#beckett x reader

[imaginepirates]

Beck and Call

The reader is an employee of Beckett's, working as an entertainer to gather information at social events. While getting a little too close to clientele for Beckett's taste, you're pulled off to an unoccupied room so he can remind you exactly who's in charge. Of course, things get frisky from there.

Please note that the reader is fem. Also know that the fic features a heated makeout session and strip-tease, but no full nsfw content.

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @viper-official @hellspawn-brownies @groovy-lady @ghoulishbehaviour

~3300 words

~~~~~~~

What first caught your eye was the rather loud waistcoat. Even from across the room, the amount of embroidery looked egregious. It was somewhat made up for by the tasteful choices in color, which managed not to clash with each other on the bright fabric. If the Lowell family were known for anything, it was their flamboyance. And annoyingly good hair, you thought to yourself, touching your own lightly to ensure the pins were staying in place. 

The wearer of said offending waistcoat was the youngest of the Lowell boys, quite eager to prove himself to high society. He was a handsome sort, with a sharp jaw and a ready smile, all blonde curls and shining eyes. Open to speaking about anything, too, which was exactly why you were there. 

The boy’s father had just come into a position in the House of Lords, and would be yet another influencing factor on trade. Your job was to make him talk, to see how open his father might be to working with your own employer, a certain Cutler Beckett. Beckett was always looking for political sway, so you were always dragged to social events to eavesdrop. Spying was too harsh a word, he told you, though you knew he’d let you call it whatever you liked as long as the job got done. 

Thankfully, all socials needed entertainers, and entertaining made you just interesting enough to speak to. You could, of course, pose as some highborn lady, but for the Lowell boy, nothing less than the most dazzling performer would do.

You struck a captivating figure, even you had to admit. Beckett had near outdone himself—he wasn’t one to be afraid of dressing you immodestly, but your dangerously low neckline was nothing short of scandalous. Your dress, a dark turquoise mantua the color of stormy seas, was accented by embellishments of white and gold. Tiny satin roses sat along a creme stomacher, and lace spilled out from the elbows of your sleeves and along your collar. False ringlets hung at the sides of your face, giving the illusion you had more hair than a head could hold. Your jewelry, too, had its own extravagance. A pearl necklace lay at your throat in three lengths, and your earrings featured one dangling pearl apiece. 

Truth be told, you felt a little like a trussed up doll, but you supposed that was all you were for the evening anyway. 

You took your place amongst the musicians, keeping an eye on the boy as you went. You made sure to pass by close enough that he had no choice but to notice you, and you blushed prettily as his gaze trailed after you. Eye contact. If you’d learned anything, meeting a man’s eye for a brief moment was more daring, more alluring, than any dress you could ever wear. 

Working for Beckett required a wide range of abilities from you—singing, dancing, pianoforte, social skills—and you were always expected to put them to use. There were the other necessities, sometimes, like good aim, which you preferred to leave to Mercer, but you learned all the same. Tonight, thankfully, all that was required of you was your voice

So you sang. Backed by a small ensemble, you provided the music for partygoers to dance to, raking your eyes over the crowd all the while, taking in the social scene. You stood at the perfect spot for observing who talked to who, and which groups avoided each other, and if anyone’s dress was out of season, and whether or not the Lowell boy accepted drinks from waiters. 

Oh, and Beckett’s piercing gaze. 

Nobody else noticed—nobody else could—as Beckett watched you from the corner of his eye. His stare raked across you, making gooseflesh rise on your arms and a shiver run down the back of your neck. He watched, of course, to make sure you were doing your job, and that his eyes weren’t the only pair drawn to you. But you had been under his employment a long time, and you knew his many looks, and the darkness in this particular look was one he reserved for precious few people. In fact, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him direct this look to anyone but yourself, which gave you a little too much satisfaction. 

This look was one of desire, and you’d be damned if you didn’t capitalize on it. Beckett wasn’t the only one who could toy with people. 

The performance over, you mingled with the crowd, graciously accepting compliments and putting on a dazzling smile. It didn’t take long for the boy to be drawn over; his eyes carding over you with clear interest, and you knew it wasn’t just your voice drawing his attention. 

“That was positively breathtaking.” He had a pretty smile, you conceded to yourself, but was full of foppish energy you’d have to brace yourself against. 

“Thank you.” You pretended to be flattered. 

“You’re breathtaking, as well. Wherever did you get that dress?”

The problem, you found, was that he was really and truly interested. All his excitement was genuine, and as much as you hated to use it against him, it was your job. “The silk is from China,” you lied. China sounded much more interesting than Bristol, and he wouldn’t know the difference. 

Soon, he was talking about his father, and you listened to every word. When the topic of spices and textiles arose, you slipped Beckett’s name into the mix, mentioning him as the gifter of your dress. To the Lowell boy, it was nothing more than an offhand comment, but you knew Beckett’s name was in his brain now, and as sure as he was to mention you to his father, he would be mentioning Beckett as well. 

It was when you let him inspect the pearls at your throat that you noticed Beckett’s glare from across the room, hot and fixated on the spot where the boy’s fingers made contact with your skin. You had the sudden feeling you’d done something wrong. Oh, the show you were making of yourself wasn’t truly vital, no, but surely Beckett couldn’t be upset about it. 

Surely he couldn’t be jealous.

Mercer appeared by your shoulder in short order, seemingly out of nowhere. “I’m afraid the songbird is needed elsewhere,” he drawled. “I’m sure she’ll be back in not too long.”

“Oh, of course.” The boy smiled, bidding you farewell. “For you, I can wait.” 

You rather hoped he didn’t.

You let Mercer drag you away from the crowd, though his iron grip on your arm wasn’t wholly necessary. You had no doubt who the order had come from—you were at the man’s beck and call. A thrill ran through you; you couldn’t help but feel a little excited. After all, you’d succeeded in making the famously well-restrained Cutler Beckett snap under the weight of jealousy. But you were apprehensive, too. There was no telling just how he would react, and though you weren’t afraid, necessarily, you were aware he could cause you discomfort without doing harm. 

Mercer pulled you into a library, oak shelves making a maze of the room. At the back, Beckett sat in a comfortable looking chair, rising unhurriedly to greet you. He gave you a casual once-over before turning away to inspect a row of exotic artifacts, affecting disinterest.

“You’ve taken quite the shining to the Lowell boy.” 

“Well,” you started, taking on the same air, “shining is the word to describe me tonight. You’ve made sure of that.”

He turned back to you then, regarding you darkly. He wouldn’t fall for any of your charm; at least, he’d be aware of your acting. You couldn’t fool him. 

But you didn’t need to. Despite trying to make it look otherwise, he’d already given away his attraction to you, and it only felt right to give him what he made you give others. You couldn’t get shy on him now—that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted your acting, even if he knew that’s what it was. You were a performer, and he liked a show.

“Your…enthusiasm…in tonight’s assignment was unparalleled. I’ve never seen you take such an interest in any of our potential clients before.” Beckett looked up at you through dark lashes. “Though,” he paused, brows knitting together ever so slightly, “I do wonder why that boy in particular caught your attention.”

You fingered one of the small roses adorning your dress, trying very hard to seem like you weren’t thinking critically about your answer. “Oh,” you sighed, letting your chest rise and fall a little more than natural, “you know how it is. He’s young and pretty and has so many stories and so much energy. One can’t help but get pulled into his halo of excitement.”

Beckett snorted. “Please. You’re too smart to find any substance in that sort of personality.”

“It’s not his personality I need to find substance in.”

Beckett’s eyes flashed with an intensity you’d never seen, dangerous. You were in deep waters now, you realized, and there was no backing out. 

“Of course,” you continued, “we would need an empty room and locking doors. I’m sure you could procure something of the sort, given our current atmosphere.” You waved a hand, vaguely gesturing at the library. Then, you stilled, looking back at Beckett with your brows raised as if a thought had only just now occurred to you. “You weren’t hoping for something similar, dragging me in here, were you?”

Lighting quick, Beckett had one of your wrists in his hand, pulling you closer, his breath ghosting across the shell of your ear. “I know what you’re doing. I wouldn’t test me, if I were you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and the nerves in your wrist crackled with some electric impulse triggered by Beckett’s touch. It took everything in you not to gasp. You hadn’t expected his hold to be so tight, but he kept you in a vice grip, and you knew then and there you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. 

You steeled your nerves. This was a game, and you had to make your next move, risky as it felt. 

“Or what?” You whispered low in his ear. Your free hand made its way to the joint between his shoulder and chest as if to steady yourself on him, a teasing touch. He breathed deeply against it, and the light press of your fingertips became the flat of your palm.

“Or I’ll show you just what can be done in an empty library.”

He pulled away abruptly, a tidal wave of relief cascading over you. The onslaught wasn’t over, of course, but he was giving you a respite, and though you weren’t admitting defeat quite yet, you’d take it. 

Beckett sat back in the chair, relaxing, a smirk resting on his face. “Go on then. Show me how you would seduce this boy.”

You nearly balked at the suggestion. Whatever you’d been expecting, it wasn’t this—this forwardness, so casually put, not a trace of hesitancy to be seen. You only wondered for a brief moment whether he was serious; the confidence in his deepening smirk told you all you needed to know. 

You straightened. Beckett wasn’t going to back down, and his words weren’t a suggestion. They were an order. That thought alone made you weak at the knees.

Always start slow. This was a seduction, and a seduction called for a certain amount of teasing. Anticipation was the true key; keep your voyeur waiting until they simply couldn’t wait any longer, until they became too enthralled to turn away. You began with the pins at the back of your dress, letting the pleats and folds in the back fall with each steel fastening removed. Heavy fabric settled on the floor, the back of the dress now more of a train. 

Beckett was still perfectly composed, but the effect of your efforts was clear. His eyes followed your every movement keenly. You took advantage of it, having nowhere to set the pins but the small desk beside him. You bent down, allowing him a good look at your décolletage, and you were gratified to see him draw in a breath. 

Next to go was the stomacher, also pinned in place. Here, the true divestment began. Once the stomacher was off, the front of your stays would be on full display. You’d known Beckett a long time, and he’d seen you in plenty of compromising positions, but never like this. 

Eye contact, you reminded yourself. More alluring than any dress. More alluring than any undress. 

Beckett settled back in his chair as the stomacher came undone, staring openly at the space it previously occupied. You wondered how often he’d had the chance to see women’s undergarments so personally, but waved that though away, bringing your hands up to the ruffled sides of your bodice and slowly, ever so slowly, peeled it off your shoulders and let it drop to the ground. 

Beckett readjusted in his seat. You could hear his breathing, now, and his lips sat slightly parted, as if he could taste you on the air. Your arms, now bare, felt the chill of the library acutely. If you shivered, it wasn’t from the cool alone—Beckett’s eyes raked over you with undisguised lust, making it hard for you to keep from blushing. You were all petticoats, well beyond the definition of improper. 

You untied your silk skirt, a matching turquoise to the bodice, never taking your eyes off Beckett’s own, even as his wandered. You had to slip it off over your head, but you managed it smoothly. That too you dropped on the floor, letting it slide right out of your fingers. 

Beckett’s eyes met yours again, though you could tell he was getting impatient. You loosed the panniers from your sides where they hung to give your skirt its volume, dangling them from your fingers. You walked towards him, setting the small hoops down atop the pins you’d put next to him. Precious little covered you; your modesty was saved by your chemise, though you didn’t expect it to last. 

For a long moment, you and Beckett stared at each other. You were close enough to touch, but he refrained from reaching out, clearly interested in what you would do next. 

“May I use the chair?” You didn’t wait for a response, raising one foot to the seat just next to Beckett’s thigh. Your stockings had to go, and you began untying the garter fastened just above your knee, your chemise now hiked up to reveal a sliver of skin. One of Beckett’s hands moved, seemingly involuntary, and you smiled, shaking your head. 

“Look, don’t touch.”

Beckett’s eyes snapped up to yours. It was your turn to give orders, and you weren’t about to play fair. You unlaced your garter, dropping it in Beckett’s lap. Then, inch by inch, you rolled down your stocking, only divesting yourself of it when you were sure Beckett felt tortured by it. He exhaled, resting his head against the back of the seat. But he smiled—a genuine smile—and you knew you were doing the right thing. 

“Dear god,” he breathed, still watching as you undid your other stocking. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man. Otherwise I’d already have you bent over a desk somewhere.”

The way he’d grabbed you earlier, you didn’t doubt it. “And have everything over with so quickly?” you teased. “That’s no fun.”

“You have a point. Though, if you keep me waiting much longer, I might not be able to help myself.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you blushed a little in spite of yourself. 

The moment your other stocking hit the floor, Beckett was out of his seat, spinning you around to press you against the wall. You gasped but didn’t resist, relishing a little in the way his hands explored you, running down your sides and pulling you closer by the hips. His lips brushed your neck, and you tilted your head to give him better access. 

The first kiss seared your skin. You found purchase in the back of his waistcoat, digging your fingers into the fabric to steady yourself. He continued his administrations down to your shoulder, where his teeth drew your attention to the soft bite he left above your collarbone. You couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped you. If he wasn’t careful, you’d have marks littering your skin come morning, and they’d be on display for everyone to see. You considered that this very thing might be his intent, but his lips at the tops of your breasts distracted you entirely. 

You felt his smirk more than saw it, and you knew he was taking great satisfaction in all the little noises you kept making. His touch became hampered by your stays, but he hardly seemed bothered. 

“Be good for me and turn around, yes?” He murmured.

You complied immediately, shocked by how quickly he made work of the lacings. You couldn’t help but wonder whether he ever meant to kiss you properly. A hint of disappointment wormed its way into your brain; you liked what Beckett was doing to you, that couldn’t be denied, but you didn’t want it to be all he did. You didn’t want to be a fling. If you were being honest with yourself, you longed for him to care about you, and you longed for him to show it.

You turned back to him appraising you, eyes raking over your form. The only thing covering you was your chemise, though you felt naked under his gaze. 

“Kiss me.” You disguised your plea with as much confidence as you could muster. For a moment, you feared he wouldn’t understand, or that he would reject you outright, but all worry was wiped away as his lips crushed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs with its intensity. 

You were both panting when you parted, though Beckett looked like he could kiss you until he suffocated. The idea both thrilled and concerned you. You reached out, cupping his face in your hands, watching the surprise on his face turn to mild desperation as he leaned into your touch. You pulled him in again for a gentler, more tender kiss, and he sighed against your lips. 

You’d never seen such softness in him before, and you were almost afraid of breaking him. His pupils, blown wide, remained fixed on you in a sort of daze, and to your great astonishment, a blush had crept up his cheeks. 

He hadn’t anticipated this, either, you thought. This tenderness is more intimate to him than any power-play could ever be. You could explore him like this forever, you realized. Gentleness was something foreign to him, but he lost himself in it, needed it terribly. 

Before you could get any further, a knock at the door had you pulling away from each other, gasping for breath and trying to shake off the little world you’d gotten so lost in. 

Mercer slipped in, paying you and your state of undress no mind. He didn’t seem surprised in the slightest to see you both unkempt. “Lord Lowell has an interest in speaking with you, Sir. It seems the youngest Lowell boy has been talking with his father about you.”

“Ah.” Beckett recovered his composure with impressive speed. “I’m glad to hear our little bird sung so sweetly as to sway him.” He looked at you teasingly. Mercer stepped out, affording you some privacy and Beckett a moment to get himself back together. “An unfortunate interruption. Though I do hope you won’t mind resuming later?” You were pleased to see a glint of hope in his eye—he wasn’t as unaffected as he liked to pretend.

“Oh,” you leaned in, whispering in his ear, “I’m counting on it. I’m still not sure you’ve shown me quite everything one can do in an empty library.”

I've never put dividers in my fics before, so please tell me if you liked them!

[inquisitornocturn]

≪─ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛᴀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ ─≫

⋟ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Beckett/f!reader the kindred, Sebastian LaCroix/reader as background pairing

⋟ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: y/n etc is not used, rating - E, POV second person, cheating, mild dubcon, smut, fingering, PiV, anal, deepthroating, facefucking, masturbation, cum swallowing, semi-public sex, porn with little plot.

