitten heel on the marble as if to make a point. “I was hoping to change into something more suitable if we’re walking around all night.”

“Alright.” Charlotte plopped down on a plush bench by the wall. “Go ahead.”

“I meant at my apartment,” you clarified, extending a hand to Charlotte to pull her back up again. She frowned, so you added: “I live close to the Christmas market. It won’t take long.”

“You moved away?” Charlotte's eyes widened.

“I did.”

“Alright,” Clara giggled from behind you. She took your other gloved hand. “But you have to give us a tour of the place first.”

“Of course,” you agreed. You just prayed that Charlie wasn’t walking around shirtless.

You jangled your keys with force at your door, the sharp clacks screaming down the hall. Charlotte and Clara thought nothing of it, unaware you were doing this to warn Charlie (if he was inside) that you were coming home. To give him the chance to stuff Mallory in the closet and put a shirt on himself. You thrust the key inside and turned it in an absurdly slow motion. If he didn’t hear the clacking, he would’ve definitely heard this.

You pushed the door open and were relieved to find a quiet, empty hallway. Charlie’s door was ajar but there was no one in there, and you were glad for many reasons. Charlotte and Clara ran full speed ahead. You ran right behind them.

Charlie may or may not have been expecting you to be back, but he definitely wasn’t expecting two teenagers to be barrelling into the living room, a flurry of limbs and white-blonde hair. Luckily, Charlie wasn’t displaying qualities of exhibitionism that you imagined prior, and your cousins would maintain another day of perpetual innocence. Instead, he was sat in the living room writing. He paused mid-stroke, quill perfectly still in his hand, when the intruders presented themselves.

“(Y/N).” Charlotte turned back towards you, her voice even and not afflicted with even the slightest fear of a stranger. “Do you… have a visitor, by any chance?”

“No,” you said as you caught up to her, slightly huffing. “This is Charlie, my—”, and in looking for the most natural and palatable word, you landed on, “—roommate. Charlie, this is Charlotte and,” you pointed behind you. “Clara.” Charlie got up from the couch. “Lovely to finally meet you. (Y/N) has spoken so much about you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Clara responded politely.

“And mine, too,” Charlotte repeated.

“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked your cousins though his gaze was mainly on you.

“We’re going to stroll around the Christmas Market and have dinner,” you answered on their behalf. “I had to come back for more suitable footwear.”

Charlie looked down at your shoes. “I see.”

”You should come with us!” Charlotte offered.

“Would you?” Clara echoed.

“Tonight?” Charlie questioned. After a moment of contemplation, he responded, “Sure.”

“You don’t have to if you’re busy, Charlie,” you said.

You didn’t want to entwine Charlie into your life any further than you already had. If he was successful in charming your youngest cousins—which you were certain he was—he was going to be impossible to destitch. You’d be hearing about him for the next decade.

“No, I’m not,” Charlie assured. “I’ll finish my letter as you change.”

Charlotte and Clara’s excitement eclipsed yours and you were grateful for it. You retreated back to your room and let your cousins marvel at the sights outside the living room window. Navigating your feelings for Charlie was like swimming through sludge. You were not thrilled about this forced game of house. There was no doubt Charlotte and Clara were going to pry for details about you and Charlie to which you had no genuine answers, and none that excited you to think about either.

No more than fifteen minutes later, the four of you were walking down a lively street flush with market-goers. Lampposts, with red, green, and white lights snaked around them, shined at full force. Strings of gold lights criss-crossed above you. The scent of chocolate, peppermint and waffles smothered your senses.It was beautiful here, very quintessentially Christmas although you reckoned it was much too early for it. You stuck your gloved hands in your coat pockets—it was cold enough to be Christmas though. You let your cousins walk in front, marking their proximity with the long puffs of air that rose from their lips. But you didn’t need to slow them down one bit; they were stopping every few steps to take in all the lit-up buildings, signs, and food vendors.

“This is such an interesting architecture choice,” remarked Charlotte, pointing to a brick with a chunk missing.

“Isn’t it?” Charlie entertained. “Classic English architecture.” Charlotte walked away, looking satisfied with her observation. Then, Charlie whispered to you when your cousins were out of earshot. “I’d hate to tell them the truth. Some drunk bloke probably punched it out after a night out.”

“Ouch,” you emphasised, shaking your hand.

Charlie traced over a faint scar on his hand and chuckled. “It was probably me.” The puff of air that left his left almost graced your forehead, and like a contagious touch, his laugh made you smile, too.

“Ooh!” you heard one of your cousins exclaimed as they planted themselves at a stall. They were in the middle of combing through the menu when you caught up to them. Charlie was the first to arrive by their side. It smelt like cocoa. Your eyes trailed down the menu which confirmed your suspicions.

“It’s rather chilly. I’d love a hot cocoa, wouldn’t you, Charlotte?” Clara asked.

“I would.”

“Want one, (Y/N)?” Charlie nudged you, interrupting you from your mindless perusing of the menu.

“Perhaps.”

“Don’t be shy,” Charlie encouraged. “Just order what looks enticing to you.”

You stepped forward towards your cousins and so did Charlie. Charlie was first to act. “Alright,” he prompted, leaning down to see at Clara and Charlotte’s level. “Go on.”

“Excuse me,” Clara said. “May I have a hot cocoa with whipped cream?”

“And I’ll have the same, but with extra marshmallows, please,” added Charlotte.

“I’ll have the same as her,” Charlie said, pointing to Charlotte. “Excellent choice.” Then, the three looked back at you expectantly.

Working through the disbelief that Charlie had bonded so effortlessly with your cousins, you spoke. “I’ll have a latte, please.”

“You’re so boring, (Y/N)!” Charlotte commented.

“So boring,” Charlie repeated, getting up from his kneeling stance. He reached into his pockets and handed a handful of coins to the stall attendant. “Cheers, mate.”

You stepped forward quickly. “You didn’t have to,” you said, grasping Charlie’s arm. “This excursion is on me.” Then, you thought of the expensive dinner reservation waiting for you in about three hours. “And my father.”

“Think nothing of it,” Charlie assured. In the most casual manner, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Just making sure my ladies are taken care of.”

‘Don’t say that,’ a voice in your head screamed. You had to remind yourself that Charlie’s colloquials meant nothing to him and everything to you.

The four of you ambled into the market with warm drinks in hand. You wondered if you gave off the impression of a family. Not that you wanted it to—you were doing this with a wand (or your father’s cane) pointed to your head. You certainly did not enjoy the idea of domesticity with Charlie. Not at all. Not a single bit. And you couldn’t even tempt yourself with daydreams because of what he’d said to Don the night of the concert, that he’d rather raise dragons instead of children. But you’d be lying if you said the interaction between him and your cousins earlier didn’t make your heart tender.

“So, what do you do for work, Charlie?” Clara asked, looking up at him. If you thought the height difference between you and Charlie was significant, then the one between him and your cousins was comical.

“I work with dragons in Romania.”

“With dragons? How exciting!”

Charlotte perked up from his other side. “Is it true there are vampires in Romania? Have you seen them?”

“Well,” Charlie began. “There was that one night when I was camping alone on the outskirts of town. It was for a study on the sleep cycles of baby dragons. I thought I was alone until I heard a noise around midnight…”

He had your cousin’s full attention with his little tale. He truly was able to charm everyone he met.

You spent the next couple hours supervising Charlotte and Clara as they ran around the fairgrounds. Charlie was a good sport, following your cousins from opposite ends of the market and sampling everything from waffles to toasties to bratwurst from stalls. After criss-crossing the grounds for the third time, you were ever so glad you’d changed footwear.

Charlotte and Clara’s next enthralment was a stall filled with ornaments and trinkets. Clara reached over to touch a dragon ornament. It was the most ridiculous design: a baby dragon in a Santa hat blowing fire into the fireplace. But Clara was indifferent, her only concern being who it might be a gift for. “This is perfect for you, Charlie.”

“You think so?” Charlie asked.

“I do,” Clara said as she unhooked the ornament from its wooden peg. She looked around some more until she landed on a pair of red peony earrings. She unhooked the jewellery and whispered, “Perfect.”

“Is that for Charlie too?” you joked. Charlie pulled at his earlobe. You laughed.

“No,” Clara clarified. “This is for you, (Y/N).”

“Why’d you choose that for (Y/N)?” Charlie asked.

“Because peonies represent romance and happy marriages,” Clara stated without missing a beat.

Charlotte stifled a laugh into her mittens.

”What do you mean by that?” you asked quickly.

“I shouldn’t tell you right now,” Clara said slyly. “It might be a little embarrassing, especially since Charlie is here, too.”

“How do you know what the flower symbolises, Clara?” Charlie asked.

“I’ve been very curious about botany recently,” she said.

“Tell me more about it,” Charlie encouraged.

As Clara began rambling on about flowers, you racked your mind for any moment in time where you’d mentioned a relationship or marriage to your cousins. Nothing came to mind. Charlie looked unaffected and didn’t prod further. You decided to leave it.

After Clara made her purchases, you proceeded to the centre of the park which was flush with rides. You looked up at one of them, an intimidating structure with loops of upside down hell and—

“I’ll sit and wait,” you offered with a step back towards the bench.

“Are you sure? It’s your loss,” Charlie asked, his head tilting towards you. From your peripheral, you saw his blue eyes looking down at you and his lips curling into a smile. He left so little distance that you were nervous to turn around in case you’d accidentally kiss him.

You were glad your cousins were preoccupied with watching the coaster run and listening to the screams of the people on it.

”I’m sure,” you said before sitting down.

“I’ll take Charlotte and Clara,” Charlie volunteered.

You’d become the girls’ personal porter shortly afterwards, their little handbags looped around your arms and their purchases on your lap. You kept an eye on them even though you didn’t have to—Charlie was ushering them from exit to entrance, never giving them more than a metre’s advantage.

You didn’t understand how Charlie could be content with being here, taking care of barely-teenagers who never stopped talking. You didn’t understand why he’d invited you to go to Hogwarts to invigilate his exam unless it was a cruel joke. The only thing that abated the tension in your chest was watching his ginger curls whip around in circles on the teacup ride. Every so often, you’d get a millisecond of his face, of Charlie mid-laugh, looking like a child himself.

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so hard on him earlier.

There wasn’t much time to reflect on that as the ride came to a stop moments later. “I’m nauseous,” Clara grumbled as she stumbled towards you.

“Maybe dinner will settle your stomach,” you suggested with a smile and placed a hand on her back.

You should’ve known dinner was going to be the crux of the chaos.

The maître d'hôtel’s face hid nothing. His judgemental expression was rude, and it was clear he was having a hard time grasping the reservation and the relationship between the guests. Four under Malfoy. You were the Malfoy. The quirk of his eyebrow begged to know who Charlie was in relation to you. And his tightly-pressed lips made the inference that your cousins were your daughters. Their childlike appearance wasn’t helping anything. But luckily, nothing came out of it and you were promptly seated. You ignored the couple of glances tossed at you as you walked down the restaurant.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you sunk into the chair. The sound of fresh wine being poured into your glass was soothing after a long day. You had just to get through this last thing and you could go home under the guise of escorting your cousins back to the manor. You wouldn’t have to explain to Charlie why you weren’t coming back to the apartment nor would you have to tell your parents why you were home. In a way, Aunt Rosamund’s untimely arrival was blessed.

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” Charlotte asked suddenly.

“What does it remind you of?” Charlie asked.

“Genevieve’s wedding,” Charlotte chirped happily, gesturing to the seats around the round table. “We were sitting with (Y/N) just like this.”

“And you were drinking the same thing,” Clara recalled. “But Draco was sitting next to you.”

You nodded slowly, cautious of where this was going. “It does look familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Except you cried your eyes out at Genevienve’s wedding!” Charlotte exclaimed suddenly, like her lips had been sewn shut and she finally managed to rip the seams. Your wine glass shuddered at her timbre. Her outburst caught the attention of everyone within a metre range. A couple of heads from the other tables whipped around at the commotion.

“I did not!” you scolded quietly. You avoided Charlie’s curious glance and focussed on holding your cousin’s hand in restraint.

“(Y/N) doesn’t remember because she was drinking too much, Charlie,” Clara informed with a giggle.

“I can see that,” Charlie agreed.

Great, you didn’t have enough hands to hold back all three of them. “I wasn’t drinking that much,” you retorted. Comparatively, to your family members.

“(Y/N) and Genevieve usually look like they want to strangle each other, but they were crying into each other’s arms by the end of the night,” Charlotte added. Then, she twisted her mouth to change her voice. “Genevieve, I’m so happy for you. Max is such a great guy.”

“Don’t worry, (Y/N), it will happen for you, too,” Charlotte imitated again in an uppity-tone to play the role of Genevieve. She swatted the air to mime Genevienve patting your back. And then she reverted back to her impression of you. “At this rate, I will die alone. But tonight is all about you, dear cousin.”

Now that you thought about it, this definitely did happen back in August. But you didn’t think anyone was actually listening. Just how loud were you?

“What we’re saying is that she does care greatly about things like marriage,” Clara clarified with a self-satisfied shimmy. “And a peony is perfect for it. Just saying.”

Charlie nodded. “Thank you, Clara.”

“You’re very welcome, Charlie,” Clara responded.

Clearly, Clara thought she was doing you a favour. You peeked around for any sign of your food and was distraught to find no sign of the waiter. This night couldn’t be over sooner.

But it wasn’t.

After dinner, Charlotte and Clara wanted to explore the grounds further. Things were more fun when the crowds thinned, they proclaimed. By now, it was close to 10 p.m. Out of everyone here, you were the only one panicked—you were going to be serious shit if you didn’t bring the girls back to the manor soon. Lucius was going to be in one ear with Aunt Rosamund in your other. However, you hadn’t received any owls requesting their return yet, so you could gamble another half hour or so.

Charlotte and Clara were dragging you and Charlie to the ferris wheel now. You looked up at the brilliant spinning sphere. You made them promise that this was their last ride because you were hightailing it home after. They agreed.

The attendant, some tall and lanky teenager, ushered people onto the steps and guided them into the proper carriage. Each vessel fit four, enough for all of you, or so you thought.

“Mhm, we’d like our own carriage,” Clara said, slipping in with Charlotte and motioning for the attendant to close the door. “See you later, (Y/N).”

Charlie answered for you: “Bye.”

Awkwardly, you waited for the next carriage to dip down. You shuffled inside with Charlie who didn’t seem to mind being alone with you. You sat as the attendant shut the door. Charlie stretched out his legs until the sole of his shoe met the base of the opposite seat; you couldn’t do that if you tried. The moonlight filtered in and out as you rose in the air. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself: three rotations and you’d be done. You could go home and forget today ever happened.

There was a nudge at your side. Charlie. “Thank you for letting me tag along,” Charlie said. “I’ve had fun beyond my expectations.”

“I should be thanking you. You are such good company for my cousins. They find you thoroughly entertaining.”

Charlie exhaled and chuckled. “I can only hope I did a decent job.”

Your expression softened. His words always found a way to pull a smile out of you, especially when they were earnest. You preferred this side of him, and it made you want to do terrible things like be vulnerable with him. Say yes to his proposition. Run off to Hogwarts for the better half of a week with him.

Your feelings for Charlie were volatile, ever-changing on an hourly basis. It felt so good to soar high then crash. Maybe you were a fiend for adrenaline. And you could feed that monster further if you agreed to his proposition. You kicked your legs back and forth anxiously, slightly swaying the carriage.

