#so imagine me just fucking SQUEAKING my way down the stairs like fucking slapping my feet down everywhere

[lad-boyo]

.

[buckyalpine]

Craving

18+

Mob!Steve x f reader x Bodyguard!Bucky

Remember this filth - Just a Taste? 

This is sort of a prequel but you can read this as a standalone as well. IDK why I felt the need to do this, y’all asked for a part 2 and instead I went a step back. 

Warnings: SMUT F masturbation, fucking, dom freaky steve, breeding kink degrading, dirty talking, so much of it 

More here:

Satisfied 

-

Steve quietly padded up the stairs, stopping as soon as he reached the top, soft needy whimpers carrying down the hall. He smiled to himself, picturing his perfect angel spread out on their bed with her hands between her legs thinking about hi-

“Oh Bucky!” 

Steve froze before opening the door, not making a sound, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Please-please J-James!” 

Oh. 

His cock twitched as he quietly went inside, pink lips curling into a smirk seeing you splayed out on top of the sheets, your head thrown back, chest heaving. You bit down on your finger to keep your voice down but it clearly did nothing. The tightness in Steve’s pants became unbearable, the sweet scent of your arousal filling the room. Your eyes shot open at the sound of his pants unzipping, your husband standing at the foot of your bed, his cock standing tall and proud, precum already beading at the tip. You pulled your hand away, squeaking, unable to meet Steve’s eyes, hearing a low growl emitting from his chest. 

“How pretty, why’d you stop princess” He smirked, cocking his head to the side while your body felt like it was lit on fire, squeezing your thighs together, “Don’t stop just because I’m here baby, you sounded like you were close”

You whimpered while he crawled onto the bed, his heavy cock bobbing between his legs, his warm breath fanning against your face. He sat back on his heels, grabbing your knees and shoving them apart, groaning at the way your pussy glistened, the white creamy mess a clear indication of how long you had been playing with yourself. 

“Did you get curious baby, was that it? Your little imagination running wild when daddy isn’t around?” He kept your legs apart, biting his lips while you nodded, something about getting caught making your more wet than before. “So tell me my love, tell me exactly what you were thinking of”

You were still in shock over the fact that your husband had walked in on you thinking about your bodyguard, a fantasy you tried to desperately keep a secret. Though Steve enjoyed your shy squirming, his cock ached, needing to know every single dirty thought you dreamed of. 

“I said tell me, princess” His eyes bore into you while you continued to remain silent, struggling to form a coherent thought. 

“I-I-um-DADDY” You squealed as Steve's palm met your throbbing cunt, slapping your pulsating clit, shaking his head. 

“I said tell me sweets, I wanna know exactly what you dream about when you’re not thinking about your husband” 

“About his cock” You whispered while Steve hummed, dragging his fingers through your folds, smearing around your slick. 

“What about his cock princess, how do you think it’d look my pretty baby, describe what you imagine” He purposely avoided where you needed him most, drawling circles around your clit without actually touching it and teasing your entrance without pushing his fingers in. 

“B-Big, thick” You swallowed thickly, peeking up at him through your lashes, trailing your gaze down to his nearly purple tip. You let out a whine when he teased you again, your hips raising up the chase more of his touch. “Pretty cock” 

You just knew he’d have a perfect cock, a pink tip you’d suckle on, long and thick you’d gag and cry trying to fit all of him in your mouth. His balls would hang heavy, swinging and hitting your chin, tapping your clit, full of cum if he ever got a chance to shove it in-

“Aww, you’re so needy angel, you think his cock is pretty baby? Nice big fat pretty cock?”

“So pretty daddy” You threw your head back, moaning as Steve swiped across your clit, rubbing you before pulling his hand away again. 

“You think he’d be bigger than me baby?” There was a growl in his voice, precum dribbling down his shaft, licking his fingers clean, throbbing at your taste. 

“Not bigger than daddy” You shook your head, letting out a needy whimper as your husband started to toy with your clit again, his other hand coming down to stroke himself. 