⋟ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When you're nearly immortal your past tends to collect mistakes that sometimes catch up with you, just like tonight when you see that one of such possible mistakes have again decided to appear in your life, despite your best efforts to avoid it. Thankfully Sebastian doesn't notice a flash of panic as you notice that Beckett is present at this gathering in Nocturne Theater, but he also doesn't know what kind of past you share you with the Gangrel Elder who's allergic to swearing allegiance to anyone but himself. You hope he doesn't notice you, but when anything ever slipped past Beckett's keen senses?

⋟ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,644

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first of all - thank you L for not letting me forget Beckett's claws♡ second - i guess i'm back in the saddle, so to speak! this was fun to write and it's actually quite an old idea that someone suggested to me in passing when i first introduced Beckett to my longfic a minute to midnight. the suggestion was for a part two of it which, i'll admit, i am not going to do, because the fic is not even done at the moment of me posting this, no way i'm going to plan a second part so early (if at all), but the idea of the dynamic between the three of them kind of stuck so here it is - albeit brief, but fiery take on how it could possibly work. enjoy♡~

“Competence in this organization is truly scarce.” Sebastian murmurs by your side and you hear disdain in his words. You can barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but manage to keep yourself composed as you look at him.

“You say that decade after decade.” You remind him and his eyes snap to you, his blonde eyebrows furrowing at your perceived insolence, and you see his fingers tightening around the glass of blood he’s holding.

“That’s because it remains factual. Camarilla lacks dedicated, talented people. That’s why we’re here, in hostile territory trying to make things right.” He snaps back and peels his eyes away from you, scanning the crowd at this function.

Nocturne Theatre, one of the places LaCroix anointed to be an Elysium, is packed with other kindred tonight. The Primogen are here, including the elusive Dr. Grout who seems to keep himself apart from the rabble. Earlier you watched him for a little while, observing the man as he tried not to twitch, not to hide behind his own glass of blood, as he whispered to himself from time to time. Malkavians, what an interesting breed of kindred.

You are tempted to argue with Sebastian, to tell him that LA is not as hostile as he thinks it is. It’s hostile to him, surely, and perhaps the Camarilla presence overall, but otherwise it’s a decent city. You met the Hollywood Baron, and one in Santa Monica, both of them attending this gathering as well, but at the moment neither of them is in your eyesight.

“Look at them and tell me that they don’t need a leader.” Sebastian speaks up again once you don’t and you watch him gesture over some figures. You try to understand who he means exactly and struggle because it could be anyone from Nines Rodriguez to VV, who thankfully is dressed appropriately tonight, to-

Oh no.

Your eyes widen for a moment and you turn your face away, hiding it behind your glass by taking a sip. Quickly you clear your throat.

“Yes, of course they need a leader, that’s why you’re here.” You don’t hesitate to placate Sebastian’s growing irritation and breathe a sigh of relief when he clearly misses your reaction to seeing one particular guest lingering among the kindred, chatting up Primogen Strauss among all people.

Beckett.

You heard rumors that he might be in LA, you even heard rumors that he’s here to mingle with thin-bloods that seem to be littering the Santa Monica beach, but you hoped that Tung’s grapevine gossip is not true. You aren’t so lucky, it seems.

As you glance in Beckett’s direction, seeing the same dusty coat he wore last time you saw him, seeing his dark brown hair loose as always, and his charming yet often sarcastic smile - you remember all too well why you have been trying to avoid him.

Before you ended up with Sebastian you were with Beckett. Very briefly, very tumultuously, very passionately. You ran into each other in Paris, where you were trying to distance yourself from your Sire who remained in Italy and Beckett was chasing yet another meager, fallible clue to one of the questions he always is looking the answers for.

You met in a kindred bar, another Elysium, where you were trying to plan your next steps and Beckett was annoyed that some sort of contact stood him up. You barely remember what happened next, you drank, a lot, some sort of special blood that made you feel drunk in a way you used to feel when you were alive. Beckett most likely was drunk too, maybe against his own better judgement, but next evening you woke up with him in your bed, your body sore and cut from his claw-like nails, your head swimming and a strange affair that caught up with you couple decades later in another city. You were with Sebastian already, but Beckett didn’t care and he took the opportunity to remind you just exactly how he made you feel before.

Cheating kindreds, what a concept. Do morals of kine even apply to you?

For a moment you wonder that as you look at Sebastian, still lingering by your side and sipping thick liquid from the glass, his cold, blue eyes settling from one attendee to another. He wasn’t a Prince back then, when you cheated behind his back, but he is now and you wonder what would happen if Beckett again decided that satisfying his desires comes as a priority above all else. So many things he treats like this, not just you.

“Hm. I think it’s time to talk to Grout. He started skipping most meetings.” LaCroix says to you half-heartedly, not really caring if you’re listening or not, so you simply nod and get slightly startled when his icy gaze turns to you with a strange warning in them. “Remember to behave. I haven’t been Prince for long, your behavior reflects on me, is that understood?”

“Yes, Sebastian.”

“Try that again.”

You scrunch your nose ever so slightly, knowing what he wants to hear and not wanting to comply with his ever-growing ego, but you sigh slightly.

“Yes, Prince.” You finally respond and Sebastian smirks at you, showing off his fangs that find their way into your flesh so often.

“Good, good. Now, I shall excuse myself.” He says and walks off without giving you another glance.

You sigh the moment he’s further, watching him approach Dr. Grout and seeing Primogen’s eyes widen momentarily as LaCroix walks up to him, but your eyes quickly return to Beckett. He’s still talking to Strauss but now he’s at an angle that you can see his face better and the sunglasses on his nose, you can even make out his red, glowing eyes that you remember so well when they burn with passion.

You have to hide.

You can’t let Beckett see you because you don’t know in what kind of mood he is. Maybe he has another to satisfy him or maybe he doesn’t, but in either case he might still want to play with you, simply because he one hundred percent knows that you’re a chosen partner of Prince of LA. And what’s a better way to boost his own ego than to temporarily claim something that’s not his. After all, his entire career as a kindred anthropologist is based on exactly this kind of behavior and you haven’t been able to resist him the first two times he wanted to lay his claim.

Carefully you begin stepping backwards, only now realizing why you haven’t sensed him before seeing him, his attendance catching you so off guard. With so many kindred around it’s hard to notice even his presence, but that matters none because he’s here and so are you, and you understand that you have to retreat to the lobby before you stand out, so you turn your back and pick right side of the room to serve as your escape route. You take note of the scattered crowd: some in seats, some standing in groups and there’s even some ghoul servers, but you don’t know if they are Sebastian’s or anyone else’s. Either way, you see the open door and that’s your goal, that’s what you focus on.

After short walk alongside the row of seats you turn left, seeing your salvation so close, seeing Gary of all people lingering there as well, and he grins widely to you as you have no choice but to approach. When you’re about to greet him, out of necessity and not friendship, you hear someone speak and it’s not the Nosferatu Primogen because his face doesn’t move.

“Ah, I was hoping to see you.” A smooth voice you recognize so well and you stop in your tracks.

Shit.

He did notice you after all. Maybe your not-so-discreet escape drew his attention or maybe he was just waiting for you to separate from the crowd. Either way, when your eyes move to the speaker, you see Beckett with his head slightly cocked to the side and a curious look already set on your face over his sunglasses.

You take a moment to compose yourself and manage a strained smile.

“Beckett. Surprised to see you here.” You say in a voice that even to you sounds forced and notice Gary giving a glance to you both.

“I take you know each other well.” He chuckles in that gravelly voice of his and for a moment you wish you could strangle the damned Nosferatu with his own bowtie. You don’t need anyone making this more awkward than it is.

“We know each other.” Beckett replies, giving Gary a short look before looking back at you. “Would you be so kind and give me a moment of your time? I’d like to discuss something of great import.” He continues and you clench your jaw for a moment then smile.

“Wouldn’t it be best if the Prince heard it?” you ask, trying not to let your mind wander to sudden memories of his animalistic, near feral kisses. Sebastian never came anywhere close to the passion you experienced with Beckett, and sometimes you still think of him instead of the Prince when fucks you whenever his mercurial mood strikes.

“No, this is a matter that’s best heard by his beloved partner.” Beckett’s words are tinged with sarcasm and you want to wipe that arrogant grin off his face, but with Gary watching you have no other choice but to play by the rules of diplomacy.

“Hah, beloved partner. I’m sure she is very loved by our wonderous Prince.” Gary interjects with another one of his chuckles and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Do you have anything you want to say, Gary?” you ask with your tone cold as a cadaver and Gary chuckles again then raises his palms in show of surrender.

“Not at all, boss. Just being observant, but I can tell when I have overstayed my welcome.” He grins, his lips, or what’s left of them, twisting in a cynical manner and he gives you a short bow of his head before he glances at Beckett. “I’m sure we will talk again.” Nosferatu says to him and walks past the man, choosing the middle aisle to stroll towards the main gathering without looking back.

You watch him go with slightly confused expression, now wondering what kind of rumors are spreading about you and Sebastian. What kind of gossip can there even be? You are together, neither of you sleep around, well, except for that one time in your past that’s been out of your control and that is now presenting itself to you again in a form of Beckett’s sardonic smile.

“I was actually hoping to see you.” He says and you look at him, your eyes meeting his over the sunglasses that he has lowered down his nose.

“What for?” you snap at him and Beckett raises his eyebrows at your drastic change of tone.

“Can’t two old friends talk?” he smirks and you grit your teeth, your eyes briefly glancing over his shoulder to the attendees by the stage, noticing Sebastian’s blonde hair while he’s surrounded by what looks like VV and Therese. You worry not, he hates both of them with visceral seething.

“Friends?” you scoff and Beckett’s smirk widens as he steps closer, his fingers quickly and firmly closing around your wrist. His other hand grabs your glass and sets it on a backrest of the nearest theater chair before you can protest.

“Old acquaintances.” He responds in a quieter tone and for a moment he too glances back, most likely making sure that no one is paying close attention to the both of you, then he steps past you, outside of the stage room and into the dimly lit lobby while pulling you after him.

“Beckett, you can’t be serious.” You hiss at him as you follow him against your will. With couple tugs you try to free your limb from his grasp with no luck, his clawed fingers only tightening around it further and you sigh in capitulation. Maybe he only wants to talk.

Once in the lobby, where no one else seems to be present, he stops and turns to you. Beckett’s eyes quickly sweep over you, your tight red dress and the slit in it over your thigh, your décolleté that reveals nearly more than it hides and pauses at your neck before his studying gaze meets yours once more.

“Climbing the kindred ladder I see. You sensed well that Sebastian will be your ticket to upper echelons of Camarilla.” His mocking grin pokes at your anger and you have to remind yourself who he is and where you are, but he always knew just what to say to get you either aroused or pissed off. Sometimes both at the same time.

“I’m not with him to be his stay-at-home wife, Beckett.” You frown and try to tug your wrist out of his hand again with no luck.

“No, you’re with him because he offers protection. And that hulking monkey at his side, of course.” He chuckles, always so damn arrogant because he’s an Elder. Or maybe he always has been like that, before the centuries piled up.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” you ask growing more irate by the moment, but Beckett clicks his tongue at you.

“So impatient. Not even a Fledgling anymore but some things do not change, I suppose.” He taunts again, making your frown deepen, not because of his mocking but because he’s wrong.

“You don’t know how I was when I was a Fledgling, don’t act as if you’ve known me my entire immortal existence.” You tug at your wrist again and this time Beckett’s grip tightens enough to begin hurting, but you don’t betray it, just stare him down as he sighs with another chuckle.

“No, but I know your Sire. Or rather, your dear old dead Sire.” He laughs and with free hand he grips your chin, lifting your face to his like he wants to inspect it. His body draws closer for a better look and you clench your jaw, not moving your eyes from his. “I did want to talk to you about something but now that I see you, I might have another idea.” He whispers and your mind reels for an answer, trying to avoid settling on the obvious one.

You are caught off guard by his words so much so that you don’t even notice how his fingers are becoming warmer against your skin, how the glow in his cat-like eyes becomes a little brighter. Your gaze leaves him for a moment, glancing in the direction of the door to the stage room, but your plan of escape is immediately reduced to nothing as Beckett releases your chin and turns, making quick strides to a door. You scramble after him, your heels hindering your steps, and you briefly notice the sign on the door, informing you that he’s pulling you into women’s bathroom.

The moment you are shoved into the small area, you try to turn, to maybe push back and leave, but once the door closes it becomes completely dark. Kindred have no use of bathrooms after all, there’s no light here and in utter darkness you have less of a fighting chance against a man like Beckett.

You feel the grip on the back of your neck and only the sound of your heels and his shoes fill the silence as he guides you forwards. You orient where you are quickly the moment you see the dull reflection of Beckett’s eyes in the mirror and you manage to grasp the edge of the sink just before he pushes the side of your face against the cold glass.

“Beckett, you can’t, what if Sebastian-“

“But that’s part of the thrill, dear.” He chuckles and you finally notice how hot his palm of on your neck feels. Your eyes adjust to the darkness and you see shadowy reflection of your own face as it is pressed against the mirror. You want to argue further but Gangrel’s free hand begins roaming over your waist.

“Thrill for us to get killed?” you ask in a breathy voice. You don’t struggle and you don’t fight because you do want this. Sleeping with Sebastian is so boring after all, not after you know how good sex can really feel, even for kindred.

Beckett laughs at your words, his hand now beginning to lift your dress in hurried movements, pulling it up and twisting the fabric, maneuvering the slit in it so that it falls on both sides of your hips like an opening while he has you bent over the sink.

“Sebastian cannot kill me. He may be a Camarilla Prince, but he’s still just a brat.” He taunts the very notion of Sebastian being any threat for him whatsoever and you hear the sound of fabric ripping as Beckett gets rid of your panties swiftly and efficiently.

“Beckett!” you hiss at him when hems of them dig into your skin for a moment before they are completely torn off and you hear a chuckle.

“Sorry, darling, they were in the way. And you know how I am about things that try to stop me from getting what I want.” He replies and makes you gasp the moment you feel his fingers rubbing at your folds from behind, vampire’s touch passionate and expert, making sure his claws do not hurt you, only allowing them to scrape against you.

Beckett’s skin is like embers upon yours, now that he’s using the Discipline to rouse himself and his body from its usual dead state, and you moan despite yourself. You’re aroused but you’re not wet and he can feel it, for that you need to follow his suit and trigger power of your blood to simulate life for you to fully enjoy what he’s about to do to you.

“Hm, you still feel just like I remember.” Beckett whispers and you feel his lips trail over your back where the dress doesn’t cover it, searing trails left in his wake as he moves a hand from behind you and now in front of you, beginning to rub your clit in quick, precise circles. You moan again. “Come on, I know you want this, you’re not even struggling.” He taunts again and you gasp when his fingers toy with your clit in a way that makes your knees weak.

“We can’t, I can’t.” You respond in a whisper and Beckett lets out a short, silent growl of annoyance then he scoffs.

“You’ll change your mind in a moment.” He says and you hear taunting in his tone again before his fingers leave your body, his hand still firmly pressed against the back of your neck and you begin hearing sounds of fabric being shifted around, then a clink of a belt buckle being maneuvered and lastly the promising sound of a zipper being pulled down.

“Beckett, please.” You whisper and not because you truly want him to stop but because the risk of being caught is just too great. What if Sebastian notices you’re gone? What if Gary ‘subtly’ tells Prince that before you disappeared he saw you talking to Beckett? What if?

“Begging now? How delightfully unexpected.” Beckett taunts and you feel the warm tip of his cock nudge at your folds, then slide slightly up to your entrance before he begins to push himself in.

You make a sound through your clenched teeth. The sensation is not the most pleasant, but it’s not entirely unpleasant either as he forces himself into you inch by deliberate inch.

“If you only let yourself enjoy it a little this might be much much more pleasant for you.” Beckett speaks and you know he’s right because by the time his impressive length is buried inside of you to the fullest you feel mostly pain. Blood tears gather in your eyes from the discomfort and your fingers grip the edge of the sink so tightly you feel like you could tear it off the wall with one pull. “Come on, dear.” His voice is dripping honey against your ear as he whispers, hot breath fawning over your skin and hair. “Submit to me.”

With that Beckett begins to pull out, readying himself for another thrust, and you know you have no choice. He won’t stop and not using the Discipline out of principle is stupid and childish. So you give in, needing only a moment to concentrate and active the only thing that will elevate this from painful to pleasurable.

