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multiplefandomwritings · 2 years ago

Text

How to be a mum

pairing: reader x the grid (platonically), hinted Pierre Gasly x reader

warnings: swearing, assault (someone is punched in the face), description of injuries/bruises, throwing up, passing out, unconsciousness, mentioning of hospital, mentioning of crash

summary: Being the only female driver on the grid basically makes you everyone’s mum - and that with just in your mid-twenties.

notes: feel free to leave comments and/or feedback. likes and reblogs are always appreciated! also, feel free to send in requests! Another part will follow, so let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

disclaimer: English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes 😊

word count: 4.1k

Your parents had raised you to be a good, kind, caring and helpful person. Where you could, you helped other people out. On top of that, you were basically illiterate to the word no, it was almost impossible for you to tell other people no. No matter the time or the troubles it cost you, you were always there for others. Essentially, that meant little time to yourself, which you didn’t mind most of the time. You loved helping people, and it made you happy.

So, when you were promoted to Formula One, you almost immediately become the mom of the grid. All the drivers, despite some considerably older than you, needed help or supervision. It was like a crazy playhouse and sometimes you felt like you were the only sane and responsible person. It was a menace, someone always needed something. But then again, you loved to help, and you collectively adopted all of them. Metaphorical, of course. But the last weeks were a lot, maybe too much, and you were exhausted. The different time zones had taken their toll on you.

However, when your friends ask you to join for a night out, you agree. It is the Thursday before the race weekend, and Charles, Pierre, Carlos, and you went out to grab some dinner. Mexico is warm and full of life and buzzing, and you had spent an hour looking on the internet for the perfect place to go.

When you arrive there, you are happy to have Carlos with you, as he speaks Spanish. You sit down, you talk, life is good, and you enjoy spending time with your friends. Until suddenly, Charles whinges – he had cut himself God knows how. “Let me see!”, you demand and he shows you the cut on his finger. It isn’t very deep, but it is bleeding a lot. You get your purse, rummage in it for a minute, and pull out a band aid. “You are full of wonders!”, Carlos chuckles while you wrap up Charles finger. “All done!”, you say and plant a gentle kiss on the band aid. Charles blushes and you laugh. “I am sorry, my mum always used to do it to me, so it is a force of habit!”

After dinner, you all enter the car. Charles makes you sit in the passenger seat, even though you would have preferred to sit in the backseat and close your eyes for a bit. But Charles insists, arguing that you give directions the best. So, of course you stay awake and make sure that all of you will arrive safely in the hotel. Before Charles pulls out of the parking lot, you turn around. “Any music wishes you gu-“, you are about to ask, when you realize something. “Put you goddamn seatbelt on, Pierre!”, you scold the guy in the back seat. “Yes mum!”, Pierre jokes, but puts his seatbelt on. Carlos and Pierre request some songs, and the way back is actually quite fun as well.

When you arrive, you say your goodnights and then you are finally on your way to up to your room. You want nothing more than sleep and are already laying in bed in an oversized shirt and short pants when someone knocks on your door. You get up and look through the peephole. In front of your door is Mick and he looks miserable. So, you open the door - of course you do. “I don’t have a seat for next season, they screwed me over!”, Mick says, his voice is breaking. You let him in and end up spending of your night consoling the younger driver. You hold him, let cry, gently play with his hair until he falls asleep. You fall asleep not long after him, holding the blond boy in your arms.

Micks alarm rings painfully early. He blushes and apologizes when he realizes that he fell asleep in your arms, but you wave it off. Once he left, you shower and get ready for your breakfast date with Pierre. Pierre and you had become closer in the last months, and sometimes spending time with Pierre was the only time where you could properly relax. “Good morning!”, you greet the Frenchman, and he engulfs you in a hug. “Are you okay, you look tired.” “Yeah, sure, I am okay!”, you assure him. You enjoy the breakfast; Pierre makes you laugh a lot. Afterwards, the two of you get ready and drive to the track together for Friday testing. You carry a huge bag out of the room and Pierre just laughs before he takes it for you.

The testing goes well, all in all. The car is good this season, you might even land on the podium this weekend. But then again, you are happy when everyone crosses the line safely. And you are always happy when your friends are on the podium, maybe even happier than if you stand there yourself. Sometimes you wonder how you made it this far – while you were competitive and scored good results, you were not as fierce in your ways as most of the other drivers. Still, you managed just fine, and many people saw great potential in you.

After the testing, you hug your teammate, Lando. “You seem to really have gotten the hang on the car, I am proud of you!” He smiles at you. “Thank you, y/n!” You glance down at your phone. „By the way, I think you should get going. You have an interview in 15 minutes!“ He nods. „Oh yeah, thank you for reminding me!” You wave it off. “No problem, and now go! I will see you later!” You rush the boy out of the garage, then you are on your merry way to look for Checo. The man had invited you to stay with his family for dinner and for the night and since you adored his children, you had happily agreed. You carry the bag, that is full of presents for his kids, and a thank you present for Checo and Carola.

“Checo!”, you call out to the older driver. He lights up when he sees you. “Hola, corazon!” Most of the drivers call you nicknames because you are that close with them. Checo for example is like an older brother to you. He pulls you into a hug. “Ready to go?”, he asks you. “Give me one minute, I need to say hi to Max, otherwise he is offended again!”, you laugh and walk deeper into the Red Bull Garage. “Verstappen!”, you yell and like a demon summoned he appears immediately. “Y/n!”, he exclaims, smiling widely. You hated that everyone always painted Max to be an asshole while he really was a ray of sunshine if you were able to gain his trust and friendship. You greet him with a kiss on the cheek and talk to him briefly before you leave together with Checo.

Carola already stands in the door when you arrive, and you practically sprint out of the car to engulf her in a tight hug. “Hola!”, she says laughing and motions for you to come inside. You excitedly bubble to her before you spot the three little kids and you heart becomes even fuller. They almost attack you with love, you speak to them in the few Spanish sentences you know, giving out presents. When they run off to play with the new toys, you turn to Checo and Carola and hand them their presents. “You are too kind, y/n”, says Carola and the three of you hug again.

After dinner, you help bringing the kids to bed, tucking them in, trying your best to read the Spanish children’s books, which results in giggles from all sides. When the kids are asleep, Checo, Carola and you sit up with a glass of wine. You get to bed not too late, and the next morning you and Checo drive to the circuit together.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun is warm on your face and life is buzzing around the paddock. The moment you exit the car, you are swarmed by fans. You sign their stuff, take some pictures, answer questions. You can hear the cameras click. Even though you had been in Formula One for two years now, you were somehow still more often than not the star of the show. Often it was praise, sometimes it was stupid comments, sometimes gossip. By now, the media had attached an alleged affair to you paired with any driver. It was quite fun actually, sometimes you and your friends teased the media. Going out for dinner with Charles on Monday, Lunch with Daniel on Tuesday, going for a walk on Wednesday with Lewis, partying on Thursday with Max, having a late breakfast in the sun on Friday with Lando. Acting like you just got caught. It was the funniest shit in the world to you.

Qualifying went good for you, for Lando as well. You had gotten everything out of the car, and that makes you content. When you drive into the paddock, you are happy and bubbly, spreading good mood. That is, until you look at the little screen in the garage and spot Esteban crashing into the wall. “Oh god, is he okay?”, you breath out before you rush to the medical quarters. The medics tell you that he has to go to the hospital to be checked out thoroughly.

„I will go with him!”, you say without hesitation. Since none of his family was there, you offer to go to the hospital with him, no questions asked. On the ride there, you hold his hand and whisper words of encouragement to him. When you arrive, he is taken by the doctors, and you have to wait. As soon as the doctors tell you that he is and will be okay, you call his family to tell them the good news. When you can go in the room with him, Esteban looks a lot better. You pull him in a gentle hug and make sure that he arrives by his hotel room safe and sound.

By now it’s the middle of the night and you sigh. In a few hours Yuki and you will meet in the gym because he has asked you to show him some meditation and yoga tricks that would help with his mindset. You promised to show him before the race so that he could use it right on track. You decide to sleep the three hours you would get and go to your room.

You wake up feeling completely exhausted. On top of that you had overslept, so you decide to skip breakfast and just head straight down to meet Yuki. It is quite fun, and you feel a bit refreshed. However, by the time you arrive at the track, you find yourself in a low. You are very well aware that you possibly shouldn’t participate in the car, your lack of sleep endangering you and the others. You go to your driver’s room, splash water in your face and then you meet up with your personal trainer. Somehow, you find whatever concentration is left in you, and channel all of it. When going over one last reflex training and everything goes well, you are feeling a bit better about participating. And you are right. You even score in the points, which makes you happy.

After the race, you are scheduled for an interview. Arriving a bit early, it is not your turn yet. Charles is still being interviewed. You watch Charles doing his interview, and for once it seems like you are graced with one minute of peace. Until you suddenly hear someone yelling. “Charles!” “What is that?”, Charles asks and looks just as confused as you. You find the source of the scream before he does. Daniel stands on the balustrade of a roof close by, shouting and waving. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Be careful, for fucks sake!”, you scream up to him, before you are on your merry way to drag him down there with your bare hands, if you have to.

You manage to get him to step down after a few more shenanigans. You rush down again, arriving just on time for your interview. It is actually a respectful interview for once, the interviewer showing genuine interests for your driving and not for anything else. Somehow, despite your tiredness, you are the best version of you, joking with the interviewer.

After the interview, the debrief happens, and then you head straight to the hotel. Your flight was going tonight because you want nothing more than a few quite days and nights in your own apartment. Pierre had offered to drive you to airport, which you gladly accepted. When you get out of the car, Pierre exists as well and pulls you in a hug. “Get some rest, Cherie, you look tired!”, he tells you and you grin crookedly. “You don’t even know, Gasly!” The two of you hug, and then you are on your way back home.

When you step into your apartment, you almost start to cry. You are so relieved, and you look so much forward to just sleep. You will only spend three days before you have to leave for the next race again, but you full on intent to spend most of that time in bed sleeping and relaxing. You order some take-out food and head to bed right after. Everything is good, until your phone wakes you up in the middle of the nights. It is around four in the morning, and you groan. Max´s name shows up on the screen. You wonder how the fuck he managed to get back to Monaco as quickly as you. You pick up, of course you do.

“Heyyy!”, slurs Max and you know what he wants before he can say something. “Where are you?”, you ask, already half out of bed, “I will come and get you!” You arrive at the club half an hour later, a bottle of water and a bucket with you. You get out of your car, and look for Max. You find him in an alley next to the club, surrounded by two guys. Speeding up, you step in front of Max the moment before one of the guys throw a punch at him. Instead of Max, the fist hits your face, and you almost fall over. You shake your head, and stare down the guy who profoundly starts to apologize to you. You scoff. “I suggest that if you don’t want me to call the cops on you, you get the fuck out of here!”, you threaten, and they leave immediately.

You sling Max arm over your shoulder and manoeuvre the drunk man to your car. He is slumped over, his body weight seems to have doubled, and your face is throbbing. He doesn’t seem to realize what just happens, and instead throws up on your shoes. You have to take them off and drive home with just your socks. Somehow, you manage to get him all the way to his apartment, where you make sure that he drinks some water. He falls asleep as soon as he hits the pillow and starts to snore. You prepare him breakfast, place water and painkillers on his nightstand, and make your way back home – still in socks. When you arrive home, you text him about the breakfast. Your face still aches, and when you look into the mirror, a big purple bruise is already forming, and the skin around your eye is turning darker by the minute. You groan – it would be a pain to cover that up.

You get back to bed, but you cannot really sleep. Your head is killing you, so you get dressed, put a hoodie on and big sunglasses. Luckily, no one sees you in the streets, and you arrive at the doctor’s office without any incidents. The doctor knows you - ever since you lived in Monaco, you came here. He examines your face and tells you that most likely you have a mild concussion, which explains the headaches. He tells you to rest a bit, and if you do that, racing wouldn’t be problem next weekend. You thank him, pick up some of the recommended painkillers, some make-up to hide the bruise and then you go back to your apartment.