“We’re going to fall out if you keep doing that,” Charlie commented coolly.

“I’m expecting you to save us both.”

“You think highly of me,” he said.

Out of some sense of curiosity and mischievousness, your hand travelled to lay on top of his. “I do.”

“Even for someone who’s just your roommate?”

You pouted. He was mocking your introduction of him to your cousins earlier this evening. “It was the only suitable word, unless you want to explain everything to them.”

“I was hoping I’d be more than just a roommate,” Charlie chuckled. “And you should do the honours of explaining everything to them. It was your idea.”

“It wasn’t my brightest,” you admitted. “Now, I really do feel like falling out of this carriage.”

“No,” he corrected. All of a sudden, his hand slipped out from under yours, latched on, and pulled. Your silky dress glided on the plastic seat, the lack of friction making it stupidly easy for you to crash against his body. Your body slanted towards his, and the warmth of his chest spread against your shoulders. His breath fanned your cheek as he said, “If you go, we’ll go together.”

“I’ve never heard anything more romantic,” you said, rolling your eyes. The action didn’t go unnoticed by Charlie.

“That’s what I’m known for,” Charlie boasted. Then, he squeezed your hand curiously. “You feel cold. Are you?”

“Erm, I haven’t been, so, I don’t think—”

“It must be the elevation change,” Charlie concluded. He pulled you just the slightest bit closer. “It’s a good thing I’m naturally warm-blooded.”

When his embrace sent a rush of heat through your body, you were inclined to agree. Any joke you wanted to make was lost on your tongue. The carriage began to descend and when you looked down, you saw two little blonde heads.

“(Y/N)?” Charlie’s voice was cutting despite him talking in a near-whisper; the distance it had to travel was not far at all.

“Yes, Charlie?”

Any trace of intelligible thought disappeared when his eyes locked with yours. You couldn’t have been more than a couple inches apart, and you felt as if your eyelashes would interlace if you dared blink. Your stomach lurched as you thought about what he was going to ask of you. He might ask to kiss you (again). He might tell you he was tired of the charades and this was going to be the last time you saw each other.

“What I asked you earlier, about coming to invigilate with me—”

Your heart dropped suddenly like the ride Clara had gotten sick on earlier. He was going to admit that it was all a joke.

“What about it?”

“Would you give it some serious consideration? I would really like you to come.”

Your lips parted in surprise. If this was a joke, then Charlie was committing to the bitter end.

“It would be as good for you as much as it would be good for me,” he promised.

What did he mean by that?

“Of course,” you said. You had to will yourself not to say yes this moment. I’d love to go with you. “I’ll let you know soon.”

When the carriages descended, you retrieved your cousins and proceeded towards the exit of the fairgrounds Charlotte, in secret and while holding your hand, asked if you had kissed Charlie at the apex of the ride which you vehemently denied. She didn’t seem to believe you and pointed out that your cheeks were really, really red. Leave it to the barely-teenager to be more scrupulous than you. Maybe you should be asking her what to do about Charlie. As you realised the answer would probably be, ‘just marry him!’, you knew you needed to go about this yourself.

>> NEXT CHAPTER (COMING SOON)!

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

@badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @earth-to-lottie @kissingyourgrl @sihtricswife @adalia-jaycee @anuttellaa @weasley-clan @morks-watermelon @nobodysbabydoll @annoyingbean630 @bathwater101 @ladylizzieofdarbyshire

#charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x reader

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anundyingfidelity · 5 months ago

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I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part IX)

Summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader

Word count: 2.3k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings for this chapter: some spoilers and references to S4 and Gen V, mentions of sex, mentions of kindaping, so much lying from these fuckers!!

Notes: idk who's still interested on this crap because my original drafts went to hell once S4 dropped (but also my fault i was waiting for that lol), anyway I'll try to be consistent with this is giving me nightmares i swear. thank you if you're still here 😭

<<< Previous Part

get yourself in the taglist!

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

And if it wasn’t much worse, there he was still, lying down on the other side of the mattress, sleeping and snoring like a stray dog you just took in to protect him from the dangers of the night. Who would have thought? But you wanted this. You fell for it eventually. And you didn’t give a single shit about it, not yet. It was great, you had to admit that. In the end, Ben was right, he could fuck pretty good and could bark about that with good reasons.

Part IX: Nobody’s Business

Rolling on your side of the bed, your eyes fluttered open. There was a warmth coming from the mattress, one that you were not used to every time you woke up. That side always came up empty, but then your mind replayed the memories of last night's events. The small and soft light emanating from the window forced you to sit up abruptly, covering your breasts with the bed sheets. The clock told you it was almost 9 a.m.

But duties are duties, you told yourself, sitting down and reaching your phone on the nightstand. There were six missed calls from an unknown number; you were pretty sure who that was. With a scoff, you got on your feet and full in your naked glory, stepped out of the room, just taking your dress from the floor to put it on as best as you could while you heard the line from the other side.

“Oi, I’ve been calling you, answer the damn phone,” the British voice on the other side spit.

You grimaced, pulling the phone away as he yelled at you before speaking. “I had important things last night. Sorry for having a life,” you lied gracefully, making your way to the kitchen to boil some water for a tea. “Besides, since do you care? I barely fucking know you, so tell me what is it before I hung up.”

Butcher sighed from the other side of the line. “I need the kid back.”

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, and I need something for it. I don’t wanna force him, but tough times require even tougher methods…”

There was a silence coming from you, trying to process his words. Soldier Boy wanted the kid, Butcher wanted the kid, and Homelander of course wanted his fucking kid. You didn’t know who was the best for Ryan. Homelander was out of the league immediately, but maybe Butcher was the only sane motherfucker between them to take care of him. After all, he was his dead wife’s son.

“What do you want me to do? You’re not gonna kidnap him, right?” you asked, unsure of what would happen if you agreed to help Butcher on it.

“No, but don’t play innocent. Can imagine you have plenty of analgesics to take down an army, doctor.”

You pictured that fucked up smirk on his face at his words, and followed his game to see if you could get somewhere.

“And what do I get in exchange? I’m not giving anything for free.”

“Novichok. Put him to deep slumber and can test the strongest drug you have on Soldier Boy without getting killed,” he whispered over the phone, as if someone was hearing his words.

“Alright, deal,” you accepted, taking off a cup to pour your tea. “Send me the address and we can meet today. Just don’t mess with me, I don’t have enough arguments to trust you right now.”

“And I can respect that. Should be receiving it soon, darling.”

With those final words, Butcher hung up the call.

Your head felt spinning, as if something had crushed you so bad. Your body hurted, and you were sore. Probably you regretted it. Not because it wasn’t good, it was something else. What had happened between Ben and you wasn’t supposed to be. It just simply couldn’t. He was a killing machine you were just reaping, eventually discarding him when you took what you needed. However, the right time to test the Anti V prototype had yet to come. Sipping from your hot tea, you heard hard steps from the stairs, and for some reason, you were not prepared to face him the morning after.

“Ah, preparing my breakfast already, doll,” Ben said cheerfully, much to your liking, and approaching you as you faced your back to him.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and as much as you wanted to enjoy his touch, you pushed him away and turned on your feet to see his confused grin.

“First of all, good morning. And second, no. You can make yourself a sandwich,” you replied.

A smile appeared on your lips as his own slowly faded away.

“So, nothing for me, even if I made you feel so good with my cock?”

“God, you’re so gross…”

Ben snorted, leaning to give soft kisses on the skin of your neck as he whispered. “I don’t remember you complaining about it last night.”

As an impulse, you shut your eyes. His touch and lips over your sensitive skin were too intoxicated for you to react quickly and stop him. Ben took the cup of tea from your hand, putting it on the countertop; the place he fucked you so good the night before. He would kill to go again, with you beneath him, yearning and crying for his dick. Or maybe he’d fuck you in the couch before taking you to your bed, exactly like he did after you did it in the kitchen…

“Stop,” you said, pushing him away softly.

He did as you asked rapidly, licking his lips, and watching your lustful gaze intently. You wanted it as much as he did, but it wasn’t the right time.

“I’m still sore,” you continued. “And I have some stuff to do right now. I have to go.”

He nodded. “Right.”

To your surprise, Ben gave you some space and you stepped up, not before taking the cup and your phone between your hands again. You stopped, standing by his side for a moment.

“Maybe later?” you said, watching his face attentively.

That sleazy smirk curved on his lips. “Later.”

You walked away then, feeling his eyes over your figure. God, you were so fucking regretting offering yourself to him already for some reason.

You sat down on the dining table as he settled down a saucer and two cups of tea with a bowl of biscuits.

“It’s not necessary–”

“Nonsense, take it,” Butcher said, taking a seat in front of you.

He served you and him the tea with an elegance only a British man could ever have, not that you expected him to have that inside. Butcher was a soldier once, now an undercover agent whom you had no idea what to expect, besides the few things Grace had told you about him, but she wasn’t there. This meeting was hidden from everyone. Butcher crossed his arms on his chest, looking at you with an expression you could not decode. You were barely knowing him after all.

“I’m not trying to poison you,” he joked, taking his own cup to taste the tea.

“Well, thanks for your kindness,” you took the cup and sipped the warm drink. It was surprisingly good. “So, weren’t you after Victoria?” you asked, following the previous conversation you had with him before sitting down.

“Yeah, cunt’s indestructible,” he remarks. “Can’t do anything now, planning on just retiring and just leaving it all...”

“There’s a fucking outburst right now between Homelander’s cult and Starlight fanatics, Victoria is almost there along with Robert Singer at the White House. Why you wanna give up on that?”

“I’m not part of the team anymore,” Butcher confessed, taking you aback.

“Is that the reason you want Ryan back?”

He nodded and you sensed vulnerability coming from him. The tough facade, the immoral plans, the thirst for revenge for the fucker who screw up his life and made his wife’s a living hell… Even your own thirst for payback and burning Vought to the ground wasn’t as big as his own grief. After all, you were just another piece on the chessboard. Butcher saw you as one, and you did the same with him and Ben. You were just taking in things that would help you to reach your own, selfish goals. One can’t compete with that.

He coughed in the middle of the silence you shared, and you noticed there was a black liquid coming off one of his ears you have never seen.

“Are you okay?” you worriedly asked.

Butcher looked like he noticed your eyes staring at the side of his face and wiped up the substance with his finger, cleaning it up with a napkin.

“You stopped taking the temp V?” you insisted on his silence.

“Yeah, I fucking did, and then had it again. The true V this time, didn’t help. Just accelerated my own death,” Butcher seemed like he didn’t give a shit as he told you.

“Fuck, are you crazy?!” you exclaimed.

“Thought it’d save me, alright?!” he ranted. “Thought it could. So I could say I had more time with Ryan, but I don’t. That’s why you’re here. Do you have what I asked or not?”

Grumbling, with your jaw tight, you took from your jacket a small packet of white powder and tossed it on top of the table.

“A sedative. Will keep him asleep for days if you’re not careful,” you announced. “Give me the gas now.”

Butcher stood up abruptly, and searched for something in one of the kitchen cabinets. He took out a grey cylindrical vessel, similar to a fire extinguisher, and left it on the floor by your feet.

“There you have it,” he said, before taking his seat back.

You didn’t say ‘thank you’, neither did he, but Butcher dared to speak out again.

“Can you come when Ryan is here?”

“Excuse me? I don’t know the kid, I don’t see why I should be here.”

“Another secret is good enough for ya,” he insisted. His face was just as plain as yours.

You didn’t know what else to expect from him at this point, but you followed him up.

“And?”

“There’s something down Godolkin. A virus, created to exterminate supes,” he explained, leaning forward and whispering as if someone else could hear outside the walls. “If your cure ain’t working, maybe you could use some help from there.”

Ben emptied the last drawer in your room. There was fucking nothing. The only pleasure he took in from sniffing into your stuff was checking your underwear, from the most comfy cotton panties to the lingerie he’d love to see on you while he fucked your brains out. And then, nothing. Emptiness. No secrets, no files. Nothing.

Not caring of putting your stuff in place, he just tossed them into the drawer. If you were to indulge back there, you would certainly notice the mess. But he didn’t care if you did. He fucked you good, but that didn’t mean he trusted you. That’s why he spent the last hours of the day checking the whole place after you left him all alone and by himself. The past few days, he had spent checking everywhere to find a clue or something that could give you away easily.

Tired, Ben went down to the living room and checked between the bookshelves, only to find dust and old books he didn’t give a shit about. He scoffed to himself, and walked to the back of the room, where the aisle ended. The carpet felt different, as if another floor was down there. He knocked on the floor with his fist. He was right; there was another floor down the living room.

“What are you fucking hiding in here?” he mumbled to himself, his mind pulling the tricks of any stuff you could probably have down there.

He pulled the carpet away and found a small metal knob, unlocked. He opened it just to reveal stairs and he went down carefully. A heavy metal door stood in front of him, an electronic panel with numbers by the side. The walls were also made of the same material, and he tensed. It wasn’t a good sign. Before, he noticed you would sneak out of your room some nights. There was no other place you should be visiting but here.

He thought of breaking the door, but it wasn’t that subtle. There was a code to get inside, probably he could get it. It had to be something important for you, right? Shouldn’t be so difficult.

But he knew better than to continue playing this fucking game of hiding the thruth from him. Anger seized him in a second, thinking of endless possibilities this could be a hidden lab. You were a doctor after all, he knew what those cocksuckers were capable of. You were no exception.

He clenched his fists tightly, and heard in the distance the sound of your car. Ben quickly climbed the stairs and covered the door to the basement. The click of the door announced you were home and he made his way to the kitchen to take out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

Once you stepped up, he poured the liquor. You left a couple of bags full with groceries on the kitchen counter as Ben gave you a dirty smile and offered the whiskey to you. It was his way of disguising what he really felt.

A quick fuck should do, he thought.

“So, later, right?” he said, taking a sip from his glass.

Immediately, you knew what those words meant.

“You’ve been waiting so long I see,” you smirked.

He pulled you closer with a single hand before claiming your lips in a harsh kiss. He smiled when you moaned against his tongue and he pulled away, this time his lips claiming the sensitive spot on your neck.

“And can’t wait any longer, sugar.”

this fic tags:

@k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @thesilmarillionblog @deans-spinster-witch @girlsforpjm @delaynew

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy imagines #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy/ben x reader #soldier boy the boys

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zepskies · 2 years ago

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Break Me Down - Prologue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: For those of you who enjoyed “Checkerboard,” here’s the requested prequel series! It’s going to be a long and bumpy road to get to that version of Soldier Boy. Technically this is an AU set post-season 3. [18+ only! This story is rated M.]

Song Inspo: For this story it's "All My Livin Time" by Radio Company! You'll notice it in some of the chapter titles.

Word Count: 2,800Warnings: Violence, character death, bondage (not in the good way).

Prologue:

Well, this fucking sucks.

The thought rattled through your mind as you were led down a hallway, across a cold expanse of tile floor.

You couldn’t see where you were going with this stuffy bag over your head, but you knew it was tile. Your bare feet all but scraped across it as they dragged you.

Whoever held your arms in a vice grip eventually forced you to sit in a rickety wooden chair. They pulled your wrists behind the chair and bound them together with a zip tie.

You felt the slit on your dress sliding open, so you crossed your legs, for whatever good that would do you. At the very least, it would give the impression that you were sitting here casually, and not (figuratively) shitting yourself with fear.

“What the hell is this?” a deep, familiar voice asked.