You feel your limbs beginning to warm up, your heart beginning to beat, you inhale, feeling your lungs fill with air in a different way compared to when you simulate breathing. And your body responds to the abusive invasion, you feel yourself becoming wetter by the second and hear Beckett exhale with satisfaction.

“This is much, much better.” He commends with satisfied tone in his voice and then he thrusts into you again, this time his passage easier, smoother. His fingers once more move around you to your clit and he begins rubbing it once more, urging your body to respond, to give him what he needs – your arousal.

“You’re a bastard.” You whisper against the mirror, your breath now fogging it and you hear Beckett chuckle behind you, a third thrust being easier than previous two, your cunt quickly becoming soaked so much so that you feel some of it drop down your inner thigh as he thrusts into you again.

“And you’re overflowing.” He taunts and makes you moan when two of his claws scrape against your folds that are enveloping his shaft as he plunges into you again. “And so tight.” He mocks against your ear, enjoying how your body is still going through stages of temporary revival, and you let out a sound again as his cock stretches you deliciously painfully.

“Stop mocking me.” You snap at him much weaker than you wanted and Beckett nips at your ear with a chuckle.

“I’m not mocking you, I’m enjoying you. And I know you’re enjoying me. You love how I treat you, how I make you feel pain and pleasure at the same time. Such a little freak you are.” He whispers and you blush now, unable to deny his words. “No answer? Hard to argue with the truth, I suppose.” He goads you but you remain silent, just enjoy the feeling of his cock impaling you in slow, powerful rhythm while his fingers caress and stroke your folds. “Don’t relax just yet, I know what you truly like. After all, I was the one to introduce you to your pleasure.” Beckett nips at your ear again and you glance at him with the help of a mirror, only seeing his red eyes cast down for a moment before he straightens his back and pulls out, making you gasp from the agonizing absence his imposing cock leaves in its wake.

Beckett chuckles and his fingers slide over your stretched cunt, smearing his fingers with your arousal without digging his sharp nail in, but then it is gone too and you exhale with a whimper, wanting more, so much more.

“You’re taking fucking forever.” You murmur as you pant slightly, your grip on the sink relaxing at last and Beckett laughs softly.

“Quite literally, my dear.” He taunts and you roll your eyes before you stiffen when you feel the smooth tip of his cock now nudge at your asshole.

Your eyelids immediately droop and you bite your lower lip from anticipation. He was right, as he usually is. Beckett does know what you truly like and it’s only confirmed by your deliciously sweet whimper when he holds the base of his cock firm before beginning to push his hard length into your hole.

“That’s the kind of sound only cock in your ass can make you produce.” He says with such vulgarity that it makes your body shiver in response.

“Stop mocking me…” You moan again and Beckett scoffs at your words, his cock sliding into you with ease now that it’s been doused in your arousal.

“I’m complimenting you, dear.” Beckett corrects you and you smirk slightly, moans threatening to emerge as he carefully slides into you, letting you adjust to his size and girth.

“You’re complimenting yourself.” You respond and Beckett scoffs again, arrogant and haughty as ever, before you feel his body press against your rear, letting you know he buried his cock into you as deeply as he can.

“Someone has to.” He says and you feel the grip on your neck finally release you, feeling both palms on your hips now as he holds your ass in place for himself.

Before you can respond you feel Beckett’s lips on your back and then he draws his own hips back, before slamming right back in. You cry out and immediately clasp your palm over your mouth, moving your face and pressing your forehead against the mirror as pleasure nearly drowns your mind immediately. Your knees are weak and if you weren’t bent over the sink with Beckett holding you up, you would not be able to remain upright.

“There, the best compliment there is, a woman being so pleasured she’s close to losing her wits.” Beckett whispers against your skin and you feel his tongue trace alongside your spine for a moment before he at last starts thrusting.

You have to keep yourself quiet, you know that your very life depends on it. The bathroom is just too close to the stage room and someone might come out and hear, so you keep a palm over your mouth, trying to muffle your moans that are becoming louder the harder Beckett pounds into your ass. You bite your lower lip with your front teeth and your fangs nick your skin but you don’t even feel it. The pleasure is too great, and the pain of being stretched like this has wiped your brain from near all thoughts. You’re not sure you even remember your own name.

“You always took me so well, that’s what I like about you.” Beckett’s whisper is now against your shoulder and you feel his teeth as he bites down without drawing blood.

You whimper and then do it louder when his claws finally dig into your skin, slicing into it like daggers as the Elder grips your hips with supernatural strength. He needs it to keep you in place because he’s plowing into you with such force that you have to press palm of your other hand against the wall so that your back doesn’t break under tension.

Beckett swears under his breath after he releases your shoulder from his teeth and suddenly he pulls out, making you whine in protest, you felt like you were getting close to your bliss even like this, but Beckett has other plans.

He grabs your waist and turns you around, making you stumble on your unsteady legs and he leans in, giving your open mouth a fiery kiss before you feel him grip your arms and force you down to your knees. Your knees slip on the floor and you fall with your ass on cold tiles, your knees splayed and your panting filling the room in the moment of silence.

Beckett chuckles and grips your chin, pulling it up before he pushes two fingers into your mouth, making it salivate at the intrusion as he rubs pads of his digits against your tongue. You can barely see him in the darkness except for the eyes, those you can always see, and you clearly see as they watch you with lustful pride.

“Open wide.” He commands and you let your jaw become slack before his fingers leave your mouth and now his cock taps against your lower lip.

You swallow the saliva just in time, because he thrusts his length into your throat and when you instinctually try to pull back, Beckett grabs your hair and keeps your head in place.

“Come on now, dear, you know how to take it, no need to fuss.” Beckett croons and you know he’s right. You lean towards him, feeling the tip of his cock sliding alongside your tongue and nudging at your throat before you make it slide even deeper, until your nose is right against his pelvis, your tongue pressing hard to the underside of his length and you hear Beckett exhale with undeniable satisfaction. “Good girl.”

You whine around his cock, vibrations of your voice sending a shiver down his spine before he begins thrusting. He’s close, you know it, that’s why you’re on the floor, getting your mouth fucked, he likes hearing you sputter and struggle when he comes down your throat.

“Don’t deny yourself, darling, touch yourself. I want to feel you come.” Becket encourages and you don’t hesitate, your fingers quickly moving between your spread legs and finding your clit, still throbbing with need.

You begin to massage the nub, making yourself moan as you do so, your ass still feeling sore from taking his cock but it’s a pleasant feeling, one you relish as Beckett thrusts into your throat faster and faster. Your jaw is screaming from pain, it’s hard for you to accommodate him like this but you enjoy this feeling too. Part of the reason why you didn’t even resist him pulling you into this bathroom even if you spoke of it.

“Come for me, come on.” Beckett urges you, his breaths heavy and his voice unsteady while his other hand also tangles and grips your hair, making you whine as his pumps start becoming erratic.

Your fingers rub your clit faster and you don’t need much effort to feel the heat spreading between your legs and in your lower abdomen. Pleasure knots at first, taking over your mind completely and you unravel, your muscles spasm and your fingers stutter as you rub yourself to draw out your pleasure as much as you can while you moan around Beckett’s cock.

And then he comes too.

You have nearly forgotten that he’s fucking your face and when his hot and thick cum spurts at the back of your throat, coating it, you begin to sputter and choke, forgetting to swallow at first.

“Fuck! Swallow it all.” Beckett grunts as he moves his twitching cock in your mouth, letting your throat milk him for all he’s worth and you follow his command, finally remembering what you need to do, gulping down his seed until with one last twitch of his length last bits of it trickle down your esophagus.

He slowly pulls out, his fingers leaving your hair as he moves backwards from you and you watch his red gaze cast down on you while you listen to him move his clothes, first the zipper, then the belt buckle as you sit on the floor exhausted, disheveled and sweaty.

“We’ll meet again, I am sure.” Beckett finally says after he puts his clothes in other and then he leans over you, his fingers tilting your head up for him to press a strong, but short kiss against your lips. “After all, I’m going to be in LA for a while.” He teases with a smile against your mouth, then he pulls back, gives you another glance and walks out.

For a moment you feel blinded as the light from the lobby illuminates the bathroom when Beckett opens the door, but then it closes and you’re in darkness once again. Panting and dazed you sit for a moment longer, then grab the nearby sink to pull yourself to your feet.

“Damn it.” You swear under your breath as you grope around for the light switch and finally flip it, blinking couple times as your eyes adjust to the low brightness of the bathroom lights.

You look at yourself in the mirror, the Discipline now fading and your body cooling swiftly. You see your reflection, the bite on your shoulder, the creases in your dress and you finally notice your torn panties resting on the edge of a sink to your left. You grab them and toss them into trash, then lower your dress, trying to smooth it with an annoyed sigh. Your hair is a mess, you try to fix it too, then run some water, washing your face and rinsing your mouth. It takes you around ten more minutes to feel like you look somewhat presentable and with another swear at Beckett’s expense you exit the bathroom, only to stop immediately because he’s there, holding two glasses of blood and wearing that cocky grin on his face.

“Figured you might need some refreshments.” He taunts and you narrow your eyes at him but take the glass, still feeling ghostly soreness in your ass and jaw. You know that he knows.

“Yes, refreshments.” You mutter and take a sip, finding even this bagged provision better than nothing, then you stiffen as you see Sebastian quickly approaching, his face confident and smiling.

“There you are! I was looking for you.” He announces ignoring Beckett and then wraps an arm around your waist, barely spending half a second to look at you. “Come, Gary has something to say I want you to hear from his own… well, can’t call them lips, but let’s say mouth. If you’ll excuse us.” Sebastian shoots a dismissive glance at Beckett and begins leading you away.

As you walk with Sebastian, your knees still feeling weak and your legs still being shaky, you throw one last glance over your shoulder at Beckett and see him cheerfully wave to you before he calls out:

“Have fun.”

[ma1dmer]

Vampire the Masquerade - Cuthbert Beckett NSFW

i am gonna impregnate this man

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he'll run his claws through your hair ,press a kiss to your forehead and probably return to his research , wouldn't mind you joining him even if its just to nap next to him, he’ll keep a hand in your hair as he reads through various texts and books while you rest before he probably has to rest as well, his body forcing him at that point to join you

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he knows he is a handsome man, he knows people want him but thinking of something specific for his body, or anyone's body if we are being honest, seems so pointless to him, vanity is such a mortal matter after all and beauty is flitting, he says with a sharp and knowing grin, since he knows he is immortal and very much considered hot. he likes different things on different partners. Different things that have his eyes wandering ,and provide some sort of distraction in his day to day.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): out of sight out of mind, hates having to clean up everything after he is done

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he is definitely a switch, depends on the person he is with of course and what they bring out in him, its always exciting to see how things will go, he likes to be surprised

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): he has spent so many years on this earth ,of course he has quite the experience, and it shows, whore

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): he loves taking you from behind, while he is doing his research he beckons you over before bending you over his desk ,scolding you if you crumple any paper or spill ink on his precious books

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he seems like someone who would be very intense, but if you can't enjoy and be light-hearted with someone you bed whats the point, that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy teasing you if you get overwhelmed and unable to keep up

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): he doesn't care to trim or shave, especially considering he is a gangrel

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): he is both incredibly smooth and all types of romantic interactions fly right over his head, it really depends on the mood he is and how deep he is lost in his books, he could have you wrapped around his finger with poetry from aeons ago , and promises of the most delicious things, but also you could stand in front of him entirely naked and he’d get frustrated at you only raising his head from some ancient scroll and asking you what you want

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): enjoys being given a show, he likes knowing how much you want him, wants to watch you pleasure yourself, his only help his hand rubbing your knee as he keeps his eyes fixed on you memorising every detail of your expressions and body

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): voyeurism, maybe one(1) daddy here and there but nothing more, some minor roleplaying , naughty librarian? desperate ghoul etc etc

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): he prefers to keep such matters behind closed doors 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): being challenged, he likes people that run their mouths as much as he does, he does get frustrated at first and annoyed meeting someone his equal, but he would be bored otherwise, and all that frustration does make for delicious tension that bleeds into his more carnal needs

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): he hates being pulled away from important work, he’ll tell you once, that he is busy and does not want to be disturbed and expects you to listen, if he hasn’t told you so , he is open to being distracted but you can tell when he wants you to fuck off somewhere else, of course in kinder terms

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): he loves both, he is very very very thorough when he gives, knows how to keep his claws and teeth out of the way , or not if its the danger you like, and he definitely won’t say no to a pretty little thing on their knees for him

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): it depends ,he loves simply taking his pleasure from you fast and rough, but also simply having you spread out for him ,taking his time with you until you tremble

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): not a big fan, hates being taken away from his research will click his tongue in annoyance if you bother him

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): he is a naturally curious man that thirsts for knowledge so it comes to reason to assume that extends to his more private matters as well

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): considering what he is and the fact he is pretty powerful i would say his stamina is unparalleld, it takes him a while to get in the mood but once he is , he tends to lose time, and can go for honestly far too long ,you’ll be crying before he pulls away confused like , what happened, check the clock and see its the next day or something, those damn vampires

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): he can definitely appreciate them, he is slightly too old fashioned to truly enjoy them for himself, but he does enjoy the fantasy of stuffing you with a toy before letting you walk away, however the idea of you potentially getting in danger or being humiliated stops him 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is quite the tease, likes holding you down by the scruff of your neck, using your body while teasing you with his words, speaking almost matter of factly about how desperate you are for him

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): besides his teasing words he is so quite, sometimes you forget he is behind you when he has you bent over and you turn to make sure he hasnt simply left the room but he'll press your head back down and tell you he was just admiring you

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): absolutely uses nicknames when he addresses you teasingly, pet or darling depending on the mood

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): knot? knot! 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): quite low, he is very in control of his needs, he likes when you want him and he chooses when he allows himself to want you, when he can afford the time to indulge both of your interest

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): if he could never sleep he’d probably be a happy man , so much work to do, so much research 

[bonesxbows]

The Sharpest Lives - Chapter 1 (Beckett x Reader)

My Masterlist

Beckett's former gang had ambushed you and captured you, doing whatever they so pleased to you to "teach him a lesson." but in one way or another, you escaped from that hellhole they had you locked up in and crawled back home to him.

(WARNINGS) - graphic descriptions of violence and torture - mentions of sorta ptsd - graphic wound descriptions

thank you for reading! reblogs and comments much appreciated!

I don't churn my stories out all in one night, they're written over the course of many days, so I apologize if it seems a little patchwork-y

decided to write a chapter two to this so if you enjoyed this chapter keep an eye out for pt. 2!

Banners by @strangergraphics

Everything hurt. God, everything fucking hurt. Your head was still fuzzy and blood still poured, albeit slowly, from some of your wounds. The world shook around you as you moved, but you knew that you had to keep moving. You had to make it back home.

As soon as you had made it through the front door you collapsed onto the ground. You could hear Beckett talking to you, yelling your name, but it just sounded like static in your ears. You wanted to cry, to scream, to hold on to him and never let go, but all you could manage to do was to fall against his chest. He was still talking, trying to get your attention, but your mind had already turned off, your heavy eyelids falling closed. 

You woke up in your own bed, something you had missed doing all those days you were gone. You sat up, pushing the blanket off of you, except your broken body couldn’t handle the fast movement and you felt lightheaded, your eyesight turning fuzzy again. You let out a groan, the lightheaded feeling turning into the onset of a migraine. The noise you made must have alerted Beckett who came running up the stairs within seconds. He exhaled in relief when he saw that you were still in your bed. 

“You scared the hell out of me, you know that? I thought you were dying in my arms.” He walked closer to you, looking you over. 

“Mm.” Was the only response you could muster, your throat too dry to say anything else. You looked down at yourself, trying to remember what had happened. You could piece together some of it, the burn marks on your upper arms had been from cigarettes and hot tools, the cuts and slashes that covered your arms and lower legs had been from any sharp object they could find, the bruised and possibly broken knee had been from a blow by a baseball bat, and you were sure at least three of your fingers were dislocated. You knew there was more damage than that, but you couldn’t remember how it had happened. Maybe it was better that way. 

“Hey,” Beckett said, waving a hand in front of your face that you hadn’t noticed before. You looked at him. “Where have you been all this time? What the hell happened to you?” He asked as if he couldn’t see the obvious. You smiled at how dumbstruck he was sometimes, that had been something you had missed the whole two weeks you were gone. 

You shook your head. You didn’t want to tell him. He’d blame himself, you knew he would. But thankfully he took your no for an answer, at least for now. 