“Hmm, you love daddy’s huge cock, don’t you princess. You think my best friend has a thick fat cock? You wanna suck on his heavy balls sweets? Help him empty them, make his dick feel so good” 

You couldn’t take it anymore, your hand flying to rub away at the ache that was screaming between your legs. Steve grinned, watching you lose yourself, furiously rubbing your bud at the thought of fucking Bucky. He gripped the base of his cock, tugging at his balls while your moans got louder, bringing yourself higher and higher. 

“I wanna suck him, daddy!” 

“Look at you, rubbing your little button, playing with yourself when daddy isn’t around, you lil button needed attention from my bestfriend? Is that it baby? You wanna suck my bestfriends cock? You wanna open that slutty little mouth and take him down your throat? Hear how he moans when he gets a taste of that silky tongue?”

“How are you gonna suck him princess, show me” Steve threw his clothes off before he sat against the headboard, beckoning for you to position yourself between his legs. 

“Like this” You whispered as you laid in front of Steve to take his cock in your mouth, your ass in the air. You gagged and choked, letting his tip his the back of your throat, tears brimming your lash line. You moaned at the taste of his precum, rolling his balls in your hand while swirling your tongue around the head, making a mess all over his crotch. 

“God, you filthy nasty slut, that’s it, show me how you’d suck his cock baby, show me how you’d make him feel good” Steve threw his head back, bringing his hand to push your head down, thrusting his hips up into your mouth. Your throat constricted, making him nearly whine, his full balls desperate to fill your mouth. “Fuck this, come here-”

He shoved you off, manhandling you till you were face down, ass up, his hand pressed on your back to keep you down. His cock prodded your entrance, letting out a dark chuckle when you wiggled your hips, begging for him to fuck you. 

“Need it daddy, please!” 

“You need me or need him baby, hm?”

“Both” 

That did it. Steve shoved his cock into you without warning, setting in a brutal pace while you screamed with pleasure, his hips snapping against your ass. Your hands scrambled to hold onto something to keep from slipping from how hard your husband was fucking you, his moans and grunts making your cunt throb. 

“Yeah baby? You gonna take his cock? You gonna make him cum? Get him fuckin’ whipped and needy for this perfect tight little cunt? S’what you did to daddy sweets, you got daddy so fucked up with your perfect pussy” Steve slammed into you, gripping your hair and pulling you back, holding you against his chest, panting against your ear. “I’ll give you what you want baby, let him have a taste, taste this fuckin’ heaven I get to have everyday”

“Daddy!! Daddy gonna-gonna cu-

“Do it, fucking do it now, cum thinking about his cock while I fuck you, cum with my fucking cock in your pussy baby, c’mon, give it to me, give it to us you little fuckin slut, cream all over daddy”

Steve started to play with your clit causing your orgasm to barrel towards you. You screamed, molten white pleasure consuming you, gripping Steve’s cock, desperate to milk him for every drop hes worth. 

“Gonna make daddy cum baby, can’t believe you got me horny thinking about you taking another mans cock, fuck have you done to me baby?”

“My little slut is such a cock hungry whore, shoud’ve-fuck, I can’t hold it-should’ve known, huh? Such an innocent baby would be such a low key freaky whore. Can’t even control herself, masturbating and rubbing herself like a bitch in head in her husbands bed thinking about another man” 

His pace grew sloppy, the bed shaking with how hard he was fucking you, unable to hold off much longer. You whined, your arms clinging onto him while he pounded into you like a fuckdoll. 

“He’s gonna want more after he gets a taste, y’know that? Fuck you like that huh, can feel you milking my cock baby, you want him that bad? You want me to watch baby? I wanna see your pretty face when he ruins you, wanna see his cock slip in and out of this pussy. I’ll give you everything you want princess, daddy’s gonna give you everything you want, m’gonna cum in your pussy baby, fill it up nice and you’re gonna take it, God-I can’t-fuck-fuck-m’gonna cummm- FUUCKK” Steve wrapped his arms tightly around you, moaning loudly into the crook of your neck, his cum spilling out of you, down his balls and onto the sheets. 

