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feral-ella-flynn · 3 years ago

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Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy.

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness. At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse.

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent.

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll.

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid.

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore.

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible.

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket.

“They had no goat." He shrugs.

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge. Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet.

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge.

“Please?”

You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles.

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road.

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #m monster x female reader #troll boyfriend #Brúsi the Bridge Troll #troll lover #Feral Flynn Fics #monster romance #fantasy romance

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reallyverybored · 4 years ago

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Information — (2) Coffee date || [Jang Joon-woo x reader]

“I’m a little surprised that you agreed to meet me today,” you told Joon-woo when the waiter put your orders in front of you. “I thought your bosses kept you on a shorter leash.”

“And I’m surprised you really called me,” he said with a grin, completely ignoring your comment. “You turned me down pretty fast when I asked you out, I thought you didn’t want anything from me.”

Oh, right, it was supposed to be a date. Damn it. “Why would I give in right away? Where’s the fun in that?” you asked with the best fake smile you managed to provide in this situation.

“I like your way of thinking,” Joon-woo told you. “So what exactly do you do at Babel?”

“We’re responsible for media relations. It’s not as exciting as it sounded when I applied for the job, but I’m not saying that I’m always bored out of my mind either.”

He let out a long, humming sound as he took a good look at you. “I don’t know, it sounds fun to me. I remember you from a Babel press conference, by the way. We had to attend one about a month or two ago. It was exciting with all those cameras around. I always liked the idea of being someone whose job is to talk to the press, even though I would probably be terrible at it.”

He looked like an excited little puppy as he talked, but there was something that alarmed you about it. There was no way this guy was this shallow, there had to be more to this answer. “I hate the cameras,” you suddenly blurted out. “And it’s not really the camera I hate, more like the way people suddenly begin to act around it.”

“You’re so negative,” he pointed out before he picked up his cup and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s not healthy, you know. You should try to—”

“I’m fine like this, thanks,” you barked a bit harsher then intended.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Joon-woo took a quick look at his watch then said, “You have to go back to the office soon, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not in a rush yet. So why don’t you tell me about your job? Wusang seems to take care of a lot more than just simple legal cases for Babel. It must be really eventful.”

For long seconds he remained silent and you began to wonder if you’ve just crossed a line with your little comment. Even if both you and your boss assumed there was more to the story than you had been told despite signing the NDA, neither of you had proof. And this is where Joon-woo came into the picture. He had access to the type of information you needed. You couldn’t screw up this early on.

“Well, I’m just an intern, I don’t do much. Sometimes they ask me to copy documents which I hate because it’s soooo boring. But hopefully I can become a partner at the firm one day,” he explained without stopping to take a breath.

You let out a relieved sigh and flashed a supportive smile at him. “Well, I hope you’ll succeed. As long as you like your job, you have every chance. Okay, I mean, you can still hate what you do and have an excellent career, but you know what I mean.”

“Good thing I like this job and I can learn a lot there,” he nodded with a smile. “Hong Cha-young is a great lawyer so I’m grateful to work with her. What about your boss? It seemed like you were on good terms with him.”

This meeting was going nowhere. He either knew what you were trying to do and deliberately dodged your attempts, or you were simply unlucky. If you wanted results, it seemed like you had no choice but to meet him again some other time. As you thought about your answer, your brain finally began to register little details of his face. He was handsome. Really handsome. Why couldn’t he be ugly? This stupidly cute face was becoming distracting.

Distracting… Right, he had asked you a question. “Yeah, I consider myself lucky because he values my work and opinion. Mr. Lee is a great mentor, maybe I could even call him a friend.”

“That’s good,” he said quietly. “What are you doing tomorrow after work? We could go out for dinner.”

Before you could respond, your phone lit up on the table. It was an incoming call from Han-seo and you didn’t miss the surprised look on Joon-woo’s face when he saw the name. You ignored the call and flashed an apologetic smile at your date.

The surprised look remained, but he began pointing at the phone with his jaw dropped. “Was this the chairman of Babel? Wow, you work with him directly?”

“Sometimes, yes. But we’ve been friends for years so I never know if it’s a professional or personal call,” you explained awkwardly without even thinking about what you were saying. Your brain was beginning to shut down partly because of his stupidly handsome looks, and partly because you badly wanted to pick it up to see what Han-seo wanted. “Anyway, about tomorrow. I don’t really have plans so we can meet if that’s what you want.”

“Sure. But as much as I enjoy this date, we should go before we’re both late,” he said, the tone of his voice suddenly changing. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yes, see you then.”

Something changed after the call. You couldn’t quite put a finger on it on the way back to the office, but something was definitely off about the way he reacted. Was he jealous? Or did his lawyer brain kick in and did he assume you being friends with the chairman of the company was a liability? What the hell was his problem?

But as long as he didn’t cancel your upcoming date, it didn’t really matter. He was beginning to talk which was good. The more he talked, the bigger the chance he would eventually talk. Maybe this fake dating wouldn’t be that hard after all.

“Hi there, you called?” you asked as you entered Han-seo’s office half an hour later. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t pick up.”

“It’s okay, I just wanted to ask you if you’d like to hang out with me tomorrow. I suddenly have a free night and I don’t know what to do with it,” he admitted.

Tomorrow evening? Why was that time slot so popular today? “I’d be happy to go but I’m going on a… date.”

“Oh, you’re dating someone?” he asked, sounding a little taken aback. “I’m surprised you’ve never mentioned him. Is it serious? And who is he anyway?”

You let out a sigh and sat down across from him. Should you be honest? He was your friend, he surely wouldn’t judge you for your plan. “It’s pretty fresh. Mr. Lee and I went to Wusang the other day and we have a feeling they didn’t tell us everything. This needs to stay between us, but we have a plan. This intern who works on Babel’s cases seems to like me and we decided to use it to our advantage. So no, it’s not serious.”

The look on Han-seo’s face darkened as he thought about what you said. “What’s his name?”

“Maybe you’ve already met him—his name is Jang Joon-woo,” you replied casually.

And this was when the remains of his smile disappeared at once. Did they know each other? Why did he react like that? But you didn’t want to corner him with a series of questions so you decided to back off for now. But the more time that passed, the more anxious you became.

“Just be careful, okay? I know this sounds like a good idea, but what if he finds out you’re trying to manipulate him?” he asked worriedly after what felt like an eternity. “Promise me you’ll be careful, please.”

“Okay, I promise,” you said quickly. “What is wrong with everyone today? First it was him when he saw you calling me, now y—”

“Wait, he knows that I called you?” he interrupted you.

You nodded then slightly tilted your head to the side. “Yeah, he was sitting right there and noticed your name on the screen,” you replied, curious to find out why he looked almost scared by the thought. Your friendship was an open secret at Babel.

“I see.”

“What’s wrong with that? I told him we were friends.”

He shook his head with a clearly forced smile. “No, it’s okay.”

A part of you wanted to pressure him into giving you an answer but you decided to give him some space for now. If he wanted to tell you, he would. Hopefully it was nothing serious.

#vincenzo #jang joon woo #jang joon woo x reader #jang joon-woo #jang joon-woo x reader #jang han seok #jang han seok x reader #jang han-seok #jang han-seok x reader #jang han seo #jang han-seo #information

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t0wnspersonb · 4 years ago

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You’re Beautiful (Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader)

Word Count: 4,784

Warnings: SMUT, slight angst, bullying, my shit writing, Kuroo being too damn hot

Summary: Despite how much you loved him, you couldn’t handle the constant bullying that came with dating one of the most sought after males at your school. The constant harassment from Kuroo’s fans ended with you breaking up with him. But when Kuroo founds out the truth... well he does everything in his power to make sure you’re taken care of.

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Anonymous said:

Hiii 🦊 Rachel here! Could I please request a scenario in which kuroo s/o has been being constantly bullied by kuroo's fangirls during months to the point in which her self confidence is almost crushed but she remain silent and decides to try yo break Up with him?. She appears the Next day at school wearing sexy clothes and make up to make them believe she Split Up with him seriosly. But kuroo notices what's happening and reassures her? Smut ending please if possible!! Thank u so much!! 😊

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Anonymous said:

Can I please request a scenario where Kuroo helps his gf relieve her stress by giving her his full attention and worshipping her? She’s also very insecure. He walks in the room to find her staring at herself in the mirror, lifting her shirt up and looking sad (insecure about her body). No need for angst though! She beams the moment he flirts with her and call her kitten. Soft!dom vibes with lots of dirty talk and praise (and maybe cockwarming?). Thank you 🥺 ily and your blog btw

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I decided to put these two requests together since they both fall into the same category! I hope you enjoy this one Rachel and anon!

Sorry it took so long for me to write! I think I do a terrible job at writing characters as a dom so I apologize in advance if it wasn’t what you guys were wanting! As always please let me know what you guys think:)

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“- I don’t understand.” Kuroo’s frown deepened, his fingers clenching and unclenching into fists at his side.

You had an audience, the soft whispers of people passing by curled around your ear like the wind.

You knew exactly what they were talking about, what they will be talking about for the next couple of weeks.

“Y/n why are you breaking up with me?” he pressed further, his tall frame taking a step closer to you.

“I told you.” Your voice sounds strained, even to your own ears, despite the mental preparation you had to do before.

Hell, there was no amount of mental preparation that could prepare you for something like this.

Kuroo’s annoyed and calculating expression shifted dramatically, hurt and confusion clouded his face, his large hand reached out towards you, causing you to take a step back, your arms wrapping around your body.

You wanted to curl into yourself, to disappear completely so you didn’t have to see Kuroo’s pained expression.

“That doesn’t… that doesn’t make sense! We were doing great! You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to go out with me! So why… why all of a sudden -”

“I told you.” You stressed, cutting him off immediately. “I don’t want to be with someone who only focuses on their club activities. You never have time for me, you’re always so busy with your stupid club. I can’t do this anymore.”

Lies.

They were all lies.

But you… you had to make this work, you had to make this hurt, or else… or else you knew he would never leave you alone.

The whispering around you got louder, the large smirks from the girls amongst the crowd pierced into your heart.

But not as much as this.

Kuroo’s expression ripped your heart in two.

This hurt like hell.

“Your team is waiting for you Kuroo.” You said quietly, ignoring the ache in your chest as he visibly flinched at the use of his surname, something you never called him. “I’ll see you around.”

You turned to walk away, resisting the urge to look back at the tall male. You could feel tears stinging at your eyes as you rushed out of the school gates, it was probably a mistake to do this right after class; catching him right before he went into volleyball practice.

It honestly was all a mistake but… you didn’t have a choice.

You were suddenly yanked back, causing you to stumble about.

“That was quite the show.” a familiar voice drawled out, you flinched as you scrambled away from the group of girls that were staring you down.

The group of girls that caused this mess.

“It was smart of you to break up with him. Kuroo-san belongs to all of us, not just you. You ugly girl.” She sneered. “Who would want you anyway? Kuroo-san was just dating you out of pity, I bet he just wanted a quick lay. Since you’re that easy.”

You could feel your lower lip tremble, the tears that were already gathered in your eyes threatening to spill over.

“Well it’s done, just leave me alone now.” You mumbled, walking away.

As soon as you were a safe distance away, tears began pouring down your face.

The flood of emotions you were experiencing was something like no other. The pain that you felt deep within your chest was excruciating, and all you could see behind your lids as you wiped at your eyes was Kuroo’s hurt expression.

You were lucky enough that your mother wasn’t home, she wouldn’t be home for the next couple of days due to a business trip.

Which meant you could cry your heart out in peace.

No amount of mental preparation prepared you for this. For the hurt that you had caused the person you loved the most, for the hurt that you were experiencing from the constant cruelty of those girls.

It was all too much.

By the time you had finally finished crying it was late at night, and you found yourself in front of your bathroom mirror.

They were right, you were an ugly girl, why would Kuroo want to be with someone like you?

It was always a question that lingered in the back of your mind when Kuroo confessed to you. It was strange wasn’t it? He was quite possibly the most perfect human being you had ever met, so why would he want to be with you?

“Since you’re that easy.”

You shook your head from the comment, Kuroo was your first for everything; memories that you would cherish forever, even if you were no longer with him.

You at least knew that comment wasn’t true, Kuroo wasn’t a cruel person, there was no way he would have thought of you that way.

The person you were looking at in the mirror wasn’t someone you recognized. A stranger in your own skin, your eyes flickered to every inch of your insecurities, your body shrinking down.

You couldn’t go on like this, something had to change.

****

“W-What are you wearing Y/n-chan?” Yaku asked, face flushed, as he took in your uniform.

You were lucky enough to have arrived at school without any encounters with those girls and Kuroo. But you were unlucky in the fact that you were in the same class as Kuroo and Yaku.

“D-Does it look bad?” You asked, carefully tugging at the hem of your skirt.

“No but… you never wear anything that short… I’m just not used to seeing you like that… are you wearing makeup?” Yaku looked at you in surprise, the pink in his cheeks never fading.

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, your head ducking down in embarrassment as you nodded.

This was so uncomfortable; you were completely out of your element right now.

You had opted for the shorter uniform skirt today, something that was completely different than your usual knee length one. Your legs had never been so exposed at school before.

The makeup… well, you hardly ever wore makeup, it wasn’t like you were wearing a whole lot of it, but just enough to make you feel just a tad less insecure about yourself.

“Kuroo is gonna flip when he -” Yaku shut his mouth immediately; eyes casting away from you.

That’s right.

He had almost forgotten that you had broken up with him yesterday, and from the slight fall of your face, maybe you had forgotten too.

“You know… Kuroo was devastated when he came into practice yesterday, he made us do twice as many drills, got upset over the littlest things…” Yaku trailed off, glancing over at you briefly. “We didn’t know what had happened until Lev said something about it. News travels fast around here huh?” he joked weakly.

“Just news that involves your golden boy.” you said quietly, your eyes trained on your folded hands that rested on your desk.

Yaku turned his body completely towards you now. “Y/n-chan what happened? Why did you -” the classroom door suddenly opened, and in walked the golden boy himself.

He looked… exhausted, sad.

The tiny piece that you were able to fix in your heart shattered once again, leaving you empty and achy inside.

This was all your fault.

His exhaustion, his sadness, that was all you.

You could feel his eyes flickering over to your form, but you didn’t dare meet his gaze, you settled for pulling out one of your books from your bag; eyes focused on the page, although, you couldn’t even comprehend what it was you were reading.

His shadow loomed over you as he paused next to your desk. It was only for a couple of seconds before he sighed loudly, taking his seat behind Yaku.