“A gift.” You knew this voice as well. Neither one instilled you with calm.

Then the bag finally came off your head. The gag did not, however. You knew your red dress was in unfortunate tatters. You knew you were bruised and scratched, and overall worse for wear.

But when your gaze found your kidnapper, you glared up at him with a stubborn tilt to your chin.

Soldier Boy stared back at you with raised brows, and instant recognition in his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Three months ago…

You watched the footage in disbelief.

Soldier Boy managed to grapple Homelander long enough to blast him right out of Vought Tower.

The two of them tangled in a big ball of nuclear light, and the resulting impact into the ground created a tremor throughout New York City. You had felt it even from the Surveillance office of Supe Affairs.

But now, an hour later, you stood at the site of the crash landing. You still couldn’t believe that Homelander’s lifeless body (complete with two suspect bullet holes to the head) was already wrapped up by the CIA.

The body would be destroyed, if Grace Mallory had anything to say about it. Though you knew that Vought would try to claim custody.

They can try, you thought. Grace had briefed you of the situation: Soldier Boy’s strange new power had taken away Homelander’s in the blast. That had allowed Billy Butcher to finish the job.

But as enormous a win as that was for the S.A. (for the world, really), Soldier Boy had unfortunately escaped in the aftermath of the crash.

You watched Butcher’s team being treated by paramedics. They all seemed to be in good spirits, considering. Talking and laughing through their bloody cuts and bruises. Butcher seemed the most contemplative, maybe because his nine-year vendetta had finally come to a close.

But you knew, even with this victory, their troubles were far from over.

Mother’s Milk snapped back at something Frenchie said, but when he looked up and caught you staring, you looked over pointedly at the massive crater in the ground. His lips thinned into a determined line.

Soldier Boy’s still out there.

You took a break from staring at the double surveillance screens at your work desk to answer your cell phone.

“Hey, Yvette. How’s it going?” you said, smiling.

“Oh, good. Just clinging to a sinking ship,” she said wryly. “My department’s down to two people.”

Your eyes widened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. In customer service? Is Vought insane?”

Yvette was the only friend you still talked to from your time at Vought. Though the two of you had been in different departments, they’d been on the same floor in the tower.

“Company shares have dropped into the toilet after…well, Homelander,” she explained. “Somehow I made it through the preliminary mass layoffs. But they want us to operate on a damn skeleton crew with no support.”

You bit your lip in sympathy. “You’re looking for another job, right?”

“Of course,” said Yvette. Her tone was hushed, and you heard her underlying worry. “Chris and I can barely afford Devon’s private school as it is. We won’t be able to renew for next year if I lose my job.”

You frowned. Her son Devon was in elementary school, a bright kid. But unlike his wealthy classmates, he’d gotten into the school on a partial scholarship. That alone was enough to single him out among the other families (even the kids, unfortunately).

“Do you want me to see if there’s anything for you here at the S.A.?” you asked. “I make an excellent reference.”

As in, you’d track down whatever department was hiring and talk them around until they agreed to look at Yvette’s resume, if for no other reason than to shut you up.

“That would be great,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Of course!” you agreed.

Yvette had been one of the few people to actually support you after you left Vought. After that, she’d cemented a place in your life from “work friend” to something real, and as honest as you’d let yourself be in a long time.

When the phone on your work desk started to ring, you let out a sigh.

“Sorry, Yvette. I’m getting another call.”

“No problem. Still coming for dinner on Friday? I finally talked Chris into making his arroz con gandules. And in honor of you, I’m making pain patate. My grandma's recipe, if I might add.”

“Oooh, excellent,” you said, already mentally rubbing your hands together. Yvette was Haitian, married to a Puerto Rican man. Both were ridiculously great cooks, and had been teaching you their ways in the kitchen for the past few years.

Before you became friends with Yvette, you could barely boil an egg. Your mother, bless her, wasn’t the best cook. So you and your sister had survived mainly on boxed meals growing up...mainly on Hamburger Helper and the like, if you were honest.

But you were a quick student, according to your friend. You could even make baked macaroni from scratch now.

“I’ll definitely be there,” you said. “See ya then!”

You hung up your cell and picked up your work phone just as it was about to stop ringing.

“Surveillance department,” you answered.

You positioned the phone between your ear and your shoulder and checked on the surveillance cameras you were monitoring. Nothing was amiss (yet), but you were watching in case a telekinetic went off the rails on her next drug bust.

There had been reports of this particular supe being too careless with her arrests, even putting a teenager into a full body cast after flinging him off a second-story building.

But you were only half-shaken out of your thoughts when a woman greeted you on the line.

“Can you come up to my office please?” she said.

“Who’s this?” you asked distractedly.

“Grace Mallory.”

You paused. Oh shit.

The head boss lady of this whole operation was on your phone, and she wanted to see you.

“Uh…yes, ma’am,” you said. “Right now?”

“…Yeah. Right now,” she said dryly. And she hung up on you.

You heaved a sigh as you also hung up the phone at your desk. Your manager (and the head of S.A. Surveillance) was already working your team over time.

And for some reason, Grace Mallory wanted to have a little chit chat.

You didn’t know why she singled you out, but you had a handful of guesses. All of them were making your stomach churn.

You popped your head out of your cubicle and leaned over to the one next to yours.

“Hey Jess, I need you to cover for me for a bit,” you told your coworker. Jess didn’t have as much experience as you, but she was solid at her job and you could count on her to handle things while you were gone for a bit. The blonde smiled and bobbed her head.

“Okie! No problem, friend,” she said.

Her bubbliness grated on your psyche a bit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her either. It wasn’t her fault the world hadn’t kicked her in the ass yet.

You nodded and went up to Grace’s office, where she welcomed you in and asked you to sit down in the plush chair in front of her rather large mahogany desk.

It was leagues above your small, plain gray cubicle, but you supposed these were the kinds of things that came with being the head of the operation.

The S.A. was now strictly her domain, following the clusterfuck of Victoria Neuman departing the organization to join Robert Singer’s presidential campaign.

“What can I do for you, Grace?” you asked.

The other woman gave you a patient, if knowing look. “I think you know why I asked you here.”

“Can’t say that I do,” you replied, tight-lipped.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the manhunt for Soldier Boy is now this organization’s top priority,” she began. “I’d like to recruit you, beyond surveillance. I want to put you in the field.”

You were already shaking your head before she’d finished speaking. You’d been happily sitting at a desk for a year now.

“I don’t think I’m qualified, ma’am.”

She gave a small huff of a laugh. “I beg to differ.”

You shifted in your seat, impatient and uncomfortable, as she folded her pale hands on her desk.

“Before you joined Supe Affairs last year, you were a private investigator…on Vought’s payroll,” she said. “I promise, you will have even more resources at your disposal. And my full support.”

“You’re CIA,” you said, hiding your nervousness. “Why do you need me?”

For a moment, Grace just stared at you. Her head tilted just so, lips pursing.

“Because this is an all-hands-on-fucking-deck situation. I need every single body I can throw at this,” she said, her blue eyes unyielding. “I’ve seen your track record. Here at the S.A., your years at Vought, and before. When you worked at your father’s firm.”

Your spine tightened at the mention of your father, but you forced yourself to relax.

“You get results,” Grace continued. “And I think you’ll do well working with Butcher’s team.”

Your eyes widened.

“Billy Butcher?” you repeated. “Oh, hell no. I’m not working with that crazy bastard…with all due respect, ma’am.”

You lowered your eyes in embarrassment.

You’d only worked in Surveillance for the past year, but you’d often heard Victoria Neuman’s bitching to Hughie Campbell down the hall—especially in the break room.

“I understand your reservations, believe me,” Grace said wryly. “But he’s the one who found Soldier Boy in Siberia, after forty years of him being presumed dead.”

“In part, thanks to you,” you couldn’t help pointing out…maybe a bit too petulantly to a high-ranking CIA agent.

Grace’s lips thinned even further, but after she considered you a moment longer, she relaxed with a slight smile.

“I think you’ll fit in just fine,” she said.

You let out a deep breath. After Hughie clued you in on Victoria Neuman being an undercover supe, you’d laid low at the S.A., waiting for the right time to quit. After Neuman left the organization, and Homelander’s death, you’d actually thought it was safe enough to stay.

You’d left Vought for several reasons, all of them good ones…

“What if I don’t want the job?” you asked.

Grace tapped a finger on her desk. “As I understand, you have a younger sister.”

Your lips pulled into a frown, your shoulders tightening. Your family had nothing to do with this. Was this the part where the CIA agent threatened you in order to get her way?

“Why do you ask?”

Grace raised a brow.

“I know exactly what Vought was paying you for your exclusivity clause. Which was then rescinded when you began working for Supe Affairs,” she said.

“They kept approximately six months of your backpay on ongoing assignments, and even tried to sue you for breach of contract when you gave Neuman your intel on their supes. Drugs, prostitutes, the whole gambit.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back in your chair; you saw her game now.

“You tried to fight back in the courts, but the earnings that once sustained you have since dried up," she added, and with a nod, "Yes, I checked your bank statements.”

You were affronted at the breach of your privacy, but you weren’t exactly surprised.

“Our American justice system at work,” you snipped. Grace smiled.

“I’m prepared to double their fee,” she said. “As I understand it, your sister Luisa is a gifted girl. First chair violinist. Auditions for Julliard lined up for next month. Tuition increases every year.”

And that was when you faltered. You still didn’t think hunting after the world’s most wanted ex-superhero was a smart decision. Not even for money…but damn this Mallory. Damn the CIA and Vought, Neuman, Stan Edgar, and everyone in between!

Julliard was your sister’s dream. For the entirety of her senior year, you’d been wracking your brain (and your pitiful savings) trying to find a way to give it to her.

Your mom was a hospital receptionist making barely enough to support herself. As it was, you were supporting Luisa financially.

Since the two of you were kids, you’d done your best to protect your sister. To be the one she could always count on when your mom just…couldn’t.

But still. Making this deal with Grace felt a bit too much like making that deal with Vought five years ago. And look at how that had come to bite you in the ass.

“I don’t think—” you started to say.

“Up front,” Mallory said.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll get double your fee, up front,” she said. “Then you’ll get triple if Soldier Boy is caught and brought back into U.S. custody, or eliminated in the field.”

Dead or alive…

You knew what this decision meant for you.

Grace Mallory was Don Corleone, making you an offer. Could you afford to refuse?

After a beat to think, you drummed your nails on the chair’s arm and looked up at Grace decisively.

“You mean when he’s caught.”

Somewhere in South America…

Soldier Boy was having a great fucking time.

Thoroughly debauched, he’d rented out an entire casino for his 101st birthday. Bottomless drinks, drugs, whores, and poker. Didn’t get much better than that, in his (literally) high opinion.

Until a bullet ripped through his champagne glass.

The fuck. He glanced up and watched the unit of military personnel line up around all four floors of the casino. If his nose was mistaken (and it never was), most of these guys were hopped up on V. It smelled like the temporary stuff.

Good fucking job, Wannabe President Singer, he thought.

The group of women that had been hanging out at his table had already fled, save for one cowering at his feet when the first shot rang out. She was a thin blonde with big Bette Davis eyes, but she was much easier on said eyes than that fucking broad had been.

Soldier Boy grabbed the girl up off the floor, like the dead weight she was, and gave her his room key.

“If you make it outta here, catch me at my place, would ya?” he told her, though his attention was on the guns surrounding him. She took the key with shaking hands and looked up at him. He spared her a glance.

“I’d go now, if I were you. Things are about to get fuckin' crispy.”

And that was when they tossed the tear gas.

The futile sniping began, tearing through his new silk suit but bouncing harmlessly off his skin. The girl screamed and cowered under the table.

Soldier Boy snapped off a roulette wheel from a nearby table and tossed it like a frisbee at the closest guns. The tear gas was just making him want to sneeze.

But he smirked and rolled his neck. Here we go...

By the end, Soldier Boy was the only one standing. And that included the casino. It was a mess of broken wood, overturned tables, and the blood and bodies of soldiers, staff, gambling patrons, and Bette Davis Eyes under the table.

Straightening his ruined blazer, he stepped out the back of the casino and disappeared into the dark.

On the only table left standing was a hand-written note, pinned down with a steak knife:

Try harder.

S. B.

AN: Well, then. 😂 I can say this is a very different story than I'm used to writing, but I couldn't not explore Soldier Boy. 😏

Let me know what you think of this little intro!

Keep Reading: PART 1

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0

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jennaispunk · 1 month ago

Text

Someone Like You

Summary: A vacation you didn’t want to take turns into something you never expected.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3 k

Tags/Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, allusions to smut, shitty ex-boyfriend (not Marcus), brief mention of infidelity (again, not Marcus. He would never), meet cute, instant attraction, Marcus being Marcus (aka perfect), reader is shorter than Marcus and has hair that can be tucked behind her ear but no physical description is given

A/N: I wrote this for @whocaresstillthelouvre follower challenge (I hope you enjoy this Mallory!!). The moodboard was dream vacation with Marcus. This moodboard is gorgeous and I am so in love with it. I’m sorry I held onto this for so long. I went at the idea of a “dream vacation” a little differently. This was the idea that immediately came to mind when I saw this moodboard. This is for all my Marcus girlies (gn). Marcus deserved so much better and this is my (lame) attempt at a fix-it fic for Marcus. Thank you @clawdee for the beta read. The title is taken from a Van Morrison song.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You didn’t even want to go on this stupid trip. You’d planned it with Justin, and it was supposed to be a romantic getaway…until you caught him in bed with his ex-girlfriend, the one he called crazy and told you he wasn’t talking to anymore.

Your friends had convinced you to go on the trip anyway. "Fuck him!" they said. "Go on this trip and have the time of your life." Since the trip was paid for already, and you couldn’t get a refund, you reluctantly packed your bags.

The plane ride to Miami was peaceful. The older married couple sitting next to you was celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary. They showed you pictures of their grandkids, and you smiled politely. They were the goal…one that was looking increasingly out of reach.

You dropped your bags in your hotel room with a loud thud. You fell onto the bed and let yourself sink into the soft comforter. The sun shone brightly into the room, warming your skin, and you slipped into a peaceful afternoon nap.

Most of that night was spent sitting on the balcony listening to the ocean crash against the shore and feeling sorry for yourself. How did you not see the signs that Justin was cheating on you? They were there, you just chose not to see them. Every time that little voice in the back your mind started to chirp, you ignored it and told yourself it was just your insecurities. Looking back now, you should have listened. Hindsight is always 20/20.

You woke up the next morning with a renewed determination. You were done thinking about the past, it was time to live in the present. Today was going to be different. Today, you were going to go the beach and soak up all the glorious South Florida sun you could handle. You were going to let the ocean breeze carry all your worries away. This vacation was meant to be enjoyed and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

In your cutest bikini (bought specifically for this trip) and cover-up, you confidently strolled across the hotel lobby. It might be considered modest by Miami standards, but it showed off your assets. A small smile played on your lips as you remembered how sexy you felt the first time you put on the hot pink fabric. All around you were happy couples, holding hands and stealing kisses. Your resolve to not wallow in your sadness faltered just a bit as you made your way to the door, but you held your chin higher. You weren’t going to think about Justin anymore.

“Excuse me…”

You jumped as someone touched your shoulder and wheeled around to see a handsome man looking down at you. If you had to guess, he looked to be around your age. The style of his chestnut brown hair screamed young professional, and his mocha eyes were the kind you could get lost in.