You moaned with him, limp in his arms while he rolled and grinded his hips deep into your cunt, making sure he filled you up all the way, his balls throbbing each time you clenched around him. He hissed as he pulled out, helping you to lie down on the silky sheets, grabbing a soft cloth to clean you up. He joined you in bed, wrapping an arm around you, bringing you to his chest, smirking at how ethereal and angelic you always looked after you got your brains fucked out. 

“Just wait till he gets a taste” Steve murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead while you fell asleep. He was going to have so much fun.  

After all, he’d heard his bestfriend moan for his wife when he thought he was alone. 

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy147 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @psychomanniac-blog @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc  

[muffindaddystyles]

I WANT TO CHANGE MATTRESSES FOR YOU.

Somethings doesn’t not change. People doesn’t want to change them, morelike. Harry’s one of those people – he hates to stumble away from his routine, it makes him fussy and grumpy all over.

If he’s not waking up early and going out for a run – getting a nice sweat, his whole day gets ruined --- he likes things in specific order -- brekkie and dinners always with his lovie’, three kisses in the morning minus the infinite pecks, cuddles without socksies, cold showers and lavender oils are must –-- brushing their teeth together and doing their skincare at night together.

Intimacy of little things.

He’s with that with materialistic things too. Most of them holds zillion of memories from him --- others, well for others he despises the ‘getting used to them’ phase and the complains of himself that comes with it —-- so he always feels like it’s better to keep things in good condition and use it for a long time.

Just like this darn mattress they’ve fights over every night and day.

Right now when they’re standing infront of the mattress shop he doesn’t seem very convincing while Y/N looks like she just saw the miracle of the year.

Harry’s lips are downturned into grumpy expression, his brows pinched together out of annoyance and he groans at the top of his lungs when she tugs him inside with a squealish noise.

“See? You really need to get rid of that dumpster mattress.” She turns to face him, grinning when he moaned the instant they jumped atop this spongiest of mattress and he speaks through closed eyes -- as if he’s manifesting, “Don’t call my mattress garbage .....”

Y/N just pouts. He’s really that stubborn. Despite, of how much she whined and complained to him that his mattress causes her a back ache and sprains her neck —-- because the springs poke into her like damn mini dicks – he still refuses to buy a new one.

She squeals happily and almost straddles him when he announces with a dimply loopy grin, “’Kay maybe we're buying it.” She clasps her hands together on top of her chest in awe of her boyfriend and grabs his cheeks to squish them and bring him for a kiss.

Unfortunately her happiness wasn’t meant to be last when the salesman told him about the price and yet again ...... he denied to buy it.

She grunts. Jumping back on her feet and tries to convince him, “Harry c’mon don’t be s' stubborn now -- bub.” The gentleness in her voice on the verge of cracking and exposing him the terrifying wild-cat side of her.

“And mattresses are life time investment -- you know?” Her tone sugary but the involuntary tap of her foot makes Harry arch a brow sceptically at her, she’s boiling from inside, ready to blast her lid away, “I’m not spending shit loads of money on some springs and goose gunk!” He whines throwing his arms in air and she couldn’t believe if that’s her Harry or some miser in his replacement.

“Feathers.” She corrects him and he mutters a ‘whatever’ under his breath so she inhales a huge nourishing puff of oxygen to think rationally and make him understand.

The intimacy of sleep.

Y/N loves the intimacy of sleep -- their bodies just sinking into the mattress and pillows, getting swallowed by cool sheets and warm blankets -- sharing a cuppa tea or biscuits before going to bed —-- snuggling like kittens or puppies into eachother -- low murmurs of breath and feathery I love yous. Waking up in the morning and having their skins kiss eachother, pray in eachother’s presence and love on eachother to make their every day special —-- cuddling till any of them really had to pee bad and eating breakfast in the bed. Getting it stained and one of them assures the other to not to worry about it and after when they couldn’t get rid of it – walking together to laundry.

Just the innocent intimacy of sharing a bed —-- it brings them together – makes them feel eachother —-- like they’re soaked into eachother.

Harry’s not being able to catch the point.