Fuck today was going to be a long day.

****

The next couple of days were routine now, Yaku would attempt to make small talk with you, struggling each and every time to ask you what had happened between you and Kuroo, and each time it ended with Kuroo entering the classroom and standing near your desk before sighing loudly and leaving.

Despite the fact that it was becoming routine, it still wasn’t easy. None of it was, the only easy thing was that those pesky girls in his fan club left you alone, at least you got relief from that.

Until today.

Of course, it would be when you were walking home that they would approach you, no one in sight.

“You really think that dressing up and wearing makeup is going to make you pretty?” one of them scoffed, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. “You’re still ugly, you did Kuroo-san a favor by dumping him, who would want to be with someone as hideous as you?”

You gritted your teeth, your hands tightening around the strap of your bag as you attempted to step around them, only for them to get in your way once more.

They were cornering you now.

“I did what you asked, why do you keep bothering me?” you asked quietly, pleading almost.

“Because you took him away from us all those months ago. Kuroo-san has never and will never be yours. It honestly was such a bitchy thing for you to do Y/n. You really think that by just breaking up with him you would be let off the hook? Wrong.”

Your quiet demeanor never faltered; you were desperate to go home though. So you tried stepping around them once again, only to be shoved back into another one of the girls.

They were laughing at you as they shoved you about, but you didn’t have the strength to fight back, to stand up for yourself.

You just… you just let it happen.

You probably deserved it anyway, right?

For breaking Kuroo’s heart.

You deserved all of it, right?

“Hey!”

Everyone froze, yourself included. You knew that voice all too well, and you couldn’t help the tears that began to pool in your eyes.

Cool fingers clasped at your wrist, carefully yanking you away from the group of girls that were now cowering in front of the tall male that stood before them.

“Are you okay Y/n?” Kenma peered at you in concern, carefully releasing his grip on you. You nodded, rubbing at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater.

“K-Kuroo-san! We were just teaching her a lesson! She hurt you, didn’t she? We were just trying to protect you!” one of the girl’s pleaded.

You had never seen Kuroo like this. He was genuinely angry, his eyes all but turning into slits as he glared down at the group of girls who were nearly in tears at this point.

“From what I heard, you guys are the reason that Y/n broke up with me.” he said, tone deep and dark. “From what I saw… well… girls like you absolutely disgust me.” he sneered.

“K-Kuroo-san.” one of them began to cry.

“From now on stay away from me, and stay away from Y/n. If I catch you guys anywhere near her then we’re going to have some problems. Understand?” he stood incredibly tall; his arms folded across his chest as he stared down at the group of girls.

It was silent for a moment and then whimpers and loud cries began to erupt from the group, all of them running off.

As soon as they were out of sight Kuroo slumped down, sighing tiredly as his large hand ran down his face, rubbing off whatever emotions he was feeling. But then he was turning to face you, concern clouding his eyes as he walked closer.

“Are you hurt?” he murmured softly, one of his fingers gently sliding against your cheek, his eyes flickering across your face.

You shook your head, but you could feel oncoming tears beginning to pool. You desperately wanted to throw yourself into his arms at this point.

But Kuroo knew you too well, he recognized the look on your face and his hand slid down to grasp yours.

“Let’s go.” he said. “Kenma I’m going to take Y/n home. Walk home without me.” his eyes glanced over at his friend who nodded, waving goodbye to the two of you before taking his leave.

For the most part, the trip home was entirely quiet, you two hadn’t addressed anything that had happened at the school, or what had happened in the days prior. It was mostly small talk, but you felt lighter somehow.

Kuroo brought the best out of you, he was your better half; his mere presence brought a sense of calm to the raging storm inside of you.

He also had never let go of your hand.

Maybe it was because of what happened earlier, or maybe it was an unconsciousness thing, but you were grateful for it.

His hand was large and warm, his thumb rubbing gently against the back of your hand, it was entirely soothing.

But now your anxiety was through the roof as you approached your front door, pausing to retrieve the keys from your bag.

Would he go?

Would he want to come in?

Would he want answers?

Would you guys get back together?

“Y/n....” Kuroo stared down at you intensely, his face nothing but serious. “Can we talk?”

Fuck. Maybe it was all of the above.

You bit your lip, nodding before you guys stepped into your house.

“Where’s your mom?” Kuroo asked casually, slipping off his shoes.

“She’s on a business trip, she’ll be back on Saturday.” you said quietly. Kuroo said nothing back as you guys made your way to your room. Silence engulfing you completely, the air thick with tension.

“Do you really not want to be with me anymore?” Kuroo asked as soon as you guys got settled in. There was no room for small talk now, he had jumped to the point immediately.

“Or did you break up with me because of those girls?” he asked, his eyes never leaving your form.

“They’ve been… they’ve been harassing me since we got together, it got really bad recently…” you trailed off, ignoring the dark look that crossed over his face for a moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was incredibly soft now, his expression gentle. “I would’ve done something about it.”

“I don’t know.” you whimpered out, the tears that you had been holding back since school finally spilled over. “They were your fans… you’re so amazing, I didn’t want them to think badly of you. They’re right, you know. Why would someone like you want someone like me? I’m not very pretty or smart, I’m not passionate like you are… they said I was only dragging you down. I didn’t want to hold you back anymore. So, I - I had to break up with you, had to hurt you enough so that you wouldn’t try pursuing me anymore.”

At this point you were full on sobbing, blabbering your confession. The words just leaked out, there was no point in stopping now, not like you could anyway.

“I didn’t mean what I said about the team either. I just said that to hurt your feelings. I love that you’re so dedicated to your team and volleyball, I love how hard you work towards your goals. You’re so good at what you do. I’m so sorry Kuroo. I’m so sorry.” you choked out, another sob tearing through your lips as you desperately tried wiping away the ongoing flow of tears.

Your eyes were incredibly blurry, your loud crying and hiccups were the only sound that could be heard in the room. You hadn’t even registered that Kuroo had gotten off your bed until you were being yanked into a warm chest. His strong arms wrapped around you tightly, crushing you to his body.

Warmth seeped into your being, radiated off of his chest and into yours. Your nose was filled with the scent of Kuroo, familiar and perfect as you buried your face deeper into his chest.

He caged you against his body, the strong grip he had only tightening further; his large hands rubbed up and down your back, soothing your hysteria until there were only soft hiccups and sniffles.

You weren’t sure how long Kuroo held you for, but you didn’t care. You never wanted to leave his arms.

He was solid, so strong and warm; grounding you to this moment. You could only think of him, as he was right now, and as you were right now. Right now, this moment was perfect.

Right now, you knew that you would never stop loving Kuroo Tetsurou.

“I wish you would’ve told me about those girls earlier.” he finally spoke, his voice was calm, the movement of his hands never stopping against your back. “At least you’re telling me now. But…” his hands gently pulled you away from his body. His eyes burned as they stared into your own, the intensity of his gaze took your breath away, he had never looked at you like that before.

“You’re seriously stupid if you think any of that is true. Not pretty? Not smart? Dragging me down? Holding me back? That’s not true.” He cupped your face carefully, titling your head back slightly, forcing your eyes to only stare at him.

“You’re the kindest person I know. You’re so beautiful, you have no idea how many of the guys at our school wanted to go out with you. You’re the top of our class, did you forget that you’re in the college prep class? You’re incredibly smart. You’ve never dragged me down; you’ve never held me back. You make me want to be better, you make me want to work harder. If I don’t have you by my side… then what’s the point to any of it?” his voice was deep and fierce, full of fiery passion as he stared down at you.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

“Of course, I love you, I never stop-” Kuroo slammed his lips against yours, kissing you fiercely and urgently.

You whimpered loudly, fingers gripping at the front of his uniform tightly as you surrendered yourself to his kiss.

Every ounce of his feelings for you were being poured into this kiss, it was searing, burning you completely as he nipped and sucked at your bottom lip, forcing his tongue into your mouth easily.

It was wet and hot as he massaged the pink muscle in your mouth with his own, and you could only take it, clinging to him desperately as you tried to keep up with his pace.

You hadn’t even realized that he was taking steps back until your world shifted, Kuroo easily pulling you down onto his lap as he sat on your bed. You held yourself up, knees pressing into the soft mattress on either side of his hips.

“You’re mine.” he breathed against your mouth, the hand that was resting on your back trailed down towards your exposed legs. His fingers curled around the back of your upper thigh, skimming against the band of the thigh highs that you wore.

“I can’t believe you started wearing these tiny little skirts to school. I hated the way other guys would look at you whenever you left the classroom… and the makeup? Who were you trying to impress?” he murmured, nipping at your bottom lip before trailing his mouth against the underside of your jaw, and down your throat.

“I - ahh - I just wanted to…” your fingers slid into his hair; eyes fluttering shut as his tongue flickered out to taste your skin. “Feel good about myself.”

He pulled away from you, his lips swollen, and pupils blown as he stared at you. “You’re gorgeous, you don’t need to make yourself up like that. I’ll make you feel good.”

Kuroo began tugging the clothes off of your guys’ body, easily tossing them to the floor until you were both bare.

His lips parted as his eyes wandered to every inch of your skin, greedily taking in all of your pretty curves. You were his, he’d never let anyone else have you, he’d never let anyone else see you like this. Sprawled out on top of the bed, face flushed a beautiful pink, your knees bent as your feet sat flat against the sheets, your core entirely exposed to him.

You were dripping, cunt glistening and begging to be touched.

“It’s embarrassing.” you whispered, face heating up as you took in the way he stared openly at your exposed lower half. You moved to clamp your legs shut, only for his large hands to grab your knees, ripping them apart easily, exposing you further.

“What’s so embarrassing about a boyfriend wanting to stare at his beautiful girlfriend?” he asked, eyebrow raising, a small smirk grazed his lips. “I’m going to make you feel so good, kitten.”

His face sank lower, the hands that were resting on your knees sliding down until they curled around the back of your upper thighs, pushing them further apart and up.

His nose brushed against your mound and then you felt his hot breath blowing against your center, causing a loud whimper to escape your lips, your fingers gripping at the sheets below.

“Thank you for the meal.” he smirked against you, eyes flickering towards you before his mouth enveloped you completely.

You cried out.

Kuroo’s mouth was like a furnace as he lapped at your cunt carefully, flattening his tongue against your soaked entrance before flicking it up towards your swollen bundle of nerves.

The pink muscle easily swirled against your clit, lazy almost, before dipping back into your slit, moving in and out of you perfectly.

Your chest was heaving at this point, your fingers reaching down to tangle into his already messy hair, urging him closer.

His grip on your thighs tightened, his tongue moving against you faster as he felt you drip onto his tongue.

“Tetsurou.” you whimpered. “I’m close, so close.” you slurred, the familiar tightness within your belly coiling rapidly.

Kuroo pulled himself away immediately, a loud whine tearing through your lips.

“N-No! Why did you stop?” You cried out, the tightness residing immediately, the dull ache of your cunt begging for more attention, for release.

Kuroo stood above you, a devilish grin stretching across his face as you whined pitifully at him. One of the hands that was gripping your thigh suddenly came down, swatting at your swollen cunt with a sharp sting.

You cried out in surprise as your body jolted with pleasure. His fingers gently running up and down your soaked folds, pressing down gently against your bundle of nerves.

“I know I said I would make you feel good, but… there needs to be some kind of punishment too. Since you tried breaking up with me, and you kept secrets from me.” he chuckled, his eyes held nothing but warmth though, filled to the brim with love and lust.

Suddenly Kuroo was hauling you up, easily pulling you back onto his lap, you could feel his hard member rubbing against the curve of your ass and then he was shifting you up once more and - another loud cry tore through your lips as he sheathed himself inside of you completely.

The stretch burned as you struggled to accommodate his size, you would never get to this stretch, to him being buried deep inside of you.

He hushed you tenderly, his lips pressing gently against your temple. His breath came out in hot, wet pants against the side of your neck.

“Look at you.” he breathed, his eyes focused on the mirror that was propped against your wall, facing your bed. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are. Look at how well you take my cock kitten.”

Your eyes were screwed closed as you struggled to adjust to the new intrusion in your body. When you finally opened your eyes a loud mewl tore through your swollen lips.

Kuroo had your back pressed tightly against his chest, your legs hung over the side of his muscular thighs, his thick member buried deep in your cunt.

The scene before you was incredibly lewd. The way your pussy lips were stretched around his thick cock was on full display, your bare body covered in sweat and flushed red. The dazed look on your face and the tears gathering in your eyes; it was too much.

Kuroo had his chin resting against your shoulder, his eyes never leaving the mirror as he took in every inch of you.

“S-So embarrassing.” You whined again, attempting to turn your face away so you no longer had to stare at yourself in the mirror.

Kuroo wasn’t having any of that, his strong fingers gripped your chin easily, forcing your head back towards the front.

“Don’t look away.” he commanded into the shell of your ear. “I want you to watch.” he began moving, his hips bucking up, sliding in and out of your velvety walls. “I want you to see how absolutely perfect you are. I want you to see how well you take my cock, I want you to see yourself cum. I want you to see how good I make you feel.”

Your lips were parted, moans spilling out of your mouth as you watched the way your breasts moved with each hard thrust of his hips, the way your cunt stretched around his swollen member that continuously disappeared inside of your body.

“You make the sweetest faces. Fuck look at how wet you are for me kitten.” Kuroo groaned lowly into your ear, his tongue flickering out against the skin. His eyes never left your form, cat-like and dangerous as you took what he gave you.

“Do you hear that?” he murmured lowly. “Fuck you’re so soaked for me.” over the rustling of sheets and your moans the soft squelching noises of your soaked cunt could be heard.

“Should I make you cum?” he breathed, his hand reaching down, his fingers brushing against your parted folds that were stretched tightly around his cock. His eyes were glued to the obscene image before him, memorized with the way you engulfed him completely.

“Please.” you sobbed, overstimulated tears now rolling down your cheeks. “Tetsu, please.”

He moaned softly, fingers reaching up to rub at your clit.

It didn’t take long before you began unraveling, from the quick swipes of his fingers against your bundle of nerves, from the way that his member filled you to the brim, reaching a devastating depth within you, it was no wonder you were reaching your end so quickly.

You watched as your cunt gushed around him, trickling down his balls and staining the sheets below.

“Fuck.” he hissed, teeth sinking into your bare shoulder as you convulsed against him. You were panting, crying at the rush of pleasure still coursing through your body.

Kuroo stayed buried inside of you, waiting for you to catch your breath, your walls fluttering around him. He wouldn’t last long. But he needed you to cum again.