You have two more hours of sleep, before your phone rings again. Daniel asks if you want to go and have breakfast with him because him and his girlfriend are having troubles and he needs someone to talk to. You assure him that you can be at his place in latest an hour. You get up, jump under the shower and afterwards you manage to cover up the mark. On the way to his place to pick up some groceries for the breakfast. Half an hour later, Daniel lets you in his apartment and you talk for what feels like five hours. You barely eat for breakfast, the headache and a nauseous feeling overwhelming you. Daniel doesn’t realize, he is just happy you are here, and you are more than happy to help.

This evening, you don’t get to bed as early as you had wished, because you talked with your family and your best friend. You firmly tell yourself, that you would sleep most of the day tomorrow before you would head to the next race. However, your plans are crossed, when Charles calls and asks if you can help him buy a present for his girlfriend. Of course, you accept and spend most of the day out with Charles, visiting different shops and boutiques. When you get home, you pack your bags and go to bed, because you have to get up early to leave for Brazil. You were already not looking forward to the time difference, not knowing if your body could take it.

Lando, Charles, Pierre, Daniel, Max, and you had decided to take the plane together. It was usually more fun than flying alone, but this time you wouldn’t have minded. A bit of peace and quietness would have been nice. However, when you see the boys on the airport, you are happy. They are your friends after all, and you loved them dearly.

“I am hungry!”, Lando whines almost as soon as you board the plane. He sits on the opposite side of you. You knew that this was going to happen. You open your bag pack and whip out 6 neatly packed lunch packages. “I gotcha!”, you tell him and throw him one of the packages. It contains two sandwiches, some cut vegetables and some small snacks. You know all their diet plans, so every package was a bit different. You had gotten up extra early that morning to make sure all of them had something, knowing that they would possibly forget to prepare something.

Lando thanks you profoundly, and you just smile at him. You loved the boys, even though it wasn’t always easy with them. You are still wearing your sunglasses, because the bruise around your eye had become even darker, and your unprofessional attend at make-up didn’t cover it properly anymore. You are not ready to show the boys, because you don’t want them to worry, and you don’t want Max to feel guilty. He had texted you that he remembered parts of the night, and that he remembered how you stepped in front of him. You had assured him that you were fine. Lost in your thoughts, you drift to sleep, your sunglasses still on.

You are awoken barely 30 minutes later by loud music. You almost jump out of the seats, the boys laughing. “Very funny”, you murmur, but have to smile a bit. It could’ve, maybe should’ve annoyed you, but you were not one to hold grudges. “Why are you still wearing your sunglasses, mon ange?”, Pierre teases you and you shrug your shoulders. “Because it looks cool!”, you argue half-heartedly. Before you can react, Pierre pulls them off your head and gasps in the same motion. You try to cover your face with your hands, but it is too late. Pierre´s reaction has drawn all attention on you. “Jesus, what happened to you, y/n?”, Pierre asks, all teasing has left his tone. “Nothing”, you are quick to lie. “Didn’t look like nothing!”, he sounds a bit angry, and you sigh. You remove your hand from your face and show him and the others.

“Oh my God!”, breathes Max out, “So something happened after all?” You sigh again. “Nothing bad, it is just a bruise and a blackeye!” Daniel shakes his head. “You should have told us!” “I know!”, you defend yourself, letting your shoulders hang, “I just didn’t want you guys to worry!” In this moment the guys realize that maybe sometimes they need to take better care of you as well. However, the scope of your state is not yet fully obvious to them.

After you told them the story, Max apologises again, and again, but you wave it off. “Max, I would do that again any day, you are like a brother to me”, you give him a warm smile and hug him. He looks like he feels a bit better, your head on the other hand is killing you. You excuse yourself to the bathroom, where you throw up once. You brush your teeth, put some water in your face and tell yourself to get your shit together. When you return, you sit down again. Pierre sits down next to you, opens up his arms and you gladly accept. Daniel puts a blanket on you, and you sleep the rest of the flight in Pierre’s arms.

You wake up feeling a tiny, tiny bit better. The weekend goes by. You again sleep too little - one of the boys always needing something that you were happy to help with. The devil works hard, but you really worked harder. Qualifying went better than ever and you wondered if you maybe should always need to drive sleep deprived. On Sunday, you almost fall asleep in the meeting before the race, and you know you should probably just cancel the game. But you sit down in the car anyway and start to race.

“P1, I repeat, P1! Y/n, you did it! Your first win!”, screams one of your team members over the radio. You whoop and pump your fist in the air. “Can I do donuts, please?”, you beg, and everyone laughs. You do a couple, and then you drive to your garage, where everyone jumps in your arms, and you cry tears of joy. “Yes, yes, yes!!”, you yell over and over again. On your way to the podium everyone congratulates you, as there is not a single soul on the grid that dislikes you. You had even managed to woo Christian Horner with your kind nature.

When you step on the podium, Max and Charles are there, and you spray each other with champagne. At the end, they lift you on their shoulders, and the fans are going ballistic. You take another sip of the champagne and realise that this might have been a mistake. You feel terrible dizzy all of a sudden when you step down from the podium. Downstairs, Lewis and Seb wait for you. They are about the only guys on the grid that don’t need your help, and act like your parents, rather than the other way around. “Good job kid!”, says Seb and pulls you in a tight hug. Lewis ruffles your hair and grins. “You deserve that win, now go celebrate!” You nod and start your walk to the McLaren paddock. The cameras follow you; you smile and wave for them and for the fans.

At the paddock, all of your friends wait for you. While you are excited and want to get to them as soon as possible, your legs feel incredible heavy and wobbly at the same time. You reach Pierre, who lifts you up and spins you around, which is really not good for you. When he sets you on the ground again, you grab his arms and have to hold onto him. You feel like the ground below you is an ocean, and among the waves you cannot plant your feet there properly. You look up at Pierre. “Pierre”, you whisper, “I think I am about to pass out.” With that, you slump down in his arms. He tries his best to hold you up, slinging his arms around you, keeping you safe and warm. As soon as the others realize, something is wrong, a wall of people is built around you and miraculously, the media misses the fact that you are unconscious in Pierre Gasly´s arms. At least for now.

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oliversrarebooks · 9 months ago

Note

The amount I would like to see Jameson and Alex have a high society slap fight is more than a little lol

Masterlist

March 1920

tw: mind control, captivity, references to abuse

"Good evening, Lord Alexander!" said Miriam as she opened the door, beckoning him inside nervously.

"Good evening, Miriam. You seem agitated -- is everything all right?"

Miriam sighed with a smile. "Madam's overworking herself again, sir. It's not my place to overstep as her thrall, but I'm concerned about her health. I'm glad you came to call. She listens to you, sir."

"Do you really believe that? I don't," said Lex, chuckling. "Regardless, I don't think you're overstepping. I think it's very good for you to care for your madam. Lily needs people looking out for her."

Miriam beamed like she'd won the lottery. "Thank you, sir."

Lex allowed Miriam to lead him into the parlor. He was quite fond of Lily's latest thrall. She had remained sharp under the enthrallment so far -- no surprise, given how skilled Lily was at her craft. A good sign for her future, he thought.

"Oh, Lex, there you are," said Lily, who was lounging in an undignified manner on the couch, surrounded by magazines and bits of yarn and fabric. "I'm glad you were able to pull yourself out of your book-cave long enough to come calling. I've been drowning in work lately, and I need someone to socialize with who isn't a thrall I'm hypnotizing, or I might lose my own mind."

"Rough week, then," he said, settling down in a plush chair. Nearby, Miriam sat down in a chair in the corner, taking up an embroidery project.

"It's been one thing after another. I think the long winter has given everyone cabin fever, and they've all collectively decided that they're dissatisfied with their perfectly functional thralls. You won't believe what I've had to put up with."

"Such as?" Lex leaned in.

"The most ridiculous complaints. 'He taps his foot while he reads.' 'She turns the radio on too loud.' As though they need me to solve that," she said with a frustrated groan. "The worst one was 'his human food smells bad.' I turned him away -- 'sorry, sir, I can't do anything about the fact that your human thrall requires human food.'"

Miriam made a strange noise of distress.

"What is it?" Lily asked.

"Does my human food smell bad?"

"Oh, no, of course not! You haven't done a thing wrong, Miriam. It's the vampires who are being unreasonable."

"It's awful that they treat their thralls like that," said Lex. "What ever happened to treating your thralls with dignity?"

"Exactly, you understand. Speaking of which -- " Whatever Lily was about to say was cut off by the doorbell ringing. "Oh, for crying out loud, who could that be? I cleared my schedule today."

Lex, having an uneasy feeling about this, followed Lily to the door, and was none too happy to see the perturbed visage of Jameson, a vampire he truly despised. He was gripping a smaller man by the shoulders, an unfortunate thrall who had clearly been crying.

"And what do you want?" said Lily bluntly.

"Is that any way to treat a customer?" he said.

"You're not a customer until you tell me what you want and I agree to it," she said. "And in case you didn't know, asking me to work on such short notice will cost you an extra 20%."

"I'm aware," he said. "I'm at my wit's end with this thrall. He's supposed to be fully mindwiped, but he keeps sniffling and making the most obnoxious whining noises."

"What on earth did you do to that poor man?" asked Lex. He'd never been able to stand the company of vampires who preferred their thralls to be little better than cattle, especially if the vampire in question abused their innocent humans. That dislike was mutual -- vampires like Jameson rarely mingled with those like Lex who believed they had an obligation to give their thralls a good life.

Jameson scowled at Lex. "It's none of your business, is it? I'm here to make a business transaction with Miss Lily and certainly not with you."

"Fine," she said with an annoyed huff. "Let me see your thrall. You can sit in the parlor until I'm done."

The thrall's eyes held a spark of recognition when he looked at Lily. Considering what a thorough job she did with the mindwipes -- preferring not to have to do it twice, and trying to minimize the thrall's suffering -- he must have been under a lot of stress to wake up enough to regain memories. Damn that Jameson.

No doubt, Jameson would rather not deal with Lily at all, but although he was in possession of a strong vampiric aura, his enthralling abilities were known to be below average. He had no choice but to hire an expert to work with his thralls, lest he destroy their minds utterly and leave himself responsible for a comatose bloodbag.

As Lily took the thrall into her workroom, Jameson sat down in the parlor with a sour look on his face. In her corner, Miriam was staring at him with a haunted expression. Lex wasn't sure if she actually knew Jameson, or if she saw how he treated his thrall and rightfully regarded him as a threat. He gave the poor girl a look as if she were lower than a bug, and she shrank further into her seat.

The humane and sympathetic thing to do would be to send Miriam out of the room until Jameson left. But Lex, annoyed at Jameson's rotten attitude and the interruption of his social call, couldn't help but do something a bit petty that he knew would annoy the other vampire.

He pulled up a chair next to Miriam. "This embroidery you're working on is very intricate. Can you show me your work?"

Miriam smiled. At least she seemed comforted by having Lex nearby, distracting her from the vampire glaring daggers at her. "Oh, yes, sir, of course," she said, showing him the pattern she'd carefully cut from a magazine. "It's a skirt with flowers and birds all up and down it. The original pattern has green leaves and blue birds, but I had this lovely rust-colored fabric to use, and I thought it would go very well with autumn leaves and red birds, like cardinals."

"You have a good eye for color, Miriam, and it's coming along splendidly," said Lex.

"Thank you, sir, I truly appreciate that!"

"Hmph." Jameson sniffed.

"Is there some problem?" said Lex.

"I just think it's a terrible shame that a vampire so gifted with conditioning chooses to keep her thrall in such disgraceful condition," he said, with a pointed glance to Miriam, who clutched Lex's arm fearfully. "She could easily erase her thralls and keep them in a far more agreeable state where they don't require entertainment or attention, and yet, she chooses this. You'd think her sire would have taught her better."

Miriam gripped Lex's arm hard enough to hurt, and Lex regretted that he'd provoked Jameson instead of sending her out. "Sir -- if I displease you --"

"You haven't displeased anyone, Miriam," Lex said, patting her hand in a comforting gesture. "You're an excellent thrall, and your madam also thinks so. She tells me all the time. You don't need to listen to what Lord Jameson says."

"Of course you'd think that," said Jameson. "That's about what I'd expect from a thrall-screwer."