“Harry just imagine one day I wouldn’t wake up all tired and —--,” She’s now proper frowning and he cuts her off, “That’s from my cock Sweetheart.” She shakes her head and fists her hands by her sides to hold her back from wiping that damn smirk off his gorgeous face.

So, she continues, “And I wouldn’t even have to sneak from your arms every night and sleep on the couch, then come back in the morning –- you know how much I love cuddles ........” Harry’s jaw meets the floor at her newest revelation and she stops her rant mid-way when he gasps loudly and dramatically, She slaps her forehead because shit – this was a secret between her and their cat who used to give her judgemental stares every night.

“You what?” He squints his peepers narrow at her – hands on his hips and she shrugs mousey-ly, “It’s your fault ... I mean you’re the one who’s not buying a new mattress and not even letting me buy it.” Their argument heating up a tad and y/n just wants to push him on one these beds right now and knock some senses into him.

She gives him a horrified expression when he grumps curtly and forwards his palm, making a come heather motion, “Give me my cuddles back.” She huffs folding her arms infront of her chest and glares him --– craning her neck up to look at him —- for how fucking tall he’s from her and copies him.

“Then give me my kisses back –- including the one I just gave you right now, for no reason.” She tugs his cardigan angrily. His pupils blow away comically.

They both know that they’re behaving childish and it would take them an infinite amount of time to get what they’re asking for.

“Seriously?” He groans howlishly and she nods, quipping nonchalantly, “Yes seriously.”

Harry’s just finding excuses to not to buy a new mattress. He has money. He even likes it. It’s real comfy. He just is accustomed to getting his spine poked with springs.

“It’s useless to argue with you, ‘m going – follow me or I’ll kick your ass.” She warns him. Jabbing a finger at his chest and he squeaks rubbing the stinging spot and kisses his teeth, “Fine!”

She glances him from her shoulder and shouts an equally frustrated, “Fine!” barging through sliding doors and Harry tugs at his roots and kicks the foot of bed.

Though, when she’s towing her feet in the space of her threshold and letting her shoes fly to different spots messily, -- bolting up the stairs grumpily and crashes into the bed —-- she yawps squeakily and then nuzzles herself more into the mattress —-- because fuck she might be hallucinating about it ‐-- she’s that exhausted but when Harry comes leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile and thudding heart upon the bean sized sight of his baby –-- he’s carnating into heaven.

“Oh my god –-... what ...--- how? What the hell, Harry!!” She giggles jumping on their new mattress and ushers him closer, they hold hands tightly galloping on it as high as possible – Harry’s head hitting the ceiling each time -- they do a lil dance letting the bed creak and make funny noises.

Their laughter echoing against their walls and she slinks her elbows around the nook of his neck, pushes him down and makes them fall with a bounce.

He tickles his button nose up her cheek and murmurs against her skin pecking it, “Just when y’left – made me realise an empty bed would be worse than some goose-y one.” Her breath comes shuddery at that and her lips quivers up into a wet smile -- heart quops when he sighs lovingly pushing her closer to him.

“I love you lovie' more than any mattress —,” He nibbles at the fleshy inside of his cheek and leaves it to smudge his lips against hers, “—- I want to change mattresses fo’ you if it means -- we could do it till we're grey and wrinkly.” His calloused hand comes caring up her throat and moulds into her warm cheek – staring into her glinting eyes deeply ... with utmost affection and love, and devotion as if she hung the moons of Jupiter and Saturn.

His lips wets the corners of her petal like lips first then .. tastes her cupid bow before completely surrendering himself to her and kisses her passionately sipping her sweet noises of his name and her confessions of love for him; down his belly making him feel warm and bubbly.

They separate with a smooching noise and she grins against his chin, “You really talk some sexy shit, don’t you?” He pouts then breaks into a bunny grin –-- grunting when she shoves his shoulders down and straddles up his chest –- cradles his face and dots kisses down his temple to his sweet spot, takes his earlobe in her mouth and twirls it with her tongue.

“We deserve some good fucking, let’s inaugurate our new mattress.” He moans at that, “Fuck yes.” and paws at her hips hungrily but she smacks it away with a glower.