“Give me another one kitten, I know you can do it.” he cooed, and then his hips started jack hammering into your core, hard and fast as his fingers worked against your clit once again.

It was too much, overstimulating, sharp and biting, and you took it all.

You sobbed loudly as your end approached, faster this time, but far more devastating. Especially when you felt his release, Kuroo painted your insides a beautiful white as he spilled himself deep within your core.

You could feel your ears ringing, vaguely registering his gentle praises as he stretched you across the bed, sliding out of your puffy and swollen cunt carefully. You could feel his warmth seeping out, trailing down the length of your legs, but you were far too exhausted to care, to clean up.

He pulled the sheets over your body pulling you against his sweaty chest, his strong fingers brushing away the hair that clung to the sides of your face.

“I love you.” he breathed, a gentle smile covering his lips as he gazed down at you. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You sighed softly, a sweet smile grazing your lips as you stared back at him. “I love you Tetsu. I don’t ever want to be without you again.” you nuzzled your face into his chest, his arms wrapping around your body tightly.

“I didn’t spend all that time convincing you to go out with me for you to leave so quickly. You’re stuck with me, and my stupid club.” he grinned at you.

“That’s okay. I really missed spending time with Kenma.”

“Oi.”

992 notes · View notes

gointothevvater · 4 years ago

Text

I finally got around to doing a portrait and profile for my MTL OC! I’m really excited to share her with you guys! Also, I can’t draw full body pieces, so the chibi is the best way to show her completely, lol

Name: St. Cecilia Jameson

Gender: Cis female

Status: Alive

Occupation: Singer for British rock band Stiletto ("Like the knife or like the shoe?" "Yes.")

Voiced by: Florence Pugh (Speaking), Lzzy Hale (Singing)

Age: A few months younger than Pickles

Date of birth: December 15 (She’s a Sagittarius!)

Place of birth: Oxford, England

Height: Five-foot-one

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship status: It's complicated. It's always complicated. She's unlucky in love.

Birth name: Felicity Robinson (Initially, only Sammy knows this, though the rest of SnB learns it at Esme's funeral)

Nicknames: Ceelie (By Pickles and Sammy, mostly, though the Dethklok boys pick it up eventually), Star (By Magnus), princess (By Skwisgaar)

Ethnicity: Three quarters English, one quarter Punjabi

Family: Elizabeth Robinson, née Wallis (Mother), Bryony Robinson (Older half-sister), Esme Robinson, née Davies (Grandmother, deceased), Arjun Khatri (Biological father), Peter Khatri (Older half-brother)

Current location: London, England

Appearance: St. Cecilia is a petite woman (She's half a head shorter than Pickles!) with golden skin and long white-blonde hair, which she wears in a high ponytail. She has thick, dark brows and bright brown eyes (Skwisgaar says she has "wolf eyes"). She has three white marigolds tattooed on each shoulder, a labret piercing, and a vertical collarbone piercing at the hollow of her throat. Her ears are pierced three times each, in which she wears two silver hoops and a silver stud on each side, and she has a small black star beneath each eye. She has a Christina piercing, nipple piercings, and a belly button piercing. She has a No Time For Antivenom tattoo on her sternum, and a European robin tattoo at the back of her neck. Along her spine, she has a tattoo reading "to thine own self be true." She has a shitty stick-and-poke crown tattooed behind her right ear. She has a pear body type, with wide hips, a small chest, and an even smaller waist (Nathan can encircle her waist with his hands). She typically wears a black muscle shirt, ripped dark jeans, heavy boots, black driving gloves, and a studded black leather collar with a D-ring at the front. She also wears a Gibson pearl guitar pick on a necklace, which was given to her by Pickles when they first started dating in the 80s. She wears a silver cuff on each ear, and her tongue is pierced with a simple silver stud.

During flashbacks to the Snakes N' Barrels era, she's shown with darker blonde hair cut in a mullet style, and only her labret and ear piercings, plus one on the right side of her nose. She wears a cropped white tank, with high-waisted jeans and black Converse sneakers. She wears mismatched armbands, one black, one striped, and the same collar she wears in the present.

Her more casual look consists of a black button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up, which she wears tucked into a pair of leather pants. She wears pumps instead of boots, and her hair is twisted up in a clip. She keeps her collar, but doesn't wear the pick necklace or her ear cuff, and she switches her hoop earrings for studs. She doesn't apply her stars.

For fancier occasions, she wears a black dress with spaghetti straps and a flared skirt, black opera gloves and black strap pumps. She, as always, wears her collar with it, and she pulls her hair into a high bun.

Personality: St. Cecilia is cocky, witty, and teasing, but ultimately good-natured. She's a bit selfish and stubborn, but she does everything with 110% effort, hoping to impress people, even if she winds up getting hurt in the process. She'll do literally anything for validation. To say she's vain would be an understatement. She's something of a coquette who flirts with both men and women, and is she has a tendency to "think with her dick," as Tony once put it. She's slow to anger, but quick to jealousy, and she holds grudges for far too long. She's the playful type, but it's largely in a chill way. She's an obvious extrovert, and the role as frontman for Stiletto came very naturally.

Skills & Hobbies: St. Cecilia writes good poetry, great song lyrics, and terrible erotica. She likes plants and is quite the chess player (Though she hasn't managed to beat Charles even once), which she learned during her school days. She also learned to fence, ride horses, and speak fluent Latin there.

Musical Talents: She's a classically trained singer (When she was little, she was part of her church's choir), and she writes most of the song lyrics and some of the music for her band, Stiletto. In Snakes N' Barrels, she played lead guitar on a white Jackson Pro Series Rhoads RR3, but during their reunion concert, she plays a more modern Gibson Explorer '76 Reissue 2010 Cherry. She took piano lessons for several years as a child, and she's still pretty good. Nothing outstanding, but if Stiletto needs to incorporate a piano into a song, she's perfectly capable of playing it herself.

Relationships:

-Pickles the Drummer: Their relationship is a complicated one. They've known each other for ages, and they've been together through the highest highs and the lowest lows, all the way down to rock bottom. She partially blames him for her late teens and early twenties being the fiasco they were, and she cut off contact with him for a long time after the SnB breakup. During the run of the show itself, the two reconcile somewhat and even become more or less friends before Abigail shows up and things start to crumble again. They have a hard time admitting it, but there's love between them, and there has been for a long time. They're both afraid to try getting together again, though, as there's a mutual fear of the relationship ending as it did the first time, with them hating each other again. They're back together at the end of Doomstar, but there's no way of telling if the love between them is enough to keep them together or if they'll just fall apart all over again.

-Magnus Hammersmith: They were more off-and-on than anything, but they were together for years, even though quite a bit of it was long-distance. It wasn't supposed to be a serious thing. It was just supposed to be a quick fuck. Then it was a performance to get back at Pickles, but Magnus quickly realized that St. Cecilia's feelings for Pickles were too strong for her to be any use to him in his revenge plot. The basis of their bond formed because they understood each other on a level they've never known with anyone else. Former Snakes N' Barrels guitarist St. Cecilia Jameson and former Dethklok guitarist Magus Hammersmith both understand on a fundamental level what it's like to be left behind and forgotten. Magnus caught a bit of feelings himself, and when Roy Cornickelson's funeral came around, Magnus warned her not to attend. It was their last interaction, and it forever cast him in a positive light for her, even after she learned what he was doing with the Metal Masked Assassin.

-Nathan Explosion: They get along pretty well. Their first meeting was at a singers-only Crystal Mountain party, and they ended the evening with a quickie in the coatroom. He wrote a song about the encounter, but Pickles never figured out that it was about St. Cecilia, which Nathan thinks is just the funniest thing. He mostly sees St. Cecilia as one of the guys once she meets with Dethklok again for the SnB reunion. It's a "been there, done that" kind of deal. She's not brutal, but she's funny and she's fun, and goddamn, is she pretty, and they would absolutely hang out if they could get their schedules to line up.

-Skwisgaar Skwigelf: St. Cecilia is nothing short of enchanted by Skwisgaar. It's not a crush, exactly, but she has a huge amount of admiration for him. They've practiced together a time or two, but she's a little rusty and winds up with her fingers bleeding because her calluses have gone soft. He tends to tease her over her soft hands. A guitar god, he tells her, can't have hands like a princess. His calling her princess becomes a bit of a thing for them. The two of them often have brunch together, talking shit and drinking. She's good for him; He's never had a female friend before.

-Toki Wartooth: Within the series itself, St. Cecilia hasn't given Toki much thought. He's cute, but he's just sorta there. His incident during the SOBERTOWN USA concert really scared her, and she more or less avoids him after that. Post-DSR, though, their relationship changes. He, like her, was hurt by Magnus, and even with him dead, Toki misses him terribly. St. Cecilia misses him, too. As sad as it is, this becomes their common ground. Their other connection, odd as it sounds, is pole dancing. St. Cecilia does it for exercise, and Toki did it for money, and they often compete to see who's better on the pole.

-William Murderface: St. Cecilia actually has a begrudging fondness for Murderface. He's awful, but he's also pretty funny, and she likes to hear him talk about knives and medieval weaponry, as her family home is full of such things. They clash over things, of course, but she likes being around him more often than not.

-Charles Offdensen: St. Cecilia really likes Charles, actually. He's basically the only person on the show who's really "on her level" class-wise. He attended Harvard, and she attended Oxford, so they have a great deal to talk about. They play a lot of chess and fence on occasion, and if it weren't for her feelings for Pickles and his obligation to the Church, they just might have gotten together.

-Dick Knubbler: They're friends, in a way. She thinks he's kind of a weirdo, but he knows how to have a good time, so as long as he isn't hitting on her, she likes being around him.

-Abigail Remeltincdrinc: They became friends mostly due to the fact that they were both women in the music industry (And both working for Crystal Mountain) and supporting each other seemed the right thing to do. Abigail getting involved with Dethklok and catching Pickles's attention quickly became a sore spot, and they drifted apart after that. After DSR, things got even worse. Abigail, naturally, is glad that Magnus is gone, while St. Cecilia is devastated by the loss. They had something of a falling-out over it, and they haven't really spoken since.

-Edgar Jomfru: Despite being very different people, St. Cecilia really enjoys Edgar's company. He merely tolerates her at first, but she grows on him, to the point where they're legitimately friends come Doomstar. The two of them often have lunch together on the roof of Mordhaus so they can get some fresh air.

-Family: St. Cecilia's family consists of her mother, Elizabeth, her older sister, Bryony, and her now-deceased grandmother, Esme. St. Cecilia has a very formal, cold relationship with her mother, and she has no desire to change that. As far as she's concerned, her mother doesn't deserve to have a good relationship with her. St. Cecilia adores Bryony, though. Though Elizabeth brags about her, Bryony remains modest and is very close with her sister because of it. Though there's seven years between them, they may as well be twins. Esme, who passed away in 1993, was more of a mother to St. Cecilia than Elizabeth ever was, and St. Cecilia still misses her terribly. She was a big part of getting SnB off the ground, and the boys even came to her funeral.

-Snakes N' Barrels: St. Cecilia adores all the boys, of course, but Sammy is the only one she really kept in touch with after the breakup. He was her favorite long before Pickles joined. There was a pregnancy scare not long after the band took off that somehow, against all odds, brought the two of them even closer. Sammy was St. Cecilia's first love. Her relationships with Tony and Snazz were much more professional, though none of them were anywhere near professional. The crown tattoo behind her right ear was done by Tony on a drunken night in, and it was too good a night for her to even consider covering it or getting it removed.

-Stiletto: She gets along with them all quite well! She's known Niamh McLoughlin, their bassist, the longest, and their friendship dates back to their school days. Lex Clarke and Priyanka Dayal, the drummer and the guitarist respectively, came as a package deal, as they've been more or less married for years. St. Cecilia adores them and the sweetness of their relationship. She's a little envious of them, actually, though she would never say so.

History:

-Childhood: St. Cecilia was born in Oxford, England to Elizabeth Robinson. She was raised more or less at her family's girls-only boarding school, away from her mother. When she was fourteen, she fell off a horse during an equestrian class and badly injured her shoulder. She was one of the popular girls during her school days, up until she hit fifteen and decided that she was no longer a child and had a right to demand respect from her emotionally distant mother. She quit the piano lessons she had been taking for several years and took up the guitar, though it aggravated her injured shoulder and even as a teen, she developed a dependence on painkillers. This rebellious period stretched until she was sixteen and ran away with the help of her grandmother. St. Cecilia was given her name just before she left, so it would be easier for her to hide, as well as a hefty sum to tide her over until she could get herself settled. She was only in LA for a few weeks before she met Sammy at a bar where the SnB prototype band was playing. Naturally, Snazz and Tony weren't thrilled with the idea of Sammy's kinda-sorta-girlfriend trying to become their lead guitarist, and when Snazz disparagingly referred to St. Cecilia as Yoko, she broke his nose (How could he have not expected violence when a Beatles-loving British girl was called such a horrible thing?). This earned their respect and is an event that they laugh about to this day.

-Snakes n' Barrels era: St. Cecilia stuck with the band for several months before they found Pickles, and she was smitten with him the moment she heard him sing. Esme was an important source of financial support during their formative years. The band made it big after not too long, and they all grew quite close. St. Cecilia ended up in an ill-fated off-and-on relationship with Pickles as time went on, and to this day she doesn't remember the first time she told him she loved him. It wasn't long after his first OD and his following stint in rehab that she told him, and they were both drunk in celebration of his release. His tolerance, even post-rehab, was far higher than hers, though, and he remembers, though he sometimes hates that he does. Though there was genuine love between them, the stress of the band and both of their substance abuse problems drove a wedge between not only the couple, but also the entire band. Coupled with Pickles fucking groupies behind St. Cecilia's back and St. Cecilia's becoming a rather serious Vicodin addict to combat the pain in her injured shoulder, the band was doomed. Pickles came to see St. Cecilia off on her flight back to England, saying he would meet her there when his next residuals check came in, but he never made it, and they didn't speak to each other for years afterward. It hurt, but St. Cecilia supposed it was for the best. A clean break, and all that.