“Alright...alright we can talk about it later. How do you feel right now?” He asked. 

Truth be told, you felt like you had gotten run over by a deathclaw seventeen times, but, “I’m alive, aren't I?” You choked out half sarcastically. 

“Suppose so, but right now you look more like roadkill.” He joked. His humor, that had been another thing you had missed. But you wagered he was right. You felt like death and probably looked worse than you felt. You chuckled airily and Beckett got up from where he was kneeling next to your bed. 

“Where are you going?” You asked, sounding like a small child being abandoned. The absolute last thing you wanted right now was to be alone. Not after all that had happened. 

“Well we can’t just sit here and let you bleed out or get infected, now can we?” He said with a small smile. “I’ll be right back. Promise.” He ducked out of the doorway and down the stairwell. 

You breathed in slowly. You could hear him rummaging around downstairs, but you still felt very, very alone. You tried to relax, tried to breathe steadily, tried to not think about that awful place they had kept you locked up in, tried not to think of those same four blood-stained walls that you were forced to stare at for days. Tried not to think of all the blood they had spilled from you, all the things they had forced down your throat. You didn’t notice Beckett trample back up the stairs.

“Hey.” Was all he said. He sat on the edge of your bed. Your mind was still back in that awful place. He placed a hand on your good knee and you jumped, startled by the sudden snap back to reality. “Sorry I didn’t mean to-“ he stammered out, but then cleared his throat and spoke again this time more clearly. “Wherever you were, you’re not there anymore. You’re home. You’re safe.” He told you. You half believed him, it seemed too good to be true. 

But it didn’t matter to Beckett if you believed him or not, you were back and that was what mattered. He got to work patching up what he could, and between what little knowledge he had and how much damage was done to you, it wasn’t much. A few bandages wrapped around the deepest cuts, one or two stimpaks in the areas that looked broken (as far as Beckett could tell, anyway), and a vial of Med-x to ease all of the pain. He knew you had to feel like hell, you sure did look like it. 

“...Beckett?” You said in a quiet voice. 

“Yeah?” He answered, still working to bandage up a slice on your wrist. He had no way of knowing if it was from yourself or someone else, but it looked like it had been cut, then had time to heal, only to be cut back open again and again. 

“...my fingers have to be set back into place.” You told him, trying to believe that you had made it out of that hellhole and this all wasn’t just a cruel dream. 

“Oh.” Was all he said as he tucked the end of the bandage into itself so it stayed put. He knew setting bones back where they belonged was a painful process and his heart ached at the thought of putting you through more pain. 

“I can...I can do it if you don’t want to.” You offered. You had done it many times yourself in the past before Beckett had come along. Although, with what little strength you had, trying to pull the bones back into their rightful place seemed like trying to pull a Deathclaw by its horns. 

Beckett just shook his head. “Don’t waste what little strength you have.” Was all he said as he moved closer to you, gently grabbing one of your hands. The unnatural sight of your fingers made his stomach churn. On your left hand, two of your fingers were completely bent, a sickly purple-yellow bruise painted over the joint. On your right hand, however, one finger had been completely bent sideways, paired with an even more discolored bruise. Gently as he could he held your hand and took a hold of one of the fingers.

“Don’t look.” He said softly to you. You looked away, focusing on the floorboards instead. Just as you noticed that one board in the floor was coming loose, would have to be nailed down again you reminded yourself, there was a loud *crack* and your hand felt like it had been set on fire. You let out a loud cry from the pain and tried not to yank your hand away from Beckett’s. 

“Aw I know it hurts baby, I know it does, but we’re not done yet.” He tried to soothe you but all you could hear was the pounding from the throbbing pain. 

“Just...just get it over with.” You told him. He did as was told, setting both other fingers back where they belonged, each one with a sickening *crack* followed by a cry and whimper of pain. By the time the last finger was back where it was supposed to be you had tears running down your cheeks. They throbbed with pain and it hurt to move them, but at least you could move them now and they were no longer bent in unnatural ways. 

“Thanks…” you said softly, trying to stop the flow of tears. Beckett just smiled sympathetically. 

“Get some rest now, okay? Your body needs it. We can talk more later.” He told you. You knew he was right, and the thought of sleep seemed appealing after they had kept you awake the whole two weeks you were gone, but the thought was also kinda scary, considering you were prone to nightmares already even before all that had happened. 

“Hey,” Beckett called your attention back to him. “Do you want me to stay with you?” He asked as if he already knew you were going to ask him at some point. 

“Please?” You responded. He smiled. 

“Of course.” He scooted closer to you, helping you lay down without hurting anything, and laid down beside you so that he was closest to the wall and you were facing him, protectively wrapped up in his arms. 

You couldn’t sleep at first, no matter how sleep-deprived you were from the two weeks prior. ‘We can talk more later,’ he had said, and you knew what that meant. He wanted answers. He wanted names, someone to chase down and make them pay for what they did to you. How were you going to look him in the eyes and tell him that the Blood Eagles had done all this? 

You had slept straight through the night and soon it was morning, but when you first woke up you had forgotten all about what had happened the day before. Sitting up too fast and trying to stand up made you remember though, as your broken knee gave out when you tried to stand on it, sending you tumbling to the floor in pain. Beckett must have heard you fall because not even a minute later he came running up the stairs in a panic. 

“Woah, hey, you all right?” He asked, coming to your side quickly to help you back up onto the bed. You sighed and nodded. 

“Just um...forgot my leg was broken, I guess.” Truthfully you weren’t lying, you had really forgotten, but it seemed like a stupid excuse for almost harming yourself more by accident. 

“How’re you feeling? You slept for quite a while.” He asked, looking you over to make sure nothing else had been hurt in your small tumble. 

“Still feel like shit if that’s what you’re asking.” You joked. “But better. Feels good to be back home, you know?” 

“And I’m glad you made it back home. But you know I’m still curious about what the hell happened.” He said, and there had been the question you were dreading. You focused your gaze on the floor again.

“I...I don’t really wanna talk about it. Isn’t it enough that I made it back in one piece?” You tried to dodge the whole conversation.

“You really think I’m just gonna let those sons of bitches continue living after what they did to you? Or what about what they’ll do to other innocent people if we just let them be?” His statements were meant to sound like questions, but it already sounded like he had his mind made up about the whole situation, all he was missing was the name of a location. 

“You sound so sure of yourself.” You said. How could he have already had a plan in place if you hadn’t told him anything about the time you were missing? He snorted at your statement.

“I think my charming personality keeps making you forget I used to run with those bastards. I know...I know what they do to people. Especially those they want to make examples out of.” He told you. 

You let out a soft “oh.” Of course. How could you have been so stupid? He used to be a Blood Eagle for fucks sake, of course, he would have recognized their torture methods. “I’m sorry.” You blurted out. “I didn’t...I mean…I wasn’t trying to…” you stumbled over your words. The pain all over your body began to flare and your muscles ached. How much did he actually know? Better yet, how many ‘techniques’ that they had used on you had he used on other people when he was still in the gang? The thought made you shiver. 

“Beckett?”

“Yeah?”

“How...how much do you know?” You regretted asking it the moment it left your mouth.

“Probably more than you think I know.” He said with a shrug. You could tell that he was ashamed of having the knowledge, but it just reminded you, and himself, about how much he had changed since he left. 

“Did you know before I got back?” You asked curiously. If he did know where you were, why hadn’t he come looking for you? But he shook his head. 

“Didn't know where you had run off to until you came back and I saw the scars. Was a dead give away that the Eagles were involved.” He tried to smile, but you could tell his mind was going a mile a minute, probably filled with memories he wished he could forget. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

“It’s alright. Patching you up was a priority, right? That needed to be dealt with first.” 

“We could go after them together when I can walk again.” You suggested. 

“Could do that. Bet it would be a sight for them to see their freed captive gunning them down.” At that comment, the two of you couldn’t help but smile, but his soon faded. “I know what they were trying to do. Use you to get to me. I knew having me around and taking out their leaders would put you on their hit list, but I never thought they’d go this extreme.” He said. 

“Hey. I knew having a former Blood Eagle around would draw attention, and I don’t mind. I know what I signed up for, and I don’t regret our relationship, not even in the slightest. I mean it.” You told him. He flinched at the call out to his past but smiled a little when you mentioned the relationship between the two of you. 

“Awe, so you mean you aren’t gonna toss me out like an old cat?” He said, trying to lighten the mood. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. 

“Unfortunately not, you’re stuck here with me.” You said. 

“Suppose there are worse places in the world to be stuck at.” He joked, and you playfully punched him on the arm, being mindful of your bruised fingers. 

“In all seriousness though we can’t let those crazies keep on living. Not after what they did, people that bloodthirsty...too dangerous to keep alive.” He said. 

“I know, I know Beckett. And we can go after them together, once I can hold my rifle again.” You reminded him. 

“Is there anything else I can do to lessen the pain? You know more about all this medical stuff than I do.” He asked, changing the subject. You just hoped he remembered what you said and didn’t leave in the middle of the night to go on a one-man crusade.

“Well…” you paused, looking yourself over. Every major cut was wrapped protectively in a bandage, the bruises around your fingers were slowly losing their color, the burn marks were starting to scab over, and your knee looked more or less the same. “We don’t have a mirror here, what'd they do to my face? I can’t remember…” both you and Beckett knew that it was better if you didn’t remember. 

“Uh...well you’ve got a pretty deep cut on one cheek, but it looks like it’s already scabbing over. Your right eye is pretty bruised, and basically, the whole left side of your face is burned. Your bottom lip looks pretty busted up too.” He trailed off towards the end, probably panged with guilt again. 

The mention of the giant burn and busted lip unfortunately made you remember some of what had happened. The busted lip had been dealt to you when you had decided to insult one of the Eagles' dead leaders. That was a memory you didn’t mind remembering, the torturer had been pretty pissed after what you had said. The burn mark though...you remembered that they had wanted answers, demanding answers, but you wouldn’t budge, and that was when one of them had told the other to heat up the iron on the fire. You shivered at the thought of remembering what it had felt like to feel your own skin melting off. 

“Hey.” Beckett snapped your attention back to him again. “Focus. They don’t have you there anymore.” You had to admit it was hard to focus on reality, but you tried. Tried for Beckett’s sake.

“Um…” you racked your mind for a minute, trying to focus and think at the same time. “I don’t think there’s much we can do, things are just gonna have to heal on their own time, slowly.” 

Beckett huffed. He knew what you said was true, but you couldn’t help but want you to be better in an instant. It made his heart hurt to see you like this, undoubtedly in a hell of a lot of pain.

“Alright…” he started. “Well if there is anything I can help with, just give me a shout.” He put his hand up to the good side of your face, caressing it softly. You closed your eyes and sighed, taking in the way he lovingly held on to you, something else you had desperately missed. 

“Hey, Beckett?” 

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you won’t try to go after them by yourself. I can’t...I can’t risk losing you.”

He smirked. “I promise.”

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Beckett x wife reader👰⚔

Imagine

Synopsis: A short oneshot of beckett and y/n, spending a night together.

Warning: none

Night fell over the town of Port Royal, the streets no longer bustling as silence filled the air. A cold breeze entered the window of the manor, a girl, who was barely covered in her bed sheets sat on the edge. The girl’s eyes lingered into the starry night, dreaming, wishing, for a better life. The girl was a lady, betrothed to a very powerful man that held no warmth; vile and cruel, he holds no reason to seek mercy in those that need it. That man’s name Cutler Beckett, the owner of the east Indian trading company; he held a great, powerful hatred for pirates. Pirates were the Bain of his existence; he would seek out any means to execute them. The pitiful part of this story was his newly wedded wife, a young woman who shall hold the title of his name. A woman to produce his future heirs toward his company, Y/n Beckett. Y/n wasn’t cruel, she wasn’t hateful, she was benevolent toward mankind. Y/n was bought off from her father, he was persuaded to have grand riches in turn for her hand for marriage. Beckett had no care nor any reaction toward y/n’s refusal, she was his, property to the company, property to him. Cutler wasn’t vile toward his wife, however if she were to speak out mercy for pirates, she would be locked away in her room.

Y/n sat on the edge of her bed staring at the stars above, her mind ran with thoughts of worry and woeful pity toward the lives her husband had executed.

The wooden, painted white door opened with a slight ‘creak’, y/n turned to see her husband standing behind her. Beckett held no expression, no smile, no sadness, no anger, only coldness. He entered the room in an upright stance, placing himself in the bed next to his wife. He laid his head gently onto y/n’s shoulder, his fingers gently stroked her smooth arm. “I often question, what goes on in that pretty little mind of yours” Beckett whispered.

Y/n had no response, she had nothing to say to him, it was just like any other night. The usual routine of her husband coming home, speaking of his succession’s and then falling asleep. Sometimes if he were lucky, he would get only but a single word coming out of her mouth. Y/n placed her hand on her husband’s head, no eye glance toward his way, nor even a smile. She was trapped, trapped in a house with this wicked, cruel man; y/n was broken, she had no brightness she once held. Beckett expected this, he grew used toward y/n’s cold affection, after all, it’s not love she feels for him nor lust, only duty.

“My dear, I brought you a gift, consider this a token of my gratitude” Beckett handed y/n a small ring, a black diamond.

Y/n took a glance at the diamond ring, her mouth muttered out “beautiful”, something Beckett hadn’t expected for a while. In response toward her touching word, he kissed y/n gently. Beckett wasn’t affectionate however, he approved of his wife; he would show her every ounce of kindness that remained.

Anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta ✨️

[smuttyfang]

Beckett, An Intimate Night Together

"Can you please do some Beckett/female reader smut? Please."

Words: 1,124

"Have you found anything yet?" Beckett asked while searching the shelves for anything of interest. Your eyes scanned the book you held in your hands. It's leather bound pages were long worn and torn. Your body felt stiff from sitting on the hard floor for so long now.

"Mm, not really. Nothing too special in this one." Gently placing it back on the shelf, you sighed, picking up another beside it. You and Beckett had been traveling together and found an old library that had long been abandoned. It was in Scotland, hidden deep beneath an abandoned castle.

You were sure it must have been a lovely castle in it's better days. It was gigantic, gargoyles adorned the front doors and the peaks at the very top. It's towers seemed to stretch into the sky itself. You both felt it entirely possible that a vampire lived here at one point in time. Flipping through the last few pages of the second book, you placed it back where you found it.

"You know something Beckett?" You stretched out your legs and turned your attention to him.

"Quite a few somethings." He smirked. "Yes?" His voice always sounded a little seductive, without him even realizing it or trying.

"This would be a perfect place for us to stay together. It's beautiful, it just needs some work. And there's still a ton of knowledge to be found, I'm sure." He smirked at you. You always suggested things like this, but he would never give up on his search for Kindred knowledge.

"What, you think we will find another abandoned library hidden behind another bookshelf?" He teased.

"Well, it's entirely possible. This place is huge. We just have to take out all of these books and see which one makes a clicking sound." He smiled now, putting down his book and picking up another.

"What would be the odds of that happening again? I suppose it's always possible." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothing is impossible, Beckett. But.. can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course, dear." Your stomach knotted when he said that. In a good way.

"Can we just.. stay here for a while? Please? We have all of eternity to look for these things. I want to spend time with you." His eyes met with yours. His emotions were incredibly hard to read. "Just a few nights. Please?" A sigh escaped his lips.

"Just gather some books to take with us, anything that looks interesting. We will find a room to stay in for the night." You could have squealed with excitement, he never agreed to spend time in one place or another unless it was daytime and you were both unable to leave. You stood up and dusted yourself off, walking over to him and giving him a small peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, Beckett." You gave him one more, before you scanned the room for anything interesting. You picked up a few that had strange symbols or languages, and you both set off to search for a decent room.

After an hour or two, you managed to find a room that didn't seem to be as disheveled as the rest of the castle. It had a large regal bed, an odd green color, covered with a canopy. The room had a fireplace and plenty of candles to use. You both set your books down near the fireplace.

"I think this will do." You pulled some matches from your pocket and lit some of the candles. You opened the curtains and pushed the window open. It creaked and groaned from the time it spent untouched, but still came open nonetheless. The full moon was out, and the cool breeze felt nice against your skin. You heard something creak behind you. Turning around, you realized Beckett had gotten a clean blanket from your bag and covered the dusty bed in it.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to bring one of these. I would hate to get you covered in dust." He laid down on the bed, resting his eyes. You wiggled your eyebrows to yourself.