“I think you dropped this.”

His large hand held a hotel key card toward you between thick fingers. Your brow furrowed and you patted the pockets of your cover up only to realize that your room key was missing.

You smiled at him and the heat rushed to your cheeks. Your carelessness struck again. How did you not realize you dropped your key?

“Thanks. It was sweet of you to track me down.”

The smile he shot back at you almost made you melt. It was so genuine, and the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled made you weak in the knees. Your eyes darted over his shoulder, half expecting his wife or girlfriend to be standing behind him, waiting. He was alone, and you smiled just a bit wider.

“It’s no problem.” His soft voice carried to your ears like a sweet melody. “You’re probably going to need this later.”

Your soft laugh was met with a nervous chuckle of his own. His soulful eyes studied you like a work of art but somehow it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t looking at you like other men do.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Marcus.”

He extended a hand toward you, and you froze for a moment. You couldn’t even remember the last time a man introduced himself to you this way outside of a professional setting, and you found yourself intrigued by this stranger.

You offered your name in return and placed your hand in his. His skin was rougher than his appearance suggested, and the warmth radiated right through you.

“So, Marcus, does your wife or girlfriend know that you go around saving strange women from being locked out of their hotel rooms in your spare time?”

His laugh came from his belly, like you told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. It was warm and genuine. Suddenly, you had butterflies in your stomach.

“Actually, I’m not married or even seeing anyone right now.”

Your brow raised and those butterflies intensified. How in the world was this man still single?

Stop! This isn’t what you were here for. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up with anyone while you were here. The purpose of this trip was to stop thinking about your ex, not lust after a handsome stranger.

“Well, there’s a beach chair out there calling my name.” Your eyes darted toward the door and then back to him.

“It was nice to meet you, Marcus. Enjoy your vacation.”

You turned to leave without giving him a chance to respond. It was better to walk away now, before you did something you’d regret later.

Marcus watched you walk away, rubbing his chin as he huffed softly. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet anyone on this trip, but maybe it was fate.

You told yourself that you’d never see Marcus again, that it was just a fluke meeting, a fleeting moment in time that was never meant to be anything. You didn’t believe in fate or destiny. That was for other people.

It seemed that fate was trying to prove its very existence to you, because the very next morning at breakfast you ran into Marcus once again.

“How was the beach?” Marcus asked with that heart stopping smile. “You didn’t get sunburned, did you?”

Your cheeks felt warm as he looked you over. How could such a simple question get you flustered?

“Nope. I got the perfect amount of sun.”

The two of you chatted for a few minutes before your phone buzzed in your pocket.

“Sorry, but I gotta go or I’ll be late for my massage.”

His hand jutted out to stop you as you turned to leave.

“This is going to sound crazy, but would you have dinner with me tonight? There’s this amazing restaurant overlooking Biscayne Bay.”

You bit your bottom lip as you considered his proposal. What would be the harm in having dinner with him? Why shouldn’t you have fun while you’re here? You needed a distraction and Marcus certainly fit the bill.

“Dinner sounds nice.”

His body visibly relaxed when you agreed, and you could have sworn you heard him sigh.

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven?”

“Seven it is.” You responded and headed off to your massage.

That was the moment that everything changed, although you didn’t know it at the time. You’d spent every night with Marcus since then and the more you learned about him, the harder you fell for him. The two of you lived closer than you thought, he was in DC and you were in Baltimore. You scoffed when he told you that he was an FBI agent with the art theft division, but he showed you his badge and swore you to secrecy under penalty of death. He winked and laughed, and you were sure he’d stolen your heart then and there.

He was here on a case and decided to stay an extra week to use up his vacation time. He was a total foodie, he talked at length about the amazing restaurants in DC. Every detail you learned about each other just made the attraction grow.

The week practically flew by as your time was occupied by Marcus. He took you to the institute of Contemporary Art and Pérez Art Museum and watched you with a smile as you marveled at the art, and he explained the finer details. The way he spoke about the art had you completely captivated.

On your second to last night in Miami, he took you to a bar with a live band. You couldn’t believe your eyes when he jumped up on stage with the band and they played one of your favorite songs.

You couldn’t stop smiling as you watched him on stage. The image before you didn’t jive with the mild-mannered, soft-spoken man you’d spent the last few days with, but it intrigued you all the more.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

The smile was still plastered to your face. He looked so carefree up there on the stage.

“It was definitely worth it to see you smile like that, Sunny.”

He wasn’t going to tell you that he’d cashed in a favor from the lead singer. He wanted you to think it was totally random.

After leaving the club, he took you for a moonlight walk on the beach. The night sky was crystal clear. A thousand stars dotted the sky, like a painting created for just the two of you.

During a brief moment of silence between you, he took your hand and laced your fingers together. It all felt so perfect, too good to be true. You never thought that you would meet someone like him.

He suddenly stopped walking and tugged your hand. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked down at you. After everything that happened with Teresa, he wasn’t looking for anyone. She had broken his heart, and he wasn’t sure if he was even ready to try again. Looking at you now, with the ocean breeze in your hair and the moonlight illuminating your skin, he knew he couldn’t walk away.

“Everything okay?” You asked

He smiled at you and looked down at the sand before looking back up.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all week.”

Before you could say anything, he closed the distance between you and gently cupped your cheek. He gazed into your eyes, almost hesitant before he leaned in and softly pressed his lips to yours.

You tensed for the briefest of moments, you didn’t expect him to kiss you, but you were glad he did. You kissed him back, slightly parting your lips to let his tongue in your mouth. It couldn’t have been any more romantic: the moonlight, the soft swish of the waves upon the shore, and the most perfect man you’d ever met holding you in his arms.

As you packed your suitcase to head to the airport, you couldn’t help but think about the last few nights. You got lost in the memories of the way he made you come on his fingers before he made you come on his cock, how he intertwined his fingers with yours as he pinned your hands to the mattress, the way he talked you through your second orgasm: That’s it, sweet girl…just like that…so beautiful. He even held you afterwards, something Justin never did.

It really was like a dream come true. This vacation was wonderfully unexpected, and you didn’t want it to end. You didn’t want to go back to the real world, back to your job and your old life….not when you’ve had a taste of what could be.

Marcus paced the hotel lobby waiting for you to check out. After Theresa, he’d almost sworn off love completely, then he’d met you and he was smitten. He knew that this could work, he would be kicking himself later if he didn’t try.

You smiled as his sweet face came into view. Your heart clenched in your chest. Was this this last time you would see him? You couldn’t let that happen. This couldn’t be the end.

“This week turned out better than I expected.” you said with a soft laugh.

You wanted to say more. You wanted to tell him that this had probably been the best week of your life, but you held your tongue. You didn’t want to ruin the moment.

He took your hands in his, smiling as caressed the back your hand with his thumb. His mocha eyes took in every inch of you, committing it to memory until he saw you again. It was now or never. He was going to tell you that he didn’t want this to be the end, the two of you could make this work. A short train ride was no big deal, and you could see each other often. All he knew was that he couldn’t just let you go.

The way he said your name made your heart stop. It sounded so beautiful rolling off his tongue, just like when he had you in bed.

Your lips pressed softly against his, swallowing his next words. You didn’t need anymore words. You just wanted to keep the magic alive for a few more moments before reality came crashing down.

The hum of the car engine behind you broke the spell. It was over, your Uber was waiting to take you to the airport and back to your life. You shoved a piece of paper into his hand and smiled as your eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

“If you’re ever in Baltimore, give me a call.”

He chuckled softly as he watched you walk away and get into your ride. As you drove away, he looked down at the small piece of paper in his palm. There was no way in hell he was going to let you get away. He’d be calling you sooner than you thought.

#someone like you #marcus pike #f!reader #fluff #allusions to smut #strangers to lovers #the mentalist

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hughiecampbelle · 4 months ago

Text

Imagine being Frenchies younger sibling and finding him again after years of being apart:

Requested: anon / based on this preference

"Je suis un monstre."

"No. You are not a monster. Do not say those things about mon bébé." After all these years, you never stopped being his baby. You were different, of course. Older. Colder. Worn. Your features became sharper, losing the baby fat. But you were still his. He thought about you every single day. Years ago, he asked Mallory to look for you. But even with the technology she had available, the last anyone had heard from you was when you were a teenager. He didn't want to be hopeful or naive, he had to face reality. She was so sorry, but if she couldn't find you, you were probably gone. Dead. He blamed himself for your death, for leaving you behind with your father, for being a bad big brother. You told him you never once blamed him. He got out. You were grateful for that. Eventually, you would too.

"It's been a long time, you don't know me anymore." You didn't talk about the years in-between, what you did to get by, only that you couldn't outrun the shame. You hurt a lot of people and you hurt yourself. You did things you weren't proud of, things you could never tell him. He spent your childhood protecting you, saving you, and in return you sold your skills and talents to horrible people. It was the only way to get out. It was the only way to make a life for yourself. Seeing your brother again, it reminded you how much haf changed. You weren't little kids, you weren't playing in abandoned buildings and coming up with elaborate escape plans to get away from your father. You were adults, adults who made decisions that turned you into a monster. You couldn't look at him. You didn't want to see the pity in his face, there was enough of it in his voice to push you over the edge.

"Nonsense. I raised you, I know you better than I know myself." When you got to New York you tracked him down. It was easier than you expected. Everyone knew about him. Frenchie, they called him, but he would always be your Serge. He didn't recognize you at first, him and his friends instantly defensive that a stranger had broken in. But as soon as you started speaking, as soon as he heard your voice, he dropped his knife. Before you could react his arms were around you, cradling your head, apologizing over and over again. He stopped looking for you. Eventually he introduced you to everyone who, immediately and affectionately, nicknamed you Mini Frenchie. You met Kimiko, too, who loved you from the start. You had a home here, a family, something you hadn't been allowed to have in a very long time.

#requested #frenchie #frenchie imagine #the boys #the boys imagine #ennasfavorites

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chaotic-orphan · 6 months ago

Note

Hey! Excitedly waiting for the next intoxicating fear update, no rush tho take your time:)

Intoxicating Fear (XV)

A foreboding calm

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

If you noticed Kit’s face-claim change, ahahah… no you didn’t ;)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ambrose didn’t come back for days. Kit didn’t have any of the strange headaches, there was nothing. No shred of contact. No stupid texts, no phone calls, nothing.

It was eerie. Strange.

Kit had to re-learn how to be a person again. How to exist without the constant threat of violence or pain, or Ambrose. The further they got away from Friday, the greater Kit’s anxiety grew that Ambrose would come back.

It was a quiet Saturday, too quiet. Kit woke and checked his phone to see if Ambrose text but nothing. It was… unsettling. As if there were tiny ants crawling through his veins and scurrying along his nerves pulsing to see if they could sense Ambrose’s presence lurking.

Every electric pulse of stranger’s nerves sending signals their brains prickled Kit’s fight or flight just in case it could be Ambrose. He couldn’t escape it in the shops, walking down streets, on the metro, in his apartment block because he could feel someone walk up the steps to his floor… and walk right past it.

He couldn’t seem to relax, to find any sort of peace on his own. Music didn’t help not even when he blared it on max volume in his ears. Tv shows barely served as a distraction and by the time Sunday rolled around Kit decided he needed to go back to work, just to be somewhere he knew Ambrose couldn’t ambush him.

That’s what found him staring at the Hero Tower as he emerged from the sea of commuters. He took the overground train on the raised train tracks that ran through the city. The Hero tower loomed above them all in the old-town, inner district at least. Maybe if they built it in the business district there would be some competition. Maybe it wouldn’t look as impressive.

It still managed to make Kit’s thoughts turn static, almost mute, as if he was staring out at the sea, bare feet on the sand and listening to the waves come in and out.

Even with all the cars and honking noises of the city’s traffic. Kit disentangled himself from the bustle and took the revolving door into the lobby of the Hero Tower, and for the first time in days? Weeks? months, he felt safe. The familiar smell greeted him with a sudden burst and he almost sighed at the scent. It smelled refreshing, clean, but not to the sickening degree of a clinical, hospital smell. It was more personal, more like a showroom in a beautiful house on the outskirts of the city— that was definitely outside his budget— would smell of.

A small voice in his head said that it smelled like how Mentor’s house smelled when he was a teenager, but Kit ignored it and continued to the lift. It was directly opposite the lobby entrance and had a keypad in front of it. Kit lifted his hand to key in the passcode when tanned, lithe fingers beat him to it.

Kit’s alarm system had alerted him to the individual approaching him, but it was the smell of the pungent cologne that identified them.

“Well, well, well Mallory. Risen from the dead. Poor Superhero was worried sick,” a voice dripping with mock concern slithered from his left. Kit tilted his head up to watch the numbers on the lift drop, ignoring the idiot.

24, 23, 22—

“Are you sure you’re able to come back to work? We were coping just fine without you, Hero of Heroes.”

“I figured you’d miss me if I stayed away too long, Sawyer. God knows what other poor soul you’d make suffer your company.”

The doors opened and Kit stepped towards them, but it was Sawyer who got in first. Seeing Sawyer’s weasel-like face put a dampener on Kit’s mood. Sawyer had a long face, with a pointed nose and long thin lips that were always a little bit unsettling. Not to mention his mocking jade eyes that judged your every move.

Though, to Sawyer’s credit, he wasn’t Ambrose, and Kit joined him in the lift with that reassurance, pressing the button for his floor.

“Just the atmosphere when you were gone was so refreshing, Mallory. It was as good as the academy days after you left. Everyone was happy, not having to look at the moping orphan and listen to his poor excuse at humour.”

Kit leaned back against the corner of the lift, as far as he could get away from Sawyer and let out a small scoff of a laugh.

“I’m sure they got plenty of laughs out of seeing your ugly mug everyday.”

“Wow, playground insults,” Sawyer deadpanned, swiveling his head to Kit. Kit smiled. “What’re you? Five?”

“Outta five.”

Sawyer scoffed and looked back to the numbers go up in the lift.

To be fair to Sawyer, he wasn’t a bad looking guy. He had a sort of elegant charm working for him, with his slicked back hair and strange features. It was mostly his personality that was hideous, cold and distant like his powers. His shadows always kinda creeped Kit out, even in their academy days. That fear seemed laughable now; compared to Ambrose… Sawyer was a saint. Not to mention the fact that Sawyer was actually a competent Hero, unlike Kit.

“The class prodigy. The crème de la crème,” Sawyer said. “The poor orphan graces us with his presence. How marvellous a day. Aren’t we all blessed?”

“I’m not feeling very blessed to have to stand this close to you, pal,” Kit retorted, smiling sweetly at Sawyer. “Especially in such a confined space.”

Sawyer scoffed. “You’re so full of shit, Sparky.”

Kit shrugged. “I eat a lot of fibre.”

Kit barely had time to enjoy the retort before a giant, shadowed hand slammed against his chest and pinned him to the metal wall behind him. His head bounced off the metal on impact, but Kit didn’t make a sound or struggle. He just stayed still as Sawyer closed the distance between them and slammed a hand beside Kit’s head, leaning in even closer.

Sawyer’s smile was lopsided as he stared down at Kit, but his eyes burned like two coals. “You don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us normal, mere mortals, do you?”

Anger flared hot in Kit’s chest and he was about to retort when Ambrose flashed into his mind and he faltered.

“Us heroes and villains, we’re all where we are today because we didn’t fit into the normal life…” his silver tongued voice repeated in Kit’s mind. “A normal person would be dead if they had that much electricity coursing through their body.”