-Preklok: After SnB broke up, St. Cecilia returned to Oxford, staying with Bryony in their mother's guest house as she tried to figure out her next move. Despite her gift for writing lyrics, she had no talent for writing books, and that idea quickly went down the drain. She still received a large amount of money in residuals, but she was reduced to a mere socialite, though it mostly agreed with her. At her mother's insistence, she attended a few classes at Oxford University. She absolutely loved it. In 1992, Esme passed away. St. Cecilia only told Sammy about it, but he took the initiative and brought Pickles, Tony and Snazz with him to the funeral. St. Cecilia was initially pissed, but she really appreciated the support. That was the only time she saw Pickles between SnB's breakup and their reunion concert. He was devastated when her parting words to him were "I love you with everything I am, but I never wanna see you again." In the mid-90s, she posed for an issue of Playboy, and Pickles has a copy of the issue tucked away somewhere. It wasn't until 1998, when she moved to a little flat in London, that St. Cecilia reunited with her school friend Niamh and the idea of Stiletto came about. They found Priyanka and Lex at an open mic night at one of the local clubs, and they hit it off, both as friends and as bandmates. They played at many clubs and pubs, and they were soon found by a scout at another open mic night. They signed with the UK branch of Crystal Mountain Records and were assigned the surly but efficient Melinda Glasscock as their manager, and within three years, Stiletto was huge, due in part to St. Cecilia's residual fame from Snakes N' Barrels. Their first tour was through Europe, but the second came to America, where St. Cecilia met Magnus in a bar post-show. They got on really well, and she invited him to her hotel room for the night. They exchanged numbers and got quite close over time, with her even flying him out to London from time to time so they could hang out. Magnus knew who she was from the start, and while he planned to use her feelings for Pickles to get her on his side, that soon faded and he came to genuinely like her. She wouldn't learn who he was until later on. A few years before canon, she had a quickie with Nathan in a coat room at a singers-only part at Crystal Mountain records, and he used the fact that she couldn't fit her mouth around his dick as inspiration for Dethklok's infamous song "Glasgow Smile."

-Season 1:

-St. Cecilia's first mention within the confines of canon is during Performance Klok, when Pickles mentions he hasn't been in a serious relationship since the '80s despite the fact that he would certainly thrive under such attention.

-She first appears in Snakes N' Barrels, during the documentary the Dethklok is watching. The guys are a little critical when they (Save Nathan, who's known for a long time) learn that part of SnB's downfall was due to Pickles's failed relationship with St. Cecilia. There's some comedic nonsense talk about fucking one's guitarist before Pickles goes to speak with Charles. Though St. Cecilia is working on an album with Stiletto when she's asked to go the reunion, she manages to push through and finish in time, though she arrives nearly late. She finds Pickles backstage, and when he sweeps in to kiss her, she pulls away a bit, saying they can't do this, as she's spoken for. She lets him hold her close, though. The rest of Dethklok finds them like that, and St. Cecilia excuses herself to go find Sammy, Tony and Snazz. There's some talk about Pickles not leaving Dethklok, which he says he won't, but they're rather worried after catching him with St. Cecilia in his arms. Meanwhile, she manages to find the boys, and they meet with Pickles backstage. While the boys partake of the Totally Awesome Sweet Alabama Liquid Snake, St. Cecilia doesn't, as she once humiliated herself by passing out on stage and doesn't wish to repeat the incident. She presses a kiss to Pickles's palm before they go on stage, an old ritual that they were never able to shake. What happens is far worse than someone just passing out, and she and Pickles leave the stage amidst the chaos while the medical Klokateers take care of the boys and see them off to the hospital. It's a disaster. She's embarrassed and angry, and she turns down Pickles's offer of a ride home and calls someone instead, as she didn't get her money converted and can't pay for a cab. This someone turns out to be the man who's claimed her, Magnus, and Pickles is none too happy about it. He tries to stop her from going with him, but it doesn't work.

-She isn't seen in Dethkids, but she is mentioned. When Pickles starts drinking harder than usual, he finally gives in to the urge to call her, to talk about how Sammy and Snazz and Tony are doing, and to tell her that she should steer clear of Magnus. He's so drunk, though, that she barely has even an idea of what he's talking about.

-Offscreen, but somewhere between the two SnB episodes, Magnus and St. Cecilia abruptly break up. She has a feeling something was going on with him, but his sudden disappearance really hurt her. They had been together off and on for years, after all. A few weeks before he left, he bought her a little pink knife and showed her how to use it, just in case he wasn't around to protect her. When he left, he left his guitar behind, and she still has it as of Doomstar.

-Season 2:

-She's mentioned by Seth in Dethwedding, though only as "that British chick" he thought Pickles would eventually have married. Pickles nearly decks him for even mentioning her.

-St. Cecilia's next appearance is in Snakes N' Barrels II. In part one, during the advertisement for the SOBERTOWN USA concert, she's missing from the band lineup, and Pickles is both relieved and a little concerned by her absence.

-In SnB II part two, Nathan, Skwisgaar and Toki find her among the crowd at the SOBERTOWN USA concert. Nathan asks if she wasn't invited to play, but she says that she was: She just didn't think it was right to play without Pickles. Realizing that Pickles is sneaking around backstage, she leaves to go find him and try to keep him from doing something he'll regret. She only finds him just as Tony, Snazz and Sammy start freaking out, and she only just manages to keep Pickles from killing Rikki Kixx, though she honestly doesn't mind the thought of him dead. She pulls Pickles away from the stage, where he calls the Klokateers to take care of Sammy, Snazz and Tony, and she sets to icing down his bruised knuckles. She tells him that she and Magnus broke up, and he's thoroughly pleased about it: She's too good for him, anyway. That irritates her a bit, but she tells him to call her sometime, though she insists he do it when he's not drunk off his ass.

-Season 3:

-Ironically, when Pickles calls her in Dethhealth to inform her that he's dying, he's in fact drunk again. She wants to go to Mordhaus to see him, but he tells her to stay where she is, as he doesn't want her seeing him like that, though she's seen him at rock bottom as it is. At the end of the episode, he's drunker and higher than ever, but he calls her again to let her know he's all right. She can't understand him, though, so he puts Nathan on to explain. She’s thoroughly relieved, but she’s still considering going to Mordhaus to see him. She implores of Nathan, "Take care of him, all right?"

-Offscreen, in the time between Dethhealth and Dethmas, Pickles goes to London for a while to appease St. Cecilia, and to their mutual surprise, it's not really all that different from how it was when they were actually together. There's lots of cuddling and kissing and great sex and just... Hanging out. It's easy for them to be together. They have their share of problems, but the old spark between them is still there. Pickles is honestly a little scared of that: What if he falls for her all over again just for her to break his heart like she did last time? The fact that she has Magnus's guitar makes him doubly suspicious. He starts drinking harder than ever to drown out the thoughts of her.

-In Rehabklok, when Pickles's drinking is brought to the attention of the band and he's sent to rehab, he tries for a while to blame it on St. Cecilia. She broke his heart, and he drinks to cope. It makes perfect sense, until he starts to really think about it and realizes that he's equally at fault for how their relationship (And also SnB) fell apart. He realizes, after many years, that he hurt her as badly as she hurt him. And that makes him feel even worse. He talks the doctor into letting him call her to apologize, but it doesn't go well: She's a little offended that he would even consider blaming her for his drinking, given he was a drunk long before they met. "Is that what I am to you now? An excuse to get drunk and act a fool?" Not long after that, Pickles realizes the real cause for his drinking.

-Just before Charles goes to speak to the UN in Doublebookedklok, he calls St. Cecilia and cryptically asks her if she speaks Latin. She owes him a favor for getting her out of some legal trouble, so she can't really refuse. Several months before, she punched a scummy paparazzo who called Magnus washed-up, and Charles used his reeducation program to keep those involved from pressing charges or damaging St. Cecilia's reputation.

-Season 4:

-In Fanklok, before Charles meets with the band to discuss Klokikon, he welcomes St. Cecilia to Mordhaus and presents her with an ancient-looking journal that belonged to Aurelius Isambard, one of the original prophets of the Church of the Black Klok. She's taken down to the basement, where she's introduced to Edgar Jomfru, and gets to work.

-In Diversityklok, after he's spoken to Edgar, Charles speaks to St. Cecilia. He finds her engrossed, but thoroughly worried. She asks if this is real, and she's even more worried when he tells her it is.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia has been hard at work translating the journal, and she's come to a passage that seems to describe the growing tension between the band. It also mentions an approaching star, and she takes to sitting on the roof at night to observe the sky.

-In Prankklok, when Pickles tells Nathan that he's not allowed to drink any tequila during their friender-bender, Nathan tells him he can't visit St. Cecilia when they stop in London. Pickles reluctantly agrees. Not long after, we see Pickles on his phone, though, debating on calling her just before he notices the storm warning.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia approaches Charles about a phrase repeated over and over in the journal: Fata sidus oritur, the star of fate is born.

-After Charles breaks the news about Ice Festival to Skwisgaar in Bookklok, he goes to speak with St. Cecilia and Edgar in the basement. She's tacked two star maps to the wall: One from the previous week and one from the previous night. There's a spot near the center of the first map that seems bigger on the second one. She looks like the world is ending when she tells him it's the Doomstar. It's real. It's coming? When? Soon, she says. Far too soon.

-When Charles tells the boys he's going out of town in Dethcamp, it's to take St. Cecilia to an observatory, where they meet with Ishnifus and spend a few days tracking the Doomstar's movement as it comes closer and closer to Earth.

-In Going Downklok, when Pickles shows up all decked out for his meeting with Abigail, Nathan is quick to ask, "Don't you have a girlfriend?" Pickles insists he doesn't; He and St. Cecilia was hurt and angry the last time they spoke. On top of that, he believes she's all the way in London, and Abigail is right there.

-Offscreen, between Dethdinner and Breakup Klok, St. Cecilia is tagged in the video of Pickles leaving Dethklok by a drunken Toki. She's incredibly hurt. Pickles has nothing, he said. She, apparently, is nothing.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia speaks to Charles about staying at a hotel for a few days, just until Roy Cornickelson's funeral, after which she'll return to Mordhaus and her translation work. The day of the funeral, though, she receives a call from Magnus telling her she absolutely cannot attend, as he can't guarantee her safety. It's the last time she has contact with him before his death. We also see her watching the news about Dethklok's breakup and the insinuation that Abigail caused it, and st. Cecilia chucks a bottle at the TV, mirroring Pickles's actions in SnB II.

-In Breakup Klok, Pickles tries to call St. Cecilia to invite her to his wine tasting, but she refuses to answer and sends him straight to voicemail. Towards the end of the episode, after the escape from Salacia, Charles requests a check-up on Edgar and St. Cecilia back at Mordhaus, and Pickles is stunned and angry to learn that she's been more or less within arm's reach for months. Had he known, he's certain things would have been different-- He wouldn't have tried to make a move on Abigail and he wouldn't have fucked up his chance to get back with St. Cecilia again.

-In Church of the Black Klok, St. Cecilia is fetched from the hotel by Klokateers and taken to the Dethsub, where she meets with Charles, pointedly ignores Pickles, and goes to work with Edgar instead.

-The Doomstar Requiem:

-In "One of Us Must Die," St. Cecilia can be seen on one of the slides, staring up into the sky with Isambard's journal held to her chest. Towards the end of the song, reading from the book, she sings, "Dethklok, they must be rejoined/Evil, it must be destroyed/No more apathetic stoics/They can learn to be heroic/Write the song that will be our salvation..."

-In "Training," while carrying the journal, she sings the lyrics, "As the prophecy foretold, the Doomstar has been born/And you all will be endowed with a power known to none." Nathan, Skwisgaar and Murderface are looking at the art of the Prophecy, but Pickles is watching her. Ishnifus places a hand upon her shoulder, and they sing together, "The Deth lights are within you all waiting to be woken/And when the five are united, the evil will be broken," in a show of solidarity.

-In "En Antris et Stella Fatum Cruenti," just after Ishnifus is killed and the Doomstar goes red, we see a shot of Charles, Edgar and St. Cecilia at the Church, watching the sky.

-In "Morte Lumina," in a mirror to Nathan and Abigail's kiss, we see Pickles approach St. Cecilia, and she presses a kiss to his palm (Which is a really significant gesture between them) before he pulls her into his arms.

Trivia:

-The stars on her cheeks are actually a makeup trick, as she's afraid to have a needle so close to her eyes.

-She smokes Honeyrose Cherry cigarettes (Which have roughened her voice a bit), but she doesn't drink to to excess, save when she's with Pickles. He's a terrible influence on her, but she adores him just the same. Considering him and Magnus, she has rather bad taste in men.

-Her signature scent is Estée Lauder's Cinnabar, which features notes of jasmine, orange blossom, cloves, and patchouli. She uses a cinnamon body oil when she wants to get Pickles's attention. It always works.

-She wants nothing more than to be loved, but she's keenly aware of the fact that most of the people who "love" her only want to coast on her fame. It's resulted in her having a hard time trusting people. The fact that Pickles and the rest of Dethklok don't need to coast off her is part of why she likes them so much.

-She's an iced coffee addict, and she prefers chocolate, caramel, or hazelnut varieties.

-She was raised Catholic, and while she lapsed a long time ago, she has occasional bouts of Catholic Guilt. Her name is related to her religion, as St. Cecilia is the patron saint of music.

-Her preferred alcohol is Bombay Sapphire gin, though she also likes white wine and champagne.

-She's a plant mom. Her flat is full of plants, including a little devil's tongue cactus she bought at a farmer's market in LA when she first came to America. It's traveled the world with her! It lived in the cupholder of Snazz's van for several years, and now it lives in her kitchen, perched on top of the microwave.

-She has a pretty serious oral fixation. She's always got something in her mouth: A cigarette, a pen, a popsicle, someone's fingers, a dick. Depends on her mood. Getting her tongue pierced helped a little, as she can play with the stud, but some habits just can't be broken.

-She and the rest of Stiletto own a condo building in London together, and she naturally has the penthouse to herself. It's very airy and open, with lots of mirrors and plants and exposed brick. One corner of her living room is just a huge window that looks out on the city. It's her favorite feature. Magnus is too nervous to go near it.

#i'm super nervous to share her please be gentle! lmfao #Metalocalypse #mtl oc #metalocalypse oc #mtl #pickles the drummer #nathan explosion #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #william murderface #magnus hammersmith #st. cecilia jameson #my mtl

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buckysgoldenheart · 4 years ago

Text

Watching You

Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: Walter did not like to waste time on stupid things, and being asked by some young troublemaker to start following an ex-girlfriend around fell under that category. At least, it did, until he found out just who the ex-girlfriend was.

Words: 2334

Warnings: Cursing. Slight smut. Not Edited or anything of the sort, so expect little!