"Are you saying you want to roll me all over this dusty old bed?" You smiled and crawled into bed beside of him. You snuggled up close to him. Even though he was cold to the touch, he made you feel so safe and secure.

"As a matter of fact, I might be saying just that." You perked up immediately, hearing his words. He wasn't often in the mood, but when he was, it was fantastic.

"Then please, indulge me." You loved it when he got like this. It was almost like a bestial side of him came forth when he wanted to make love. His lips enveloped yours in a cold kiss. Your tongue danced along the inside of his mouth, rubbing over his teeth. That was always your dead giveaway. You gazed into his eyes with passion. "I want your bite." He gave you his signature smirk again.

"Anything for you, dear." Although he drank from you often, when it was during sex, it was even more intense and pleasurable. His mouth trailed down your chin and traveled to your neck while he tore away at your clothing, pulling his own bottoms away.

"You always tear my clothes.." You said in a daze. He didn't respond. He merely kept his lips against your skin while he pumped his blood to his cock, bringing it back to life once more. He readied himself at your hole. Letting his teeth graze your neck, he picked out his favorite spot of yours to bite. When he reached the perfect target, he slowly worked his way inside of you, inch by inch. His teeth dug into your skin at the same time, giving you the most perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. He moaned aginst your skin, sucking the blood from your body while he began pumping into you.

"Beckett, oh.. fuck.." He pulled away from your neck, looking up at you with blood and lust ridden eyes. Your blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. Pulling himself upward, he presses his kips to yours, letting you taste yourself. He kept his eyes locked on yours, breathing against your skin.

"Now that I've started, I'm not going to stop." He reached down to bite you once more.

AO3

[ramen-flavored]

“do you think mama would ever let me miss her MASQUERADE BALL?”

[magewritesstories]

okay but personally as a bisexual woman of colour, the line "sasha trampled my heart so bad and now i think i like white boys" is the funniest line in all of heartbreak high, i love this show oml

[darkeralmond]

beckett with a size kink.. literally that’s it maybe some praise/degrading kink

OH CELESTE WHAT WOULD I DO W/O U ILYSM GIRL ❤️❤️

DOMINANCE OVER YOU

Beckett Sennecke x fem! Reader

synopsis: beckett is obsessed with how much bigger he is compared to you since it makes him feel like he more confident and dominant

warnings: 18+, smut, size kink, fingering, oral (f! recieving), sm dirty talk oml, swearing

word count: 1k

a/n: everyone say thank u celeste for this request. i have been so obsessed w beckett and i needed an excuse to write about him stat. thank u all sm for the support as i come back from my hiatus ilysm!! ❤️❤️

You had always been insecure about your petite size. You were shorter than the girls in your high school, and you could barely fit in your uniform. Even though you hated how small you were, your boyfriend was obsessed with it. He was obsessed with you.

Beckett was 6’2 and he took pride in the fact he towered over you. Beckett loved to carry you in his arms like a princess. It made you feel special to be in his arms because he never touched anyone except for you. Not to mention everything about you was smaller than him, so it made him feel dominance over you.

The two of you were making out on his bed when you suddenly felt him move. You were so caught up in his kiss that you weren’t paying attention until he pinned you down by your wrists and began pushing himself against you.

He broke the kiss and moved his lips down to your neck. You were super ticklish, so when he started to nibble you giggled. He then began placing dark bruises on the right side of your neck, causing you to let out an involuntary moan. You had never been this aroused and turned on before him, and he knew that.

“Look at you being so helpless,” Beckett rasped before he continued to mark your neck. You wanted to make a snarky comment back, but the magic of his mouth left you breathless. You could only whimper at his touch and beg him to stop teasing, though your voice came out quiet though.

His hand moved down from your wrist to grip your thigh. His thumbs rubbed circles around your inner thigh before slid his hand down your pajama shorts. He used one of his fingers to tease your clit before he inserted his finger inside you.

His hands were large compared to you, so he slowly slid his fingers in for you to adjust. You gasped loudly as your walls tightly clutched around his fingers. “That’s it. Take it like a good girl,” he whispered in your ear before kissing your earlobe.

After you adjusted comfortably, you bucked your hips into his hand while he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were a whining mess underneath him, squirming to feel more of him. “I love hearing you like this. I know it feels really good, doesn’t it? Who’s my good girl?”

“I-I am,” you whispered, but it came out as a stutter. Your breathing became short and rapid as you grew closer to your climax.

“Louder, baby.” He then curled his fingers causing you to arch your back.

“Me! I am,” you cried. “Oh, fuck!”

When his hand stopped moving inside you, you let out a disappointed moan. You weren’t finished yet and he abruptly stopped. You felt like you needed more stimulation. He obviously knew this since chuckled in response before placing soft kisses on your jaw.

“You like this don’t you?” he husked between kisses. “Having me do things to you? You want more right?” He pulled his fingers out before sucking your juices from them. “You taste amazing.” You felt your face burn and you couldn’t help blushing.

He then lowered himself down to your waist causing you to squirm as you watching him lift your shirt to expose your stomach. He pulled your shorts and panties down before looking up at you with his innocent blue eyes. With a wicked grin, he rasped, “So eager for more.”

He wrapped him arms around your thighs, pinning you down with his hands on your stomach. He then lowered his head between your legs and dipped his tongue between your folds.

The overwhelming feeling caused you let out a shuttered exhale. His fingers grazed your stomach while the tip of his tongue flicked against your bud. You writhed beneath his grasp, bucking your hips forward while he held you down. You looked down at him and met his gaze. A devilish grin appeared on his face as he watched you struggle to move.

Once he got to the spot where you were throbbing, he pulled away leaving you panting. The look on his face reminded you of an excited puppy who just got his favorite toy.

You tried desperately to keep yourself under control but you found it hard. The way he licked, teased, and flicked your clit had you wanting more and more.

“Do you want more?” he asked. He moved his thumb up from your bellybutton to your clit, playing with it while still looking up at you. You sucked in cold air through your teeth as your head fell back. “Come on, baby. Use your words.”

His tone and touch drove you insane. You needed him more than anything. “Please, Beckett. I need you,” you desperately pleaded. He grinned before placing another soft kiss on your swollen clit.

His strokes became sloppy and slow, your folds wet with a mixture of his saliva and your juices. Your eyes fluttered as held your breath when you finally hit the peak of your climax.

You felt Beckett’s tongue swirl around the rim of your hole before he removed his mouth and rolled off of you. You began the process of catching your breath while you laid back down exhausted, yet satisfied. He laid down next to you before he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

You snuggled up against him, enjoying his warmth while you recovered from your orgasm. One thing Beckett loved after sexually torturing you was taking care of you afterwards.

Beckett ran his finger tips along your spine as he whispered, “I am such a lucky guy.” You hummed in agreement and buried your face in his chest. He smelled amazing, something masculine and sweet.

You closed your eyes while he stroked your back. “You should let me give you a blow job sometime,” you giggled.

“Uh, yes please!” he laughed before he kissed the top of your forehead.

[bbsxsaa]

🌼 the real plot of the szn 🌼

[chaxan08]

British Titles

I usually don't share posts of this type, but I've taken the liberty of doing so because I've read several fanfics and seen too many posts both here and on TikTok, in which it's more than evident that many people don't know how British noble titles worked in the 18th and 19th century. This is something I've seen more in the Bridgerton fandom, but many content creators or writers from other fandoms have made the same mistakes when interpreting noble titles.

First of all, I would like to clarify something. English and British noble titles are not exactly the same, although they are related. The following explains the difference and the historical context:

Historical Context.

England:

Before the formation of the United Kingdom, England had its own system of noble titles.

Titles such as duke, marquess, earl, viscount, and baron were common.

2. Great Britain:

In 1707, with the Act of Union, England and Scotland united to form the Kingdom of Great Britain.

After this union, noble titles became titles of the Kingdom of Great Britain.

3. United Kingdom:

In 1801, with the incorporation of Ireland through the Act of Union, the Kingdom of Great Britain became the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

This further expanded the scope of noble titles.

Noble Titles.

Despite these political changes, the titles themselves (duke, marquess, earl, viscount, baron) remained consistent in terms of hierarchy and honor. The main difference was the realm and origin of the title:

English Titles:

Referred specifically to those created in the Kingdom of England before 1707.

Examples: Duke of Norfolk, Marquess of Winchester, Earl of Derby.

2. British Titles:

Refers to those created after 1707 in the Kingdom of Great Britain and later in the United Kingdom.

Examples: Duke of Marlborough, Marquess of Rockingham, Earl of Chatham.

Differences and Similarities.

Similarities:

The hierarchy and responsibilities of the titles remained the same, regardless of the change in the kingdom's designation.

Titles granted by the British crown maintained the same forms of address and privileges.

2. Differences:

British titles cover a broader scope, including Scotland and Ireland (later Northern Ireland).

English titles were specific to the Kingdom of England before the formation of Great Britain.

In short, while English and British noble titles are part of the same hierarchy and nobility system, the main distinction lies in the political and historical context in which they were created. During the 18th and 19th centuries, this difference was based on whether the titles originated before or after the unions that first formed Great Britain and later the United Kingdom.

Now then, with that said, I want to mention that my main reference for this is the article 'ENGLISH TITLES IN THE 18TH AND 19TH CENTURIES' by Jo Beverley, who is a Member of the RWA Hall of Fame for Regency Romance. Here is the link if you want to read the original article: On Titles (jobev.com)

It is also important to mention that, as Jo Beverley said, this brief run-down of English titles is for use by fiction writers. It is by no means comprehensive, but covers the more common situations arising in novels set in the above periods.

Now, the peerage basically runs according to primogeniture, ie the eldest son gets nearly everything. If a peer has no eldest son, the title and possessions that belong to it go to the next male heir, probably a brother or nephew.

There are a very few titles that can pass to a female if there is no direct heir, but they will revert to the male line when the lady bears a son. (Such as the monarchy.) Some titles can automatically pass through a female heir (when there is no male heir) and most can be revived by subsequent generations by petitioning to the Crown. But that's getting into more complicated areas. If your plot depends on something unusual, please do research it thoroughly before going ahead.

As Beverley said, this is a bit more complicated and requires further research if it's something you wish to incorporate into your work, especially if it's set in the 18th or 19th centuries. In the 20th century, this was more common. A clear example would be Lord Mountbatten (1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma), who had no sons, only two daughters. Therefore, he passed his title to his firstborn, Patricia Knatchbull (née Mountbatten). Thanks to this title, the Countess was entitled to a seat in the House of Lords, where she remained until 1999, when a House of Lords Act removed most hereditary peers from the chamber.

But returning to the main topic, the eldest son is called the heir apparent, as he is undoubtedly the heir. If there is no such son, the next in line is called the heir presumptive because, however improbable (such as the duke being on his deathbed), there remains a possibility of a closer heir being born. Therefore, an heir presumptive does not hold the title of heir, if there is one. (See below about heir's titles.)

If a peer dies leaving a wife but no son, the heir inherits unless the widow says she might be with child. It is for her to do that. If she stays silent, it is assumed that she is not. If she's pregnant, everything waits until the child is born.

These last two paragraphs can be perfectly illustrated by an example that many know. In 'When he was wicked', after the death of John Sterling, Earl of Kilmartin, Michael Sterling is not immediately named as the new Earl upon his cousin's death, as Francesca announces her pregnancy. But since she had a miscarriage, there was no longer a possible heir to the late Earl of Kilmartin, and therefore, the title is immediately inherited by Michael.

Continuing with the main topic, an heir must be legitimate at birth to inherit a title, though that could mean a marriage ceremony performed while the mother is in labor. A peer may raise bastards with devotion and/or marry the mother later, but a bastard child can never be his legal heir.

It's also crucial to mention that peers automatically had seats in the House of Lords. Note, however, that courtesy titles (those held by heirs) do not give seats, or any of the other privileges of the peerage.

Something else that is highly important to clarify, as confusion is quite common, is that most peers do not use their surnames as their title. Thus, the usual pattern would be something like Sebastian Burgoyne, Earl of Malzard. He is Lord Malzard NEVER Lord Burgoyne. (Or, for that matter, Lord Sebastian.) As an author, you might like variety, but take as a general rule is that no one ever had two forms of address.

THE RANKS OF THE PEERAGE

Duke.

Leaving aside royalty, this is the highest rank. His wife is the Duchess. They will be duke and duchess of something.

If we use the famous main couple from Bridgerton Season 1, the example would be: Duke and Duchess of Hastings. Address is "Your Grace", though familiars may address them just as Duke and Duchess. Like, "Fine weather for shooting, eh, Duke?" or may address the duke by title. "Care for more port, Hastings?"

The duke will also have a family name, that is, a surname, but he will not use it in the normal course of events. And something crucial that is also commonly confused, the duchess does NOT use the surname at all. Continuing with the same example, if Daphne Bridgerton marries the Duke of Hastings (whose surname is Basset), she will be the Duchess of Hastings and will informally sign as Daphne Hastings, NEVER as Daphne Basset.

The duke's eldest son is his heir and will have his father's second-best title as his courtesy title. Nearly all peers have a number of titles marking their climb up the ranks. The heir to a duke is often the next lowest ranking peer, a marquess, but the title could, however, be an earldom, or even a viscountcy. For example, the eldest son of Daphne and Simon, the Duke and Duchess of Hastings, holds the courtesy title that his father had when the Late Duke of Hastings was still alive: Earl of Clyvedon.

Important note, a courtesy title does not give the holder a seat in the House of Lords or other privileges of the peerage.

If the heir has a son before the heir becomes duke, that son will take the next lowest title as a courtesy title. If the heir dies before his father, his eldest son becomes the heir apparent and takes his father's title.

Apart from the heir, a duke's sons are given the courtesy title Lord with their Christian name. (Lord + firstname + surname). Continuing with the example of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings, assuming that like in the book, they also have David and Edward in the series, their courtesy titles would be: Lord David Basset and Lord Edward Basset. They are NEVER Lord Basset or Lord David Hastings and Lord Edward Hastings.

All duke's daughters are given the courtesy title (Lady + firstname + surname). And continuing with the same example, the daughters of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings, Belinda and Caroline, would be: Lady Belinda Basset and Lady Caroline Basset. Also, they are NEVER Lady Basset or Lady Belinda Hastings and Lady Caroline Hastings.

And also, if they marry a commoner, they retain the title. Let's say Lady Belinda marries Mr. Sticklethwait, she becomes Lady Belinda Sticklethwait. But if she marries a peer, she adopts his title. If Lady Belinda marries the Earl of Herrick, she becomes Countess of Herrick, Lady Herrick. And if she marries the holder of a courtesy title, then she may use his title or her birth title as she wishes.

I make this clarification because it's the most common mistake in these types of novels. Note that in all cases, titles like Lord or Lady with both first and surname (eg. Lady Anne Middleton) and Lord or Lady "last name" or "title" (Lady Middleton) are exclusive. No one can be both at the same time. Moreover, Lord or Lady "firstname" is a title conferred at birth. It CANNOT be gained later in life except when the father accedes to a title and thus raises his family.

So, Lady Mary Smith is not Lady Smith and vice versa. Lord John Brown in not Lord Brown and vice versa. If Mary Smith marries Lord Brown she becomes Lady Brown, NOT Lady Mary. (If she marries Lord John Brown, she becomes Lady John Brown. Yes, it may sound odd to modern ears, but the past is, as they say, a different country. That's the charm of historical fiction.)

Marquess.

This is the next rank. (As above, it can be spelled marquis or marquess, but in either case is pronounced markwess.)

Similar to the duke, he will be the Marquess of something, for example: He is Richard Byron, the Marquess of Salisbury, or Lord Salisbury, or simply Salisbury to his family. His wife is the Marchioness of Salisbury or Lady Salisbury. She would sign with her firstname and title, for example: Diana Salisbury, NEVER Diana Byron.

His heir apparent takes his next highest title as a courtesy title (eg. Earl of Cranborne). All other sons have the title of Lord with their first and surname (eg. Lord Arthur Byron and Lord Albert Byron, NEVER Lord Byron or Lord Arthur Salisbury and Lord Albert Salisbury). All daughters have the title of Lady with their first and surname (eg. Lady Alexandra Byron and Lady Amelia Byron, NEVER Lady Byron or Lady Alexandra Salisbury and Lady Amelia Salisbury).