Lex glared at Jameson with a simmering rage. "I'd suggest you be quiet, lest you say something you'll regret."

"Why would I regret speaking the truth?" said Jameson. "We all know you fell for that nasty little blond thing. A revolting thrall, and no better as a vampire, if you ask me."

Lex's temper flared. He was obviously baiting Lex for a confrontation, looking to stir shit for his own amusement. Lex really should ignore the meaningless squawking of an ignorant asshole just trying to get a rise out of him.

Instead, he stood from his chair, crossed the parlor in a flash, and slapped Jameson across the face as hard as he could.

Jameson looked stunned for a moment, the bright red mark emblazoned across his cheek, then started to laugh. "And I thought you considered yourself civilized! Well, if that's how you like it..." There was a flash in his eyes as he flared his vampiric aura, and Lex could feel it, like rodents skittering along his limbs and gnawing at his flesh, like a thousand beady red eyes boring into him. The sensation made the hair on the back of Lex's neck stand up.

It was an aura that could easily subdue a lesser vampire, but Lex hadn't survived this long in this city by allowing any upstart vampire to best him, especially with his honor at stake. He took a deep breath, pushing his own aura outward in an inexorable wave. He was a storm on the ocean, waves and surf pounding, wooden ship cracking beneath your feet, the feeling of being pulled down into the dark and briny depths with no hope of escape.

Jameson furrowed his brow and intensified his efforts, but this was a battle he could not win, and it was so satisfying when his facade cracked and he showed his first sign of fear --

-- at least until both of them were swept off their feet by an even more powerful force of will.

"Hey!" Lily bellowed from the doorway. "What the devil do you two think you're doing?"

Lex looked at her sheepishly, not wanting to admit he'd been having a pointless tussle with with her customer. Jameson primarily looked annoyed that their fight had been interrupted.

"You two were laying it on so thick that I could feel your auras in my workroom. I don't know how you expect me to put a thrall under in those conditions." She went to comfort Miriam, who clung onto her skirt. "And you've upset my Miriam."

"Sorry, Lily," said Lex, and mostly meant it. At least, he did very much regret upsetting Miriam, who didn't deserve to be caught in this crossfire at all.

Lily sighed. "Lex, take Miriam to the kitchen and help her calm down," she said. "And as for you, Lord Jameson, you will sit quietly until my work is done, and I'm tacking on a surcharge for that little outburst."

"You can't be serious," he said, slamming his hands on the table. "It was Lord Alexander who --"

"Then you're free to take your thrall and leave."

Jameson settled back down onto the couch with a huff, like a petulant child. "Fine. Do what you will."

With that settled, Lex ushered a still-frightened Miriam into the kitchen as Lily returned to her work. "I'm sorry for being so sensitive, sir," she said.

"Don't be, not at all. I'm sorry for provoking that rat Jameson." He handed Miriam a handkerchief, which she used to wipe tears from her eyes. "You can relax here. He won't bother you any more. Now, is there any kind of snack you might like?"

"Sir, you don't need to --"

"It's my pleasure. The least I can do." He pulled out a chair and beckoned her to sit. "What would you like?"

"May I have strawberries with sugar, sir?"

"Certainly," he said, relieved that she asked for a dish he knew how to prepare, his knowledge of human cooking spotty at best. He found the fresh strawberries in the icebox, and made quick work of cutting them up and sprinkling them with sugar.

Miriam's eyes lit up as she dug into the sweet berries. "Thank you very much, sir!"

Lex settled down into the chair across from her as she ate. She was still a fairly bright thrall, but he knew that his sire would have her in his sights sooner rather than later. Lily would wipe her memories of the trauma, and her deterioration would begin. A slow moving tragedy, one he'd seen play out quite a few times by now.

Even so, she was certainly in a better position than that man in Lily's workshop. Her re-enthrallment of him would no doubt be a mercy compared to being lucid in Jameson's grasp.

What must it be like...?

He pushed the errant thought from his mind, not wanting to stir up dusty memories of his own enthrallment, so many years ago now.

Masterlist

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

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prideofcelestia · 2 years ago

Text

❝when he yelled at you but then you started crying❞

« characters - satan, barbatos »

« gender neutral reader »

« headcanons »

levi, belphie, beel

luci asmo

simeon, mephisto

SATAN

Satan had days like that when despite his best efforts, he felt troubled. If he had been a little more lenient with himself, he might have believed that everyone had off days, days when their mood was not their friend. But knowing the factors surrounding his birth and owing to his anxiety to maintain his dignity, he didn't let himself enjoy that privilege and kept his emotions in check - well whatever little emotion he let himself feel.

After shutting himself in his room, he took a deep breath and cursed Lucifer for not allowing pets. A soft paw in his hands would have done wonders for him! Then he thought about his happiest memories - him surrounded by cats, finding an extremely rare book after searching for weeks, and suddenly he thought of the words of praise he had received from Lucifer one day in the past. He shook his head and tried to focus again only to find his mind wandering to you, the way you tried to stay by his side whenever he needed you. The sudden knock on his door broke his reverie. Despite feeling a little better, the disturbance caused his rage to sour his mood.

He was in his demon form again unconsciously as he approached the door. He flung it open so roughly that the hinges came undone in his hand and you dangled from the doorknob, legs suspended in midair. The surprise made you let go so that you stumbled back unsteadily, trembling with fear. The way his eyes danced with wrath didn't help. After letting a helpless yelp, you crawled back like a vulnerable kitten. His heart shattered so he took a step back in defence. Before he could apologise, you had vanished like a beautiful memory that appearrd only once in a lifetime.

He gave you exactly ten minutes to calm down because his need to make matters right outweighted his urge to let you collect yourself in solitary.

You opened the door only a little. Your eyes gave you away.

"Do-Don't worry," he choked. "I won't destroy your door. I am sorry you had to witness that. But... I didn't mean to scare you. Not you. That is the last thing I will want to do. I understand if it will take you some time to trust me again. Just don't let me scare you..."

The way he spoke broke your heart. This demon who believed that he couldn't feel a thing had a multitude of emotions in his voice when talking to you.

BARBATOS

If someone had asked you about the impossible, you would have quickly answered with Barbatos losing his temper at you. But even the plants that we water most lovingly sometimes wither, not because of lack of love but because of situations beyond our control. It was quite a shock when he looked at you furiously and yelled at you. A buzzing head prevented him from grasping just how cruel he sounded. How he had disgraced himself! The tears that threatened to fall from the corner of your eyes were the only indication that his behavior was harsh. He quickly pursed his lips and looked at you ashamedly. It was very seldom in his long life that he had moments to apologise for, and now that he felt that he had ruined the bond he had with you, he was beyond repentant and at his wit's end. He lost his composure and looked upset.

Before he could find his voice again, you had left him in a cold despair from which he couldn't recover. His legs felt chained to the spot but he knew very well that he was only excusing himself from taking responsibility. Slowly and uncertainly, he took a step towards the room whose door he had just heard shutting. After a few knocked, he places his gloved hand on the door and whispered.

"I must beg your pardon for my rudeness. It was not my intention to hurt you. Can you please forgive me? I ask this of you not as the royal butler but as a demon, as your friend, and as more than that."

And when you finally agreed to meet his eyes, he could hardly glance at you. His hands trembled in a way that made him feel more shameful than ever. The efficient butler looked uncertain, looked the part of the heartbroken lover and hell knew that described him well.

"Allow me to convey my genuine apology. I promise there won't be a repeat of this unfortunate incident." he somehow said, his mind drawing a blank for the first time in centuries.

#obey me #obey me x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral mc #obey me x mc #obey me!#shion script #obey me headcanons #obey me satan #obey me barbatos #x mc #x reader #x you #hurt comfort #obey me imagines

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georgie-weasley · 8 months ago

Note

I dont know if you're up for it, but I am reading COS again and I am so frustrated by Lockheart! I was wondering if you could do one where y/n asks George (and Fred) to prank him.

Thanks in advance! Have a nice day! X

This was so fun to write! Thank you for requesting it!

Lilac G.W. x GN!Reader

Warnings: one swear word, reader almost vomits because of Lockhart (not graphic and hardly mentioned and they don't actually throw up)

Word Count: 2.5k

Paring: George Weasley x GN!Reader (they are already in a relationship)

Summary: Lockhart is pissing you off so you and the Weasley twins decide to mess with him

Masterlist Taglist

As soon as the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom opened, the room let out a collective dreamy sigh. In the back of the classroom however, you and the Weasley twins couldn’t help groaning and rolling your eyes. Was he hot? Yeah, he most certainly was. Was he a complete fool that probably didn’t know his left hand from his left foot? Also, yes. It seemed like just about everyone that was attracted to men found his face perfect. You thought he was perfectly punchable.

Lockhart busied himself passing out essays, spending only a few seconds to congratulate some of the students on their fantastic work. However, when he came to the back of the room with yours and the twins' essays, he frowned. “Really I’m quite disappointed in you three. Honestly it’s like you didn’t even bother to read Voyages with Vampires. My book had all the information you needed to write the essay. It’s a shame just how poorly this will affect your grades. After all, you failed your tests on my autobiography.”

He set the essays on your table and went back to the front of the class, giving a dramatic reenactment of a scene from his book. You grabbed your essay and frowned as you saw the bright purple ‘D’ for dreadful. That grade was completely undeserved; you had spent weeks in the library researching vampires to make sure your essay had all the correct information. Apparently you didn’t need to be correct, you just needed to agree with whatever Lockhart said.

Looking to your left and right, you saw Fred and George had matching grades. They had been in the library with you most of the time. They deserved a better grade as well.

“Are we sure he’s qualified to teach?” You mumbled, shoving your essay in your bag.

George and Fred snorted. “Not at all,” they said at the same time.

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. “If I had wanted to learn nonsense I would have asked the Giant Squid to teach me about vampires, though I’m sure she’s probably smarter than Lockhart is.”

George took your hand in his, entangling your fingers. “Maybe by the end of the year Dumbledore will realize he hired a buffoon and none of these grades will count.”

You smiled a little at his attempt to comfort you, thankful he cared so much. George had been your boyfriend for the past couple of months and he was the best. He was always trying to help and constantly trying to find a way to touch you such as holding your hand in class. “I appreciate your attempts to make this better George. Maybe you’re right but it doesn’t solve anything right now. He’s just so smug, acting like he’s a gift to the wizarding world when he’s just a scumbag. I want to do something now.”

Fred looked at you with a wild smirk. “Am I hearing this incorrectly or does our lovely Y/N here want to mess with Lockhart?”

George looked down at you, mischief in his eyes. Would messing with Lockhart make up for all the terrible grades he had given you? No, but it would bring you some much needed joy. “Let’s do it. I want to make a grown man cry.”

---

During lunch, you and George met up in the transfiguration classroom. “Alright we need to be fast. We just need 20 minutes to make the potion and then it can sit in the vial until later.” You said as you set up the small potion making kit on one of the desks. McGonagall wouldn’t be gone for too long and you needed enough time to pack up the miniature cauldron as well.

George nodded, kissed your cheek, and started grabbing ingredients out of your bag. “I’ll start crushing the beetles and you can start preparing the flobberworm mucus.”

Taking the thick liquid, you dumped it in the cauldron. With a quick spell, you lit the fire beneath the cauldron and watched it start to bubble. George leaned over to check on the potion and deeming it ready, he added the beetles and began stirring the potion clockwise.

You and George worked perfectly together for the next ten minutes, adding different ingredients until you only had one left. With a wild smirk, George grabbed the lilacs and began grinding them until they started to form a paste. “I can’t wait to see his face once he sees what we’ve done to him.”

Before you could answer, the classroom door opened and McGonagall scowled at you both. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

George glanced at you before looking at the almost complete potion. “Professor, we were just trying to make a potion.”

“And what is the reason for the potion, pray tell?” She said with an exasperated sigh, crossing her arms over her chest.

“We want to screw with Professor Lockhart. He needs to be knocked down a peg and we can do it with the potion.” As soon as you spoke, George looked at you with wide eyes. This could easily be the worst idea you ever had but judging by the way the other teachers looked at Lockhart behind his back (and to his face occasionally), they had to dislike him as much as you did.