Note: This is just something I had saved that I thought I’d post while I finish up the Vampire Henry Series (Unexpectedly Bitten). I plan to post the rest of that fic all at once, most likely this weekend. As always, comments are appreciated :)

What a no-good loser. That’s what Walter thought the second Jimmy Masters walked through the front door of his office on a Saturday evening. He was a good six inches shorter than Walter, much scrawnier, ten years younger at least, and in desperate need of a haircut. He was the kind of kid Walter hated, the kind of kid that had probably seen the inside of a jailcell for a night or two for some stupid, petty crime, yet refused to learn his lesson.

Walter’s eyebrow arched in disinterest and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed as a coworker led the kid inside.

“We think this falls in your area, Marshall.”

Walter had only nodded and told the boy to sit to explain his reason for interrupting the first moment of peace in the day.

“I got a friend who says detectives know how to follow people real well,” Jimmy said, his voice an aggravating tone that Walter already couldn’t stand.

Walter cleared his throat. “Your friend is rather astute.”

“What?”

The detective blew out a breath, exhausted after speaking with the kid for less than a minute. “Just tell me what you want.” And when Jimmy was done with his pitch, Walter said with a sigh, “You want me to follow a girl that clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

“No, man. She loves me. She does. She’s just confused right now, and I gotta make sure there’s no other guy, ya know? I don’t want her messing around. It’s disrespectful.”

Walter heaved out another long sigh, rubbing at his temples. “But she’s your ex-girlfriend.”

Jimmy shook his head, his shaggy, dusty-blond hair swaying vigorously with the motion. “That’s temporary.”

Snorting, Walter sat up in his chair. “Sure it is. Look, you think maybe she just isn’t interested anymore?”

“Hey, I’m not here for additional commentary. Can you help me or not?”

“From what you’ve said, she’s not breaking any laws, she’s not a danger to herself or others, so I have no reason to—”

“Please, man. Please,” Jimmy said, putting his palms together in lame prayer. Walter was sure this boy hadn’t prayed to anything in his entire life. “I’ll never step foot in here again if you help me out just this once.”

Walter eyed the kid, trying to weight the pros and cons of wasting his time on something so inane, but if it got the little, blond twit to go away, then he figured there were worse things. It had been a slow week as it was. He groaned and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. “Fine. What’s her name?”

------------------------------------------------------

“Walter,” You said, trying to hold back any emotion in your voice as you moved aside to let him pass the threshold into your small apartment. As habit had it, you were much happier to see him than you wished. Walter always had a way of lighting your every nerve on fire from just your bodies being in the same room. You couldn’t help wanting him, missing him, but you hid it well.

As he walked in, his body trailed the outside chill behind, sending a shiver down your spine. Then he pulled the beanie you’d bought him off his head and turned to face you. Though the irritated look on his face was not an uncommon one, you didn’t appreciate it directed at you.

You crossed your arms. “Well?” Walter hung around quite often until you had asked him to quit it, and though he didn’t usually listen to you--putting his own concerns above your wishes--you knew he held a respect for you that made him at least try to keep his distance. If he was stopping by now…well, it could only bring you trouble, but not seeing his face in so long had you more lenient.

“Why is some punk walking into my precinct and asking me to follow you?”

Your eyebrows rose. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. How many punks could you possibly have hanging around?”

Being a decade older, Walter often made you laugh at his distaste for younger adults. You were the one exception, he’d always said, but all others were ‘punks.’ He feared the day Faye had to deal with boys your age, if she were ever so unlucky. “You met Jimmy?”

His fists kept clenching and unclenching, his shoulders somehow broadened, and the frown on his face made his eyebrows pinch and dip deep. “This idiot is really attached to you, Y/N.”

The more he spoke, the more you realized that ‘irritated’ may have been too sweet a word for what Walter really was. “He just doesn’t like his ego being bruised.”

Walter shrugged off his winter coat and tossed it on the couch as if it was still normal for him to do so, then ran a hand through the dark, messy curls you always loved. “Why the hell are you messing around with a--?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not messing around with him anymore.”

“Well, he seems to think it’s temporary.”

“It’s not.”

Crossing his arms, Walter shook his head like a disappointed parent would at their bratty, misbehaving child; the way you’d seen him look at Faye every time he found out she was spending too much time on social media. “Stay away from this guy, alright?”

“You would tell me to stay away from any guy,” You mumbled to yourself with a snort.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“Do not give me attitude,” He snapped back. “You’re not being safe! If you were, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation!"

Instantly, your shoulders stooped and the same old headache began to form. “Not this again, Walt. According to you I’m never safe unless I’m in your line of sight.”

“Yes!” He yelled, stomping your way, stopping just short of ramming his body through yours. “Now if only you could stay in it!”

“You can’t have eyes on me all day every day.”

“The hell I can’t!”

“You promised, Walter.” You let out a small whine. “I told you it was too hard for me to keep seeing you around wherever I went, and you promised you would stop watching me.” You wished it didn’t have to be that way. You wished seeing his face didn’t bring on such a potent punch of pain, but it did. Every single day when you left your apartment, you saw him standing by his car, a coffee cup in hand, unashamedly watching you like some creep. Eventually, you stopped looking in the direction you knew he would be, hoping you may forget he was there at all, but you always felt his eyes on you; such a strong stare, he might as well have been touching you. But you couldn’t take it. Months of your every move being tracked by the man you loved but couldn’t have was taking its toll, and so you begged him to leave you alone, to give you some relief.

“I did stop, and what happened? Barely a month after I made that stupid promise, some dumb, obsessed kid comes asking me to stalk you.”

You leaned back against the wall, growing more exhausted by the minute. “Well, with all the past practice you’ve had watching my every move, I’d say he was rather smart to pick you of all people. Shitty coincidence that he would though, since now I’m getting lectured.”

“I am not lecturing you.”

“Fine, but whatever this is you’re doing here, you’re out of line. My business is not your business anymore. It hasn’t been your business for the last five months.”

“Your little boyfriend came to me,” He said, pointing a finger at his chest, “so yes, it is my bus--”

“It is not!” You bit back. “You could’ve turned him away. You could’ve told him not to follow me around unless he was itching to get a restraining order, but you didn’t, did you? You took this opportunity to check up on me. Again!”

He stepped back, looking as if you had slapped him. His aggressive, guarded barrier of emotions cracked, and you could see the vulnerability he hadn’t shown since your relationship ended.

“Walter” You sighed, “You’re the one who stepped back. You’re the one who said it would be best if we weren’t in a relationship. You said I was a distraction and—”

“I said you’d be at risk, not that you’re a distraction.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Damn it, Y/N, it does! I only did it because I love you!” He said without hesitation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know that!”

You blinked. “No, I did not know that! You seriously broke up with me because you love me? That’s ridiculous.”

“I broke up with you to keep you safe, but I clearly suffered for nothing seeing as you put yourself in unsafe situations even without my association.”

You wanted to believe him, so bad, but people don’t leave behind the ones they love. After all, you loved him and the thought of leaving him made you nauseous, even now. When you were together, he may have appeared in love, but after a year he still hadn’t told you and you knew you’d let yourself get a little too hopeful. If you were honest with yourself, him breaking up with you was not as much of a shock as it should’ve been. But as you looked at him now, you could see that he truly believed you already knew.

“It doesn’t make sense that you would do that,” You said. “People don’t just break up with someone they love.”

“Fuck, Y/N, did I ever seem unhappy with you? Did I ever come across like I didn’t want you every second of every day? My every other thought was of you,” He said loudly, like a rant, and you were having a hard time figuring out who he was mad at. “So don’t try to tell me how I felt, and feel now. I still love you and that’s not going to change, but I can’t have criminals, murderers even, coming after you because they are pissed at me for hunting them down or having a case against them. It would take nothing for the average officer or detective to figure out that you and I were together even if we were hiding it. How hard do you think it would be for some psychopath?”

You hadn’t realized a tear slipped down your cheek until you tasted it at the corner of your lips. It was salty but somehow bitter and left a thick burning path along your skin. You quickly wiped it away. “Why didn’t you tell me this months ago?”

“Because, stubborn as you are, you wouldn’t have listened. You would have told me it didn’t matter.” He fell backwards onto the couch, closing his eyes and letting out a groan. “I try to do the right thing. I try to protect you, thinking everything will be fine as long as no one can link you to me, but I can’t…stay away.” His eyes met yours. “And then you beg me to, and it’s excruciating to obey. When I was able to watch over you, it reminded me that I did the right thing. You were safe and I could constantly be reassured of that.”

You walked over to him, your heart thumping with every step, then sat on your knees in front of him, placing your hand atop his own resting on his thigh. His other hand reached for your face and his fingers softly grazed your cheek before they tucked some hair behind your ear. “Walt—”

“That kid…Jimmy,” Walter interrupted as he began tracing the back of your hand with his thumb. “He thinks you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not.”

“You swear?”

“Of course, Walt. I told you--”

“I know,” He said with a single nod of his head. “I know. Maybe I’ll actually get some sleep now.”

You rested your cheek on the inner side of his knee and said, “You could sleep here.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bit your lip nervously. You couldn’t even dare to count how many times you’d had sex during the course of your relationship, but now, asking him not to leave made your pulse thrum in your ears.

He leaned forward and looked down at you. “Because I don’t think I can say no to you.”

“Then why would you bother trying,” You whispered without a second thought and slowly inched up on your knees so you could connect your lips with his.

It lasted only a second or two before he broke the kiss, grabbed you by the arm, and yanked you onto his lap. His grip at the back of your neck pulled your mouth to his as your hand slipped between your bodies and quickly started to undo his belt buckle.

“God, baby,” Walter groaned against your lips when you wrapped your fingers around his thick cock and released it from his jeans. He pulled the ratty, old t-shirt of his over your shoulders and softly settled his hands on your hips. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…missed these,” He said, placing a kiss on one bare breast, then the other. “I missed you, so much.” He placed his lips to the curve of your neck, then met your eyes. “I miss you every fucking day.”

You kissed his forehead, and his arms tightened around you as you lifted your hips and sank down onto him. “I missed you too, Walter,” You said, but the words melted somewhere within the mix of your moans and his groans.

------------------

Tags: @agniavateira @forthebrokenheartedthings @summersong69 @starlite13 @mstgsmy @purplelove75 @defffcc @the-soot-sprite @kissthatlifeaway @atomicpaperhairdouniversity @aquariuslavenderhoney @harrysthiccthighss @the-problem-of-leisure @meganwinchester1999

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

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Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 12 | He calls his girlfriend ‘ma’am’! That’s not normal.

A/N: This will update every Thursday. There are 13 chapters. There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships. This is the one I choose to write this time. Just one more chapter, peeps!!

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship. When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian. Which is the one thing he never knew he needed. Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship. But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: Benedict confronts Tom and Vivian about their relationship and it does not go as planned.

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open! Let me know if you want to be added. Thank you for reading!

Vivian headed over a bit early to Ben and Sophie’s rented house. Sophie poured her a glass of wine.

“It’s not like you’re driving home. Live a little.” Vivian took the glass and sipped at it.

“Did Ben say anything to you?

“Not a peep. Which is disconcerting. I don’t like it.”

“Perhaps you need a shorter leash for him.” Vivian quipped.

“Can I borrow one?” Sophie held out her hand and Vivian laughed.

Their heads turned as the front door opened.

“You have been acting weird all day, Benedict, can you just tell what the hell you are up to?” Tom groused as the two of them walked through the front door.

“Darling.” Tom hurried over to Vivian and kissed her cheek. She scratched his neck. “How was your day? I missed you.”

Benedict wandered over to Sophie. “THIS! This is what I am up to!”

Vivian narrowed his eyes. “I thought you handled this.” Her hand slid down Tom’s back, stopping on the small of his back, possessively.

“I thought I had too.” Tom whispered into her ear.

“I got this.” Vivian kissed his cheek. “Sophie…”

Sophie roughly grabbed Benedict’s ear and walked him to a chair, tossing him down.

“OW! Not in front of the guests.” Ben hissed.

“Explain yourself, darling.” Sophie leaned down and hissed in his ear.

“He calls his girlfriend ‘ma’am’! That’s not normal.”

“How did you—” Tom started.

Vivian stepped in front of Tom. “You came into the trailer yesterday.”

Ben’s cheeks blushed. “You were preoccupied. And now the ring. Tom, you barely know her! It’s only been four months! You can’t marry her!”

Tom’s nostrils flared for a moment until he burst into laughter, followed by Vivian and then Sophie.

“Why is everyone laughing?” Ben’s eyes darted around the room at all the people laughing at him.

Sophie smacked the back of his head. “Should I tell him or you, Vivian?”

Vivian glanced back at Tom, “Me or you, darling?”

Tom gestured towards Ben. “You, since he clearly doesn’t listen to me.”

Vivian sighed and walked towards Benedict and Sophie, signaling for Tom to sit next to her. She grabbed Tom’s hand and showed Benedict the ring. “It’s a day collar.”

Ben’s brows furrowed. Sophie squeezed his neck. “You know how we sometimes ‘play’ with me being in control?”

Benedict nodded while Tom’s eyes widened and Vivian smirked. “Yeah.”

“Vivian and Tom do that 24 hours a day, seven days a week.” Sophie added.

“The ring is a symbol of ownership that he is my submissive.” Vivian squeezed Tom’s thigh. “That he is mine.”

“She is mine.” Tom leaned against her. “So I appreciated you backing the fuck off of me. With the comments and what not.”

Sophie smacked Benedict again. “You are so getting punished later for that. This is the happiest Tom has ever been. Why would you tease him about it?”

Benedict mumbled something, Sophie elbowed him. Benedict raised his voice. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.” Tom squeezed Vivian’s hand.

Ben sheepishly faced Vivian. “I’m sorry for questioning your relationship. And for making fun of Tom.”

Vivian chewed on her lip for a moment. “You’re forgiven. On the condition, Sophie punishes you.”

“With pleasure.” Sophie piped up.

Vivian pressed his hands against the table. “Now that we settled things, let’s eat. I’m sure the two of you are famished. All those jumping to conclusions.” Vivian raised a knowing eyebrow at Ben.

“I’m never living this down am I?”

“Not a chance.” Sophie offered. “Vivian, let’s get the food. Can we trust the two of you to not end civilization in the meantime?”

“Yes ma’am.” Both Tom and Benedict answered in unison.

Once Vivian and Sophie disappeared from view, Benedict leaned over the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ben hissed, rubbing his temple. “Now we are both in trouble.”

“Gee, Ben, I don’t know why I didn’t tell something so deep and personal like I am submissive in my relationship. Because you were so understanding and supportive.”