“God,” Sawyer said with an exasperated sigh, pulling Kit back into the moment where he was. In the lift, with Sawyer, at the Hero tower not basement where Ambrose kept him chained. “You’re not even paying attention are you? What? Too good to respond to me now? Hey!”

Sawyer slammed his hand on the wall again and Kit flinched. Wide eyes shot to Sawyer’s black and it was as if all oxygen had left the lift and Kit was horribly aware of the confusion that was painted clearly across Sawyer’s features.

The shadowed hand dissolved from Kit’s chest but he didn’t move. He stood frozen. Sawyer the headlights, Kit the deer.

Kit never flinched.

Never.

Not even when they were in the academy.

Not when Nemesis beat the shit out of him and told him run back to whatever whore he crawled out of.

Not when he was assigned his first mission as a hero in training under Mentor.

Sawyer’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes. His voice softening as he asked: “why—”

The ding of the lift snapped them both out of a trance and Sawyer jumped back to the other side of the lift, hands behind his back and staring at the doors as they slid open. Kit did his best to appear normal too, though the heaviness in the elevator was suffocating.

Kit’s eyes flicked up to the floor number, 19, then went to the doors that were to reveal Tides. Kit’s heart stopped seeing her. She smiled at the two of them as she stepped into the lift.

“Hello boys,” she said in her bright happy way.

Kit swallowed, trying to force moisture back into his mouth while the doors closed again and Sawyer asked Tides what floor she was getting off on. His tongue was heavy and felt like sawdust, and practically scrapped his already chapped lips instead of soothing them, because Tides was the Hero who was with Kit on the docks that day.

She would have to remember Ambrose, right? Unless he made her forget, but did he even have time to do that? A million thoughts zoomed through Kit’s mind, some too fast to even catch because what if she remembered? Could she help him? Could he tell her about Ambrose, describe him even if she didn’t? Probably not with the fucking conditions of Kit’s freedom cemented into his brain and… Kit’s glanced at Sawyer from the corner of his eyes, whatever that was.

The lift stopped again at floor 27 and Sawyer walked out, saying bye to Tides, and it was just Kit and Tides left. Tides worked out of the same floor as Kit so they could ride the lift up together. This was his chance. He had to say something.

It was Tides who spoke first. “I’m happy to see you’re feeling good, Kit,” she said, and Kit looked at her. “Superhero said you had a bad flu.”

“Yeah,” Kit began, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. It’s good to see you actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that night on the docks.”

Tides turned her body to face him, resting her back against the opposite wall. “Of course. You saved my life.”

“Do you…” Kit began, but trailed off. How was he going to word this? “Do you remember the Villain we were fighting?”

“Of course. It was Omen.” The words hit Kit’s chest like a freight train. She remembered! She knew! That would make explaining his current predicament so much easier. “He’s…” Tides began, but shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, a distant glaze coating her eyes. “I still have nightmares about that night.”

Kit’s heart lurched in his chest because he knew exactly how she felt. He knew exactly what being Ambrose’s puppet felt like. As if she was covered in a layer of dirt that she couldn’t shake, like a film of grease around her entire body and inside of her, violated. A small voice wondered if she flinched at the thought of Ambrose too.

“Can you explain the feeling?” Kit asked, voice gentle. Tides’ bright green eyes found his, almost pleading.

“Kit…” she said instead, reaching forward and wrapping her hand around his forearm. “I know you must be thinking about Mentor and how he felt, but you can’t let vengeance consume you. Omen is a monster, you can’t torture yourself with this. We’ll catch him.”

“It’s not—” Kit began but the words caught in his throat and he wanted to curse. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He let out a huff of a breath and lifted his gaze to meet Tides’s green eyes, “it’s not about Mentor. It’s about you. About… why he was there that night, on the docks. When there was a co-ordinated attack on the city.”

Tides hummed thoughtfully. “You think Omen recruited a group of Villains to attack me on the docks?”

Kit shrugged. “Maybe not Omen,” he said as the lift doors opened again onto their floor and the pair stepped out. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Ambrose would do, he didn’t exactly seem like a team player. “Maybe some other Villain is pulling the strings.”

“Have you told Superhero this?” Tides asked, flicking her dyed pink hair over her shoulder.

“It’s just an idea that’s been bouncing around my head,” Kit told her honestly. There was something about that night that he felt like he was missing. Some part of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. It almost seemed like Ambrose was waiting for him, but then again… his reaction to Kit the other day was strange, so maybe not Kit? Maybe he was waiting for someone else.

Tides pulled him out of his thoughts as they rounded the corner to Tides’s desk. “I think you should clue Superhero in on your theory. Maybe he can help you paint a fuller picture.”

“Yeah,” Kit said with a nod, moving to leave. “I think I will. Thanks Tides.”

Tides hand shot out, wrapping around Kit’s forearm stopping him in his tracks. Her smile was reassuring, as she said: “and Kit, seriously, don’t beat yourself up about that night. You saved me. Remember that.”

Kit swallowed a scoff.

Oh he would remember if he could, if Ambrose hadn’t taken that memory from him. He just smiled in reply and squeezed her hand on his arm before stepping back. Maybe Tides was right, he thought, walking straight to Superhero’s office, he could use a second opinion on all of this.

He couldn’t talk about Ambrose or Omen, or what he did to Kit personally, but he could talk about it in a roundabout way. He was sure he’d find a way. Ambrose wasn’t always flawless in his commands, Kit proved that when he was able to stay in his childhood home, he’d find a path through if he was careful.

Superhero’s office was half a flight of steps above all the other desks that the normal heroes worked out of. It’s walls were made of a tinted glass which meant that he could see out but you couldn’t see in. A good security measure for the boss, Kit remembers Superhero telling them with a self-depreciating laugh when the architect was installing the new glass.

Kit remembers humming in response, watching as Mentor’s normal two-way glass was removed and couldn’t help but feel the difference in authority immediately after Superhero took over.

Now, Kit didn’t really care what kind of wall Superhero’s office had as he climbed the short flight and walked into the office without knocking.

Superhero wasn’t alone, and Kit felt a conversation die as he entered the room. “Oh, sorry,” Kit said, standing in the doorway. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

Kit met Superhero’s bright eyes over his guest’s head and he made an effort to smooth out his pinched up features. He offered Kit a smile, “not at all, Kit.”

The grey suit Superhero was deep in discussion with turned his body and smiled when he saw Kit. Kit offered a grin back, letting the door close behind him. He would recognise those warm silver eyes anywhere.

“Kit,” Mr Silver said, taking Kit’s outstretched hand and clapping his other hand to Kit’s elbow, squeezing it reassuringly. “How have you been?”

Kit shrugged, patting Mr Silver’s shoulder in return as they let go of each other’s hand. “Good, good. It’s good to see you, it’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has,” Mr Silver replied with his smooth voice. “You’ve already made your mark on the city.”

“Wouldn’t be able to if people like you didn’t keep it running,” Kit shot back. Mr Silver wasn’t a hero, but he was a gifted individual. His power lay more in his mind than a physical, typical Hero power. He had a gift for patterns, facts and numbers, all very cerebral he told Kit when they had first met. Mentor had taken Mr Silver on as a liaison between the Hero agency and the government, but he was more like a family friend than business associate.

Kit looked between Silver and a disgruntled Superhero, who was trying very hard to hide his expression below a pleasant façade. “What’re you doing here today?”

Silver straightened his posture, inclining his head a little and Kit’s eyes went to Superhero and back again. “I’m sure Superhero will fill you in on the details,” Silver said, fixing his suit jacket. “I think that’s my cue to leave, Superhero.”

Superhero smiled with thin lips as he nodded politely to Mr Silver. “Of course, Mr Silver. Always a pleasure.”

Silver raised his eyebrows as he passed Kit, and Kit frowned, following the man with his eyes. Silver opened the door and paused just before he stepped out, glancing back to Kit, his features conflicted. “Give Mentor my best when you see him again, Kit.”

“I will, Silver,” Kit told him earnestly. Silver smiled before he left the office and closed the door behind him. Kit’s head snapped to Superhero who had his back to Kit, hands on his face, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“What was that all about?” Kit asked, watching as Silver walked through the office towards the lift and press the call button.

“Bureaucratic bullshit as usual,” Superhero said with a huff behind him. Kit turned to face Superhero once the elevator doors opened, fixing his gaze to Superhero instead. “I need a cigarette.”

“You’re a hero, Superhero,” Kit told him lightly. “You can’t save the world if you’re out of breath rescuing kittens.”

“Mmm, a drink then,” Superhero said, walking around his desk and settling heavy into his chair with another sigh. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses. He raised his eyebrows to Kit who shook his head in reply. Superhero shrugged and poured two fingers of whiskey, almost slamming the bottle onto the table.

“Why was Silver here?” Kit asked, taking the seat in front of Superhero’s desk, reclining into it.

Superhero shook his head, as if it was too serious a subject to remember. Kit stared at Superhero expectantly while he gulped down the whiskey in one shot.

“Jesus, Superhero, are you okay?”

Superhero shook his head, going to grab the bottle again. “What did you need?”

Kit watched as Superhero poured out three fingers of whiskey and screw the cap back on the bottle before reclining into his seat.

“Uh, yeah, I was just talking to Tides on the way up about a theory I have about the villains uniting.”

Superhero paused, eyebrows furrowing, casting deep shadows over his already deep set eyes. “Thank god I’m already drinking,” he said, tone anything but humourous. “Continue.”

Kit leaned forward in his seat and began, careful to avoid saying anything about Ambrose. “I don’t think the day Tides was attacked on the docks was a coincidence. That the attack just happened to coincide with the attack in first and in the business district.”

An unreadable expression flashed across Superhero’s face, more like how it was when Kit walked in on him and Silver. Kit almost winced at it, and said after: “listen, I don’t want to pile shit on your plate—“”

“No, no,” Superhero said with a sigh, leaning forward too and setting his glass down on the desk. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and let out another long frustrated huff. Then he looked up at Kit almost sheepishly. “How did Mentor do this for so long?”

Kit’s face broke into a sad smile. “I honestly don’t know.”

“He made it all look so easy, even the government visits.”

Kit licked his lips, the question written all over his face. Superhero scoffed and shook his head before standing and walking to the window that overlooked the office. He stood there, looking onto the floor like a disappointed parent. His hands on his hips, shoulders slumped, head dipped slightly.

“Silver’s not really the government, though, Superhero,” Kit said standing too. He didn’t join Superhero by the window, instead he turned and sat back against the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s part of the regulatory—”

“Regulatory Office of Powered individuals,” Superhero said over Kit, cutting him off. “Yes thank you, Kit. I know.”

“So what was the problem?”

Superhero sighed again. He was sighing too much. Too despondent. Did Silver say something bad? Has he noticed something that the world was skimming over? Something substantial?

“He said the same thing you’re alluding to, something I don’t want to know about.”

Kit straightened, his stomach bottoming out. “What?”

“There’s something big coming, apparently. Some new villain in town that has been, as you hypothesised, recruiting villains to a common cause.”

Kit’s mind raced at the information, his mind too slow to process it. Was he right? Was it Ambrose? Omen? Was he organising a group of Villains for god knows what?

“Do you know—”

“No, nothing,” Superhero said gravely. A soft slightly hysterical laugh burst from his lips. “We’re barely managing now, Kit. I don’t think the Hero agency will survive this! It’s ridiculous. Nobody wants to become a Hero after what happened to Mentor and most people have either resigned like cowards or decided they want to keep their powers to themselves.”

Kit frowned. “What do you mean? When I left the Hero academy it was—”

“Full? Yeah.”

Kit bristled as Superhero turned to face him again, expression grave. Superhero walked over to the two armchairs at the far side of the office, settling heavy into one of them.

“You were one of the last classes to graduate. Well,” Superhero paused, eyes flickering almost sardonically to Kit’s, “not you obviously, what with Mentor taking you in.”

Kit ignored the silent accusation in Superhero’s voice as he said that, but it must have been written plainly on his face.

“No, no, I don’t mean— in a bad way, Kit. You were the best in your class, obviously Mentor would take an interest in you. You’re a good kid. A good hero. A good guy. Everyone likes you, I just…” Superhero continued with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Kit swallowed, sensing the tension that was weighing Superhero down. He walked over to the armchair opposite Superhero and sat down.

“What is it?”

“Some parents pulled their kids from the academy after Mentor was attacked.”

Kit stared at Superhero. He hadn’t heard this. Surely Sawyer would’ve told him, or someone would have messaged him to tell him.

Sawyer’s words replayed in his head: “Just the atmosphere when you were gone was so refreshing, Mallory. It was as good as the academy days after you left. Everyone was happy, not having to look at the moping orphan."

Maybe he misread his friendships at the Academy. Maybe they all just secretly hated him but Sawyer was the only one with any guts to tell him to his face. Or maybe someone did reach out and tell him but he couldn’t remember because of Ambrose’s stupid compulsion.

“But… what?” Kit blurted out, bewildered. “Why? I don’t understand.”

“Mentor was a symbol more than a man, Kit. He was hope. It wasn’t just a dark day for you when he was attacked. The city mourned with you.”

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat. This wasn’t at all how he expected this conversation to go. That’s what was wrong with Superhero, he had lost hope, but Kit didn’t— well, he didn’t know the current situation was so bleak.

You didn’t know because Ambrose didn’t want you to know.

“But you’re Mentor now, Superhero,” Kit said, his voice insistent. Superhero lifted his head, eyes wide like a boys. “You’re the new symbol of hope. We can stop this new villain like we’ve stopped every villain before them. Together.”

Superhero let out a breath of startled laughter, running his hand back through his hair.

“Who’s supposed to be who’s support again?”

Kit stood from the chair, shrugging with a charming smile and said: “I’m the Hero for Heroes, remember? That includes you.”

Superhero laughed, shaking his head.

“One good press release and you’ve already let it go to your head.”

“What can I say? The people love me. The masses love me. The heroes—” hate me “love me. It’s so hard to be everything for everyone all at once.”

“Uh huh. How about you do some work instead of talking me to death?”

Kit paused once he opened the door to the office. “If you need another psychiatrist session you can always come to me.”

“Get out before I kick you out," Superhero said and Kit laughed as he left, closing the door behind him. He descended the steps with the smile on his lips until he got to his desk and sat down, facing the small partition. Only then did he let his concern morph his features, safe from anyone else's scrutiny.

Superhero's worry was more than just the standard concern for the city. The very Hero profession could be at stake if they didn't find and stop this new villain on the scene, and Mentor had worked far too hard to let it all be for nothing.

He needed to talk to Ambrose, find out what the bastard knew. Only then could Kit plan properly… but after Ambrose stormed out of Kit’s apartment he had been quiet as a mouse. Kit could only hope that he would drop by again.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro

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jumpywhumpywriter · 29 days ago

Text

Vampire Captures Vampire Hunter to Use as Bloodbag part 24

Warnings: aftermath of escape attempt, vampire carewhumper, recovery whump, drowning

At least the vampire agreed not to take off his underwear, letting him keep that small sliver of dignity despite him being stripped of shirt and pants.

Mallory hobbled into the bathroom on his own, unsteady but determined as he made his way to the bathtub. It was a fancy one, fitting for such a large and extravagant mansion.

The human sat on the floor to rest as Alex turned on the water, filling the tub up before gesturing to his pet to get in.