She walked over to you and looked at the potion over your shoulder. She narrowed her eyes, clearly judging the ugly brown color it was and the smell rolling off of it. “And you’re finished?”

You shook your head and gestured to the lilac paste in George’s hands. “We just have one last ingredient to add. Please, let us finish and then you can take as many house points as you want.”

“Well,” George mumbled. “Maybe not as many as you want. You still want Gryffindor to win the house cup right?”

The corner of McGonagall’s mouth twitched upward, a smile threatening to break through her stoic expression. “Ten points from each of you for misuse of my classroom. I’ll give you each five back if this potion is as successful as you claim it will be.”

She turned on her heel and walked back toward the door. “Make sure you clean up after yourselves or you’ll lose another ten points. The potion smells horrid.” She spoke over her shoulder before she closed the door behind her.

George looked at you, his mouth hanging open in shock. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“I can.” You laughed, taking the lilacs from George. “McGonagall has always been cool.”

---

That evening before dinner, the three of you were huddled in a small alcove by Lockhart’s bedroom. Students were strictly forbidden from entering the area of the castle dedicated to bedrooms for the staff but of course that wasn’t going to stop the Weasley twins. “So here’s the plan,” you whispered as you held the Marauder’s Map in front of you. Luckily the boys had found this in first year as it was extremely handy. “Lockhart should be coming out soon to go to dinner. When he comes out, I’ll distract him and keep him busy talking as we walk to the Great Hall. Fred,” you turned to the boy on your right, “you stand watch and keep checking the map. If anyone is coming, you give George the signal.”

Fred paled. “Right, the signal.”

“Have you discussed what that was going to be?”

Fred rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I was thinking I could oink like a pig.”

A moment of silence passed before George spoke. “You idiot. There are no pigs in Hogwarts. You think someone will think it’s normal?”

Fred sighed and looked at his feet in shame. “It was my first idea alright.” He shoved his brother who started to laugh. “Shut up George. I’ll think of a signal alright. Please move on Y/N.”

With less confidence than you had before, you moved on to George. “Fine. George, while you’re in there you’re gonna use the potion and put it in Lockhart’s shampoo. Then get out of there. Don’t hang around because I don’t know how long I can listen to Lockhart talk about himself.”

George nodded and lightly punched your shoulder. “We got this. In and out and if all goes well, tomorrow Lockhart will cry.”

Leaving the twins, you waited for the blonde professor in the hallway. It wasn’t too long before he appeared. “Professor Lockhart! Could I ask you a question please?” You ran over to him, walking in step with him.

“Why of course…” He looked at you, eyebrows furrowing.

“Y/N.” You reminded him of your name, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yes, of course Y/N. Just testing to make sure my starpower didn’t make you forget your name.” He flashed you a fabulous smile.

Ignoring the bile rising in your throat, you smiled. “I was reading Voyages with Vampires after my poor grade I received and I must say, I am in awe of your abilities.” Lockhart smiled, absolutely beaming at your praise. “What else have you done? I’m sure there’s more you haven’t written about.”

“It’s true. If I wrote every single one of my accomplishments I would have hundreds of books. Let me tell you about the time I saved a town from a dragon.”

Back in the teacher wing, George was in Lockhart’s bathroom. Luckily for everyone, Lockhart was so obsessed with himself, his room was covered in pictures of himself so there was no denying this was his room. The pictures of Lockhart looked at George, absolutely gobsmacked to see him there. George quickly slipped into the bathroom before the paintings and pictures could look at him closely enough to remember what he looked like. He did not need a painting telling Lockhart it was him who was in there.

As soon as he entered the bathroom the overwhelming smell of lilac punched him in the face. The man was not only obsessed with himself but with lilacs as well. He loved the color and it made George chuckle to himself as he looked at the potion in his hand. After sitting for most of the afternoon, the color changed from brown to lilac and it had the smell to match. Lockhart would never know it didn’t belong here.

He added the potion to the shampoo bottle and gave it a good shake, mixing the two liquids. As he was setting the bottle back down, he heard oinking from the hallway. “Ah shit.” He groaned and dashed out of Lockhart’s room, crashing into Fred in the hallway. The twins landed in a pile on the floor, George trapped under his brother. At the end of the hall you were following Lockhart, almost begging him to keep talking about himself but he insisted he had to leave since he forgot something in his room.

George pushed Fred off of him and they ran the opposite way, putting as much distance between them and the room as possible. Seeing the boys leave, you gave up on Lockhart, letting him leave.

When you caught up with the boys during dinner, George assured you that everything was fine and he added the potion just in time. Hearing his confidence, you relaxed a little and the three of you agreed to sneak back to the teacher's wing first thing in the morning.

---

Before the sun had even risen, the three of you sat on the floor in the hallway, watching the map. It was a little creepy to stare at Lockhart’s dot on the map as much as you were but you didn’t want to miss anything. The dot started to move and you and the twins perked up, watching as it moved to the bathroom.

An hour later, a scream came from the direction of Lockhart’s room. Teacher’s quickly emerged from their rooms, searching for the source of the scream. McGonagall came out of her room, her hair down and looking like she just woke up. She quickly spotted you and the twins and raised an eyebrow. You waved a little and turned your attention back to the door, watching as the doorknob turned and out stepped Lockhart, his blonde hair now a delightful lilac color. His hair perfectly matched his lilac robes.

McGonagall covered her mouth, stifling her laughter as Lockhart looked around wildly for the culprit. His gaze landed on the three of you and he scowled, stomping over to you, yelling with tears in his eyes as he did. “What have you done to me? You ruined my hair! You are going to fix this right now you horrid little gremlins!”

“Gilderoy, that is no way to speak to students.” McGonagall stood next to you, glaring at Lockhart. “Especially when you don’t know if they were the ones that did this.”

“My paintings said a redheaded boy came into my room last night! Here we have two redheaded boys at the scene of the crime!”

McGonagall sighed, glancing at George out of the corner of her eye. “Gilderoy, are you aware just how many Weasleys there are? Let alone how many ginger students we have? It is impossible to assume either of these young boys were in your room last night.”

Lockhart crossed his arms over his chest, pouting like a child. “And you can prove they weren’t here last night? You can guarantee they weren’t out here waiting to see the result of their attack on me?”

McGonagall nodded, no longer hiding her smile. “In fact, they were serving detention with me last night and I requested they all meet me here this morning to discuss the rest of their detention. I’m sure Y/N was just dropping them off.” Lockhart opened his mouth to argue more but he was quickly cut off. “I suggest you visit Severus before breakfast, Gilderoy. He would be your best bet at removing this effect on your hair.”

She led the three of you away and down the hall, leaving a flustered and lilac Lockhart standing alone. In the other hallway, McGonagall shook her head, still smiling. “Fantastic job you three. Next time, don’t let the paintings catch you or wait directly outside of the crime scene.”

“Next time?” You all asked at the same time.

“Yes, because I am certain this will not be the last time something like this happens. After all, we are only in November and Lockhart will be here until June. Five points for each of you for bringing me more joy than I’ve had in a long time.” McGonagall gave you all one last smile and headed back to her room.

“I can’t believe how well this worked out.” Fred chuckled. “I’d better go tell Ron to lay low so Lockhart doesn’t try to pin this on him.”

Fred left, leaving you and George alone in the hallway. He turned and smiled, throwing an arm around you and tugging you into his side. “Feel better?”

“Oh yeah. Seeing Lockhart seconds from crying over his hair will bring me happiness for the rest of my life.”

“How long until the potion wears off?”

“By my calculations… three days.” You smirked, causing George to laugh.

“Merlin, I love you.” He smiled and gave you a kiss but was interrupted by his stomach grumbling. “I suppose we should get some breakfast.”

You took his hand in yours and started walking to the Great Hall. “Yes, we don’t want to miss Lockhart’s grand reveal.”

Taglist

@100gaysnails @george-weasleys-girl @weasleybuns @s1aaaaayyyyyyyt @asuperconfusedgirl @jsjcue @daisydark @creepybloodykitty2 @themarauderswife7 @mintyme101 @niktwazny303 @lovesanimals0000

#hp fanfic #hp fanfcition #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #george weasley imagine #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley fluff

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gh0stsp1d3r · 1 year ago

Note

Can you do a hobbie x fem!reader? But smut… I SOUND SO WEIRD😭

Freak on a leash

18+ please, MINORS DNI, sleepy sex, praise kink, male masturbation, fingering, oral (f), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your willy irl please 🫶🏽)

Hobie came home, exhausted as usual. It had been a long day at the HQ and just as spider man.

He glanced into the bedroom before he went to go to a shower. He smiled slightly at your sleeping form, so peaceful.

He threw his suit off, and his vest. He quickly hopped into the shower, his mind wandering for a moment.

He thought back to you, your sleeping body. And he found himself getting hard at the thought of last week, you moaning and almost crying as you came undone on his cock, it had been days of being away, and Hobie missed you, clearly. And the photos you sent him didn’t help.

Hobie was always horny, it was almost like you had to keep him on a leash everyday you were with him so he wouldn’t just ram into you then and there in front of everyone.

His hands went to his cock, and he slowly started to stroke it, making small noises, but trying to keep them in to not wake you up, so that you can’t hear him through the thin walls.

You woke up though, you yawned and woke up at the sound of the shower. You looked around and noticed Hobies guitar on its stand, he was home.

You stood up, eyes begging for more sleep.

“Hobie?” You said groggily when you opened the bathroom door.

He winced at the noise of you. “Y-Yeah love?” He managed to get out

“You alright…?”

“I’m fine. Go back to bed, yeah?”

You walked back into the room, and just laid down, waiting for him. He sighed in relief when you left, and continued to stroke his cock, faster now. Once he was done, he shut off the shower, and put the towel around his hips.

He brushed his teeth before going into the room. He didn’t expect you to still be up.

“Thought I told you to go back to sleep.” He mumbled, rummaging through the drawers.

“Thought you also told me to not listen to what anyone says.” You said, and looked at him.

“I did, ‘nd I was right.” He found a pair of boxers, putting them on and drying off his body, and going next to you.

You both laid down now staring at each other.

“How was your day..?” You asked quietly, he could hear how tired you were.

“It’s was alright.. what bout yours?”

“Boring. Would’ve been better with you.” You mumbled and went closer to him, he put an arm around you and kissed your forehead.

“Mines too. Sorry I keep comin’ home so late.”

“It’s not your fault.” You said, knowing about his work.

“I should be here for my girl more often, though…”

“That we can both agree on, but it’s okay.” You shrugged.

“Nah, it’s not. I wanna show you jus’ how much I love you, yeah? You gon’ let me?”

You nodded slowly, and he smiled at that.

He moved the covers away from you both, and he slowly went to your legs. He kissed your thighs, deciding to just go to sleep in panties was a good idea.

He bit your inner thigh, leaving a hickey. You whined. He took off your panties with his teeth, throwing them across the room.

He collected your juices on his finger, and he licked it. He prodded his finger into your entrance, you moaned and bucked your hips.

“Relax. I gotchu.” He said, holding your hips down with his other hand. His fingers working on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You whined again. “Hobie, quit teasing.”

He put another finger in and laughed quietly, he moved them in and out, amused at how you were clenching around his fingers.

“You gonna cum?” He asked.

You only nodded eagerly. He smiled and soon his fingers were replaced with his mouth. He worked his younger on your clit, his cold lip piercing hitting the right spot.

You moaned and bucked your hips again, and you came all on his tongue. Hobie smiled and licked his lips clean and looked back at you.

“Good girl, such a good girl.” He mumbled, going back up to you, now on top of you. He stroked his cock a few times, and ripped off your shirt.

“Hobie!”

“Sorry, I’ll get you another.” He kissed you, and aligned his cock at your entrance.

He groaned and you moaned. He looked down at you, and your eyes were screwed shut. He stood still for a while, letting you adjust.

No matter how many times you guys had sex, he always let you adjust for a while. He didn’t want it to be uncomfortable or anything.

Then he slowly started to thrust, you looked at him as he held tightly onto the headboard. Your tired half lidded eyes staring up at him.

“So pretty. So gorgeous.. fuck, you were made for me.” He groaned out, and started to thrust harder.