“This’s for being a bad boy at the store.”

Harry just knows. He’s about to get tortured to no orgasm or getting railed till he’s a crying mess, none in between.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (part 9): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: nothing is the way it was before. there is no future; there is no past. all there is... is nothing. 

wc: 2.1k

tw: light gore

masterlist

“She’s not gonna eat; I already told you that.” 

The sounds of Kaori and Toji fighting just outside of your door leak into your room, but you’re beyond caring. Megumi sits beside you in the sun-lit room, eyes scanning the outdoors, looking for any sign of an animal. You’re tucked underneath a warm, thick blanket, despite the temperature outside being warm enough to cause a little sweat. No, things were better this way. 

When you had come to after blacking out, Toji, Kaori, and Megumi were hovering over you, trying to figure out what to do about the General’s untimely passing. But in the two months since, no one had quite figured out how to bring you back to life. The only thing they could do is watch you slowly waste away and become a shell of your former self. 

Your parents suspect it’s because your princely husband had not sent for you since the war had ended, and you’re grieving a supposed loss. But neither Kaori nor Toji had the heart to admit that this loss wasn’t supposed. It was real. 

Your days are spent in your bed or in the garden behind the house, mind empty as Megumi attempts to watch over you and possibly even cheer you up by play-fighting with his father. But more often than not, you’re reduced to tears, and Toji fetches Kaori because he “can’t deal with crying women”. 

“My lady?” The head maid enters into your room with an orange and onigiri in her hands. “I brought you some fresh fruit from the market. Hamai sends her regards as well.” Hamai - Yuta’s sister and wife of Yuko - had also attempted to visit you, but her grief motivated her to knock on your door, and you couldn’t bear to think of Yuta or Nanami or--

“Thank you,” you croak, and she nods, handing Megumi the two onigiri. 

“Your father said you’d better eat these or he’ll never--”

“‘Feed me again’. I know,” Megumi chants monotonously and takes the rice balls from her hands. “Thank you, Kaori-san.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want any visitors?” Kaori asks for the third time. You cut your eyes to her, attempting a glare. “Hamai would love to come and--” 

“Listen, the lady said no visitors,” Toji gripes, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. “I’ve been fighting off a ton of measly looking men who have nothing to say except ‘I’ve come to see Lady y/n’ and honestly, if you invite another person to this damn place, I’ll kill them on the spot.”

You roll away from the two people and look out of the window, remaining silent as Megumi eats his onigiri and stares at the bears and tigers in his book. Kaori and Toji retreat, restarting their squabble as soon as the door closes, leaving you to think about nothing and no one. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re in the garden when Megumi runs up to you, holding a light pashmina to cover your shoulders in the chill of fall. 

“Careful, you might get sick,” he warns, and you accept the article with a smile. 

“Thank you, sweet one.” The child climbs onto the bench you’re seated on, swinging his legs while you stare at the shishi-odoshi in silence. You’re suddenly reminded of the three other sweet children you left back at the camp, and before you can begin to sob out loud, your hand flies to your mouth. 

“Hey,” Toji appears from the house, hands deep in his pockets as he surveys the area. “You alright?” 

“Just fine,” you whisper, pushing back tears and grief all at once. “I just needed some peace and quiet.” 

“Yeah, gardens will give you that.” Toji stands beside the fountain and stares into the water for a moment before turning to Megumi. “There’s a frog out by the lake if you’re interested in--” Megumi hops down from the bench and disappears around the corner in a flash, abandoning you without a worry in the world. You sigh, watching him fade into the distance, and then turn to Toji, who is already staring at you with some unreadable expression. 

“What is it?” you grumble, blinking slowly. 

“Nothing, just…” Toji presses his lips together and looks sky-ward, thinking about his next words carefully. “I know you feel like everyone in the whole world can fuck off since Geto died… but have you ever considered moving on?” You tilt your head to the side, wondering if Toji really ever listened to himself talk. “I mean, yeah this shit is painful, but…” Toji rubs his neck and looks away from you and back to the fountain. “You have to move on at some point.” 