“Touche.” Ben conceded. “I have been rather abominable. I only wanted the best for you. You’ve been hurt so many times before.”

“Your heart was in the right place, I will give you that. Vivian is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Trust me.”

“You do seem at ease.”

“I am. So no more worrying about me. That is what Vivian is for.”

They both laughed. Vivian and Sophie came back with the food.

“Oh good, the two of you have made amends.” Vivian quipped.

“It’s hard to stay mad at that face.” Tom gestured across the table with a smile.

“Indeed.” Sophie rubbed Ben’s shoulder. “So Vivian and I were talking about your punishments.”

Tom and Ben paled.

The rest of dinner went well. Ben asked several questions with Sophie joining in. Tom and Vivian did their best to answer. Tom asked Ben and Sophie questions in turn.

“How long have you—”

“—Played?” Sophie interjected. “What, three years?”

Ben nodded. “Almost three years.”

“Wow.” Tom leaned back. “I had no idea.”

Benedict blushed. “Well outside being sore the next day, you wouldn’t?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you were so distracted the other day?”

Ben shrugged his shoulders. “Guilty.”

“You think you know a person…” Vivian giggled against her wineglass.

After finishing dinner, the couples said their goodbyes. Sophie was leaving in a few days while Vivian still had another week of vacation. Tom smiled and bopped along to the radio as the Uber took them home. Tom turned to Vivian.

“I’m glad that is all sorted.”

“Hm..” Vivian hummed.

“You never mentioned my punishment?” Tom fiddled with his hands.

“I didn’t, did I?” Vivian raised an eyebrow. She closed her eyes and leaned against Tom. Her lips teased into a smile. Tom gulped but said nothing.

They entered the dark house and Vivian shot Tom a raised eyebrow. He proceeded to the bedroom. By the time she reached there, Tom was naked and standing in the middle of the room. Vivian grabbed the collar and latched it around his neck.

“I realized I have been going soft on you, sunshine.” She circled him. Her nail trailed down his arm.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom shifted his feet. He wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Remember our training from when I moved in?” Vivian growled into Tom’s ear. Tom nodded. She swatted his ass. “Use your words.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes followed her around the room. Edging is not Tom’s favorite.

“It will only be for the week while I’m here to start. Lie on the bed.” Tom crawled onto the bed, fighting off a grumble.

“Are you complaining?” She tilted her head to spy at him. “Because I can make this more difficult. Perhaps introduce you to a cage.”

“As you wish, ma’am.” Tom hissed out.

“That’s my good boy.” She leaned over him. Vivian scratched his thigh. “Let’s get you prepared.”

Vivian untied the scarf from the bedframe and pulled Tom’s hands above his head before tying them together.

“That should hold you. No cumming. You tell me when you are close.” Her hand moved closer and her fingers trailed up and down his cock.

Tom shuddered at the soft touch. “Yes, ma’am.”

Vivian kissed his lips softly, barely touching them before turning and walking away. She made her way to the dresser at the other end of the room. Tom’s eyes followed her the entire way. She shucked off her shirt, revealing a lacy bra. Tom’s cock appreciated the view.

Vivian turned in place and shimmied out her jeans, taking her time to place them in the hamper. She made a show of bending over to pick up her clothes. Tom wiggled on the bed, scooting around with his legs. Vivian spun around and Tom froze, mid-scoot.

“Last warning, stay still or you will be punished.”

Tom slumped. “Yes, ma’am.”

She grabbed a bottle of lube. Vivian climbed onto the bed next to him. She dripped a generous amount of lube on Tom’s already half-hard cock. “Look at you, darling.” Her fingers light as feathers against his thigh. “You are so responsive, baby.” His cock twitched.

Vivian pressed against his side, one hand trailing up his legs and the other scratching his chest. “You are my baby, sunshine.” Vivian’s lips ghosted across Tom’s ear. “My precious boy.” Her hand curled around his shaft, squeezing with a firm grip. “And this is mine, my cock, for my pleasure.” She jerked him and continued to tug with a firm grip.

Tom let loose a ragged breath and flattened his feet against the mattress.

“Yes, ma’am.” He let a loud groan from his lips. “Please.”

Vivian kissed along Tom’s chin and neck while continuing to jerk and tug him. Her hand slipping over smoothly because of the lube.

“I… I’m…” Tom gasped. Vivian removed her hand and leaned away.

“Good boy.” Vivian praised, rubbing Tom’s arm. “Good job telling me.”

Tom steadied his breath and Vivian lightly touched him again. When she was ready, Vivian gripped him again and tugged. This continued for about three or four more times, stopping each time before Tom came. Vivian stopped and kissed Tom’s cheek. “You are such a good boy for me, sunshine. You did so well.” She untied his hands and rubbed his wrists.

Sweat beaded on Tom’s brow. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’ll go get a flannel to clean you up and then let’s go to bed.”

Vivian returned with a warm wet flannel and had Tom clean himself up under her watchful eye before taking it back to the bathroom and changing into pajamas. Tom rose to get dressed.

“What do you think you are doing, sunshine?” Vivian stopped in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom.

“Getting pajamas, ma’am.” Tom raised his eyebrows.

“Not anymore. From now on, you only sleep in the nude.”

Tom’s hand dropped to his side, and he returned to the bed. “Yes, ma’am.” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Tom. I love you.”

Tom leaned over to kiss her. “I love you too.” He snuggled into her embrace and drifted off to sleep.

Tom woke the next morning to Vivian’s hand on his cock.

“That is some wake up call, ma’am.”

You remember, sunshine. Quick session in the morning, longer one in evening and a really long one on the weekend.”

He was already close and gripped the sheets.

“I…” Vivian stopped and smirked, pleased at how quickly Tom reached his edge. He exhaled sharply. “I… remember.”

“Good boy.” Vivian sucked on his neck. “Because you are going to have to do this to yourself and report back to me once I leave when I tell you to.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Wha…” He cut himself off with a groan as Vivian stroked him again. “Ah! Yes! Please!” Tom whimpered through gritted teeth.

Vivian released him two more times until Tom was panting.

“You are the best boy for me, sunshine. Let’s go shower together and you can take care of me.”

Tom groaned and nodded and slowly followed her to the bathroom.

Tom fingered Vivian to orgasm in the shower, sucking on her nipples while she leaned against the tile. She finished up with taking care to wash Tom’s body. She wrapped herself into a robe while Tom dressed for the day.

“Break a leg, sunshine.” She kissed him before he left for the set.

This routine continued for the next several days. Tom ached for release but wasn’t ready yet to beg for it. Once again, he was soiling the sheets as he leaked. Tom came home later that evening to find Vivian cooking in the kitchen. Seeing her in the apron brought a smile to Tom’s face. He snuck up behind her to kiss her neck.

“Smells delicious.” Tom muttered against her neck.

“Go take a seat and I’ll bring it out to you.” Vivian reached back and caressed his cheek.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He left to sit at the table.

Vivian finished up dinner and served up two portions before heading into the dining area. Tom licked his lips when she set the plate down. He tucked in. Vivian just gazed over at him.

“I love how much you love food, sunshine.” She smiled.

Tom wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I love your food.” He added.

“You’re too kind, sunshine.” She started eating her own plate.

Tom ended up getting seconds and then clearing the dishes. They settled onto the couch watching a movie. Vivian teased Tom throughout the movie, not wanting to rile him up too much before bedtime. Tom whimpered and moaned but complied with Vivian’s instructions. But it was no simple task.

“You don’t want to beg, sunshine? I’m leaving on Monday.” Vivian teased as they slipped between the covers.

“Not yet.” Tom smirked.

“Challenge accepted.”

Tom regretted his words as tomorrow was Saturday. No hiding behind work.

Tom woke late on Saturday morning to find Vivian’s side of the bed empty. He ducked his head into the bathroom and then the living room to find her in the kitchen, finishing up her coffee.

“Oh good, you’re up.” She set her coffee cup in the sink. “I made you breakfast, eat up and then meet me in the living room.”

Tom moved to grab the plate of food on the counter. Vivian dragged her fingertips across his hips. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, sunshine.”

Tom gulped and watched her walk away. He ate even faster than usual, certain he would have a stomach ache later. Which was preferable to any punishment Vivian would dole out. When he stepped into the room, he stopped in his tracks to find Vivian sprawled naked on the couch, playing with herself. Her fingers dipped between her legs while her other hand squeezed one of her breasts.

“I got bored.” She commented lazily. “Sit.” Vivian stopped what she was doing and gestured to a chair.

Tom nodded and sat, the fabric rough on his bare skin. His pajamas becoming a memory at this point.

“Make yourself hard.” Vivian ordered, sitting up to watch.

“I beg your—”

“I was going to let you cum today, but if you can’t follow a simple instruction—”

“No!” Tom waved his hands at her. “I can be good! Please! Please! I can do it. Please let me cum! Please, I need to cum.” He pleaded, his eyes wide in panic.

Vivian grabbed his play collar and snapped it around his neck. “That’s my sunshine boy. I knew you would beg. Now.. make yourself hard.” She returned to her spot on the couch. Tom noticed a bottle of lube among some other items on the table. He opened it up and squirted some into his hand. He stroked himself with a firm grip.

“Ah…” Tom moaned as he grew hard in his hand.

“That’s it, baby, make my cock nice and hard.”

Tom’s head lolled back as he could sense his release coming closer and closer. It wouldn’t take much.

“Stop!” Vivian called out. Tom’s eyes snapped open. His hand slowed and then stopped. “I said make yourself hard. Did I say you could cum yet?”

“No ma’am.” Tom realized his mistake.

Vivian walked towards him and straddle his hips. She tugged his head by the collar. “You will sit still. You will not cum until I tell you to.”

Tom nodded quickly, his collar jingling as he did. “Yes, ma’am.”

She sunk slowly on his cock. Tom moaned as she inched down. Vivian held his shoulders for balance.

“Hand that to me.” She pointed to a vibrator on the same table where Tom found the lube. Tom handed it to her with a furrowed brow. “You didn’t think I was going to let you cum inside me, did you?” She traced the sharp line of his chin and pecked his lip. “Silly boy.”

She switched the vibrator on and placed it on her clit. Vivian’s pussy clenched against Tom, who groaned. “Ma’am…”

“You are going to sit there as I come on your cock, Thomas. You will not thrust, buck, or rut into me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I…”

“What?” Vivian snapped. Her first orgasm was already close.

“But I need to cum.” Tom whined. “Please, ma’am.”

Vivian pressed the vibrator harder against her and she came screaming. She clenched around Tom, who was sweating in an effort to not come.

“Who decides if you come, sunshine?” Vivian panted, removing the vibrator for a moment to calm down.

“You do, ma’am.”

“And whose cum is it?”

“Yours, ma’am.”

She placed the vibrator back against her clit. “Beg for it.”

Tom panicked as he struggled to maintain his composure as Vivian made life even harder by rocking ever so slightly upon his cock. “Please. I want to… I need to cu.. cum. I will be so good if you let me cum, ma’am. I will be the best boy ever. Just please… let me…”

Vivian lifted off of him as she noticed him clenching underneath her thighs, Tom’s balls tightened. She gently pressed her fingertip against the tip of his cock, aiming his ejaculation onto his stomach and chest. Tom slumped into the chair in exhaustion and embarrassment. Vivian lowered back down, her wet lips rubbing along his deflating cock. She swirled her finger along Tom’s stomach and popped it into her finger.

“Aw, baby, look at the mess you made. And you didn’t have permission. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you sunshine?” She stroked his chin and rubbed his neck. Tom’s body was covered in cum and sweat, his face tear stained and red. Tom whimpered. Vivian kissed his lips and cheek.

“It’s okay, baby.” Vivian soothed him, petting his hair. “You can’t help it. It’s okay, I will teach you. You want to go take a bath and clean up?”

Tom nodded his head. Vivian stood up and took his hand. “Come on, sunshine. I’ll go run you a bath and clean you up nice, put on some boxers and eat some food. Does that sound good?”

Tom nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I would like that.” he whispered.

“And then some movies and snuggles?”

“Yes, please.”

Vivian wiped away some of the tear trails and kissed him again. “Okay, sunshine. We’ll do that. Who’s my good boy?”

“I am.”

“Yes you are. Come on.” Vivian grabbed the water bottle off the table and led Tom to the bathroom where she drew a hot bath for him, lowering herself in first before beckoning Tom to join her. She made sure he drank the water once he settled.

“I can’t have you passing out.”

She took great care at lathering up Tom’s torso and legs and rinsing it off before moving to wash Tom’s hair. He sighed and leaned against her. Tom slowly dragged himself to standing and stepped out of the tub, and Vivian toweled him off before grabbing a pair of underwear for Tom to put on. She gently tugged his head down to her by the collar to kiss him.

“Lie down on the couch and I will get some snacks.” Tom quietly shuffled off to the living room. “Pick out some movies!” She called after him, heading to the kitchen.

Vivian was not surprised when Tom dozed off through the movies, sleeping through lunch. She didn’t want to disturb him. One because he needed the rest and two because he looked so peaceful and adorable when he slept. She nudged him awake late that afternoon.

“Thomas, you need to get up. You need to eat, sunshine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” he murmured, eyes still closed.

“Let’s go to eat. You need to get up, sweetie.”

Tom groaned and stretched, blinking to adjust his eyes. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“Several hours.” Vivian responded, rubbing his leg.

Tom shot up. “I wasted the whole day!”

“You did nothing of the sort, sunshine. You needed rest because you work hard. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tom pouted. “But you leave on Monday for home.”

Vivian comforted. “And I can come back and visit again. Now let’s go eat. You must be starving, you missed lunch. I know how much you love to eat.”

Tom’s stomach growled on cue and he blushed. “I guess I could eat.”

Vivian smiled and left to fix her hair and fetch her shoes. She picked a cozy bistro and the two of them snuggled into a small booth in the corner. Vivian was particularly affectionate, kissing and nuzzling Tom’s neck. He kissed back too.

“So when I get back to your—”

“—our home.” Tom corrected her.

Vivian nodded. “Right.”

Tom cupped her cheek. “To quote a wise woman, why are you afraid to take up space in my life?” He kissed as their dessert, well Tom’s dessert, was dropped off.

Vivian chuckled. “I am pretty wise, aren’t I? Remember that home improvement list?”

Tom nodded. “Yes, darling?” His eyes widened. “Would you like to get started on it?”

Vivian smiled. “I am thinking about getting started on updating the kitchen.”

Tom hugged him and kissed her again, oblivious of how his newly acquired ring caught the light in the restaurant or the fact one of the other diners pulled out their phone.