It felt like heaven, he was beautiful on top of you.

After a little, it didn’t take much for him to cum.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, can I cum inside..?” He asked. Your eyes widened at the suggestion, but you nodded.

“Please.” You whimpered.

His cock painted your walls white, you both moaning and cumming at the same time.

You yawned as he pulled out of you, whining at the loss and desperately reaching out for him.

“Shshsh, it’s alright. I’m here, yeah? I’m just gonna get ya cleaned up.” He mumbled, and went to go get a rag. He wiped up both of your guys cum, you bucked your hips and tried to get away when he did so, your cunt overstimulated.

“It’s alright, ya tired? Go to sleep, love.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” You mumbled and cuddled up to him the second he got in bed next to you.

“I love you.” He kissed you, and held you closely.

————————————————————-

Tag list:

Hobie- @enviinotes @rayis-psychotic @korizzybee @animechick555 @stupid-ninja @rreasonablydumbb @xxqueen-of-horrorxx @spidypunkk @criodzasn

@techta @1eonk @chipstermation6 @whosace16 @ @l-pandamatic-l

@spider-phoenix @zebralover @my-melo-gf @wiz-te-ria @tzuyuzzs @luvsaluv @mxkn

@deputy-videogamer @666kpopfan @jared-oranges @likelilac @jjkclub

@kitty-kei @blaxk-widow @hoesindifferentshows @lavsluvsu @lampylamperson @artsykerfuffleplus @notbluees @sp0kyzz @arlipooh @freeingrebels @ken-zah @blustalker @cursedbitchboy @romanoffswoman

@chaoticevilbakugo @hobiebrainrot @anonima-2

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk #spider punk smut #spider punk x reader #marvel #marvel smut #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv smut

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irenadel · 1 year ago

Text

Fear Leads the Way ch.3

Filthy smut ahead, now with more blood kink. Mentions of slavery. Some unhealthy power dynamics because DUH. Darth Maul x Reader and I think we can finally admit Savage Opress x Reader. He doesn’t like it tho. He will NOT go gentle into that good night.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The first time Maul cries in pain in your arms Savage sees red and thinks he will, at long last, be able to kill you. And you think you might let him.

It had taken weeks and weeks to get there and it wasn’t Maul who pushed through. The moment you had agreed to hold him at night it had seemed to be enough for Maul. As if all he had required to be content was for you to stop fighting his ownership of you. As if he knew once you did, you’d have nothing left but him.

You were no longer confined to their quarters… and admittedly no longer afraid to leave them lest you be punished the way you’d heard unruly pleasure slaves were. It was a strangely lonely experience though. You had even less to do than before, focusing solely on what was required of you by the Zabrak brothers (never Savage’s own cybernetics, no matter how much you winced at hastily laid out circuits and patched up nerve arrays, Maul was an excellent mechanic, but no biomechanical engineer) and you have to admit it may have been driving you a little insane. You used to do small tasks now and again for the syndicates: emergency procedures, hydraulic adjustments, little hacking jobs… part of you still hoping to save up enough to buy your freedom the way you’d heard some Hutt slaves still did. You’d worked for whoever would pay and sometimes whoever would not, as some of the higher ups in the Shadow Collective had decided to consider you at their general beck and call, so long as it didn’t interfere with your duties to Lord Maul.

Not anymore.

You are so indisputably Maul’s now that you wonder how you could have ever thought you were his before.

You never heard him announce it but somehow everyone seems to know and now they give you a wide berth. The Black Suns who used to sneer at you avoid making eye contact and the few Hutt emissaries that remain to try to make peace with the Shadow Collective have resorted to offering Maul a nicer, prettier bedslave. Maybe a more comely one, lither, less used up. You try not to show how you bristle at that. The Mandalorians, about as terrifying as the Sith Lords themselves, stand aside respectfully when you pass them by (you try not to think about how often you do pass one because you don’t want to acknowledge how much you’re being watched). For their part, the Pykes seem oddly pleased at the strange turn of events their little gift has produced, yet still continue their refusal to acknowledge you. That you understand. You were little more than a thing to them, and it was bitter, to have ended up here anyway, despite your best efforts. It tasted like copper and rage when you let yourself think about it too much, like a storm inside you brewing the desire to make someone, anyone, pay for this… and whenever you did and he was nearby, you saw Lord Maul glance your way, like a trained Tatooine massiff picking up the scent of blood.

In those moments, regardless of whatever else he might be doing, he would gesture for you to come near and would take your hand and hold it to his face, to his lips, almost smiling.

He didn’t look at you. He didn’t address you. But he kept you close, no chains, no locks, nothing else necessary to hold you but the sheer gravity of his presence. You hated it as much as you loved it.

You hated when he sneered at the Hutt party’s sniveling suggestions of an upgrade and you felt your stomach clench in fury and vindication. You hated the beautiful black gowns he kept leaving for you near the fresher, because you hadn’t seen fabric so heavy and fine and good since even before the war. Your mother had never had anything as beautiful as these. You held them to your face and refused to cry or tear them to pieces, you just put them away and continued to wear your old mechanic jumpsuit.

You didn’t hate lying beside him at night, no matter how much it stung your pride… but you did hate how touch seemed to be all he wanted from you. There had been no further amorous interludes after the first two, not in this bed, not the moment that Maul found out he could have the whole expanse of his arms and back and chest and neck touched at his pleasure. He had demanded that immediately and you had complied, and in your terrible fear of servitude and vulnerability you had never even imagined that touch was all that would pleasure him indeed. Or that it would be you, who would end up needing more, longing for his growls against your ear and the frantic grinding of his hips against yours. You didn’t hate his imperious commands for your hands, never detailed, never more than once, as if his dignity would not allow it (no thought to yours, ground to dust already by your humiliating longing for him). But you did hate how eagerly you jumped to obey and provide him all he wanted. Enough for Lord Maul but not for you and more than enough for his brother, who still slept fitfully besides you, always attentive to whatever noises the two of you would make. You couldn’t have ever known how right his vigilance had been.

Maul sighed and you could feel Savage about to jump out of his skin. Maul growled gravelly in his sleep, contentedly against the crook of your neck and you could almost feel Savage waiting to pounce. You had expected many things from your fate as his possession, but not this constant vigil.

You hadn’t expected to be so uncomfortably starved for his affection.

In all the stories you had heard whispered in Nar Shadda, in all your years as a refugee, making cybernetics for the poor and the destitute like you, living so close to slavery you could almost feel the bite of a Zygerrian collar or a Hutt implant, you had never imagined you’d be the one wondering when you would be kissed next. Or that you could hold someone so close you could feel twin hearts beating and still want more, need more, in spite of your terror and resentment of him.

The problem was that he purred. Lord Maul of the Shadow Collective purred loudly and constantly, rumbling, along the length of your body, lying between your legs, warm and hard and musky. He purred and it made everything inside you clench, desperately, hungry for his own hunger, for his tongue and his teeth and his hand wrapped around your neck, so tight and good you could still feel the thrill of it. For everything you had not asked for but still missed, for another go at his mouth and hearing him say please and ruin and want.

The second problem was that Savage purred too. Not as intimately close as Maul’s body draped across yours, but louder. Not at first either, and you would never know why or how long he had resisted this tell tale noise before he’d finally given in. Comfort having lulled him from his constant vigilance of Maul, eyes snapping open and alert at every new sound out of Maul’s mouth. Sounds that had seemed at first to Savage like Feral’s childish fretting or his own moans of protest after a hard night’s drinking to forget a visit from the Nightsisters. Then silence, the deep, even rhythm of his breath… and then like a blessing, like a memory from better times, his brother’s surprising content purring.

He had let himself be blinded by this. By this unexpected recovery of joy, of rightness… the comfort of his brother’s body so close at hand, the long-sought rumble of his dreamless sleep. He could’ve almost forgiven you for the weeks of anxious caution, for the fear… just because in your arms Maul sounded like a Nightbrother, a boy… or at least as far removed from whatever thing the Sith had tried to turn him into. It had been a rude awakening to catch the scent of your arousal in the air, to find you as dangerous and unpredictable as he had first thought you. Savage had snapped awake and watched you closely, waited, he didn’t know what for because you were no proper witch, but waited anyway, ready to fight for Maul, ready to make the Mother’s magic good for something, ready for anything but your strange refusal to act.

When you did move, it wasn’t towards his brother but away from him. You slipped a hand in between your bodies and for a stupid, senseless second Savage had thought it must have held a weapon to be wielded against Maul.

It wasn’t a vibroblade… but it was just as dangerous and even more confusing.

Your hand between your legs and it somehow took Savage a second to understand what you were doing in there, what treachery you were so clearly trying to hide.

He’d never heard of a Nightsister pleasuring herself, but there had been plenty of Nightbrothers in the communal huts. Savage had done it himself, a lifetime ago, when he still understood his life and his body. But he would not do it now, distrusted the ichor and the treachery of his kinslaying hands and it disturbed him how familiar, how nauseatingly enticing he found the quiet constrained sounds of your pleasure. A furtive, private pleasure you chose to take independent of Maul.

It made no sense, served no purpose, made no children, did not even bind his brother closer to you. All it did was flood the bed with warmth, with the musky, overpowering scent of your arousal, made Savage painfully aware of your human body, so like a Nightsister’s and yet so horribly alien at the same time.

Because you don’t yank either of them out of sleep with an order. You don’t demand combat and blood and horror. You choke down your thin little sounds, muffle your sudden desperate sob against the covers and make Savage’s skin break into goosebumps. There are no tears, no held back moans, when the Night people come together, there are no wet sounds of fingers reaching for solitary, desperate pleasure and Savage doesn’t understand why such a sounds should make his palms tingle or ichor seethe in his veins.

Savage doesn’t understand you at all, but Maul does.

“That,” he hears his brother hiss, terrifyingly awake, anger like molten lava “belongs to me.”

There’s the quick slap of Maul’s gloved hand snatching your own hands out of the way and you make another strange, otherworldly sound. Pained and high-pitched like a scream, but further back in your throat, like a wounded animal, a sound that Savage cannot fathom but which makes Maul growl and move over you.

“Please,” you beg and something in Savage’s stomach clenches because Nightsisters do not beg and Nightbrothers who beg never find themselves in a warm bed, heady with the stench of a woman’s wetness. But that please seems to do something to Maul, makes him yank your hands out of the way and above your head, your legs closing around Maul’s owns and Savage should be afraid, should be ready to flee or fight or kill, except Maul is still deeply, powerfully purring, like a boy with a full belly after a good hunt, like a young Nightbrother pumped full of spring joy, discovering the frenzied hungers of his own body, like a blessing and curse.

“You did it all wrong,” Maul whispers against your ear and Savage does not know how Maul thinks he can do this right because he knows nothing of this, of his own zabrak body drunk on your pheromones, of the danger of holding you down and holding you still and of how strange it is for you to still be begging please, please, please. Maul knows nothing but neither does Savage because he can hear your mewling, your horrible, terrible (wonderful) cry of pleasure and the squelching clench of your sex as Maul slips a still gloved finger inside you and makes you writhe and makes you sweat and makes you do things that have Savage panting for breath and desperately fighting an arousal he had almost thought gone from his life.

And Maul’s fingers are going in and out of you and Savage can hear it, like and unlike sex, deliciously suggestive of it but no treacherous velvet softness around his own member to distract him, no witch to protect his brother from, just your pitiful human body at Maul’s mercy and he can perhaps, for once, understand Maul’s obsession with power, with chains. Because if he could have you like this always, subdued and compliant, reeking of sex, of happiness, perhaps he would understand why his brother says that peace is a lie. Because this, Maul’s ragged breathing, your warm legs brushing Savage’s body whenever his brother pushes inside you too roughly, his own stubborn erection a dull and distant pleasure… This is better than peace.

Maul bites and you cry out in pain and joy. The blood he draws smells to Savage of Dathomir, except it’s not supposed to be yours and you’re no supposed buck under Maul, to beg for more, to make Savage want to flee, want to stay, want to bite down on something (you). He does not know what you’re supposed to do but Maul’s body does. And Savage can almost taste it when Maul slides between your legs. He knows the instinct, the insatiable hunger.