Mallory reluctantly complied, slipping into the water with a weary sigh. He hated to admit how good it felt on his chilled skin. He averted his eyes shamefully as Alex brought out a sponge and soap, before roughly rubbing at his filthy skin.

Mallory flinched and hissed in pain every time the vampire touched a bruise or other injury, unable to hide it. The worst was when he grazed over his cracked ribs, making him cry out.

"What did I do to deserve such special treatment? A master serving their 'pet'?" Mallory taunted dryly when Alex was almost finished bathing him. He couldn't help poking the bear a little, testing his boundaries and seeing where the line was.

Alex cut him a sharp look. "Anisa's idea," he replied flatly. "Says it's good for humans."

Mallory forced out a strained laugh. "You seriously know nothing about humans whatsoever, do you? Weren't you human before becoming a vampire? How do you not know this stuff?"

Alex's gaze darkened, and Mallory felt him stiffen from where he was scrubbing his shoulder. "I don't like talking about my past," the vampire said in a clipped voice. A statement meant to end the conversation topic, his tone a subtle warning not to pry.

But of course, Mallory couldn't help retorting with some snark. "Why not?" He drawled challengingly. "You got some hidden trauma there? Friend issues? Or maybe--" he never got to finish, as his whole head was suddenly shoved underwater.

He couldn't breathe, flailing weakly as he was held under, soapy water flooding his nose. He struggled uselessly, lungs burning. Panic seized his heart, and he clawed desperately at the hand on his throat keeping him down.

This must be the belated punishment for his actions, he reasoned, that he would die of drowning. The consequence for daring to attempt to kill his captor.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy @floral-comet-whump

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @nevermore-ramblings

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jessjad · 10 months ago

Text

Unexpected

Chapter 2

Summary: After a Halloweenparty Y/N actually didn't want to got to, her life seems to be turned around. The reason is a very stubborn Supe that seems to have her in his visier. Is it just a coincidance or more?

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2164

Warnings: use of drugs, uncomfortable situations, some language

A/N: And we're back. Now we gonna get settled into the new situation and we'll see what's gonna happen next. All mistakes are mine. Let me know what you think. 😊

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

The world outside seemed to move in slow motion as Y/N watched it passing by through the tinted windows of this black car she was sitting in. Here, on the backseat, Soldier Boy was sitting next to her and she could feel him looking over to her every now and then. What was it with this day? Why did she decide to leave her apartment anyway? It was not lifesaving for her to go to the café, so why did she not just skip it for another couple of days? Unfortunatley, Y/N knew the answers to those questions.

It didn't seem that they would be driving to Vaught Tower, but Y/N couldn't be quite sure. Next to the driver, a man who could probably disappear as someone's shadow unnoticed, was Grace Mallory sitting with a stoic face.

Y/N was surprised when she heard the woman's voice behind her. She didn't even saw the black vehicle infront of the café, after she stormed out and tried to get away. Totally distracted from the man next to her. Mallory didn't say much else and Soldier Boy had rushed her into the car. And now, they were on their way to god knows where.

Y/N's nerves started to get the better of her, her hands shaking as she kept looking out of the window. The strong smell of the blunt the man next to her was smoking stung in her nose. Y/N never been a fan of drugs, never tried it herself and if she was honest, she had to fight with the inner instinct of grabing the joint and just throwing it out of the car. But the supe would probably not appreciate it. And instead of making the situation more complicated as it already was, the woman decided to just stay calm and quiet. There was nothing she could do now anyway.

"Are you gonna go all Brue Willis on me now?"

The low rumble of his voice shook her out of her thoughts and she glanzed over with wide eyes, not knowing if she even should give him an answer. But Soldier Boy kept talking.

"Last time you were way more fucking noisy. But I let it slide 'cause I was balls deep inside you."

Y/N huffed and suddenly she found her voice again. "Is that all there is for you?" and then she drew a short look to the front seats. "And could you please be more quiet? Not everyone needs to know what kind of a mistake I made."

Soldier Boy's gaze became a little more cold. "You be trapped in a fucking metalbox for over fourty years and we fucking talk again. I told you, I wanted to have fun. And don't worry. Mallory already knows."

"What?"

The car came to an apprupt halt and the blonde woman turned her head with an annoyed look. "Not willingly. Now, let's get inside and talk."

It seemed like they arrived to an old factory building that was abandoned in the middle of knowhere in the depts of an forest. Y/N didn't even realized that they had left New York behind them. She was a little hesistant to move, an eerie feeling creeping up her spine. It felt like she was going to set foot into a trap that she wouldn't be able to escape again. The supe appeared behind her and left her no choice but to follow Mallory and the driver.

It took some minutes before they crossed the open space of the hall through old machinery and different kinds of materials. After they walked through black double doors they continued their walk in an hallway down to an elevator at the end of it. Noone talked until they arrived several floors down. When the elevator doors opend Y/N stared into another hallway, but this one looked more like she expacted it. Bright, white light illuminated every creak and corner and she had to squint her eyes for a few seconds. She was led to what looked like a conference room at the end of the hallway and after all four of them stepped through the door she was closed and locked itself. With an healty amount of panik Y/N stared at the door, her only way out of this building,

"Don't worry, Y/N. You'll be free to leave once we're done talking. It's just better to have some privacy now."

"And... and what is it, that we need to talk about?"

"The next steps." Mallory went around the table and sat down.

Soldier Boy did the same as he lighted another joint, much to Mallory's dismay. But she didn't say anything to it and focused back on Y/N, who decided it would be best to sit down too. This whole situation was surreal. All this time Y/N tried to stay out of any Supe's hair and now, she was in the middle of the tornado.

"Next steps?" she asked, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't like the answer.

"As you probably know by now, the puplic still isn't aware that Soldier Boy here is back. Originally, we didn't plan to break him out of his cryostasis again, but..." Mallory took the remote in hand, that was laying on the table and pointed to a wall, which Y/N just realized now, was a screen. "... then this happed."

The screen lit up and Y/N knew right away what they were about to see. Homelander was talking to people on the street. Ryan was standing next to him and than Homelander killed several people with his laser eyes. Live. On television. For millions of people to see. Y/N had to look away. Eventhough this was shocking enough to see, it was not her first encounter with a supe, it was nothing she hadn't already seen before. But she noticed how Soldier Boy's eyes were locked on the screen and a couple of emotions played over his face.

"Homelander has always been a risk, but since the events of the last year, it gotten worse." Mallory turned the screen black again. "The world is turning tables and he has to be stopped. Unfortunatly, Soldier Boy is the only option we have, because he cannot be killed."

"Thanks." The man chimed in, but got ignored.

"But the problem is, that after all of this went south, other threads appered. It's almost as if the world is becoming a powder keg and the slightest spark could set it off. Which means... when the world will hear that Soldier Boy is back, it could be that spark."

"Okay. But... what does that have to do with me?"

"We needed to figure out a safe way to spill the news and get the world on Soldier Boy's side again. Homelander gathered a lot of followers who stand behind him and his insanity. And it probably will not take long until poeple will know that he is Homlanders father... in a way."

With surprise Y/N glanzed over to the man next to her. Now, that were some news.

"By the time all of this happens, Victoria Neuman and the FBSA will be on Soldier Boy's heels and try to take him down again. So, we need to give him some... positive purpose with his return."

"And... and what would that be?" Y/N knew the answer before she heared it, but she still tried to deny it.

"A fucking love dripping relationship, doll." heard she Soldier Boy saying.

"WHAT?" now Y/N couldn't deny it anymore. "With...with ME?"

They couldn't actually be serious, right? But they weren't laughing. This is not what she wanted. All she wanted to do was enjoying her time off of work, relax and sleep a lot. But now she had a radioactive landmark on her neck. And that again brought up a whole nother problem.

"Wait a minute..." with a shaking head Y/N stood up and started pacing through the room. "When... when the world will hear about Soldier Boy being back... you said that it would put a big target on his back. But if I'm gonna be apart of it too, then it will put a target on my back as well."

"Nothing's gonna happen to you." Now Soldier Boy stood up too.

"How can you be so sure about that?" this was really a trap and she got stuck in it. "I have family, friends, a job! This... will change everything! I don't want that!"

"I'm sorry, but you have no choice here." chimed Mallory in.

"We got something?"

Victoria Neuman walked through the doors into the operation room and let her gaze wander over the screens. Most of the men didn't react to her entry and kept their eyes infront of them, but the one who stood near the table turned his head.

"No. Nothing yet."

"Johnson, we need to find him. Or at least the place were Mallory might've hid him."

"We're watching every cam there is, nonstop."

"But this is taking to long. It's been over six months already."

And eventhough nobody knew what Victoriy Neuman was doing here, it was clear to Johnson that this was a urgent matter. But not just for Neuman, for him too.

"Boss!" one of the men yelled. "I think we got something here."

Neuman and Johnson went over to the monitors and watched the scene the man was talking about. The camera pointed at the street infront of a café. They saw a black car and a woman who quickly stept out on the sidewalk. But she didn't get far. A tall man got a hold of her arm and stoped her from runniny away. Victoria got a little closer.

"Is that... him?"

"We can't be sure. We never get to see his face."

"What do you mean?" Johnson asked.

"That's all we get to see, because now..." the man pointed to the scene on the monitor. "...the camera went off. For two whole minutes. And when the camera starts recording again, they're all gone."

And he was right. No car, no persons, just a normal street in New York.

"Did we at least get the license plate of the car?" Victoria asked, but the man infront of her denied it.

Well, that was not good."

Again, Y/N was sitting in the black car, Soldier Boy right next to her on the backseat and they were driving back to the city. She had to sign some sort of NDA, but didn't bother to read it fully. She had a feeling that there was nothing she could do against it anyway. The zivilasition was slowly coming back into view and Y/N was deep in thought, when the man next to her started to talk.

"You not gonna talk to me anymore?" he rasped.

"Why don't you get your live taken away from you and then we can talk." her frustration seething through her words.

Soldier Boy huffed and within seconds Y/N realized what she just said. With a quick glanze she saw the furrowed brows on his face and his tight jaw. She didn't need to like the supes and she definitly was entiteld to be upset about the whole situation, but that just wasn't fair. Because if anyone would understand her right now, it would be Soldier Boy.

"I... I did not mean..."

"It's fine." he cut her off. "I'm not gonna get hurt over your fucking words. I'm not a fucking pussy."

Now it was Y/N who huffed and shock her head a little.

"Is that a Biggerson's?" Soldier Boy suddenly asked as he watched out of his window.

Y/N looked his way and saw the burger place he meant. "Yeah. It's one of the last around her."

"Paul!" he called the driver who got the hint and drove to the parking lot of the place to park the car.

The supe got his wallet out, sorted through some bills and hold them infront of Y/N. "Go in and get me a Pepperbelly Hombre Burger with Tijuana Mariachi sauce and large fries."

Y/N needed a second to comprehend, before she answered. "First off, they don't sell that anymore out of various reasons..."

"Why the fuck not?" he actually had the audacity to ask, but Y/N just ignored it.

"... and second of all, I'm not your servant or maid! Go get it yourself!"

Soldier Boy looked at her for a second, then gave the money to Paul in the frontseat. "Just get me something greasy and bring some food for her too."

Paul nodded his head and got out of the car.

"In case you fucking forgot, I can't get out there and be recongnized. It's not the time yet. And since we're gonna be together a lot more, it would be best you start practicing. But we can talk about that when we get to your apartment."

"Oh, your not coming to my apartment with me!" she fighted off.

"Oh yes, I will. 'Cause we're gonna be living together."

A/N: Yup, you guessed it right. 🙈 We're diving into fake dating and forced proximity. We need to start somewhere, right? 🤭

@lyarr24 @leigh70 @k-slla

#fanfiction #soldier boy #the boys amazon #jensen ackles #unexpected

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zamoimagines · 2 years ago

Text

New Girl in Town

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 2,475

Tags: Cordelia x Reader, pure sapphic fluff, fem!reader

Summary: You moved out of state for a change of scenery, but you figured all you'd find was comfort in a new life far away from your old one. You never expected that you'd fall in love... Let alone with your neighbor that lived directly across the street from you.

A/N: This is a cute fluffy series I've been wanting to start for a while. It's been a hot minute since I've written a fic, so I hope I'm not too rusty. Hope ya'll like it <3

The rays of the morning sun pooled in from your bedroom window as the light seemed to touch every surface of your home. You stirred very gently, though when you realized what was waking you up, you smiled a little to yourself as you remembered exactly where you were.

It had always been your dream to get away from your roots and experience living somewhere completely different. Everyone you’d ever known in your hometown ended up stuck there, and you had always vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t end up the same way. Luckily for you, your dreams had become reality when the sudden opportunity to move clear out to Louisiana opened up to you. You jumped on it as quickly as you could. Before you knew it, you were moving out a week later and all of your belongings were completely settled in your new home.

Not that the house was new; On the contrary, it was a bit run down, as most historical homes in this area seemed to be. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. That was all that truly mattered to you.

When you had moved into town, the locals had asked you where you resided. You told them right across from the girl’s academy, and to your surprise, nearly everyone you’d met had given you a look of terror.

“You live there?! Don’t you know how dangerous that is!” One of the seniors had told you.

Another man had said, “Those girls practice devil worship! It’s unholy- Are you crazy?!”

“I heard that one of the girls set fire to the house next door. And one of the others killed an entire bus full of innocent college boys. It’s not safe there!” A local mother had said. All of their accounts seemed so far from reality that all you could do was smile, nod, and thank each person for their concern. You weren’t necessarily religious, so an eclectic all girl’s academy didn’t scare you at all. Until proven otherwise, it was just a school and you were just the woman that lived across the street.

You finally sat up in bed and stretched your arms upward, yawning and trying to regain consciousness. The move had taken much more out of you than expected. It was a good thing that you didn’t have any plans today considering your mind was a little foggy and your muscles felt completely worn out. Once you felt somewhat like a person again, you swung your feet out from your mattress and stood up to put on something comfortable for the day. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be. The only thing you’d really been sure about was that you needed coffee to function.

“Mm… Coffee.” You muttered groggily to yourself, echoing your own sleepy thoughts.

You took your time in the kitchen making a perfect cup before making your way out to your porch. As you sat down in one of the rocking chairs, the warm summer breeze gently brushed your face. You could smell all the flowers in bloom and a family of sparrows chirped happily from overhead. Taking a sip from your drink, you hummed gently to yourself as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment to enjoy this time with yourself. This place was like your own little slice of heaven.

“Mallory! Wait up, girlfriend!” A shrill, unfamiliar voice cut through your morning like a sharp knife. It was strange that it sounded as if the owner of that voice was getting closer and closer to where you were sitting. When you opened your eyes, you noticed two girls approaching your home.

“Mallory- You are walking so fast right now! How do your tiny feet do that?!” That same shrill voice said again. It was coming from a blonde woman who was slightly taller than the other. Her friend, Mallory, had slightly darker hair yet both were wearing all black. They almost looked like they were getting ready to go to a funeral.

“Cordelia is gonna be so pissed if she finds out we’re late to classes.”

“Since when do you care about being late?” Mallory asked. Her tone was much softer, warmer, even.

“Well- I… Fair point.” The blonde seemed to shut up for a moment after that. They seemed to know each other well enough to call each other out.

Mallory stopped at the first step to your porch and put on her best smile. She was beaming from ear to ear, and her friend seemed to smile much more awkwardly from behind her.

“Good morning!”