Earl.

He will nearly always be earl of something. His wife is the Countess. If we take another famous couple from Bridgerton, they would refer to him as "the Earl of Kilmartin" or "Lord Kilmartin," or simply "Kilmartin" among family. His wife will be the Countess of Kilmartin or Lady Kilmartin, and she will sign as Francesca Kilmartin. In the same way as with the wife of a duke or marquess, considering that the Earl of Kilmartin is named John Stirling, Francesca will NEVER be called Francesca Stirling. That's why in the series, when she introduces herself to Michaela, she says that her name is now Kilmartin and NOT Stirling.

It's important to mention that some Earls do not use 'of' like Earl Spencer, and in that case, the family surname is the same as the title (following the previous example, the surname would be Spencer), but this is quite unusual and I think it should be avoided in fiction unless it's a crucial plot point.

As with a duke or marquess, the earl's heir will take the next lowest title as a courtesy title, and the heir's son, the next again. Continuing with the example of the Kilmartins, it's not very clear what the courtesy title for John Sterling II (son of Francesca and Michael in the books) is, but if Michael Sterling is the Earl of Kilmartin and has a subsidiary title of Viscount, then their eldest son, John Sterling II, would use the courtesy title of Viscount Glenmore or Lord Glenmore. If there is no specific subsidiary title, then the eldest son would simply be known as Lord John Stirling.

All the daughters of an earl are given the courtesy title: Lady + their first name. Again, using the Kilmartins as an example: Lady Janet Stirling and NEVER Lady Janet Kilmartin. Younger sons of an earl, however, are merely "The Honorable" which is not used in casual speech. So, assuming in the books Michael and Francesca had another son, for example, Michael Stirling II, he would simply be The Honorable Michael Stirling, but in casual speech, he would simply be referred to as Mr. Michael Stirling or just Mr. Stirling.

Viscount.

His wife is a Viscountess. He will not use 'of'. He will be, for example, Viscount Bridgerton, usually known as Lord Bridgerton, or just Bridgerton. His wife will be known as Lady Bridgerton and will sign herself Kathani Bridgerton.

His heir has no special title. All children are known as "The Honorable". Continuing with the example of the Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton, their children would be called:

*The Honorable Edmund Bridgerton, and simply be referred to as Mr. Edmund Bridgerton.

*The Honorable Miles Bridgerton, and simply be referred to as Mr. Miles Bridgerton.

*The Honorable Charlotte Bridgerton, and simply be referred to as Miss Charlotte Bridgerton.

*The Honorable Mary Bridgerton, and simply be referred to as Miss Mary Bridgerton.

Baron.

This is the lowest rank in the peerage. His wife is a Baroness. NOTE that the terms baron and baroness are only used in the most formal documents, or when the distinction has to be made elsewhere. General usage is simply to call them Lord and Lady.

She will sign with her name and title. The children are known as "The Honorable".

Using another character from Bridgerton, if we assume that Colin and Penelope Bridgerton's son is named Elliot, then Elliot Bridgerton, the new Lord Featherington, would sign as Lord Featherington and NEVER as Lord Bridgerton. Therefore, his wife would also sign with his title, that is, Featherington. For example, if the wife's name is Elizabeth, then she would be Lady Featherington and would sign as Elizabeth Featherington, and NEVER as Elizabeth Bridgerton or Lady Bridgerton.

Baronet.

The next in the ranking—and not of the nobility—is Baronet. A baronet is addressed as Sir + first name + surname. For example, using another couple from the Bridgerton universe, Sir Phillip Crane. His wife would be called Lady + surname. For example, Lady Crane and not Lady Eloise Crane unless she is the daughter of a duke, marquess, or earl (which is not the case). She would sign with her full name, as Eloise Crane.

His children have no special distinction. However, the title is inheritable. So, continuing to use Sir Phillip as a reference, when he dies, his baronetcy will pass to his eldest son Oliver, who will then be called Sir Oliver.

It's worth mention that although in the series Oliver is NOT Sir Phillip's biological son, he still married Marina before the birth of the twins and acknowledged them both as his own, so the baronetcy title will pass without any issue to Oliver. In the event that he did not acknowledge them as his children or that Sir Phillip and Marina married after the birth of the twins, then the title of Sir Phillip would pass to his next legitimate son, Frederick (son of Sir Phillip and Eloise in the books).

Knight.

A knight is essentially treated the same as a baronet, but with the difference that it is a lifetime title only. His wife will be Lady + surname.

OTHER MATTERS

Dowagers

When a titled lady is widowed she becomes a dowager, but the practice has generally been not to use that title until the heir takes a wife, since there can be confusion about who the true Lady Bridgerton is, for example.

And even if she has a daughter-in-law, in general usage she would still be referred to by the simple title unless there was likely to be confusion. So, if the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton was at a house party while her daughter-in-law was in London, people would not be constantly referring to her as the Dowager Viscountess.

Female titles in their own right

There are a few, very few, titles that can pass to a daughter if there is no son, as in the Royal Family, for example. In this case, the usage is the same as if they were the wife of a peer of that rank, but their husband gains NO title from the marriage, just as the Duke of Edinburgh was not king.

A Peeress in her Own Right retains her title after marriage, and if her husband's rank is the superior one, she is designated by the two titles jointly, the inferior one last. Or she can say what form she wants to use. (eg The Marchioness of Rothgar is also the Countess of Arradale by right. She chooses to be Lady Rothgar and Arradale in the most formal situations, Lady Rothgar in general, but Lady Arradale in private, especially when attending to her duties as Countess of Arradale. Unusual situations do tend to get complicated.) Her hereditary claim to her title holds good in spite of any marriage, and will be passed on.

Since the husband gains no title from such a marriage, it's possible to have the Countess of Arbuthnot married to Mr. Smith.

Her eldest son will be her heir and take her next lowest title. If she has no son, her eldest daughter will be her heir, but until she becomes the peer she will hold only the title that comes from her birth — eg. Lady Anne — if any, because an eldest daughter is always an heir presumptive. There might still be a boy.

The most common errors observed in novels:

Interchanging courtesy titles like Lady Mary Smith and Lady Smith.

Interchanging peerage titles, as when Michael Downs, Earl of Rosebury is variously known as Lord Rosebury, Lord Downs, and Lord Michael Downs.

Applying titles that don't belong, as when Jane Potts marries Viscount Twistleton and erroneously becomes Lady Jane, a title form that can only come by birth.

Having the widow of just about anyone, but especially a peer, remarry before time has elapsed to be sure she is not bearing a child. Or rather, whose child it is that she bears!

Having the heir presumptive assume the title and powers before the widow has made it clear that she's not going to produce an heir.

Having an adopted son inherit a title. Legal adoption was not possible in England until the twentieth century, and even now an adopted son cannot inherit a title. Even if the son is clearly the father's offspring, if he wasn't born after a legal marriage, he cannot inherit the father's title. However, since they didn't have DNA testing, a child was assumed to be legitimate unless the father denied it from the first. Even if the son turns out to look suspiciously like the vicar, the father cannot deny him later. This, I assume was to avoid the chaos of peers coming up with all sorts of excuses to switch heirs on a whim.

Having a title left in a will, which follows from the above. A title cannot be willed to whomever the peer in question chooses. It goes according to the original letters patent, which almost always say that it will go to the oldest legitimate male in direct descent. The property can be left elsewhere, unless it is entailed, but the title goes by legitimate blood.

Having an heiress (ie a daughter without brothers) inherit a title and convey it to her husband. It could be done — anything could — by special decree of the Crown, but it was not at all normal.

Now, when you've arrived at the title you want to give your character, perform an internet search to see if it exists. You can also check The Peerage or do an advanced search on Google Books. You wouldn't want to give your fictional character a title that was already in use at that time. Additionally, some readers will be knowledgeable about the real nobility and it could disrupt the fictional reality you're trying to create.

If you really like the title but it already exists or existed, you can modify it while still retaining its appeal. For example, if Lord Amesbury exists, you could create Lord Aymesbury or Lord Embury. If your character's family has been in Suffolk for generations, names of places in Suffolk can provide ideas for names.

I hope this helps, although I'm sure it can be subject to debate and improvement.

[imaginepirates]

How They Confess

For the anon who wanted to know how the characters would confess their feelings, and how they would react if the reader confessed first.

This includes Jack, Will, Lizzie, James, Beckett, and Barbossa.

Jack:

Jack isn’t one to make a grand show of things, and if he’s to confess, it’ll be in a moment of simplicity. You’ll be curled up together in his cabin, warm and drowsy, soft light shining out from the lanterns. He can only admit it to you when he’s completely relaxed—he can hardly admit it to himself sometimes, how much he loves you. But he says it softly in your ear, and you’re more pleased than surprised, already tangled together in the sheets. Your brain’s a bit fuzzy anyway, and the full weight of it wouldn’t hit you until the next morning. But by then he’s up and out on deck, and you’re left with the knowledge that he really does love you after all. 

If you’re the first to confess, Jack would be taken aback. He doesn’t expect you to love him, not really, so it comes as a bit of a shock to his system. It would take him some time to process, too, and he has to do some serious introspection before he can say it back. Love is a heavy thing in his eyes, and he’s not about to mess it up. 

Will:

Though he can be bashful, Will is completely unashamed of his feelings for you. If you’re of the same social station, he’ll simply tell you how he feels by taking you out for a walk along the oceanfront. If you’re too far above him on the social ladder, he’ll keep his feelings to himself, though they shine through with all the things he does for you to make life easier and more convenient. 

If you speak up first, Will’s a little embarrassed, but in a good way. He feels a little guilty for not saying anything, but quickly gets over it; he’s just happy you feel the same, and that you’re comfortable enough in your affection to tell him. He likes that you can own it—not everyone is attracted to blacksmiths. Besides, hearing the words from you is just the confidence boost he needs. 

Elizabeth:

Elizabeth wants to make her confession as perfect as she can. She does it over a nice dinner, just the two of you, and she’s pulled out the candles for the occasion. She’s a romantic at heart, and wants to have the right atmosphere in which to tell you how she feels. She’s really one for the aesthetic. It’s honestly rather cute, the effort she puts in, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. 

If you’re the first to confess, Lizzie is just delighted. She has butterflies for days, and be prepared for all the secret little messages dictated by high society. I’m talking fan-signals, flower language, the whole package. Even though she loves you earnestly, and even though you know both know it, she’s absolutely going to make the most of the courtship process and all it entails.

James:

We all know how awkward James is about confessing his feelings. He’s been rehearsing for days, and is almost too anxious to do it in the first place. He’s afraid of coming off too strong, and overanalyzes every interaction you’ve had together. He ensures the setting is both pleasant and proper, and though it may seem a little stiff, you’re aware the confession is genuine. That being said, the moment you indicate the feeling is mutual, his composure cracks and he gives you that huge smile he tries so hard to hide. 

If you beat him to it, he’d be shocked. Not only is he surprised that you made the first move, which is so expected of him, but he honestly had no idea you felt that way about him. It takes him a good long time to find the right words to tell you he feels the same, and you’ll have to be patient as he recovers from his astonishment. 

Beckett:

This man is never, ever, going to admit to loving you. He won’t even let himself think about his affection for you. In all truth and honesty, he’s terrified of his feelings, seeing them as a weakness that someone will figure out and exploit. He’s also afraid you won’t feel the same way. How could you? It would take a serious moment of vulnerability—either when something awful happens to you, or when you show him honest tenderness. Either way, it’s completely unexpected and almost unbelievable…until you see the fear in his eyes and realize it’s the truth. 

If you make the first move, Beckett doesn’t think you’re serious. He’s willing to play along, but he figures you want something from him. So he brushes it off, though your words linger in his mind for days after. He’s probably in his office doing paperwork when it hits him that you were being completely serious, and he’s absolutely overcome by it. He makes sure to explain himself when he sees you next; he just didn’t think someone could feel that way about him. 

Barbossa:

Barbossa is, if nothing else, a gentleman at heart. Again, this will likely be a dinner confession, though Hector isn’t nearly as anxious as Elizabeth might be. He’s been around a while, and he’s really only going to say anything if he’s fairly certain you’re interested. He also isn’t offended if you reject—he completely understands why someone wouldn’t want to be with him. He’s relaxed about the whole affair so you never have to feel nervous over any of it. If it turns out you are interested, he’s going to treat you with perfect curtesy and warm affection.

If you’re the first to say anything, Hector’s a bit smug. He might be slightly sheepish that you beat him to it, but overall, he’s happy to hear you say it. He’ll tease you over it in good humor, though he knows you can give as good as you get. He’s secretly happy to hear you say it because he’s insecure about his age. 

[ma1dita]

oh by the way ive been also yelling about yerin ha being casted for bridgerton

stunning beautiful amazing

ASIAN SOPHIE WE ARE SOOOOOO UP!!!!

if the showrunners fuck this up i'm burning new york city down

[j2hoes]

Eshay Baby. (Anthony Vaughn x Chook's Sister Reader)

Word Count: 5.8K

Y/N Cooper and Anthony Vaughn had a complicated relationship, which becomes even more complex following the reveal of the incest map.

WARNING: This work is not intended for those under the age of eighteen as it does have mature content. This story deals with alcohol, sexual content, drugs, explicit language, violence, death and triggering topics such as sexual assault and abuse.

A/N: I really hope you enjoy this fic as much as I do, I am a sucker for an ex's to lovers trope! This will be an ongoing series with each chapter correlating to a different episode! Love you! x

Fuck you Monday.

I am not a bad person. At least, I don’t believe I am. Research suggests that people become products of their environments, in fact, there’s an entire theory surrounding the self-fulfilling prophecy which suggests that if environmental factors such as the people and community surrounding you believe you will turn out a certain way, you will. It’s something to do with the phrase ‘if that’s what people think I am, then that’s what I will be.’ For as long as I’ve been alive, I have done my best to combat this. Not wanting to prove the countless social workers, mental health professionals, teachers and police correct. I am a good person.

My brother on the other hand, that’s slightly more complicated. He’s four years older than me, he understands and remembers more of our childhood than I do. It’s not something that we often talk about, him opting to avoid the subject entirely not wanting to reminisce on the past. His words not mine. I don’t blame him for this, nothing I can remember is positive. Being passed from one distant relative to the next, each being significantly worse than the last. Until one day we ended up at the home. I can only imagine what other horrors he may remember.

Hence why I stated it’s complicated, everything he does, he does for us. That’s the way it’s always been. Not once has he failed to protect me, agreeing to be my legal guardian the moment he turned eighteen in order to remove me from the clutches of any government mandated home. I’ll forever be grateful to him for that, and so I could never argue that he isn’t a selfless man. Not when it comes to family.

Others may disagree with me, believing he is cruel, callous and cold. Inherently evil is a term that has been used to describe him many times before. I’ll be the first to admit that there are times when I don’t agree with his actions. However, I don’t believe this defines him as a person. People are so complex and have many different layers that somebody cannot be defined by one small thing. So would I say he’s a good person? No, but I also wouldn’t say he’s a bad person. He’s just different.

“Your brother said to tell you he’s setting off in ten minutes so to make sure you’re ready.”

The soft voice at my doorway startles me, too focused on applying my lipgloss to notice the boy standing in the doorway. As I glance up at him through my mirror, I’m hit by the unmistakable stench of marijuana that seems to flood the room. My nose scrunches, slightly disgusted by the thought of my brother and his friends getting high in the living room at eight am on a monday morning. Continuing to apply multiple layers of the shimmery pink gloss, I notice the figure is still standing in my doorway, his back turned to me, stance appearing almost awkward as he scratches the back of his head nervously.

“Cash you can come in.”

He turns to face me, hesitantly stepping through the threshold into my bedroom with a small smile on his face. Closing the old wooden door behind him, only to almost be knocked out by the numerous bags I have hung up on the back of my door.

“That’s a lot of bags.” He comments, resulting in a small laugh from me due to him stating the obvious.

Beginning to gather my textbooks, notebooks and any other supplies I may need for school, I notice Cash standing silently simply observing my bedroom. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the house. Walls painted a burnt amber with photos and posters plastered up anywhere I could reach. Crocheted blankets are thrown over every piece of furniture in the room and my window stays wide open, allowing the bright morning light to flood the room, the gentle breeze blowing just enough to allow a melodic hum to reverberate through my wind chime.