Because Maul is relentless, unskilled and determined and when you protest he snarls at you and makes you melt back into the bed. When your hips buck up his hands grind them back down and he is strong and impossible to guide and you’re at his mercy. And it’s both too much and not enough, each hot swipe of his tongue, each ravenous sound of ecstasy from deep in the back of his throat, reverberating against your legs and your sex and all of it is hot and alive under him.

Savage can feel it in the Force, ravenously, darkly pulsing between them. Feed, rend, take, breed. Every Nightbrother’s prayer, singing through Savage’s veins, through his groin and the unbearable hardness of his member. Because he wants that taste too, not yours, but the terrible taste of Maul’s sheer joy in you, in your thighs clamping against his horns, shredding the tender skin, wanting him so much, so much closer that blood is a price worth paying. The torrent of desire and lust and sheer want, that Maul can’t even stop. His tongue inside you, his teeth grazing you and his voice, whenever he deigns to stop for a breath, no longer velvety, but raw and impossibly deep panting yes, yes, yes.

And Savage can almost smell you climaxing, choking back his brother’s name and Maul’s making a noise like a wounded animal and lapping at the blood smearing your thighs too quick and too sudden. You’re still coming and you don’t want to stop and it’s that thoughtless desire that gives you the audacity to grab Maul’s hand and place it back on your sex if he intends to continue licking greedily at the stinging mess of your thighs.

You are too far gone to notice how immediately he obeys. Savage is too focused on keeping Dathomir’s echo from intruding. But Maul… Maul rips the glove from his hand with his teeth and thrusts his fingers inside you again, quick and efficient like he is Sidious’s weapon all over again, capable, perfect, powerful. Two, three fingers inside you and his thumb on your clitoris, because he’d prepared this time, sought the knowledge of your undoing, guides it via the flood of your scent and movements and screams. You’re screaming his name and he smiles, madly, a grimace with too many teeth.

Maul feels deliriously present, because he wants and he wants and wants and feels like he’s disappearing in desire like his master had said he would, if he focused his rage enough. But this is different. Blood and the addictive potency of your wetness, better than anger, than food, than comfort. Better than anything he’s ever tasted. A thing he’s making you do, with his hands and his mouth and his skill and he can’t wait to make you do it again and again, until you have no breath to say his name anymore, until you can’t scream it and remind him he exists.

Because that’s what you’re doing now, still panting Maul, Maul, rhythmically, in time with his fingers inside you, the whole heel of his hand incessantly, cruelly rubbing the whole of your sex, still wet, still painfully sensitive, still coming for him and only him.

“Lord Maul,” he corrects you in a growl you feel reverberate to your very bones and smiles wider, wilder when you echo him. Can’t help but dive back into you, this time catching your mouth with his own, wanting the taste of your screams. He’s fucking his hand into you so hard, he can almost feel it in a member he no longer has. Hates the muted quality of his lust, his passion, as much as he feels comforted by it. He has control, but at what price? It is not worthy of a Sith, this fear of his own hunger and he finds himself furiously taking it out on the already abused skin of your neck, biting you again, getting another heavenly mouthful of your blood.

But this time you do cry out in pain, tense up beneath him and his reaction is instinctive and immediate. First to subdue you, and then to peer into your face, anxious for a second and then annoyed at his show of weakness. It’s like the air’s been punched out of him, the moment he lays eyes on you: smeared with blood and yet still panting and reaching for him. You nudge something deep inside him, the memory of all the dead things he’d desired and had to forgo. Kilindi in her pool of blood. Eldra. Sidious’s women… and it’s nauseating how much it makes him want you. Agony, the sith masters of old had said, would free him. He does not know it now, face hiding in the crook of your neck, he does not know what he would do with freedom.

Savage is on you so fast it’s dizzying, ready to rip his brother from your arms, would have in fact ripped those arms off your body if only you hadn’t looked at him. Pleading. Scared. Still covered in blood and none of it Maul’s, for all he’s the one whimpering like a rancor just gored him. You are terrified but you don’t let him go, refuse even to let Savage pry your fingers off his back and he doesn’t know what to do when there’s no wound to tend to, no hurt to soothe, no enemy to kill. Just pain.

When a Nightbrother gets like this, there’s very little to be done, he’d been told. But you don’t know that and Savage has tried very hard to forget. When Savage had found Maul, gibbering in agony in Lotho Minor, he hates that his first thought had been to put him down, put an end to his suffering, to do what he should have done ages ago. But Savage cannot, not then and not now. Savage could not do it to Feral when they had been young and alone and too stupid to be afraid, and he will fight the ichor in his very veins to stop himself from doing it again.

Because Savage is not like Maul… or like you. He does not know how to endure, how to put things back together after they’re broken. There are things Savage will never come back from, will never crawl out of, will never survive. He has failed already, as a Nightbrother in trying to keep one brother from the Sisters and another from you. Failed just by trying and failed in the attempt. He will not survive this, but Maul will. Maul will survive you and Savage will make sure he will. If he has to let you hold Maul, let you soothe him, let you speak softly and constantly to him while he murmurs always remember, always remember, then he will. If he has to endure the stench of your arousal and your fear and your love, then he will. And he will put the bacta on your shredded thighs and help you hold Maul together and try not to hate the sight of your tears and try not to love when you hand him his brother to hold, the three of you together, nestled against each other, making sure Maul survives.

#darth maul x reader #savage opress x reader #darth maul smut #savage opress smut #star wars #star wars fanfiction #tw: blood #tw: noncon #no noncon happening here but Savage has some errrrm interesting thots re sex with the womenfolk #he’s still not exactly fucking but he’s getting there I think

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via-l0ve · 1 year ago

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hihi could you do a (spn) sam imagine where they go to the beach? (this was inspired by me being at the beach this week lolol) dean and cas could also be there too!

beach day! (Sam Winchester x GN! Reader!)

a/n: i love the beach :( i hope you enjoy this, anon! i’m not too proud of it ngl.

warnings: nothing!!

The sand was hot below your feet as you, Sam, Dean and Cas got out of the Impala. Traveling around while being a hunter had its pros. (even if there were more cons.) One of the biggest pros is being able to go anywhere. the mountains, the countryside, the city… anywhere.

Currently, Sam, Dean, Cas and yourself were on a case in North Carolina. Your motel was right by a beach and you had the idea to take a break from hunting and chill at the beach all day.

of course - to no one’s surprise - sam immediately agreed. not just because he had a soft spot for the beach, but also because sammy would never say no to you. Cas also agreed after you told him about swimming and making sandcastles. Dean agreed as well, complaining about needing a tan.

So, the next morning at the crack of dawn, You woke the boys up and changed into a bathing suit, got in the impala (and kicked Dean and Cas to the backseats), and started the hour long drive to the public beach.

Sam kept his hand on your thigh the whole drive, letting you pick the music (much to deans distaste). He gave you small smiles, giving your thigh gentle squeezes here and there.

When you finally got to the beach, the sun was high and the pavement hot. The four of you got out of the Impala, walking towards the large, sandy beach. it was quite empty - considering what a nice day it was.

Sam held your hand the whole way, holding the bag filled with water bottles and sunscreen and hair ties.

You all entered onto the beach, the sand burning your bare feet as you stepped onto it. Sam set up a little area for you all to sit on while dean, you, and cas ran down to get sand. you’d decided on the car ride down to make the best sandcastle you’d ever seen.

you guys worked on it for hours. adding layers and getting tanned (burnt) in the sun. Dean eventually left your sandcastle, running into the water and bringing back a bucket, pouring it over Sams head. a war followed, ending in all four of you in the water.

The boys dragged you and Cas out to the deeper part of the water. everyone held hands and faced the beach, letting the huge waves hit you in the back and try to keep balanced.

You fell over, Sam grabbing your waist and stabilizing you. cas was collecting shells, putting them all into a bucket. he made sure to show you all the shells every time he found a cool one. Dean went back to building the castle, almost crying when it fell over.

around noon, you pulled out sandwiches for the goys and yourself, eating and reapplying sunscreen. sam sat next to you, helping you dig for seashells and making sure you drank all of your water.

near the end of the night, Castiel and Dean finished the sandcastle while you and sam got some more shells. you watched the sun set together and sam held your waist.

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too, Sammy.”

Dean and Cas joined you both, standing in the shallow water and watching the sun fall.

you guys finally left the beach, exhausted. Dean was burnt because he’s ridiculous and forgot to put on sunscreen. Sam cuddled up to you, smiling and brushing your hair out of your face.

“that was a really good idea, y/n. to go to the beach all day.”

you smile.

“it was. i love you.”

“love you more.”

#love u mwah #thank you sm for this request #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural #supernatural imagine #sam spn #sam winchester supernatural

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mercurygray · 9 months ago

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“The jittery, sick feeling when you can’t do anything” for Fred 👀

Poett, two-weeks-ago-you was a genius. I think I've outdone myself with this one.

It was the second time she'd scrubbed the fryer.

Fred leaned back from the stainless steel surface, her arms burning and her back radiating pain. They'd always been after them in training to keep up with the cleaning, about how grease would make itself at home anywhere. On a busy day when they were running full tilt there would be spatters everywhere in the Clubmobile when they were done. And then to have to drain the grease, and scrub the burned on-drips of dough from the depths, after a twelve hour day of smiling and talking and being everyone's sweetheart? A punishment detail.

And she'd do it a third time, too.

Fred dunked her brush into the bucket of soapy water at her feet, water splashing around her boots. She'd done the utensils, the counters, the cabinets, the sink. Floor was next, and then maybe if the awful jittery feeling wasn't gone she'd hose down the outside and give the windows a good scrub with vinegar and newsprint, organize the record collection, straighten all the stationary -

"A clean bus isn't gonna bring him back, Fred." The light changed; someone was standing in the door. Fred continued scrubbing.

"Yeah," she agreed, knowing full well Mary wanted to argue the point, "but it'll distract me for a little." She took a deep breath and leaned back into the fryer again. "Can't…feel sorry for yourself when you're trying to get grease out." I'm not special. Everyone on this goddamn base lost someone. Lost everyone! He wasn't mine, he didn't belong to me, he wasn't -

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Didn't have time."

"Didn't make time, you mean." Mary's hand was suddenly heavy on her arm. "Fred, please. Come get a sandwich. Bob's worried about you."

"Bob needs to mind his business." She shook off the hand and went back to scrubbing. "I'm not hungry."

Her stomach suddenly yawned traitorously, and she stopped, both hands on the lip of the fryer, hating her body for betraying her like this. If she just kept working, she'd be fine. "Starving yourself's not going to bring him back either," Mary said, quietly. She paused. "If he were here right now, what would Brady say?"

Mary said that and she could see him, in the door of the Clubmobile, shoulders filling the door, back from a mission, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he carefully chewed his way through a stale donut, watching her go through the cleaning rotation, finishing his donut and flicking a handful of water at her so she'd laugh. "He'd tell me to eat a goddamn sandwich," she said, finally, the wall of tears she'd been holding in breaking like a dam. The scrub brush fell out of her hands, echoing loudly against the metal walls of the fryer, and suddenly she was holding herself up and the tears were falling fast and loose and there was nothing she could do about any of it, and no scrubbing in the world was going to make the grief leave. Mary pulled her in close, dirty coveralls and all, and Fred let herself cry, shaking into her friend's shoulder.

I have to keep cleaning, she wanted to say. If I smell grease then I can't look for pipesmoke.

#asked and answered #latibvles #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #freda torvaldsen #john brady x oc

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ivymyers · 1 year ago

Text

Broken (Part one) (Sidon x Reader)

Around 800 words, sorry it's kinda short.

(Seems everyone collectively agreed the nickname for Sidon’s beloved is “Pearl” so we going with that too)

Warnings: Trauma, scared reader, injured reader, sadness, would this be classified as agnst?

--------

One breath and then another. It took time to cool down after the intense trauma.

It had been 2 weeks since you came home to Zora’s Domain. 2 weeks since you escaped the never ending torture of the Yiga Clan. Two weeks and you were a wreck. But you still hadn’t told Sidon anything yet, in fact you had barely said anything to anyone since your return. Your feelings were complicated and your thoughts were mixed.