“I think that is a delightful idea, darling. Let me know what you need from me.”

Vivian nodded. “Thank you, darling.”

By the time they finished dessert and got back to Tom’s rented home, both of their phones buzzed with a text from Luke:

Did the two of you get secretly marry behind my back?

Attached was a picture from the restaurant that night posted to social media. Tom’s day collar clearly visible as he kissed Vivian.

“You explain it to him this time, darling.” Vivian ordered.

Tom smiled. “I will, eventually. But right now I would like to show ‘my wife’ how much well I can please her.” Tom wiggled his eyebrows.

Vivian pursed her lips in mock contemplation. “Well I don’t think you are dressed for the occasion, sunshine.”

Tom took off out of the room and returned naked, holding not only his collar but the leash as well.

“Who is my best boy?” Vivian asked, latching the collar around his neck.

“I am, ma’am.” He sighed as she latched the leash onto the o ring in front.

“You are mine.” Vivian purred as she tugged on the leash.

“And you are mine.” Tom repeated.

“Yes I am. Now follow me like a good boy.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #follow my lead

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tunedtostatic · 3 years ago

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don’t be too sure i’m as crooked as i’m supposed to be

Minlace, hardboiled detective AU, double triple drabble (once again a triple drabble has gotten out of hand on me but both parts *are* three hundred words…)

CW: Alcohol, bad weather, canon-typical peril, canon-typical mentions of Cutter

The first week of December it rained for days, a hard steady rain that turned to sleet in the night and back into icewater in the morning. By Wednesday night it had come to feel as though the rain was simply part of the month of December, or maybe part of the city itself, a stinging miasma that drove itself against cars and windowpanes and ice-stiffened umbrellas as relentlessly as it did against the grimly downturned faces of those unlucky enough to be out of doors without one.

By seven o’clock it was already dark as midnight in the office where Renée nursed a drink and refused to turn the lamps on. Eiffel having evaporated at the stroke of five as usual, no one could crack a joke about her stewing in the dark, and every penny saved on heat and light was another penny less to owe Cutter.

The flickering streetlamps cast only faint light into the office, meeting the sputtering glow of the hall light through the frosted glass of the door and joining forces to paint everything shades of grey: the cluttered desks, the sagging couch, one of Eiffel’s loud jackets slung over his chair, and the cheap rug Renée would have refused to admit was her attempt to put her own sad stamp on the secondhand office. A week without a real case, pouring over old papers and eying their budget bleakly, meant a week since Renée had had cause to hold a real conversation with another person, aside from the unfortunate reality of daily interactions with her nominal business partner, to the extent that one-sided radio announcer patter counted as ‘conversation.’

Aside from Eiffel, their honey-voiced landlord Cutter, and her idealistic sometimes-lover Dominik at the paper, there wasn’t anyone else to talk to. Not anymore.

As the clock chimed eight, Renée was staring at the bottle on the desk and considering a second nightcap before making the couch up for the night when she heard the familiar click of a key in the office door. Eiffel, presumably, having forgotten something important enough to brave the sleet—one of his magazines, maybe? She wouldn’t have put it past him.

But something about the sound and the blurred figure on the other side of the glass made her tense, and a second later, another look confirmed her suspicions. Even through the ripple of the frosted glass, the figure was taller than Eiffel and shorter than Cutter, not that Cutter dropping by unannounced after hours would have boded well either.

Renée steadied her breathing, sliding a hand to her revolver. Hall light, office dark: Even if they had a pocket torch, the intruder’s eyes wouldn’t adjust fast enough.

As the door swung open and the intruder stepped forward, silhouetted against the light, Renée’s first thought was that she was beautiful. Her second was that she too had a revolver, held professionally in a steady hand. Her third was: Got you.

Renée stepped from the shadows behind her desk, keeping her gun trained on the stranger.

“Lady, why don’t you put down the gun and tell me what you’re doing in my office?”

The sputtering light of the hallway fell on the woman’s face as she turned toward Renée, and Renée saw that beneath her beauty, her eyes were as puffy as someone who hadn’t slept well in days, and as haunted as someone who hadn’t slept well in a hell of a lot longer than that.

Slowly, the stranger held up the keys dangling from the fingers of her unarmed hand.

“Your office? This was my office first.”

#wolf 359 #minlace #isabel lovelace #renee minkowski #my writing #fic #crosspost to ao3 in the notes #i just think renée should get to have an on again off again thing with that idealistic man at the city paper #and also go wide-eyed at the sight of lovelace #i didn’t realize until i wrote those tags that that dynamic is not totally unlike the sana/campbell sana/other violet fic I’m working on #fittingly i’ve been wanting to write a hardboiled and or noir au for sana too #ever since i wrote that essay on sana and genre and realized ricky q was the narrative equivalent of a femme fatale

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followthebluebell · 5 years ago

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FIP: Feline Infectious Peritonitis

Sprinkles contemplates some birds. We’re re-doing the catios right now, so they’re all closed off. I think she’s looking forward to being outdoors again.

I’m putting a cut here because this is a LENGTHY READ and, in case of further developments, I’d like to be able to easily update this article.

In October 2019, she was diagnosed with ocular FIP (Feline infectious peritonitis), which is a mutation of feline coronavirus (FCoV, which is very distinct from SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19). FCoV is ubiquitous in the cat population: almost every cat has it or is exposed to various strains of it. Most cats get over it just fine with only mild diarrhea. In a small percentage of cats (we’re uncertain on the percentage, which I’ll get into later, but it’s theoretically somewhere between 5-10%), it goes fuckwhack apeshit and mutates into FIP.

We don’t know why it spontaneously mutates. There seems to be a genetic component to it. It’s believed to be more common in purebred cats, but we’re really not sure--- since FIP is a diagnosis by exclusion, there often is a hefty vet bill attached to the diagnosis and a person who can afford to buy a purebred cat from a cattery is more likely to be able to afford that bill. It MAY be triggered by stress. It’s much more common in younger cats, often appearing in kittens ranging from 4 months to 4 years. This doesn’t mean older cats are safe; I know of at least one case in a 12 year old cat.

Sprinkles was diagnosed at 3 and a half months. She didn’t have a particularly stressful event before developing symptoms. She’s not a purebred. I don’t know anything about her genetic history, so I can’t cross that off the list.

Mickey, my second FIP kitten, was diagnosed at 4 months. I know slightly more about his health records but it’s still scant. He arrived with an unusual skin ailment: sarcoptic mange. Hypothetically, this could indicate an already delicate immune system that left him vulnerable to this sort of FCoV mutation.

FIP is deadly and remains, to this day, the most horrifying disease I’ve ever personally encountered. Thankfully, FIP itself is NOT contagious. FCoV is highly contagious but, as previously mentioned, it’s fairly common in the cat population. There was a study done to see if separating kittens from their mother at 7 weeks (approximately the period when a mother’s antibodies begin to wear off and the kittens have to begin producing their own) would prevent cats from catching FCoV from her. This was effective but the social drawbacks are too heavy a cost for it to be considered regularly.

There is a vaccine for FCoV but it’s largely ineffective and most vets don’t recommend it.

FIP comes in two primary forms: wet (effusive) and dry (non-effusive). Usually, FCoV exists only in the gastrointestinal system. It’s really the only place it can replicate itself with ease. Once the virus mutates, it can’t replicate itself as well, but it CAN infect macrophages. Macrophages are highly mobile white blood cells. They go pretty much everywhere, and ones infected with FIPV (Feline Infectious Peritonitis Virus) will carry the virus along for the ride.

The early symptoms are vague. These cats are lethargic, listless, have low or no appetite, weight loss, and a fluctuating fever. The first symptom I caught in Sprinkles was complete avoidance: she was actively avoiding other kittens and other kittens were avoiding her. Mickey’s only symptoms were lethargy and diarrhea. I only got suspicious about possible FIP because the other kittens in his playgroup didn’t have any diarrhea at all.

And this is where we see a split in the forms of FIP.

Effusive FIP is characterized by the accumulation of fluid within the abdomen and is more common. It happens very quickly. Cats with effusive FIP develop breathing problems rapidly. The fluid drawn from the abdomen is usually straw-yellow. Effusive FIP is said to be more common, although only one of the 5 cases I’ve seen in the last few years was wet FIP.

Thankfully, effusive FIP has a few distinct traits that makes it easier to diagnose. It’s important to remember that FIP itself is generally a diagnosis by exclusion.

Measuring the protein in the effusion is a good first step. If it’s less than 35g/l, FIP is generally ruled out.

The albumin to globulin ratio is considered next, via a blood test. If it’s less than 0.4, FIP should be considered.

Finally, examining the cells in the effusion is valuable. If they’re primarily lymphocytes, FIP is excluded.

Non-effusive FIP is more difficult to spot, because the symptoms are so varied. Granulomas (inflammatory cells) form in various organs, which produces an extreme variety of symptoms. The most commonly affected symptoms are the ocular and neurological symptoms.

Ocular FIP happens when the virus crosses the blood-ocular barrier and is characterized by slightly opaque white films on one or both eyes; these don’t cover the entire eye. They’re often just a small section. This was the first distinct symptom I saw in Sprinkles. It’s considered a distinct enough sign that her ophthalmologist was able to tell me that she was 99% certain it was FIP.

Neurological FIP is my own personal hell. The virus crossed the blood-brain barrier and infects the brain. The first symptom is usually a limp or a slight tremble in the head. The paralysis often begins in the hind limbs and it travels upwards. The cat eventually loses all mobility. If the cat is lucky, they’ll begin to have seizures instead and die soon afterwards. Like I said, it remains the single-most awful thing I’ve ever seen.

Non-effusive FIP is harder to diagnose than effusive FIP, especially if the cat fails to develop ocular or neurological symptoms. In these cases, the only symptoms the cat has are fevers, diarrhea, and other non-specific issues.

Once again, the best bet is to consider the albumin to globulin ratio. The same rule of ‘if it’s under 0.4, FIP should be considered’ holds true.

Unfortunately, checking for antibodies is fairly useless. A positive FCoV test just means the cat has been exposed to FCoV.

FIP is deadly. While there are some isolated cases of cats seemingly recovering from it, I think it’s more likely that those were simply misdiagnosed cases. As I’ve said before, FIP is a diagnosis by exclusion, so a misdiagnosis can happen fairly easily. A cat with wet FIP is gone in days. A cat who’s unlucky enough to develop neurological FIP may linger for weeks until they die of starvation, oxygen deprivation as the lungs themselves are paralyzed, or dehydration. Ocular FIP generally spreads into the brain, causing seizures.

Sprinkles is very, VERY lucky. I had been following the study very closely and I had an acquaintance who recently started treating her foster cat for FIP. I was able to get into contact with some folks and obtain experimental treatment for my kittens.

GS-441525

In February 2019, there was a very promising study on a specific drug called GS-441524. Most of the cats involved with the study made a full recovery. The company (Gilead-Sciences) behind the drug wasn’t interested in getting it FDA approved for cats out of concern that it would affect its approval for human use. See, if it’s used officially for cats, Gilead-Sciences would be obligated to report any negative side-effects and that could impact getting it approved for human use down the line. “One of the rules in drug development is ‘never perform a test you don’t have to, if the results could be problematic,” isn’t an uncommon saying. It’s one of the reasons why I fell out of research and development myself.

I had some pull and was able to get experimental access to this drug for Sprinkles and, later, Mickey.

Both kittens went through three months of daily injections and a further 3 months of observations before they were deemed FIP-free. After seeing 3 other cats die from it, it’s been a blessing to see them recover. They’re both especially lucky that they finished their treatment cycle JUST before COVID-19 hit American shores since I couldn’t, in good conscience, continue using a very promising antiviral in cats when it would likely be needed by humans.

It’s definitely not a perfect system. Three months of daily injections (or pills) is not ideal for the average owner for several reasons. In addition to the difficulty of injecting a cat with an EXTREMELY painful drug daily, it also requires a lot of math; the dosage has to be adjusted daily to take weight gain into consideration. Even the concentration has to be adjusted at times. I haven’t used the pills at all, but I know a lot of people have had problems with cats biting through the pills. In addition, the pills seem less effective against neurological or ocular FIP.

Gilead-Sciences has refined GS-441524 into GS-5734 (named Remdesivir), which is supposed to be more efficient. Hypothetically, the addition of the phosphate groups should make it easier for it to get across barriers and be absorbed more easily. Hopefully this will result in a shorter treatment time, although I suspect it will be more expensive than GS-441524. This is already a substantial cost attached to GS-441524, with the treatment of a single cat or kitten over 1,000 USD.

As of writing (April 20, 2020), neither Remdesivir nor GS-441524 are available to the average public legally. Remdesivir has been approved for use in humans with COVID-19 in emergency cases.

#work #cat #FIP #long post

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dorminchu · 3 years ago

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Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

“See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

“That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

#no time to die #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #several ocs #crime drama #fanfic #fanfiction #multichapter #canon is gonna joss this into the sun probably #haha... unless?#slow build

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nasty-b · 4 years ago

Text

Drunken Filth

A Wire x Reader x Heat Smut Fanfic. Nsfw of course.

This is somewhat soft. Aside from the obvious fucking going on.

When you took his offer there had been loads of alcohol in your system. Saying yes to the huge man telling you he’d rock your world had been one of the more poor decisions in your life, for sure. Yet, here you were. Currently sitting on one of two beds that was situated in the inn he was staying at with one of his pals, who seemed to be currently out. Watching him remove weapons from his body he had somehow hidden underneath his huge cloak that came from his head.

Alcohol was a friend that made some things seem like a good idea but right now not even your trusty friend of liquor could convince you that this was gonna go fine. It’s not that you thought he needed weapons to accidentally hurt you regardless. The man was built like a half god.

Broad, muscled shoulders that connected arms stringy with muscle and strength, his hands huge and probably able to wrap easily around your throat just using one hand. His torso sculpted with abs, complemented by the weird net contraption that he was currently stripping off his upper body.

Your eyes continue to roam against your better judgement to his legs that were barely covered by the net stockings he was wearing. How someone with such an odd sense of fashion managed to get into your pants in the first place was beyond you. Aside from that, you realized dimly that you bit off far more than you could chew just looking at his crotch where he seemed to already be semi hard.

He noticed your stare and gave you a sheepish but unapologetic smirk. “..Sorry about that, it has been quite a while since we hit port.” He hummed and dropped his trident on the floor, yet still close enough that he’d be able to reach it from the bed. You swallow thickly. “Huh.” You didn’t even know his fucking name- Oh god.