“Your bedroom is nice. It’s homely.” Cash tells me, waiting patiently as I continue to throw things into my bag.

“Not a chance in hell was I letting Chook decorate my bedroom with graffiti.” I laugh, throwing my chunky black cardigan over my shoulders before the eshay opens the door for me, being the gentleman that he is and allowing me to exit first. “There’s another spray paint to cover a skatepark in here as it is.”

My finger traces one of the many swirls of blue spray paint that lines the hallway as I speak, eliciting a chuckle from the boy that follows behind me. Entering the lounge, I find Jayden and Tilla sprawled out on the sofa, eyes glazed over and it’s clear that they’re both stoned out of their minds. Chook sits on the armchair that he’s claimed as his own, nobody else dares to sit there, knowing it’s his seat. He’s playing with the car keys in his hands, eyes fixed on the unconscious man laid out at his feet. Occasionally nudging him with his foot in an attempt to humor himself.

“Who’s that?” I question, capturing my brother’s attention for the first time since we set foot in the lounge.

“Fuck knows brah, couldn’t handle his drinks though clearly.”

With one last surprisingly gentle kick to the stomach, Chook rises from the chair. Ruffling my hair as he strolls past me and towards the front door, much to my annoyance. I sigh quietly, swiftly smoothing my hair down, to which Cash does his best to muffle his laugh as we follow my brother out the door. Stepping over yet another unconscious man as we leave the house.

Hartley High is only a twenty minute drive, most of which I spend in silence, trying my best to enjoy the drum and bass that erupts out of the speakers as we fly down the streets of Sydney. Chook was never one for following the speed limit, no matter how many times I lectured him on the importance of driving safely.

We pull into the car park outside of school with an ear piercing screech, slamming to a halt directly outside the gates, the unnecessary amount of noise causes many students to look in our direction. Many whispering to their friends as they gawk at us, I do my best to keep my head down as I clamber out of the vehicle. Embarrassed by the commotion Chook has caused.

“Don’t get expelled!” Chook yells out of the car window as Cash and I trudge reluctantly towards the quad. Not wanting to dignify him with a response, I simply throw my middle finger up behind me, hearing his raucous laughter followed by the screech of his tires on the asphalt once again.

“You reckon this year will be any better?” Cash inquires, knuckles white due to how tight he is clenching the strap of his fanny pack that is thrown over his shoulder. He’s nervous. Contrary to what people believe, Cash is a sweet boy. He’s so loving, caring, considerate and kind, he has a lot to offer the world we live in. Nobody seems to see this though. Believing Cash is a good for nothing eshay that will make nothing of himself upon leaving school, most likely following in the footsteps of his mother and ending up in prison. Even he himself believes this.

“I don’t know mate, maybe for you, I mean you technically don’t even need to be here. I don’t have a choice unfortunately.”

“Yeah but that just means you’re stuck with me for another year kiddo.”

“I am literally a year younger than you.” I sulk, giving him a gentle shove in order to express my annoyance. “Besides, you wouldn’t have screwed me if you saw me as a kid.”

Cash stops in his tracks completely, I smirk, pleased that I’ve rendered him completely speechless and offer him a quick wink from over my shoulder as he jogs to catch up to me. We agreed to never speak of it. A one night hook up when we were both heavily under the influence of certain illegal substances. My heart was in pieces following the breakdown of mine and a particular church going brunette’s secret relationship. If you could even call it a relationship, we never exactly labeled anything, nor made anything public. However, it felt as though my heart had shattered, I’d never experienced anything like that before. Not even the pain of my childhood compared to this.

One thing led to another and Cash and I were stumbling into bed together. Both of us knew it was wrong, Chook would kill Cash if he ever found out. Fortunately it only happened once and while I wouldn’t say that I regret it, it did definitely put a strain on our friendship for a while. Mostly due to him being terrified of me telling my brother.

Remembering the memory, I can’t help but smile to myself. Even if it was just for that one night, Cash made me feel whole again. Like I was worthy of finding love. The dopamine from the positive recollection seems to crash like a wave over my body, uplifting my mood drastically despite heading into what is ultimately prison for the next seven hours. That is until I catch a glimpse of the one person I was hoping to avoid completely for the next year.

Anthony Vaughn.

“Oi there’s a fully gacked sex map in the old stairwell.” Shouts from the redheaded girl catch my attention and I’m grateful to be provided a distraction. “It’s called the incest map!”

Students from all directions flock together in a sprint towards the old stairwell. The scene could be described as something out of a nature documentary when a pack of wild animals chase after their prey together. It’s wild and chaotic, completely undignified. So, with a quick glance at one another, Cash and I also follow the crowd, taking off in a run to identify what a ‘sex map’ truly is, and why it is so interesting that the entirety of our school is racing at full speed just to catch a glimpse.

I thank my lucky stars that I’m not claustrophobic when I eventually manage to squeeze my way through the horde of students. Names are scrawled in huge letters across the wall, each with different lines and symbols linking one to another. There’s a key chart to the left hand side and it’s safe to say nobody’s sexual endeavours were safe due to how graphic the key chart was.

The usual suspects are on the map, those who aren’t quiet about their partaking in hookup culture, such as Darren and Dusty. Those in relationships are also unsurprising, for example Missy and Sasha are of course linked, having only just recently broken up. Other names however do manage to shock me, for one I was not expecting to see Quinni’s name on the map, nor was I expecting Cash. Following the three lines connected to his name, it’s only then that I realize in bright red letters accompanied by a pair of devil horns, is my name.

Y/N - hooked up - Cash. Y/N - blowie - Spider. Y/N - fucked - Ant. Y/N - destined - Ant.

With each passing second it feels like my heart has stopped, secrets revealed to the world that were supposed to never see the light of day. How did anybody know about this? Sure, Spider may have blabbed about me giving him a blowjob, most likely bragging to his two best mates about it as though I’m his latest conquest. However, what happened between Cash and I, as well as Ant and I was meant to be kept quiet.

With trembling hands, I begin to anxiously scan the room, looking for any sign that somebody other than myself may have noticed my name. Catching the eye of the brunette, who stands timidly between Dusty and Spider, I discern that he is just as concerned as I am. Fearful of the consequences of this coming out.

“Yo Ant, you fucked the eshay’s sister? Nice one bro.” Dusty shouts, clapping his friend on the back which only leads to the red blush on his face to creep to an even deeper crimson.

“You got further with her than I ever did.” Spider comments, a mischievous smirk spread across his lips. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ant simply lowers his head, eyes focusing on his shoes which appear to be a lot more interesting than the map in front of him. I can’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt that he won’t speak about us, but at the same time, I understand. With mates like his, I would want to keep things hidden from them too, especially if this is how they react. Not to mention his overly religious family upbringing and the overwhelming amount of shame he is afraid of bringing on his family.

“Hey, you okay?” Cash whispers, hand faintly grazing mine in a subtle attempt to offer his support.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Offering the mullet wearing boy a forced smile, trying to cover up the embarrassment of suddenly being the center of attention.

Continuing to stare at the map in disbelief, only the shouts of rowdy teenagers can be heard as they find more and more connections on the map that they hadn’t seen upon their first inspection. A few even run out in tears, the map ruining many people’s relationships, outing people and just causing pure humiliation for everybody that has their name scribbled across the wall.

“Hey, do you reckon if we ask real nice, Y/N will let us double dick her?” Spider asks Ant obnoxiously loud, nudging him as they both look over in my direction. Humorless expression evident on my face. “What, we’ve both already been there.”

Spider’s comment is directed to me, with him and Dusty both finding the utmost amusement in the entire situation. Ant, on the other hand, looks as though he wants the floor to swallow him whole, unable to make eye contact with me.

“Are you sure you’d be able to get it up? You and I both know how difficult it was for you last time and that was just for a blowie.” Without giving Spider a chance to respond, I’m pushing through the sea of teenagers, who are now staring eagle eyed between the blonde boy and myself. Invested in the very minor argument between us, a chorus of laughter can be heard at Spider’s expense. Even Dusty seems to take amusement in the mortification of his friend. As I brush past the trio, it’s hard to ignore the self-consciousness on their leader’s face. I can’t help but feel a small sense of pride, knowing that my comment really got under his skin. Eyes trailing over each of the guys, I notice that Ant is already looking at me, a regretful look on his face.

Unlike his two mates, Ant has always been the more caring of the three. Whilst still partaking, somewhat reluctantly, in the shenanigans that the other boys rope him into, he has always had more of a guilty consciousness. Often disclosing the amount of regret and guilt he felt due to some of their actions. Though, he made me swear that information to secrecy, not wanting the boys to view him as weaker. It’s one thing we regularly argued about, with him being unable to fathom the idea that having morals and a consciousness doesn’t make you any less of a man.

The deafening shrill of the school bell sounds whilst I stomp across the quad, alerting me of the fact that I should be headed towards the gym for the mandatory back to school assembly. Yet, I can’t bring myself to face it. Wanting to avoid Spider for a little while longer while I can in the hopes of steering clear of another confrontation. Half an hour into the new school year and I’m already wagging, what a great start.

Without turning to look back, I can hear the shuffle of feet as everybody begins to pile out of the old stairwell. Heading into the main school building, still, I tread on. Doing my best to sneak behind the science block and finding solace in the old dunnies that were closed off to students back in the nineties. Technically, nobody is supposed to be back here, I’m risking detention just by being here, though Cash and I continue to use it as a safe space to hide from the world whenever we need peace.

Rummaging through my bag, I’m quick to find the box of Marlboro Gold’s that I always keep stashed at the bottom, just on the odd occasion that I do feel the urge to smoke. It used to be a rare occurrence, these days, unfortunately it seems to be more of a recurring problem. I’ve hidden the habit from just about everyone in my life, not that Chook would care, he’s done far worse that I ever have. I just don't want people to perceive me as any less that they do now, I know smoking is a dirty horrible habit and yet I can’t seem to quit. So, as I spark my lighter, inhaling the toxic fumes, I begin to take comfort in the calm that fills my body from the lungs outward.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t think anyone was gonna be in here.”

My eyes sweep up from the ground, and if the baggy jeans and tie dyed jumper weren’t enough of a give away as to who stood before me the cross chain hanging from his neck certainly did. It’s the first time he’s actually spoken to me directly since the night everything came crumbling down eight weeks ago. When my eyes lock with his, I can’t help but take in his beauty as if it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him and before I can react the cigarette is falling out of my fingers.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

He points to the ciggie that is now beginning to burn out on the concrete floor. With an awkward laugh, I quickly pick it up, stubbing it out on the wall, humiliated that he caught me.

“I don’t really,” Playing with the ends of my hair as I desperately try to think of an excuse that doesn’t truly reveal the extent of my habit.

“Just needed to destress after this morning.”

“Yeah, crazy morning, right?” Ant asks, leaning against the doorframe as he attempts to make small talk with me. “Actually, do you have another one of those?”

With raised eyebrows I nod swiftly, pulling the pack out of my bag and offering them to him along with my lighter. He lights his and I do the same, after all I didn’t exactly get to finish the first one on account of dropping it on the ground.

“You wagging assembly too?”

My voice is quiet, unsure on whether he actually wants me to make conversation with him or he’d prefer to sit in silence. Despite my best attempts to not make it obvious, I watch as he takes a drag from the ciggie, allowing the smoke to delicately fall from his lips. It’s awkward not knowing where I stand with him, sure, what happened was a while ago now and I’d assumed we’d both moved on but that doesn’t make the entire situation any less awkward.

“Couldn’t face it, Spider and Dusty wouldn’t stop hounding me for all the details and I just needed some space.” Ant admits, picking at the skin around his fingers between drags.

“Oh right, I can leave if you want some space, I don’t mind.”

Grabbing my bag and hauling myself off the window ledge, I throw the end of my ciggie to the ground, ready to leave. That is until his hand grabs mine gently, his touch soft as I’m forced to stop and look at him.

“No, stay. You should stay.”

Ant offers me a small smile before letting go of my hand, the touch so fleeting and yet it still manages to make my heart flutter even just the tiniest bit. Sitting beside him on the cold, mucky floor, not minding the dirt if it means that Ant and I are one step closer to mending our friendship. Truthfully, I miss him. I miss him as a friend more so than anything. Our bond was one that you don’t find much in life, one that others struggle to comprehend.

“I owe you an apology.” His words catch me off guard, unaware that he felt the need to apologize to me, let alone, doing so on the first day back at school. Granted it hasn’t been any ordinary first day back. “I was a complete dickhead to you and you didn’t deserve it-”

“Ant you don’t need to explain yourself.”

“Nah, I do. I think I knew I couldn’t be the guy you deserved, and I got scared. It’s no excuse, I know that. Just believe me, I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said to you that night, I was so pissed, honestly, I hardly remember any of it. All I know is I woke up with the worst hangover of my life and you weren’t there.” He stops for a moment, collecting his thoughts with furrowed eyebrows, trying his best to put what he wants to say into words. “You weren’t there and then I saw the messages. Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t ever want to hurt you.”

He’s staring at me intently, eyes trying to find any glimmer of emotion on my face in an attempt to determine what I’m thinking. Opening my mouth to respond, I find myself rendered completely speechless. As I focus on Ant, I can see the worry in his eyes. Uneasy as to what I may have to say.

“Shit, sorry, I’m no good with words, I-”

“Stop talking Ant.” I mumble, putting an end to his rant before he can even properly begin. “Cheers for the apology, it means a lot.”

“Do you hate me?” The question is blurted out before he can stop himself. Shocking even himself judging by the way his widened followed by his head falling to his hands.

“I could never hate you. You should know that.” I tell him, his whole body instantly less tense as the relief floods through him. “I’ve actually really missed my friend. We should’ve never complicated things.”

I almost miss it, but there’s a flash of pain in the browns of his eyes as I say those last words, though he nods in agreement. The silence that follows is no longer awkward, instead it’s tranquil. Plainly embracing the warmth of the early morning sun in one another’s presence feels relaxing compared to the events that unfolded prior. Blissfully enjoying the reblossoming of our once torn apart friendship.

“If it isn’t Anthony Vaughn and Y/N Y/LN. You’ve not even been back a day and you’re already wagging.” Ms Woods’ tone is extremely unimpressed as she addresses us, evidently not happy that we’re getting into trouble this quickly. Ant and I can’t help but hold in matching mischievous grins. “My office now!”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------- “So what were you and Ant doing in the dunnies together?” Cash mumbles the minute my brother is out of earshot and inside Harry’s diner, no doubt trying to chat up all the girls who are trying to eat their chippies in peace.

Slapping him straight in the chest, my eyes flicker towards the door of the diner, wary that Chook will pop out at any second and overhear our conversation. He feigns annoyance, dramatically throwing his hand up to his chest, acting as if I’ve just shot him.

“Oh my god, nothing!”

“I saw your names on the map Y/N, can you blame me for thinking you were trying to cop a root?”

“Shut the fuck up! Nothing happened okay?” I whisper as aggressively as I can, playing with the hem of my pinstripe mini dress in the hopes that I can distract myself from this conversation.

“I dunno, Amerie seemed to think you two were destined.”

“Who’s destined?”

Chook’s voice alarms me, head snapping up to spot the slightly older, male version of myself walking only mere feet away from Cash and I. His casual demeanor suggests he hasn’t overheard the rest of our conversation for which I’m thankful. Locking eyes with Cash, I shake my head in the subtlest way possible so he knows not to say a word. If Chook found out about the map, not only would I be dead, but Cash as well, so it’s in the best interest of both of us not to open our mouths about yesterday’s events.

“Spider and his imaginary girlfriend. That boy is gonna be in a serious relationship with his hand for the foreseeable future.” The lie slips off my tongue so easily that it’s rather concerning. Chook doesn’t question me, though why would he? I learned from the best.

“Sure. You prepared for the cemetery tonight kid?” Chook asks Cash, not even bothering to look up at him as he stashes the boot of the car with countless amounts of junk food he had just collected from Harry’s. “Thank god you stayed at school for another year, since this little bitch didn’t wanna take over as our connect.”

“My bad that I didn’t wanna be running around, pushing drugs for you for the rest of my school life.” I argue, Chook pulling faces as I speak in response. Deciding that this is an argument not worth having today, after all, it’s one we’ve had many times before.