—- (Two weeks earlier)

When Sidon saw you passed out on the road, tattered and broken, after being missing for 3 months, he froze. It was supposed to be a short, week-long trip to a nearby stable to help cook for the less fortunate.

When you didn’t return after three days, Sidon sent out patrols and looked for you everywhere. Everyone who passed through was searched and questioned, but no one had even heard of you. The majority of the domain thought you just ran away, wanted to run from the stress of Sidon working all the time. He knew this was not true. He had a gut feeling the entire time that something had happened to you.

After defending you for weeks in the light of day, and then wallowing in guilt in the shade of night, Sidon felt so lost. His world was missing.

So when he saw your body, crumpled and broken, blood dripping from your mouth and cuts all over, his heart broke. He thought you were dead, and you would’ve been if he wouldn’t have rushed you home.

He stayed up all night to make sure you were ok, when he finally fell asleep it was next to you.

You slept for 4 days and by the morning of the 5th day you returned, when you opened your eyes as the sun was just rising, you didn’t know where you were. Sidon was next to you, he had slept there every night. When you saw his face you let out a scream of terror. The next thing you knew your vision went blurry.

“My Pearl- you’re awake- are you ok- I-“

The breathing came fast and heavy. Then the tears began to flow as everything that happened in the past 3 months came back to you. You recognized Sidon, of course, but although you wished it could be any other way, you also feared him more than almost anything in all of Hyrule. But to tell him would be to break him. So you kept silent as he brushed away your tears, flinching at every move and moment.

He held you until he noticed something was definitely off. Your pushing away at his arms got more and more intense and the look in your eyes was not one of love, but one of fear. When he reached over with a trembling hand to brush the hair from your face you stiffened at the touch.

“Are you- you can’t- are you afraid of…me?”

You just looked off to the side confirming Sidon’s suspicions. He backed away from you slowly. “What exactly happened in that time you were gone?” When you stayed silent he followed up with, “My Pearl…who hurt you?”

—- (Current time)

Staring from the balcony of your room, your new room (once your fear of Sidon became obvious they arranged a new place for you to stay), you saw Sidon. He was sitting on the edge of the Domain, crying. You felt awful. After all, Sidon is the love of your life, and after what happened you can’t get close to him without a freak out.

You know that even if it pained you that much, you had to open up to him. Sidon had to know what happened behind the waterfall, even if it broke both your hearts, anything was better than this. You vowed to tell him everything when the moment was right.

(Later that night)

Your screams echoed through your door. Sidon, who had only found comfort in sleeping across from your room ever since your move occurred, heard your tortured cries. He ran to your door and seconds before he knocked he knew it would only cause you ore distress in him being there. This had been a pattern going for the last week. Sidon would forget your condition and then the realization would come crashing back. Everything was eating him alive.

Just a moment later you opened the door, tears streaming down your face. The exact Zora you wanted was looking back at you, tears glistening his eyes just like you.

You slammed your body against him locking the two of you in an embrace. "I'm so scarred Sidon." Your arms trembled around him. "I'm ready to tell you everything."

-------

Not sure if I'm going to do a part two. If you want one (maybe with what happened behind the waterfall and y/n telling Sidon why they're/she's scared?) just request it/reply. Hopefully you enjoyed this, I'd love to hear some opinions!

#sidon botw #sidon totk #prince sidon #sidon x reader #x reader #zora's domain #fanfic #botw #botw fanfic #yn #y/n

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separatist-apologist · 1 year ago

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Love Is A Lie

Summary: After her mothers death, Arina goes from the well-loved daughter of a nobleman to a servant in his home. She dreams of escaping to the coast and making her own way, and when she learns of a ball the King of Avalon is hosting to pick a wife, Arina sees her chance. With a little help from a fairy godmother, Arina agrees to exchange a favor for one night with the King.

But Eris Vanserra has other plans when they meet, and Arina isn't sure she's ready for the consequences of one night dancing at a ball.

Part Two of OUAT series

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Arina was a liar. A fraud. A fool, too, to think any gift came without a price, and a bigger fool still to believe someone asking for an unnamed favor would ask for something harmless. She’d been so desperate that night in the woods, with her torn dress and ruined dreams, that she’d never thought to draw parameters around what her fairy godmother was asking.

And now, on her wedding day, Arina was paying for it.

Standing in her white gown, Arina let herself recall the week before. Eris thought the tea party had ended in disaster, catching her leaving the woods crying. If he’d looked closer, he’d have seen the glint of steel in her hand, hidden behind her back when she’d wrapped her arms around herself and dropped in one of Elain’s towering lavender plants.

The tea party had been lovely, and she’d made friends. Everyone had been nice, which made lying to Eris all the more terrible because she knew he had words with his lords about their daughters and wives.

The problem had been her.

“How are you settling into palace life?”

Arina, headed to the woods to see of the rumors of an apple grove were real, spun on her heel. Grinning, she said, “It’s you.”

The old woman smiled back, pushing the silvery blue of her hood from her lined face. Glittering black eyes roamed her body.

“You certainly look better than when I last saw you.”

Walking to her, Arina took her hands which were strangely smooth and youthful. “Yes. Everything has turned out so much differently than I hoped.”

The woman smiled, squeezing Arina’s hands in return. Blood red nails pricked at her skin, just sharp enough for Arina to draw back.

“Things worked out exactly as I expected,” she said, offering a smile of gleaming, sharp teeth. “Do you remember what you promised me?”

Unease settled in Arina’s stomach. “A favor?”

“Just something small. Something that should be no problem at all for a girl who simply wants freedom. You do still want that, don’t you?”

Biting her lip, Arina imagined that small life she’d once begged for. A house on the coast, working as a seamstress seemed silly in the wake of what Eris was offering her. Affection had been so out of her reach for so long that now that she had it, Arina wanted to grasp it with everything she had.

“Of course,” she replied.

The woman reached into her robes, revealing a sharp, silver dagger with a glimmering blue hilt. Arina reared back, stumbling to a leaf strewn ground beneath her. “What…”

“This isn’t for you, girl. It’s for your husband. All you need to do is cut his throat and you’re free.”

Heart pounding, Arina couldn’t think of a single word that would explain how she was feeling. Kill Eris? The first person who had ever been truly kind to her? The man she suspected was in love with her? “I can’t…”

“You can, and you will,” the woman replied, crouching in front of Arina with the dagger in hand. Pushing it into Arina’s fingers, the woman added, “You will kill him, or I will come to collect the magic I gave you. And pretty girl?” Gripping Arina’s chin, she forced Arina to look at her. The shape of her face contorted for a moment, turning to something grotesque and monstrous—something Arina suspected was supposed to be youthful and beautiful—before returning to the friendly older woman. “I promise if I have to come back for you, you will not like what you find.”

And then it was over. The woman was gone and the singing birds returned, leaving only the dagger as a reminder she’d ever existed at all. Arina had gone back for it once Eris left her, hiding it in a sock drawer when she couldn’t figure out what else to do with it. How would she ever explain any of this to Eris?

She wanted to. For the rest of the week, Arina had taken to hiding in the library until he was already asleep, and slipped out every morning before he woke. In between, she imagined waking him and telling Eris everything.

And Arina knew exactly what would happen. He’d realize all his feelings were the result of a spell, cast her out, and Arina would be subjected to the magical whims of a sorceress anyway. No, she told herself. She could figure this out all on her own. Eris had gifted her an entire library—surely she wasn’t the first person who’d run into this kind of dilemma.

There had been no time limit set. Only a promise she had to kill him. That could take months. Years, if Arina was clever. And by then, well…who knew what might happen? It was the only thing that convinced her to put on the layers and layers of silvery white tulle and walk toward the grand hall where the ceremony was taking place.

How quickly things had changed—a month ago, Arina simply would have fled. Now she stepped through those gilded doors, looking only at Eris. That was simply practical—hundreds of people were looking at her. If she let herself think about it, Arina would turn anyway and leave him jilted and embarrassed.

Eris’s eyes glittered, hands folded in front of him. He looked regal in that golden crown and his buttoned up white jacket. A golden chain held a blood red cape against his shoulders while his boots caught the streaming sunlight pouring through multi-colored, stained glass windows above. More than anything, Eris looked relieved.

Like he hadn’t truly thought he’d get this far. Arina, too. Heart hammering, she wondered if it was cruel to keep this going. That didn’t stop her from reaching for his steady, warm hand.

“Hi,” he whispered when he saw her, his face otherwise expressionless. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” she agreed solemnly, kneeling before the priestess about to swear them husband and wife. I am your destruction, and I think that I might love you, too.

Arina had no idea what anyone said for that next hour. Eris never took his eyes off her, and neither did she. Some part of her—the better part—writhed beneath her skin, demanding she tell him the truth. Maybe it was cowardly to let him slide that golden band against her finger, admiring the ruby red stone laid against sparkling white diamonds.

The world came rushing back in a cacophony of cheering and applause right as Eris reached for her face. A matching gold band laid on his own hand, marking him just as surely as she was.

“Hello, wife,” he murmured just before he kissed her.

Arina reached for his shoulders, kissing him back like no one else could see them. This moment was fleeting—he was going to imprison her when he learned the truth. Or he’d die, and Arina would spend the rest of her life mourning him.

Pulling away, Arina gasped a little, knees wobbling from the grief threatening to overwhelm her. Eris grasped her arms, brow furrowing. “Are you well?”

“Yes, I…” I’m supposed to kill you, but I’m selfish. “I’m just happy.”

His face lit up like a starry sky. Gods, he was so easy to please. How he’d ever cultivated a reputation as an unfeeling, cruel man, Arina had no idea. She could have told him she loved him and brought Eris entirely to his knees.

Eris did all the work. He walked her out of the hall, and he made all the small talk on the throne when people came up to offer gifts and their congratulations. Eris made the toast, smile on his handsome face, and Eris led Arina through every dance, every meal, every little ritual she was too numb to care about.

If Eris noticed, he didn’t say a word. He merely let her go on with that plastered grin and her clumsy steps until they were alone again in his bedroom. He closed the door gently while Arina’s eyes went straight to the dresser. She couldn’t stop thinking about the weapon—couldn’t stop her mind from replaying what she was supposed to do. She didn’t want to think about it, and yet couldn’t stop herself. Arina could imagine walking across the room, grabbing the dagger and hiding it in her skirts.

She’d let him kiss her, guard lowered, and then cut his throat. And while he bled out all over the floor, Eris would know he’d been fooled. That whatever he felt for her had never been reciprocated and she—

“Arina?” Eris murmured, pulling her back against his chest. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she replied breathlessly, banishing the image of his bloodstained jacket from her mind.

“What about me?” Eris’s voice was teasing, his lips grazing her neck. She knew what he wanted her to say, what he wanted for the evening. Arina wanted to give it to him, too. One good memory before everything fell apart.

Turning in his arms, Arina asked, “Tell me something true, Eris. Something no one else knows.”

His expression softened. Reaching for her face, Eris said, “I love you. But I think you knew that.”

She did.

ERIS:

“Something is wrong with my wife.”

Elain looked up from the window she was sitting in, book in her lap. “Already? It’s been a day, Eris.”

He couldn’t explain it. Arina smiled, she danced, she ate. She kissed him, and let him unbutton her out of her dress, and then with impossibly sad eyes, asked if he’d just hold her. There had been no sex at all, which hadn’t been the problem. It was the soft weeping that had occurred when she thought he’d fallen asleep. Arina had cried for hours, tucked against his chest which made Eris think he wasn’t the problem this time.

It was something else she was too afraid to tell him, which only made things worse. He’d considered confronting her about it—had wrangled with the decision long after Arina herself went silent, falling into an uneasy sleep. He wanted to solve her problem, whatever it was, and didn’t know where to even start.

“I don’t think I’m the problem. I—” Eris paused, glancing toward the open door of the lounge Elain was currently tucked away in. Crossing the room, he closed the door before coming back to Elain. “She has been strange ever since that tea party. Did one of the ladies say something to her?”

Biting her bottom lip, Elain shook her head. “No. They had nothing but kind things to say about her, and were surprised to learn you’d reprimanded their fathers and husbands. They seem to like her, Eris.”

“Her father, maybe?” Eris questioned, pacing the floor until Elain rose to her feet.