Before you knew it he was leaning over you, easily looming over you and pressing his face into the crook between your head and your shoulder, right next to your neck and putting both his hands on your hip. “Getting cold feet?” He sounded husky, his voice having dropped an entire octave as he shifted a little, one of his legs settling between yours, way too close to an unfamiliar heat pooling there.

Did you have cold feet? Obviously yes but somehow with him just handling you the way he did right now.. you didn’t feel like running away and for the hills. “Ah, No- I’m good.” You breathed out softly, only for your inhale to hitch when he grabbed your top and pulled it off your upper body with ease, as if he had been waiting for the reply like a permission. There goes a layer of protection!

With a shaky gasp you resist the urge to cover up as the man looming over you re-positioned himself so he could stare with a hungry gaze down at your chest, grinning like he was about to commit some serious atrocities. Technically, you suppose he was going to commit some sort of sin any second now.

You’re basically blanketed in this beefcake of a man. You’re pretty sure he has more muscles in one leg than you have in your entire body. Though you were surprised he was being so gentle.. still. You would have thought a guy of his kind would just.. y’know, let use already. Carefully you put your hands against his chest. “Do you treat all women like a gentleman in the sheets?”

It was supposed to be a joke question but he just pressed into your touch before working on pulling your pants off, you had already lost your shoes and socks coming in here. “You’re not a prostitute and I’m not paying you for a service. Obviously I’m not just gonna lose it like a savage.” His tone twindled a little as he finally got your pants off, staring at your legs and grinning again.

You’re nervous. Had you ever masturbated, sure, of course. Sex with a stranger? Not so much. But he didn’t seem all too worried as he moved his body back a bit, grabbing you by your hip and lifting you like this until your shoulders and arms were with your head the only point of contact with the mattress. Oh wow.

With a weak pant you stretch your legs a little until they rest on his shoulders, averting your eyes and making him snort a little. “You’re awfully bashful who almost went full commando in front of the entire bar.” He murmured. You could feel his hot breath against your skin, only your panties right now separating him from your spot.

“You talk too much for a guy about to eat me out.” You narrow your eyes at the wall, your words coming out a bit more forceful than you wanted to but your whole body jerked as suddenly, as if in reply, he pressed his nose into your crotch, rubbing his face a little against the fabric. “Fair.”

His teeth chomp down on your underwear and you blink at the feeling as he suddenly pulled back- “Hey- Don’t you fucking-“ Rrriiiiiip- There goes that piece of clothes and you looked in dismay at the torn pieces dropping onto the mattress, where the dude just fucking left them. “Are you serious? I’m not swimming in-“

Again, you’re interrupted. This time by the feeling of a mouth directly on your lower lips. With a surprised whimper your legs tense and you throw your head back in surprise. Now that he had started it seemed like the patience from earlier was gone to the wind. At least that’s what one could assume, seeing how he was already licking fat stripes up your sex.

This was hotter than it should be and it only ended with him raising the temperature as he gave a somewhat sloppy kiss to your, now slowly waking up, genitals. You could feel heat begin to pool, a familiar sense of wetness joining his tongue as he just pressed his tongue between your lips and seemed set on trying to fuck you with that muscle.

It was good, maybe because it had been a while you actively did something down there, maybe because the alcohol helped or maybe because you were just horny from the get go but it feel pleasant, waking your inner urged up with a gentle tingle that spread throughout your entire body and made your body shake with heady gasps.

And yet it was awfully not enough to really get you into the zone. Were you aroused? Most definitely. Were you capable of cumming from this? You don’t wanna try and imagine the timespan that would have to be invested for that. The tongue was good. But it was not enough, didn’t stretch you all that much if at all and barely reached deep enough to scratch the itch that had formed deep within you.

And then he bites you right on the inside of your tigh and you jerk upwards with a shocked noise that was torn between arousal and pain. “Fucking-“ He bites you again, closer to your female sex and you gasp, clenching your eyes shut. His gentle pace went sideways real fast as he began to almost violently dig his teeth into your skin right where you were the most sensitive.

Tugging on it, only to lick over the bruises and cuts afterwards and groaning lowly every time he did so. You yourself were left yelping and panting like a rabid dog, trying to keep your composure high and your volume to a minimum. “Nhhfg. God it’s been long. Spread your legs more.” But instead of waiting for you to do so he grabbed your thighs and just forced them apart to press another heated kiss onto your sex, licking over your clit with firm, long swipes of his tongue.

You’re going to space because all you’re seeing was stars. So much for not being able to come from oral but it felt like you were climbing this hill faster than anticipated. Close, very close- he dropped your body back down and wiped his mouth with his arm, breathing heavily as you made a confused noise. “I’m putting it in.”

At first you’re put off but it doesn’t last long as he just tugged his shorts down, revealing an aching, much bigger than anticipated, cock. His tip was already red with frustration- He must have been keeping it in for quite a while. It just made you a bit nervous seeing how ready to go he seemed.

Is there a way to fit that after months of going dry? He seemed to think so because he had already grabbed your thighs again to situate you two, the tip of his cock gently nudging your entrance. Oh god- You feel your body tense against your will. “First time?” Your gaze snapped to the man looming over you, a lazy smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. “Don’t worry.. we can take it slow.”

He muttered, right before beginning to press his hips forward and that at a steady pace. Your breath stops completely as you threw your head back and whined, needy and out of breath. That felt so much better than the impromptu toys you’ve been using or made yourself. For a moment neither of you moved, you just breathing and him rolling his hips every now and then, sending shivers up your spine as the need to get him to move grew.

And then the door opens and you tense completely, clenching up so badly that your partner cursed under his breath and slammed both his hands next to your head. You try to shrink and hide from whoever just entered the room and the huge man towering over you seemed ready to go full on primal on whoever was unlucky enough to cross his sight.

“What the fucking hell?! Never heard of kn- Nh?” He shifted, his cock pressing into a spot that made you bite the bottom of your lip as he looked over his shoulder. “Heat. I thought you were out for the night.” He grunted and his grip on your thighs relaxed, probably leaving bruises.

What the fuck was going on? Your arousal was stumped by the second stranger who was currently closing the door and walking in here. At first out of your view but then he did step into your line of gaze and god, what the hell. He looked like a zombie on steroids. He was as lean as Wire, a whole head shorter but his blue dreadlocks that ran along his back made him look oddly beautiful.

“The fuck? Send him out this instant or I’m leaving.” You snap at the man who was still buried deep inside you but he just gave you a somewhat pained and sheepish grin. “Just gimme a second-“ Hello? Are you having a fever dream? He’s literally balls deep inside you and about to start a chat with his buddy? “I was going to go to the bar but heard you through the door when I passed by.”

‘Heat’s voice was somewhat gravelly but much smoother than expected, semi deep but nothing too extreme. His eyes were resting on you as if you were some expensive alcohol he wanted to try out. It made you anxious. “Can you stop staring?! Fuck! What’s with this-“ There’s a big hand on your face.

Asshole! “Getting bothered?” The dude balls deep in you jested but his buddy, instead of denying it, rolled his shoulders. “Depends..” His face was flushed and he looked definitely bothered. Flustered even. His gaze settled on you again. “I guess it’s been a while..”

You shove the other’s hand off your face finally, making him snort a little as he looked down. “Thought I’d need to invest in a whore but she’s awfully better. Tight and all shy like.” Heat scoffed from where he stood, walking over, slightly more leering now. “You’re making it sound good, Wire.”

Well, now you knew both their names. You just groan loudly and throw your head back. “I’m losing my mood!” You shriek agitated, only for Wire to pull out a little and thrust back into you. Right in front of his friend. It was horrible and oddly making you feel hotter- You’re not into exposing yourself or humiliation though so you wrap your legs around his hip to keep him still.

Wire made a noise like he was a dying animal and shivered above you as his cock was stuck seated deep inside of you, pretty sure he could break out of that hold but he never did. He just grunted and began to hump against you. Heat murred softly, lowering his head to get a good look at you. You cover yourself as much as you can, ready for him to say some douchebaggy thing.

“..Can I join..?”

Leave it to life to prove you wrong. His hand had come up to cover his mouth a little, a faint blush gracing his features as he gave you a steaming look and just waited on you. Embarrassingly you don’t say no right away. You actually consider it. Wire groaned above you, trying to thrust into you still but not freeing himself. “Whatever- Can we just get to it?!” He complained even though he’s the one who started chatting to his pal in the first place.

What the fuck is wrong with you. You must be drunker than you assumed you had been- “Fine. No kissing on the mouth.” You grit out between clenched teeth, Wire above you giving a happy snicker at Heat perking up and averting his gaze. This was straight out of a bad porn clip.

Any moment now there’d be a pimp at the door waving cash at you three- Oh wow. Heat moved smoothly, easily enough slipping right behind you, forcing you to sit up until your upper body rested against him, his hands reaching around your middle to press a little onto your stomach, right under your bladder. Wire grunted. “You tryin’ to feel me?”

The man behind you just hummed. “As if I’d be able to feel that small-“ Wire snarled, his hips pulling back and then slamming right into you. “Ughnf-“ You bite your teeth together and your whole body was shoved into the burly man behind you. Oh fuck- You grab Heat by his forearms and cling to him for dear life.

The previous somewhat gentleness was gone as Wire pounded into you as if it was going out of style. Heat? The man had asked to join but he was seemingly content with slowly pushing your bra off, cupping your chest and pressing his thumbs over your nipples while panting into your neck. There was an obvious erection pressing into your back.

Especially everytime Wire slammed into you with the force of a speeding bullet train. Pleasure was building rapidly now, so rapidly you did not notice the man behind you take off his corset, carelessly throwing it on the ground with one arm before clinging to you again. The tall man between your legs gave a grim glare to Heat but it turned to a self satisfied smirk.

“Hold on..” He panted out, suddenly pulling out of you. Right before you managed to cum as well. God had to be shitting you. “Nhff- Fuck you!” Wire blocked a kick from your left leg. “Hold on- Fuck- This is gonna be good.” Right before he flipped you. Like a naked piece of meat, right onto your stomach with your face slamming right onto the zombie’s hard cock that was hidden behind his pants.

Said zombie made a low, surprised and startled moaning noise as his whole body trembled aggressively. He wasn’t even naked yet and you could feel his cock twitch against your cheek as he grabbed the back of your head with one hand, shaking and twitching as if resisting the urge to just press you right in there.

Wire helps. He reached over to put his hand over his partners and press you right into the others crotch. “W-Wire! For fucks s-sake-“ Heat panted, by now completely flushed and flustered. If not for Wire shoving his cock back into you, you’d probably find it cute. But Wire, as said, shoved his dick bad in so deep that you were sure he could poke you right in the womb if he stabbed you any harder down there.

Somehow you still found it cute. Heat was holding onto you, grinding his hips as if he was nothing but a dog that was about to piss on the carpet, knowing it’s not allowed but gonna do it anyway. “Heat- Heat, pull down your pants.” Wire panted from behind you, his breathing short and choppy, everytime you clenched he groaned. Heat didn’t seem to be paying much attention, too busy palming at your back, reaching over to grope your ass and knead the flesh as if you were some sort of stress ball. Oddly, this seemed to get him going just as hard.

His cock was practically dancing in there, right against your face. The attention of two men on you gave you a confidence boost you didn’t know was possible, reaching over to grab the band of his pants and yank it down. The man in front of you had a hitch in breath, arching his back a little. “Nhff.. Hff..”

It put you a bit off, seeing how he gave you this steamy look but not saying anything. Wire to your aid. “He’s into it. Just-“ His voice cuts off as Heat scooted a bit back, shaking his head with a breathy whimper. “I’m pent up- G-Gimme a second.” The man supported his weight backwards with his hands, having let go of you.

It made for a nice presentation. Your gaze fixated on the hard cock in front of you, twitching and.. very inviting. Even though he scooted back a bit you could see just how hard he was. If you thought Wire’s equipment seemed stressed earlier? Heat looked like a volcano about to explode.

And then there were the piercings.. A Jacobs Ladder staring right at you, five rows of silver gleaming in the light, a bit of precum having reached the first row. Wire behind you made a soft noise. “Let’s team up..” He panted. You’re confused about that but when he slammed into you the next time he reached over to grab his friends ankles and drag him close, right into your zone.

You shouldn’t. The blue haired man gave a keening noise as his bare cock ended up rubbing right against your skin, trying to jerk his legs back but Wire had them in a steel vice. The noises he made got only worse when you reached out and took his hard organ into your hands. “Oh! Oh fuck- Hff- I’m gonna-“

You were gonna too. Wire’s thrusts had slowed down a little, losing intensity but they were driving you up the wall fast enough. What’s the most logical thing to do? Tag team. You press his cock a bit closer to your face and lick a fat stripe up the other’s skin. Heat yelled out, throwing his head back but you didn’t leave him the chance, propping yourself up a little so you could take his head into your mouth.

Never in your life did you think that you’d be giving some stranger a blowjob but sucking on the other’s hard on while getting plowed from behind put you into a new world, full with new possibilities. Heat’s hands had clamped onto your shoulders, massaging the skin while Wire’s hands were clinging to your hips, bruising them.

“Ouh- Oh fuck- Fuck!” The blue haired man curled a little, his eyes screwing shut with bliss as you worked over his cock. Your hands massaging his shaft, your mouth on his tip and all this while Wire was still thrusting into you. You’re gonna- You do.

Your body cramped up when you came, clenching down on both men front and back. Wire cursed loudly, his pace stuttering and his grip getting even more brutal before with another slam of his hips he suddenly dragged out of you. At first you were confused but then the hot spurt of cum on your ass reminded you that the man hadn’t been wearing a condom.

Bless him.

Heat was, surprisingly, the one who lasted the longest but not much longer than Wire, just as you were popping your mouth off his cock, your hands squeezing it, did he cum. Your first blowjob you were not gonna guzzle some stranger’s fluids. Who knew if he had something.

Bit too late to think about it now but it’s not like you were living on the edge- You slump forward against the man in front of you, sprawling, exhausted. All of you were panting. Oh.. fuck.. This had been.. so much better than any sex you ever had in your life. Which wasn’t exactly much but-..

“Yeah..” Heat’s hand was on your hand, you don’t lift your gaze, closing your eyes to try and rest a little. “We..” Wire groaned a little, settling down next to you and putting his head onto Heat’s right leg. The man himself leaning against the wall. Suddenly Wire wrapped his arm around you to pull you close, Heat still having his hand on your head. “We are fucking keeping you..”

#Heat #Wire #One Piece #Reader

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