“Yeah, all good brah.” Cash chimes in, answering Chook’s question to put an end to our petty argument before we can take it even further. Before we can get physically violent, even if it is only in a playful manner.

“You two best get going hey, maximize profit and all that.”

Cash doesn’t need any further instruction, hopping on his motorbike after passing me his fanny pack to store in the bag on the back. Something he always does in order to ensure that all his supply is kept perfectly safe while he drives. I’d consider it smart if I didn’t know it was drugs he was keeping safe. Chook jumps in his car, nodding in our direction as he flies out of the car park with Jayden and Tilla shouting out of the window at us. I can’t help but smile at their antics.

Cash offers me a hand on to the back of his bike, hiking my tiny dress up even further so that I can throw my leg over the vehicle. Wrapping my arms around his waist tightly, he watches in his mirror for me to nod before taking off. A habit he picked up when he first began to drive me around on what I like to call his ‘death trap’.

Dance music is belting from the many speakers when we arrive at the cemetery, a fire pit glowing in the middle of the makeshift dance floor as people crowd around it. The sun is already setting as we arrive, illuminating the party in a way that looks angelic. Upon reaching one of the many piles of drinks, it’s hard to notice Amerie dancing crazily, along with Darren, Quinni and Malachai. I point it out to Cash, the pair of us surprised that she has any friends left considering her actions.

Parting ways with the eshay I find taking a swig from one of the numerous vodka bottles before grabbing a bottle of bus, watching as Cash immediately begins to get to work, Sasha instantly running over to him the moment she spots him alone. Rolling my eyes, I plant myself further away from the party, sat with my back against one of the decrepit headstones.

I’ve always been more of an introvert. Opting to be a wallflower and observe rather than be the center of attention, unlike my fellow classmates who all seem to thrive when the spotlight is on them. I hate Amerie for forcing me into that spotlight.

Between sips of the slightly warm lager, I begin to roll myself a joint, figuring I may as well attempt to have a good time at the party. Even if it isn’t my ideal Tuesday night. I couldn’t let Cash come on his own though, not when he’s working for my brother.

“You are a bad girl Y/N Y/L/N.” Ant’s voice shouts from a short distance away, strolling towards me with a cheeky grin slapped across his face. “What is this? The second time I’ve caught you smoking now?”

“Right well I was just about to offer to share this with you but I guess not now.” I joke, lighting it up as Ant flops down beside me. “And technically, I haven’t even smoked this yet so you’ve only caught me once.”

“It totally counts!” Ant argues, waiting patiently as I take a couple of puffs before handing him the joint. “How’d your brother take it when he found out about the map?”

“You’re safe if that’s what you’re asking. I haven’t told him and he’s not the type of bloke that answers the phone when Woodsy rings.” He hands the joint back to me, fingers brushing mine tenderly. “Your mum?

“Not great. Amerie really fucked things up for me, I have to go to church three more times a week now, all because of one wristy and well you know.”

“Did you tell her the truth about us?” I inquire, wondering if he did come clean completely about our situationship of sorts.

“Nah, I told her it was just the once.” He admits, glancing at me sheepishly, almost embarrassed to recount the memory. “Figured that was better than telling her the truth. I may have also turned her that you were my girlfriend at the time, you know, to kind of make it better. Not that she approves of premarital sex or anything and I know we didn’t label what we were but it sounded better in the moment. I hope that’s okay.”

“Lying to your mother Anthony, that’s not very christian of you!” I gasp, to which he snatches the joint back out of my hand in retaliation, laughing along with me.

“Fuck yourself.” Ant chuckles, blowing the smoke directly in my face without any warning, causing me to descend into a fit of coughs.

“What’s the deal with you and Cash anyway? You two a thing now?” Ant’s not looking up at me when he speaks, all his attention fixated on the crowd of teenagers partying in the distance. Anxiously pulling blades of grass from the ground beneath me, I continue to gaze at him, a sigh falling from my lips as I had hoped he hadn’t noticed the line between Cash and my name. It was inevitable that it was going to come up, I had just hoped it would be something that people skirted around, not asking any direct questions.

“Nah.” The word is faint, shaking my head, my eyes fall on the boy in question, completely unaware that we are speaking about him as he stands in conversation with Darren. “We’re just mates.”

The boy nods besides me though I can tell he doesn’t truly believe me, still unable to look in my direction. Nudging him slightly, I give a small smile when he does hesitantly face me. “We hooked up once a few weeks ago, I was pretty much black out and he was just there. It was a fucking stupid decision.”

“Just mates though?” Ant asks, more of a rhetorical question, as if to reassure himself, much to my confusion as I can’t see why it would matter to him whether we were just mates or not. “Okay but who was better?”

Bloodshot eyes and a lazy smile indicate to me that the joint has hit him quicker than either of us expected. Warm blush present on his cheeks, his head tipped back against the headstone , gazing up at the stars that begin to light up the late summer skies.

“You’re so stoned.” I comment, completely dodging the question in the hopes that he’s too high to remember what he had even asked.

“Just like old times, yeah.”

Ant’s fingers brush over my hand just barely, the touch so slight that I wouldn’t have felt it had I not been looking in that direction. Thumb softly tracing circles across the back of my palm, skin feeling as though its been set alight with every small movement. Turning my head, I find Ant already staring at me, mouth curved upwards into a slight smile.

“I wish I never cooked it with you.”

Despite knowing that he is as high as a kite, his words still manage to catch me off guard. Forcing me to pull away, leaning back to take him in properly. From his somber expression to the deep intensity with which he looks at me, awaiting a reaction.

“Cops!” Before I can respond, shouts from the party grab my attention. Head spinning round to see the chaos unfolding, teenagers running in every direction, some scream, whilst others laugh. “Cops! The cops are coming!”

“Oh shit.”

Discarding the bottle I had been nursing, I hop to my feet within seconds, Ant, who now looks surprisingly sober, does the same. Without hesitation, he is grabbing my hand before we take off in a sprint, running in the opposite direction of the flashing lights and sirens that are rolling up to the gatho. As the crowds disperse, I find myself scanning through the seas of people, looking for a certain eshay that would get into a lot of trouble, should he be caught. “Where’s Cash?” Voice breathy, I force Ant and I to a halt, searching my entire field of vision for any sign of him, head spinning so fast that I’m shocked I didn’t give myself vertigo. “Ant, I can’t see him. Where’s Cash?”

“Y/N we need to go.”

With his free hand, Ant easily slides it around my waist, using all his strength to pry my feet from the pavement. Regardless of my unwillingness, I allow the boy to lead us away from the party. Not wanting to run the risk of getting caught, so instead I recite prayers in my head that Cash also hasn’t been caught.

Upon reaching the locked gate, Ant wastes no time in easily pushing me up so that I can scramble over the metal. He does so with ease, a proud display of his strength and it makes me blush. Reminiscing on the ways he used that strength before.

Running hand in hand down the noiseless streets of Sydney, I find myself giggling at tonight’s events. The prospect of an exciting, if slightly chaotic year eleven rises upon the horizon and I can’t help but display my enthusiasm at seeing where the next few months take me. (Hopefully, with Ant by my side, but nobody needs to know that.)

[bonesxbows]

The Sharpest Lives - Chapter 2 (Beckett x Reader)

My Masterlist

Beckett's former gang had ambushed you and captured you, doing whatever they so pleased to you to "teach him a lesson." but in one way or another, you escaped from that hellhole they had you locked up in and crawled back home to him.

(WARNINGS) - graphic descriptions of violence and torture - mentions of sorta ptsd - graphic wound descriptions

thought this story could use a second chapter, hope you like this chapter as much as the first one! comments and reblogs much appreciated!

Banners by @strangergraphics

A few months had passed since you dragged yourself back to your camp from the claws of the Blood Eagles. Beckett hadn’t left your side until you were able to walk on your own again, and even after then he still watched over you protectively. Every bruise scattered around your body, from the ones on your arms to the ones from your previously broken fingers, had more or less healed by now. Every cut and scrape had healed over, some completely disappeared while others would leave scars forever, especially the deep cut on your face. and the burn marks were now no more than patches of pink rippled skin that dotted your upper arms, along with the bigger patch of skin on your face. Beckett had kept up to his promise, not chasing down a single Blood Eagle until you could be right there with him, and now that day had come. 

“Do you even know where they kept you?” he asked as he loaded another shell into a magazine. 

You shook your head. “Best guess is Watoga Underground, the same place we found Frankie. I was unconscious for the journey when they knocked me out in the middle of the road.” 

Beckett hummed in response. He was glad that this wasn’t a repeat of what had happened to his brother, he didn’t know if he could mentally handle that. He also knew that you were most likely right, Watoga would’ve been the closest Blood Eagle camp to the route you had taken the day they captured you, and even though the two of you had wiped them out of the building previously, the Blood Eagles were always persistent, their leaders alive or not.

“Are we ready to do this?” You asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

“You tell me, I’m not the one who’s in the middle of recovering from the Blood Eagles sinking their talons in me.” He half-joked, but you could still tell he was just a little worried. 

“I’m always ready to throw raider scum into the gates of hell.” You smirked, slinging your rifle over your shoulder and heading out the door. Beckett followed close behind you. 

The trek to Watoga underground had been rather uneventful. Long and tiresome, but uneventful. The two of you had run into a few wandering merchants and a few packs of wild dogs or wolves, but the animals proved to be no trouble with your rifle and his shotgun. 

Eventually, the two of you made it into the city of Watoga. Beckett was weary of the robots that constantly charged out of their pods that were scattered around the town, but you knew that they would not attack you, not after you had rebooted Watoga’s automated systems. Every time the two of you passed by a charging pod, it whirled to life, and a robot jumped out, Beckett would raise his shotgun, but the robot was always friendly. 

In the middle of the city lay Watoga Underground, and the two of you continued forward. Blood Eagles were few and far in between in the beginning chambers and hallways and the two of you made it to the main encampment farther buried in the endless hallways and corridors in no time. 

“There’s a lot more of them here than I thought…” you whispered. You had gone one way and Beckett had gone the other. Peering through a hole in the wall you could see where the Blood Eagles were crashing. The setup hadn’t changed much since you had last been here to rescue Frankie.

Your mind ached with anticipation, badly wanting to exact revenge for everything they had put you through, but your legs and hands ached with something else. They were pissed at you, no doubt. And they knew what you looked like. You knew that if a single one of them got their grubby little fingers on you again you would be killed on the spot. They wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and leave you alive, wouldn’t risk you escaping them again. Especially now that you had waltzed right back into their grasp. 

“Hey,” a voice whispered behind you. You nearly jumped through the roof, swiveled around, and almost shot the person, before realizing who it was. 

“Beckett?!” You whispered harshly. “What the fuck are you doing here?! I almost shot you!” You had watched him go down a different hallway, you were sure of it. What was he doing back here? 

“Well I was following the plan, but then I thought, ‘Gee I wonder how I would feel staring down the people who held me captive for two weeks, with a still half-broken leg’ and I came back here to find you.” He explained. You could tell that his statement basically summed up to the fact that he was worried about you, which you honestly didn’t mind. Truth be told you were a little scared. “So then,” he started, “are we gonna do this or not?” 

You swallowed your fears, breathed in and out slowly, and nodded your head, steadying your rifle in your hands. He put a hand around your upper arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze, before heading for another door to the main camp, but this time not far away enough that he couldn’t keep an eye on you. 

You aimed at one of the unexpecting Eagles, a loud *crack* filled the room as you broke through his skull with your headshot. You cringed at the noise, remembering the noise your own bones had made when Beckett had fixed them back into place, but you continued. Another one fell before they realized what was going on, this time you opted for a body shot. 

Beckett had taken down the two or three nearest to him, and the rest were sent into a frenzy. Some found cover behind nearby furniture, some took potshots at the two of you, and others tried to bark orders to the group. Beckett had been right, without a leader to guide and unite them the Blood Eagles were lost. 

You crept into the encampment, taking out who you could down the sights of your rifle. If they got too close to you that you had a hard time keeping them in line with your barrel, Beckett slid closer and took them out with his shotgun. About most of them now lay on the floor forming small puddles of blood underneath them, but a few stragglers were scattered around the room.

“Wait...Beckett, do you hear that?” You asked him, the two of you taking cover behind a bookshelf.

“Sounds like someone...whimpering?” He looked over the shelf and shot down another Eagle that charged at the two of you. 

“We have to find them, it could be another captive.” You told him before running off through the maze of bookshelves, lockers, and anything else the Eagles were using as barricades. But then something clicked in Beckett’s mind, he remembered something from his past, something he wished he could forget.

“Wait!” He shouted, almost getting clipped by a flying bullet, but it was too late, you were already too far away to hear him over the bullets flying. He cursed himself for having not remembered sooner and could've stopped you from running off. He had no other choice, he followed after you. 

You soon found the source of the whimpering sound, someone curled in the corner of a room in the back. They were dressed in Blood Eagle attire, but this wasn’t usual Blood Eagle behavior, so you approached slowly. 

“Hey, you alright there?” You asked softly, reaching out a hand to the kneeling person. But then the whimpering turned into laughter, and then what unfolded next happened so fast, too fast for you to react accordingly.

“BECKETT!” You yelled out, hoping he could get to you in time before it was too late. The raider continued chuckling in your ear. 

His heart raced faster when he heard you scream, his legs moving as fast as they could following the same path he saw you take. He rushed into the room, tripping over his own feet as he skidded to a halt in the doorway. 

“One more step and you’ll hear this pretty little thing choke on their own blood.” The raider called out to him. He had you held against his body forcefully, a knife pointed at your neck. Your rifle lay abandoned on the floor. You tried not to struggle much, afraid of pissing him off more, but it was hard to stay still with the knife poking into your skin. Beckett placed his shotgun on the floor and put his hands up in defense.

“Alright...alright. Don’t hurt them. It’s me you want, right? I’m the one who took down the leaders, they’re just a captive who escaped.” Beckett tried to bargain with the raider. You knew he was lying, it was really you who had killed the two leaders and rescued the third, who happened to be Beckett’s brother, he had just pointed you in the right direction. But you hoped the Blood Eagle was too drugged out of his mind to see the holes in Beckett’s barter. You assumed Beckett hoped so too.

“Hmm…” the raider growled. You could feel the vibration from his chest. Without a warning, he shoved you, hard, towards Beckett. You stumbled, ending up on your hands and knees in front of him. He stooped down to make sure you were okay. “Now hold up your end of the deal.” The raider spat. Beckett cleared his throat and swiftly picked his shotgun back up, and aimed it at the raider with one arm. You could feel the spatter of blood on your back.

“You know that was pretty dumb, running off like that,” Beckett told you while he helped you up off the floor. He didn’t sound angry though. 

“Yeah, I’m...I'm sorry. I didn’t know.” He replied, running your fingers along your neck to check for blood. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a new trick they’ve learned. They used to pull that card all the time way back when.” Beckett scoffed. “Anyway, I think that was the last of them.” He brushed the dust off of his jeans, satisfied with the carnage of Blood Eagles you two had made. 

“So,” you paused, letting his eyes wander to you. “Back home then?”

“Yeah. Been away too long. Kinda miss the place.” He responded, smiling a little as the two of you started to make your way out of the maze of the underground. 

“Aw, big ol ex-raider Beckett getting soft on me? Becoming a homebody?” You teased. 

He chuckled. “Nah, nothin' like that.” He said. Then the two of you fell silent for a while, until you made it outside. “How’s your neck? He nicked you pretty good.” He asked. 

“Hm.” You hummed. “Small scratch, it’ll heal in no time.” You told him. 

“Should still look at it when we get back. Doubt that blade was clean.” He half-mindedly spoke, kicking a small pebble with his boot as the two of you walked. You hummed in agreement, making a mental note of what he had said. 

The walk back to camp would be long, as had the walk to Watoga had been, but it would be an enjoyable one. Revenge and murder were off his mind and you were still in one piece. Things could go back to how they were before this whole Blood Eagles mess.

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Cutler Beckett x wife reader👰🗡

Synopsis: a girl was bought by a lord from her father, her life with her betrothed husband is anything but a fantasy. One evening, they come to good terms.

Warning: slight smut

"You seem quite content, perhaps you were the correct choice after all"

"You stupid girl"

"Foolish yet adequate y/n"

The girl gazed into her husband's eyes full of hatred and loyalty.