“Uh… Hi. Morning.” You said, trying to be polite but also caught off guard. You wanted to ask them both what they were doing on your property, but they seemed nice enough that they didn’t mean any potential harm.

“We live across the street! I’m Mallory, and this is my friend, Coco.”

“Sorry to bother you this early in the morning. You looked like you were having your Eat, Pray, Love moment and I told this one to leave you alone.” Coco replied with a small wave.

Before you could get a word in, Mallory cut in, “We both go to Robicheaux’s. There hasn’t been a new neighbor in a really long time from what the other girls said, let alone one that lives right across the street! So, we figured we’d come to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“We who?” Coco chimed out, “Let’s be clear, this was all her doing. I had no personal investment in this.”

You chuckled lightly at their banter, and it only made you grin even wider. At that moment, you thought about all those people that had told you troublesome girls attended that place and they were all up to no good. Right now, all you could see were two adorable nerds trying to make a kind gesture.

“You aren’t bothering me at all,” You began, “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N. You can sit down if you’d like.”

“We really shouldn’t-“ Coco tried to say,

“We’d love to!” Mallory cut her off yet again as she made her way up onto your porch. The younger girl sat on the ledge while Coco took the chair next to you. As you opened up the conversation, the both of them explained that they’d been attending the school for a year and that everyone was lovely there despite the aspersions spread across town. They spoke of other girls they went to school with, of what was expected of them, and little anecdotes about their time there, though they never explained exactly what they were studying for.

“Today’s our first day back in session, actually,” Coco explained, “We live at Robie C’s on the off seasons too. A couple of us have become like a chic all girls family like that, which is pretty cool considering we’re all sort of outcasts where we’re all from.”

“I know the feeling. I’m so glad you all have each other.” You replied with a warm smile.

“We’ve talked so much about ourselves. Tell us about you!” Mallory suggested excitedly.

“Yeah, spill it. Why’d you come to New Orleans out of the blue?” Coco urged just as much. You laughed lightly at how intrigued they were, but you caved anyway and started to explain yourself.

“Well, I’m actually from (y/h/t). I was born and raised there, but I never really loved it. I wanted something new and something out of the ordinary since I was kind of an outcast myself back there. My real estate agent called up about an opportunity one day about a month ago, and I hopped on it the second it was offered to me and… Here I am.”

“Good for you for paving your own way. That is so big dick energy of you!” Coco complimented as she clapped her hands together in applause. Mallory clapped along with her as if to agree while all three of you laughed together about the wording. Though, Coco seemed to stop smiling altogether when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. “Shit-” She hissed under her breath. You were confused as to why there was such a sudden change of tone, so you looked in the direction she’d glanced in.

Two new women were approaching your porch; One that looked closer in age to the girls in your company, and one who appeared to be slightly older than all of them. You couldn’t quite make them out yet, but they were very clearly getting closer. “What did I say? I knew this was gonna happen!”

“Surely she’s not gonna be that mad-” Mallory tried to reason with her companion. You were still completely out of the loop so you asked, “Wait- Who’s gonna be mad?”

“Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt! Mallory Montgomery! What have I told you both about running off during Admissions Day?” The older woman said, staying at the edge of the porch. You still couldn’t catch a good glimpse of her quite yet, and it was even harder to see now that Coco had gotten up to block your view. “Ms. Goode, I had no part in this! It was all Mallory this time, I swear!”

“Way to throw your sister under the bus, Coco.” The other girl that accompanied the alleged ‘Ms. Goode’ retorted with a small smirk. She had straighter, darker blonde hair and a very kind smile.

“You have to believe me, Zoe! I was trying to do the right thing this time, I swear-”

“She’s right,” Mallory chimed in as she stood as well now, “It was my idea. I just wanted to welcome our new neighbor, that’s all. We were going to come right back.” Coco and Mallory both left the porch to go stand alongside their peers, and as they did so, you followed slightly behind because you were curious now. “Mallory, sweetie, that was a very kind gesture but please inform an instructor next time so we know where you are. This is the most important day of the year for the academy and you know that- Oh…”

The headmistress seemed to trail off when she saw you, and you felt much the same when you’d finally gotten to see her. Ms. Goode was so stunning that you were sure your heart was going to fly out of her chest. She had such a gentleness about her; Her golden curls rested softly against the frame of her pretty face and her deep brown eyes seemed to glitter when she gazed back at you. She was dressed in a floral, knee length dress that flowed freely around her form which seemed so different from what a normal boarding school head would wear. The look of concern she’d had completely melted away as she gave you the sweetest smile you’d ever seen before. It was a good thing that you’d been holding onto the railing of your porch considering that her very presence was making your knees weak.

“My apologies. I hope my girls haven’t disturbed your morning.” She addressed you with such a melodic tone.

“Wha- Oh! No, no, they’re fine. It was actually a nice surprise to have some visitors, and such polite ones, at that.” You assured her.

Coco, Mallory, and Zoe were all glancing at each other now with matching smirks as they watched you interact with their teacher.

“I’m relieved,” Ms. Goode said as she placed a hand on her chest, sighing as if a weight had been lifted from her, “Not many people are as kind to us here, so thank you for allowing them to your home.”

“Really, it’s no big deal,” You insisted, “You all are welcome here anytime. I’m just happy I have friendly neighbors.”

“I could say much of the same.” Ms. Goode replied. She was gazing at you with such warmth that you were sure you could get lost in her presence for hours. It was as if she couldn’t look away, her smile softening the longer you both stared back at each other and neither one of you wanted to let go of this just yet. You’d never seen anyone as beautiful as her in your entire lifetime and even though you didn’t know it yet, she was thinking the exact same thing about you.

“I uh- I don’t think I caught your name.” You said, cutting through the arising tension that was now hanging thick in the air. The older woman’s eyes lit up as she sort of laughed at herself. “Oh! Where are my manners- I’m Cordelia Goode, Headmistress at Robicheaux’s Girls Academy. And you are?”

“Y/N- Y/N Y/L/N.” As you introduced yourself, Cordelia took your hand and shook it very gently, though she didn’t seem to let go right away. She held it there as her thumb caressed over your skin as if to relish the physical connection she got to have with you in this moment.

“What a lovely name.” She said fondly. There was a sort of dreaminess in her voice that had you in some sort of trance, but the sound of giggling girls cut through that. It seemed to have caught Cordelia off guard just as much as she took her hand away. “I’m afraid I must get my girls back to the academy. Classes will be starting soon, but perhaps we will see each other again soon.”

“Sure thing. You know where to find me.”

Cordelia seemed to chuckle lightly and when you heard such a pretty sound, you realized how much her presence just seemed to shine a light on your whole morning. You hated to watch her walk away from you. There were so many things you wanted to say, to ask, to do just for her, and yet all you could do was stand there and politely wave goodbye. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Goode!” You called out as they all moved further from your porch. The headmistress glanced back in your direction and gave you the brightest smile.

“It was very nice to meet you as well, Ms. Y/L/N.” She called right back. Your name rolled right off her tongue and you swore that when she spoke it, everything felt right in the world.

Maybe the people in town were right. Perhaps that building across the street really was a school for witches. Maybe they’d come over just to put a spell on you with their magical powers. Or, maybe they were just normal women trying to be polite to the new girl in town and all of the rumors were the rambling dramatizations of paranoid, closed minded people. There was really only one thing on your mind now, and you knew that it was absolutely certain;

You couldn’t wait to see Cordelia Goode again. FIND MORE GAY SHIT HERE

#cordelia goode x reader #ahs imagine #coven imagine #cordelia x reader #sarah paulson #wlw imagine #here ya'll gooooo

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spoopydooblr · 8 months ago

Text

Demons | Chapter 1

Pairing: Billy Butcher (The Boys) x Supe!OC

Summary: Over a year ago, Lilith Murphy escaped the experiments and torture of the Sage Grove Center. After laying low and stripping at Super Girlz, she’s found by Billy and The Boys.

Warnings: descriptions of sex work, sexual violence, sexual themes, mental illness, eventual smut (!)

AN: omggggggggg so anyways….here’s ch 1! get excited y’all!!! please do let me know what you think! comments and likes keep me writing lol

Lilith Murphy was running late. So late that her boss at Super Girlz even noticed.

“You’re on in ten, Murph.” He grumbled, barely looking up at her as she entered the back office.

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” She breathed, pushing past him. They both knew it would definitely happen again.

Her manager grunted in response, staring down at his nude magazine.

Lili made her way to the dressing room, smiling curtly to the other girls as she made her way to a chair. She wasn’t really close with any of them—Lili preferred to stay on the outside. It was safest there.

The reflection in the mirror was a sore sight—her red hair was a mess and she still had last night’s makeup on. Smudges of black lined her eyes while leftover glitter stuck to her cheeks. She took a makeup wipe from her bag and wiped her face, preparing it for another night of heavy makeup and sparkles.

The routine was the same every night now. Lili was basically nocturnal at this point, her sleep schedule a mess and social life nonexistent. But she had to be there, it was the only way to survive after escaping Sage Grove.

It was hard for Lili to believe it had been over a year since the facility got broken into by some randos. She had been stuck there for years, enduring endless pain and torture because of the abilities she possessed.

Now wasn’t much different, though. The endless pain and torture didn’t stop, even now that she was free.

She was so used to pain she felt numb.

——————————

“Are you sure this is it?” Hughie asked as Billy pulled the car up to a dark alleyway.

“This the address Mallory gave me.” He grumbled, done with Hughie’s shit.

Hughie felt a shiver down his spine. They were in the middle of a bad neighborhood, about to walk down an alleyway.

“And you’re sure she’s here?”

“What I just tell ya? She’s here.”

Hughie gulped as Butcher led the way into the alley. Black clouds looked over the city. They reached a locked metal door, to which Billy banged on.

A disgruntled man swung the door open.

“Password?”

Hughie looked expectantly to Billy.

“Sixty-nine.” He said.

The man nodded and led them inside a dark room.

“The girls start in five.” He told them, pressing a button and opening another, more heavy door.

Inside, pink and purple lights filled the dark space. Supes were all over, sitting at the bar and on luxurious couches.

“What is this place?” Hughie whispered to Butcher.

“You never been to a supe club before, kid?”

He shook his head. Billy chuckled, looking around. “You ever been to a regular club?”

Hughie laughed nervously. “Um, no.”

“Well, maybe if yer lucky, one of these broads will give ya a wank.”

“I don’t know if I—“ Hughie started, hesitating when the lights started to go down.

“Stay close.” Billy said, walking towards a stage in the middle of the room. It was crowded, but they were able to find room towards the front.

“Butcher, I don’t know if we have time to watch the dancers—“

“Would ya fucking shut it, Hughie?”

“But where’s…uh…where is she?”

Billy didn’t have time to answer as music erupted from the speakers.

————————

“Are you ready?” A voice boomed from the stage. A twinky-looking EmCee had appeared.

The crowd erupted, the men almost feral for the girls that were about to come out.

“Introducing…the Super Girlz!”

The crowd once again went nuts, hooting and hollering.

Hughie looked at Billy, who kept his eyes on the stage, smirking. Work could sometimes have a little play, right?

The lights went off and everything was black. Hughie wondered if they had stumbled into the wrong place.

Pink lights flooded the stage as three girls stepped into view. They were all clad in lingerie, barely covering their asses. The men around them were practically frothing at the mouth.

Rap music started to play and the three girls began their routine, but something was missing. It was almost like they were waiting for someone. They shook their asses in a line, staring seductively into the crowd.

From the behind the stage curtain, a long, pink tongue appeared, snaking around the girls. The tongue licked one of the dancers on the cheek and she grinned.

A man next to Hughie hollered at the girls. It was all so, so weird. Who was the owner of this tongue?

Suddenly, the tongue snapped back into the curtain. The purple fabric was pushed to the side and a new girl appeared.

“Is that…” Hughie whispered.

Billy just smiled, keeping his eyes on the girl with the tongue. He had never seen her in person—just her mugshot in the file Mallory had given him. She was beautiful, of course, but he wasn’t expecting her to be that beautiful. And that body…

————————

Lili stepped out of the curtains, her heart audibly beating. All of the Supes around her could probably hear it.

It was so embarrassing to be nervous every show, but she couldn’t help it. One, she was on the run, and two, it was scary to be naked in front of randos.

Her outfit tonight was an all black bikini, contrasting her fellow dancers’ pink sets. The bottoms were definitely too small and the top barely covered her nipples, but Lili didn’t mind. Less clothes was equal to more tips.

The men in front of the stage cheered for her, sticking out their tongues. It was something her regulars did, thinking she would appreciate the solidarity. She didn’t.

Lili started her routine, dancing along with the other girls and showing off her twisty tongue. She had told her boss that elastic tongue was her only ability, which he was fine with. The other girls barely had powers in the first place. If only they knew who she really was.

Each girl took their turn doing a small solo for the men, grabby hands pushing dollars into their underwear.

Lili stretched her tongue in her mouth, moving her hips to the beat.

When it was her turn, she let her tongue fly, the pink thing seemingly having a mind of its own. The men yelled, begging for it to touch them. She smirked, letting her tongue lick at her own thighs as she knelt, ass out.

Her hands went up to cup her tits, swinging her head around, letting her bright hair flow.

The crowd was getting crazier, as they usually did, but she didn’t mind. It was easy money.

Hands reached out to her, stuffing one’s into her bra. Lili smiled seductively, her tongue also grabbing dollars out of the air.

She was almost done with her routine when she saw a large, strong hand reaching with a twenty.

Lili looked up, mostly expecting some old, rich creep. Instead, her blood ran cold.

————————

Sage Grove, 1 year ago

Lili sat in a damp, cold room. They had just done one of their “sessions”, which was basically just legal torture. The doctors at Sage Grove had specific instructions for her, because of her background. She was apparently too powerful for V experiments. Instead, the doctors at the facility did the opposite, pumping her full of V Inhibitor to control her powers. She felt weak and tired all the time, her once great powers pouring out of her like blood.

She sat on the icy floor, wishing that tomorrow would be the day that the V finally killed her.

Suddenly, sirens wailed from outside. The door to her room opened, but no one was there. Carefully, she got up and walked to the doorway, eyes widening at what she saw.

Patients ran through the halls, their various powers surging. Lili smiled, she was finally free.

She sprinted down the hallway, unsure if her powers would even work. The V Inhibitor was still in her system, slowing her down.

The front of the facility was open, with patients causing chaos all over. She could’ve probably beat the shit out of anyone there, but that would make her more of a target than she already was.

————————

The minute the grass touched her feet, Lili felt like she was home already. Not that she had a home, but if she did. She pondered her next move, the idea of a home on her mind as she ran through the forest.

Then gunshots rang in her ears. Lili ran to the nearest tree, hiding behind it as she searched for the origin of the sound. Fifty feet away, one of her friends lay on the ground, bullet holes in his chest. She gasped, looking to the assailant. A man in a Hawaiian shirt held a smoking AK. Next to him was a blonde woman who kind of looked like Starlight.

No, no. That was Starlight.

What was she doing at Sage Grove with a mysterious gunman?

————————

Lili couldn’t forget a face.

Like literally. Her brain was so powerful she remembered most things.

The face of the man in front of her was the same as the gunman from Sage Grove. Sure, he was hot, but he murdered a kid. Why was he, and the twink next to him, at Super Girlz?

Lili took the money from him, shoving it in her bra and backing up.

He stared her down like she was some kind of prey.

Lili turned, her nerves almost ruining the other dancer’s routine. She had to go. Now.