“Have you tried asking her, Eris?” Elain, ever practical, asked. He glanced at her sharply, and to her credit, Elain didn’t back down. A lot of his own advisors would have withered beneath that stare. “Have you considered going through her things?”

Eris raised his brows. “What do you mean?”

Elain shrugged. “Have you gone through the things she brought with her? Maybe she has a diary, in lieu of just asking, since you seem to be allergic to honest communication.”

“I like that plan,” Eris said, ignoring Elain’s barb. It wasn’t him who was bad at communication given he’d told her he was in love with her—which she surely knew—and Arina waiting for him to fall asleep so she could cry.

Didn’t he know the lengths he would go for her? Had he not proven himself?

“With me,” Eris added when Elain tried to return to her book. “This was your plan.”

“If you try and pin the blame on me, I’ll tell Lucien,” Elain warned, as if that threat scared him in any meaningful way. Elain was far too nosy, and far too willing to enable all Eris’s worst impulses not to join him. She was a princess—she could have told him no.

Arina was in the library and Eris didn’t expect to see her anytime before midnight. She’d been holed up there for a week, pouring through books and sneaking into bed when she thought he was asleep. He’d thought it was merely pre-wedding jitters.

Now he was beginning to think it was something sinister. Perhaps someone had threatened her, had made her feel unsafe. Perhaps her father had managed to get a note and was making demands, having just realized a daughter for a queen benefitted him quite greatly?

“She’s taking an interest in your life, at least,” Elain said, holding up a book with gilded edges. “A Treatise On Avalon Rules from the Middle to Gilded Ages.”

“A great book if she wants nine hundred pages of sons killing fathers,” Eris said dryly. “Maybe she’s thinking of our future offspring.”

Eris certainly was.

“Maybe,” Elain murmured, pulling open one of the drawers on the far end of the wall. Eris rifled through a trunk at the end of the bed. There was another book on breaking magical curses—something Elain could have used six months earlier—and another of fairy tales that a child might appreciate, interspersed among heavy quilts she’d dragged from other places in the palace and sewing supplies he’d never seen.

“Eris,” Elain murmured, drawing his attention behind him. Striding toward the drawer, hidden among her under things and a pretty strand of pearls he’d gifted her, lay a glinting, silver dagger. He reached for it while Elain studied the hilt curiously.

“I know those gems,” she said after a moment. “It seems like it should be sapphire, but it’s not—dragon's diamonds.”

“From Ellesmere?” he asked, thinking of where dragon’s diamonds were typically mined.

“They’re traded all over the continent. She could have purchased it anywhere.”

Eris shook his head. “Not purchased.” Arina had nothing when she’d arrived, which certainly included bejeweled weapons. Her father, though… her father, who Eris had humiliated and was currently undermining, might see his daughter alone on the throne as preferable. He’d certainly have far more control with Eris out of the way.

“Eris—”

“Get out,” he ordered, striding past Elain for the doors of his bedchamber. He hated that Elain was right—that he should have asked. Now all he had were his suspicions, and his fears that the entire time he’d been falling in love with her, she’d been conspiring with the father who hurt her to kill him.

“Bring me my wife!” he ordered one of the guards, watching Elain roll her eyes with a heavy sigh. She left, though, and so, too, did the guards, returning with Arina in tow looking far too nervous for his liking.

Eris locked the door behind them, well aware the dagger was still sitting on the dresser top. And of course her eyes found it—he’d seen her looking that way, hadn’t he?

“Eris,” she whispered.

“Plotting to kill me?” he asked, his heart beating so fast it was nearly all he could hear. Arina was so, so taut, fingers bunched to fists at her sides. “No point in denying it. What were you offered, then?”

He saw her eyes flutter shut as her body began to tremble. Eris was desperate for her to explain this away—to offer any explanation that was plausible enough he could forgive her. Arina said nothing, bloodless lips pressed together as she waited for his judgment.

“Tell me what he offered you,” Eris growled, reaching for her shoulders. Eris spun her around, hating her almost as much as he loved her. She was supposed to be more than just his wife—Arina was supposed to be his friend. The betrayal hit him hard, filled him with cold fury he could only barely contain.

“Say something.”

Arina only shook her head back and forth, limp when he shook her.

“Fine,” he breathed, hoping so desperately to call her bluff. “You don’t want to tell me? Then you can go to the dungeons—”

“Eris!” she pleaded, stumbling when he curled his fingers around her upper arm and yanked her toward the door.

“Tell me what your father offered you!” he roared, releasing her before he did something he’d regret. Something he couldn’t take back.

“My father?” Arina asked in such a small, sad voice. Striding to the knife, Eris brought it back to her and held it in front of her face.

“I know you didn’t purchase this. He gave it to you, right? Told you if you killed me—”

“Eris—”

“That you’d have the freedom you want? That you could rule unimpeded, could run away and—”

“Eris, please—”

“Finally be free of us all? He’ll take your place? Because that baby living in Elain is my current heir, and if you’re hoping to be Queen without me, you’ll have to kill her, too,” Eris snarled, watching Arina fall to her knees, crying without restraint. Eris was so close. Maybe she didn’t love him, but she certainly loved Elain. Had she not thought her plan through at all? Hadn’t considered that Eris had been planning the Vansera succession long before he ever knew she existed? The minute Elain fell pregnant, Eris adjusted his will to make the child his undisputed heir, should he die without his own.

It was a secret not even Elain and Lucien knew. Lucien likely would have killed him, but he knew Elain and Lucien would rule fairly and keep the squabbling and power struggling to a minimum.

Crouching in front of his wife, Eris gripped her chin and made her look at him. “Are you going to kill Elain, too?”

“No,” she gasped, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly. “Eris, you don’t understand—”

“I think I understand quite well,” he lied, pushing beneath her skin to get the reaction he wanted. “You want power—”

“I don’t,” she said, hanging her head. “I never wanted any of this. I just…”

Arina took a gulp of air, wiping her eyes on her shoulder while Eris waited. “You just what?”

“If I tell you, you’ll hate me,” she whispered, pulling her face gently from his grasp.

“Hate you? Arina, you’re trying to kill me. I think it’s you who hate me.”

She shook her head back and forth, pretty blonde curls falling around her face. “I don’t hate you. That’s the problem—”

“So, what? You’re having second thoughts?” he snarled, rising to his feet angrily.

“If I tell you…” she tried again, dissolving into the saddest sobs he’d ever heard. Eris only had one last card to play. One final, desperate attempt before he hauled her to her feet and put her in the dungeons for real.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to be forced to interrogate you,” Eris said, standing in front of her. Arina inclined her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I won’t be able to help you down there. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Tell me,” he pleaded, dropping to his knees again. “Please, Arina. Tell me.”

“I’m in love with you,” she whispered, eyes bright with tears. Swallowing, she added, “And you’re not—”

“How could you fucking say that—”

“It’s a spell, Eris,” she said, throwing her hands up in her lap miserably. “You don’t love me, you just think you do—”

“Of course it’s a goddamn spell!” he roared, hauling them both back to their feet. “What else is love, if not magic, Arina?”

She was shaking her head back and forth, like he was somehow misunderstanding. He wasn’t—there was no magic, no spell, no curse that could imitate love. Lust, certainly—but that wasn’t what this was and Eris knew it in his bones. He wanted her past reason, beyond logic, and not because she was beautiful, not because she made his heart race. He didn’t want to possess her, didn’t want to own her.

And though Eris was certain it was going to break his heart to admit, he added, “You’re my friend, Arina.”

He didn’t give her a chance to protest that, either. Eris kissed her roughly, with the pent up need roaring through his blood. He expected her to shove him away or maybe slam that dagger into his chest. The gods knew that he deserved it. Eris had never pretended to live a moral, upstanding life. Even Elain had to turn away at times when confronted with some of the things he’d done.

He’d killed his own father.

Maybe it was what he deserved, to find the same fate at the hands of the only woman he’d ever loved.

Fisting her hands in his jacket, Arina pulled him closer. She was kissing him, too, with the same fervor he felt. Fuck it, he decided, walking her backwards until she hit the edge of the bed. Maybe he just didn’t care. Not then—and when he was finished, probably not then, either. There was no need to be nice about it, though.

“Does this feel like a spell to you?” he growled, grinding his cock against her hip bone.

“You’re so stupid,” she replied, yanking at the buttons on his tunic. “You don’t understand!”

“Then make me understand, Arina,” he replied, ripping the seams of her dress so it fell in tatters around her feet. There was nothing but her, stuck in her stupid underthings that he hated.

She kissed him, fingers yanking at his hair and for the first time, he thought they were being honest with each other. Not in the way he’d hoped, of course, but Eris didn’t quite care so long as she told him everything.

And the mess she was in was fixable.

They were all tongue and teeth, falling to the mattress until he was naked, too. “Please,” he begged her, running his hands over her body. “Tell me.”

Arina arched when those same fingers found her breasts, tugging at her nipples just a shade too hard to be considered sensual. She gasped, rolling her pretty cunt against his thigh so he could feel the slickness gathering.

Dragging her nails down his back, Arina whispered, “Tell me you love me again.”

Positioning himself just between her legs, Eris let himself say it. “I love you.”

She arched as he thrust into her. It wasn’t nice—nothing about this act was—and it didn’t matter. Arina wound her arms around his neck, pulling him close enough he could feel her thudding heart against his chest.

“Are you telling me goodbye?” she asked him.

“I’m begging you,” he groaned, half mindless from the tight, wet heat of her body. “Begging you to just tell me so I can end this.”

Arina moaned, lips against his neck and Eris was pretty certain this was as close to heaven as he’d ever get. For a minute, Eris didn’t care. Not when he dragged himself halfway out of her cunt, reveling in the way she gripped him. Certainly not when she arched up to meet him again, tightening with pleasure even when he was just a little too brutal, even for his own liking.

Was he punishing her or himself? Letting himself know what it was like to have her, even as he ought to condemn her to death. Could he send her to the dungeons leaking his come?

“No,” he breathed, kissing her with ragged desperation. “I’ll keep you safe.”

She clenched around him again, rising to meet him again and again. Arina was shaking, clawing at his back. Even when Eris wrapped his hand around her throat, squeezing until her eyes popped open, Arina continued on.

“Come for me,” he ordered.

And fuck, but no one woman had ever detonated around him the way she did. Eris could feel it—the way her cunt tightened, sucking him deeper until he was half mad with desire. Release gathered along his spine, made worse with each new pulse of her heartbeat pounding frantically against the skin of his aching cock.

Normally he’d try and drag it out. But Eris needed answers before he fucked her again. Shoving himself in as deep as he could get, Eris let himself go with a breathless groan. “Tell. Me.”

“It was a witch,” she panted, tightening her legs around his waist to keep him inside her. Eris was dizzy, was mad and desperate and so, so in love he didn’t think he could have sent her away even if she’d admitted to plotting and organizing the entire thing herself.

He’d merely tie her to his bed until she thought of only him.

“A witch?” he asked, dizzy and spent. Still, he released his grip on her throat but didn’t pull himself from her body, even when her legs fell limp to the bed.

“You weren’t supposed to want me,” she said, turning her head away from him. How could she possibly think otherwise?

“Tell me,” he asked, withdrawing so he could flop to the bed beside her. Arina wiggled beneath the blankets while Eris, stupid as ever, pulled her against his body. “Tell me everything.”

And she did. Arina wove a tale that both infuriated him as much as it broke his heart. Eris listened silently, unprepared for what he was hearing.

“You made a deal for an unspecified favor?” he asked with disbelief. “She could have demanded anything from you.”

“I was desperate,” Arina replied, twisting to look up at him. “I thought if I just got in front of you…”

“I’d let you go,” he finished, putting it all together. Why she’d run from him that night, why she’d been so determined not to marry him. “This whole time–?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No…just…last week. She appeared and called in her end of the deal.”

Eris laughed, then, surprising his terrified wife still trembling in his arms. “That stupid cunt,” he said, a grin on his face.

“Eris?”

“Do you trust me?” he asked, twisting in bed so quickly they knocked foreheads.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

Eris kissed her. “Good. I have a plan.”

#eris vanserra #were in it now

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