The dance was almost over and sure, her boss would be mad she left, but Lili was in danger. Even if the guy didn’t want to kill her, he was surely being followed. The Seven had their ways.

Lili left the stage, her stilettos clicking on the floor as she ran to the dressing room.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” she mumbled, trying to grab her clothes and bag. She couldn’t be on the run in lingerie.

“Well, well, well, look what we have ‘ere.” A British accent perked her ears. Lili turned, heart dropping.

“Who are you?” She pushed. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Billy looked her up and down, eyes lingering a little too much on her tits.

“Just a little chat, right Hughie?” He motioned to the skinny man next to him.

“Uh, uh yeah.”

“Whatever you want from me, I don’t have it.”

Butcher took a step closer. “We don’t want nothing from ya, love. Just a little help, that’s all.”

“Help?”

Billy smirked. “I got a tip that a little lassie gave Homelander a run for his money few years ago.”

Fuck. Lili’s body went rigid. Her mouth dried. “Well then you got the wrong girl.”

Butcher laughed. He got even closer.

“Nah. I think we got ‘er right here.” He stared into her eyes. If she wasn’t on the run, she’d consider it a tender moment.

Billy paused. “Eh, Demoness?”

The nickname stung her like a fucking wasp.

“Don’t call me that.” She spat.

“Ah, there’s the spunk!” Billy turned to Hughie.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“M’ sorry love, how rude of me.” He stepped forward, again. “I’m Billy Butcher, and this here,” he clapped the twink on the shoulder. “This is Hughie Campbell.”

“Okay, and?” Lili looked past the men and to the door. “How the fuck did you find me?”

“Not hard when ya stripping around in ya knickers and using that tongue of yours.”

Rude, but true. Lili shivered, crossing her arms in front of her breasts. She was still practically naked. Again, Butcher’s gaze lingered a bit too long.

“You two enjoy the show?” She spit back, turning to grab her clothes.

“Eh, seen better.” Butcher replied. Hughie looked uncomfortable.

Lili scoffed. “Sure.” She rummaged through her bag, desperate to cover up. “Doesn’t matter anymore, though, does it?”

Butcher was silent. Lili took a step towards him, almost as tall as him with her heels. “When The Seven finds me, which they will, no thanks to you, they will kill me.”

“That’s why we’re here first, love.”

Lili almost pressed her thighs together at the nickname. “And what makes you think I’ll come with you?”

Billy laughed. “You got anotha option?”

Lili thought for a second. She really didn’t have another option, but Billy and Hughie were still suspicious to her. How did they find out about her in the first place?

“I—“ she started, but before she could get the words out, the door to the dressing room burst open.

For the second time that night, Lili’s blood ran cold. In the doorway stood The Deep.

“Lilith!” He said, seemingly relieved to see her.

Frankly, Lili was too stunned to speak.

“Ah, how nice of you to join us!” Billy said, standing in front of Lili. She didn’t expect him to try and protect her. “Looks like you were searchin’ for the little lady here too.”

He looked past Billy. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”

Lili rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Kevin.”

Billy looked back to Lili, giving her a questioning look.

“N-no you’re not! Look at you, Lil!” He motioned to her bra and panties. “Why didn’t you find me when you escaped?”

Something inside of her snapped. After the years and years of torture, she was finally free. There was nothing holding her back from finally showing The Deep what she was made of. No Homelander watching over her or power inhibitors.

“You don’t fucking own me.” She spat.

“But, but I thought—“

“You fucking raped me, Kevin!”

Billy turned to Lili, then to The Deep.

Lili could hear his heartbeat pick up.

“The fuck ‘e talking about, Lili?”

She ignored him. Fight now, traumatic backstory later.

“I did not!” The Deep wined. “Why does everyone say that?”

“Maybe because yer a fuckin serial rapist bastard, ever think about tha?”

Lili felt her hands get hot. Oh no. She hadn’t felt her powers in a long time. The energy surged through her body, lighting her nerves up. Her heartbeat rang in her ears. There was no doubt The Deep could hear it, too.

“Lili, please.” He begged her. “Come back with me.”

“Never.”

“Please?” He pouted.

“The lady said no, Kevin.” Billy smirked, stepping towards The Deep.

They stared each other down. Lili didn’t know if Billy or Hughie were Supes. If they weren’t, it was going to be up to her to defeat The Deep. Her hands heated up more.

“Kevin.” She said, pushing past Billy. “You need to go.”

“Lilith—“

“Now!” She yelled, hands lighting on fire. Long, pointed fingernails grew from her fingers. Her eyelids flickered, revealing blood red irises, contrasting to her usual ocean blue.

Billy lunged back, but was unsurprised by her power. He must’ve read her file.

She spoke through new, pointed teeth, with a deeper, more ominous voice.

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to have to fucking kill you.” She couldn’t help the way she was feeling. After years and years of repressing her powers and taking the V Inhibitor, Demoness was back.

“Lili, baby—“ The Deep had only seen her powers once, ten years ago.

Lili opened her mouth, half expecting her tongue to slide out like a big joke. Instead, she breathed fire, flames shooting out of her mouth.

The Deep barely got out of the way before the fire scorched him. He fell to the ground.

“Fuck! What the fuck!”

“Get out!” She yelled.

The Deep scrambled up, grabbing the door handle.

“And Kevin,” Lili smiled with her fangs. “Do tell Homelander I’m back,” she looked to Billy, then back to The Deep. “Tell him I’m coming for him.”

Billy smiled to Hughie, who looked terrified. Lili forgot he was even there.

“Y-you can’t defeat him. He’s too powerful.”

Lili laughed, entire body in flames now. “Well a girl can try, right?”

“Lili—“

“No. Fuck you. Get out!” She shot fire from her hands, burning his skin.

The Deep crawled away, leaving an ablaze Lili with Billy and Hughie.

“Fuck.” She whispered, the fire on her body dying out. It was exhausting being a supe. Lili felt her body relax, but the relief was too much and she faltered, barely able to catch herself.

“Haven’t used those powers in a minute, huh?” Butcher grabbed her shoulder.

Lili’s eyelids fluttered. She was not going to pass out in front of a sexy older man.

“Uhh—“

“Here.” Butcher shrugged off his long black coat. “Don’t want ya lookin like a whore when ya meet the boys.”

He said that, though she could tell he would rather have her in her underwear (or nothing at all).

The boys?

#billy butcher x oc #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys

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nyqii21 · 3 days ago

Text

Break Me

A/N: Hey guys, just letting you know that this is a warning! This story contains mentions of blood and it's sexually graphic. SO that means 18+ . Warnings: unprotected sex, p.i.v., wounds, blood, nudity, fingering, squirting. I think that's all. Now enjoy! Let me know how I did, on my first smut story...Please. :-) xoxo

It is late at night, and you just got out of the shower. With a towel wrapped around you, you make your way to the dresser. Just as you're about to pull out the deep green silk pajama set, you hear the obnoxious hammering against your door.

You know who it is, and by the sounds of it, he sounds needy and desperate. Still wrapped in a towel, you go to unlock the front door. You see him standing there, looking like he is out of his mind with blood covering him from head to toe, he's holding on to his side. And that's when you notice the massive patch of blood around his hand.

"Help...", that's all he says, before collapsing on top of you, thankfully, you are a supe, you aren't powerful like Annie or Soldier Boy. Your supe powers are strength and healing, like a witch, if you will. Using your supe strength, you get up with Butcher. You manage to maneuver him so he's on your back and you make your way to the make-shift ER in your living room.

As gentle as you could, you lay him down on the bed and start working. Dozing him with enough morphine through the tiny needle in your skin, making sure he'll be fine.

"You need to calm down," you think to yourself, and you try your best to be calm and collected, but this is Butcher, the one guy that you have been in love with ever since Grace Mallory asked you to join the team, years ago. Every time you fucked someone else; you always imagine it being him. And always afterwards you're left with the ache of knowing that he'll never be with you in that way.

Taking a deep breath, you shake yourself from your thoughts. You start taking care of Butcher, stitching him up and cleaning up his wounded side. Once you are done, you plant a soft kiss on the stitched line, and within minutes the wound is already halfway healed. Just enough to make sure he won't rip the stitches out once he leaves and back into the field.

After about 2 hours ,"Ugh", you finally hear him groan. "Hey, Billy," you say softly, that has his snapping his head in your direction. "Thanks, luv, appreciate it," he states not making eye contact. "Classic Billy, hates all supes, even the ones actually doing good in the world", you think to yourself, rolling your eyes.

Butcher's POV:

I came to the one place; I knew that could help me. Her place. As much as I hate supes, this one really is different. She takes care of people; she's kind and loving. I knock on her door and within seconds she opens up. "Help...", is all I can manage before darkness consumes me.

I wake up, on a table, feeling stiff as fuck, but the second I heard her voice; it was like everything else faded away. I look at her. I thank her, avoiding eye contact. Not because she is a supe or because I hate her. No, I couldn't let her get a glimpse of my eyes and see into my soul. I noticed she's in a towel, covered in blood, obviously mine.

She comes closer to me, and I feel her ever soft hands on my side, checking the newly forming scar. I can't help but feel the electricity coursing through me in that moment. I don't know what's happening, I have always thought that she is ridiculously stunning, and she is this petite creature, yet she doesn't take any of my shit. I would never admit it to anyone that I fancy her. After Becca, I never thought I would ever feel this way about anyone ever again, but she woke something up in me.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush against my chest. She let a small yelp escape her lips and I had to refrain from chuckling at the sound. I don't know what possessed me, all I knew was that I had to have more of her skin touching mine.

Reader's POV:

Feeling his chest against mine, I am too confused to bother with breathing as I can feel and hear his heartbeat pick up slightly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have done that", he whispers but not making a move to let me go. "I-it's-I", the words won't come out, cursing myself internally, for this just had to be the moment, where my ability to speak stops working.

He leans closer to my face; I can feel his warm breath wash over my lips and nose. Before I can collect myself, he softly brushes his lips against mine. I feel like I could die from the sudden burst of emotions flooding my mind. I was hesitant to kiss him back, because what if this is one of those things where he is just doing this to fuck with me. He kissed met again, this time making his intentions clear, his hands find their way to my hips, where he grips on tightly, pulling me closer. I couldn't stop it if I tried. I kissed back, with the same intensity as he was.

He grabs my face in his massive hands and looks me in the eyes, "Tell-Tell me to stop and I will". I stare at him for a second, blinking. I don't answer him, I just pull his hips closer to mine and I hear him chuckle softly. He kisses me again, with more urgency and excitement than before. He taps my cheek twice, signaling me to jump. Jumping up I wrap my legs around his waist as he catches me, holding me under my ass. "Fuck, I. have. wanted. this. for. so. long", he says in between as he is trailing down my neck, leaving open mouthed kisses. I can feel my cunt throb at his words, making me wetter than I already am.

Butcher's POV:

"Fuck this is happening. I am kissing the woman who I have been dreaming about since Grace introduced us". My thoughts are racing in my head, as I feel her soft ass under my hands. Her curves are enough to make any man go insane. I spin us around, placing her on the make-shift bed. I move my hands to palm her tits, and I swear I could cum just from the sweet sounds she makes.

My cock is throbbing painfully in my jeans, but I can't rush, I want to savor everything about this moment, burn it into my memories. I pull away from her lips, and the whine that left her throat, almost had me lose control completely. I pull the towel open and like reflex she tries to cover up. "No, luv, don't hide f'me". Slowly she lowers her arms, and I moan at the sight. Without thinking twice, I wrap my mouth around her nipple and tug on the other with my fingers.

Reader's POV:

His assault on my breasts makes me squirm and moan loudly, as I lock my hands in his black hair. As I am moaning, I feel him moan against my tit, sending vibrations through me, making the feeling so much more pleasurable. I tug on his hair, bring him up to my lips for another kiss. "Please", is all that leaves my lips, before he strips at lightning speed. He catches me staring at his dick and chuckles. "Like wha' you see?", he asks me, and I nod slowly.

He helps me off the make-shift bed and leads me to my bedroom. Before we reach the bed, I turn to him and say, "Don't hold back, break me." With that he gives that alluring smirk of his and he shoves me onto the bed, crawling over me. I feel his hands wander down to my cunt and I know what's coming. I feel his fingers start to rub between my folds and I can't help the moan that escapes me. He slips a finger inside and I moan louder as he brushes against that spongy bump, that I struggle to reach sometimes.

"So wet f'me, fuck, can't wait to fill you up", he says, his voice dropping a few octaves, as he inserts another finger. I look at his eyes and I can see that they are filled with lust. He starts pumping his fingers at an alarming speed, hitting that spot that makes me see stars over and over again. I feel that familiar knot in my belly and I know I am on the edge. I am sure he feels my walls fluttering around his digits, because he just says, "Cum f'me", and with that I let out an animalistic moan as my walls contract around his fingers. He starts rubbing my clit, with his thumb, making my high even more intense. I feel a strange full feeling, and before I can figure out what is happening, I am squirting all over his hand.

"Fuck me, I didn't know you could do that," he says, his voice raspy, "Again!", he exclaims as he shoves his fingers back in. I moan loudly as he trusts his fingers in and out of my sensitive cunt. I am still so sensitive, that it doesn't take long for the knot to become tighter and tighter again. Nearly screaming his name, I cum again, "Billy!!". I squirt over his hand again.

Smiling down at me, I feel him remove his fingers gently, bring them to his lips, licking them. He groans as he sucks his fingers clean from my juices.

Butcher's POV:

She's a squirter, fuck me. If that is not the hottest thing on the planet that I have ever seen, I don't know what is. I bring my fingers to my mouth, and I can't help but groan at how sweet she tastes. Like honey. I can't wait anymore; I need to be inside her. Now!

I move between her legs, pushing them apart. "I need you- need to be inside you", I say. She nods almost frantically. I line myself up with her entrance. Slowly I push in, just the tip. I see her eyes rolling back slightly as she lets out a soft whimper. I push in more, and more, until I am flush against her dripping cunt. I moan at how tight she is gripping me. I know I won't last long with this delicious cunt.

Reader's POV:

I feel him entering, the stretch is a pleasurable pain. The kind that drives you wild. Once he is flush against me, I hear him moan. Not wasting another second, he starts dragging long thrusts against my walls, leaving just the tip inside before thrusting back in. "I-I told you to break me," I say while gasping at how full I feel. "Yes ma'am", he grunts out, before he starts railing me nine ways to Sunday.

His pace never falters, and I feel that knot getting tighter again. I feel my walls flutter around his cock, I moan his name to let him know that I am close. "Hold it", he grunts as he is thrusting at an unforgiving speed, hitting deeper than I thought possible.

A few more thrusts and he says, 'Now", his hips faltering a little, his thrusts becoming sloppier and I let go. Moaning and sort of screaming, I cum so hard, I swear I see heaven. He thrusts once, twice before I feel him painting my walls white.

He collapses on top of me, still making sure he doesn't crush me. I feel him kiss my head and he pulls out, falling down next to me on the bed.

After sort of catching our breaths, he turns to me, placing his hand on my cheek, making me look at him. He kisses me softly resting his forehead against mine. "I love you", he says softly. I know in my soul he means it.

Kissing him again, I say, "I love you too". We remained entangled in each other's arms as sleep takes over. I am happy and sated, at peace, knowing that Billy Butcher, loves me.

#billy butcher imagine #billy butcher the boys #karl fucking urban #smut #romance #billy butcher smut

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