“He told me to wait for him,” you explain, wrapping the pashmina a little tighter and squinting at the shapes in the pool. “I’m going to do just that.”

“Y/n, he’s dead… what good will waiting do? Will you wait your whole life?” 

Your head snaps to Toji and you curl your lip up in disgust. 

“You’ve never loved anyone in this world but yourself and your money,” you spit, standing from your seated position so fast that Toji takes a half-step back. “I don’t imagine that you’d know what I’m talking about.” 

“That’s not true,” he retorts, frowning. “I’m trying to help you, that’s all. I’d hate to see you waste away over a man who can’t even survi--” The pashmina falls from your shoulders as your hand makes contact with his face, the echo of the slap scaring a flock of birds from the surrounding trees into the sky. 

“Speak ill of Geto again, and I’ll make sure those words are your last.” Toji doesn’t touch his bruised cheek as you stomp off, watching you retreat back into the house as he realizes that he let you slap him. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Screams haunt your sleep, fire burns the camp, and you’re running away, holding hands with the children as you dash into the forest. Geto is behind you, fighting off some unknown assailant, but you instinctively know how the dream is going to end.

You trip and fall over a root of a tree, but you yell at the children to escape. They continue running, not sparing you a second glance, but you turn around just as Geto is stabbed through the chest by a spear and falls with his back to the ground.  His head tilts back and he makes eye contact with you, blood pouring out of his mouth as he chokes:

“Wait for me.”

You shoot up in the bed and stumble out of your room through the sliding door that leads to the garden, sweat pouring down your neck and back as you sink to your knees. Your stomach heaves once, twice, depositing yellow bile into the bushes beside the house. The sun is barely up, and as you dry heave, you hear another door sliding open, Toji then Kaori tumbling out of your back door. 

“Poison,” Toji grunts, but Kaori pushes him aside before he can get to you. 

“No, she didn’t even eat anything before bed,” she states, rubbing your back with her cool hands. Your skin clams up as a breeze rolls across the garden, and you shudder violently before your teeth begin to chatter. “Toji, a blanket.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” he gripes, but walks into the house to grab a blanket anyways. When the cloth resta against your back, you feel a little better, but the feeling in your stomach won’t go away. 

“My Lady… talk to me. What’s the matter?” 

“Go,” you shake Kaori off, not wanting to repeat the events of your dream. 

“It’s probably because she didn’t eat,” Toji groans, the stairs squeaking under his weight. “I’ll get her a --” 

“Both of you. Go.” You look up at Toji, mustering your sternest look, and aiming the same expression at Kaori, who walks away from you, head hung low. 

You stay in the garden as true morning crests over the sky, lying on the bench under the bare cherry blossom tree while the skies turn into pinks and yellows, and reds. The image of Geto’s bloodied face wouldn’t depart from your memory and you feel the ache even deeper than before. The ache intensifies until it feels like all of you is just one large hole, throbbing with need and grief.

Nothing could save you. 

No one was coming back for you. 

They were all dead, and there was nothing left of the people you had grown to love and care for. 

It isn’t until your mother walks into the garden that you realize you might have missed your breakfast of an orange and water, but she comes bearing the fruit and you’re set back at ease. You wordlessly allow your mother to sit beside you, lifting your head so it rests in her lap snugly. She pats your hair gently, then inhales deeply, speaking in her normal soft tones. 

“Kaori told me you were sick last night,” she begins, and you nod as if she had asked a question and not stated a fact. “Ever since Geto Suguru died, you’ve been awfully sullen. One might think you had been with him the whole time and not at the Imperial Palace.” You glance up at your mother, and she winks at you. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell your father.” 

“How did you know?” you wonder, and she smiles, wrinkles forming at the edges of her mouth. 

“Well first, whoever the General gets to write his letters needs to brush up on their penmanship,” she laughs, then shrugs. “But it was your face the day that the General was announced dead that I saw you change. It only took me a few days to realize that you were in mourning, not upset that your prince hadn’t sent for you.” 

“Mother, I--” 

“You had every right to keep it a secret, although I wish you hadn’t. It would’ve made my interrogation of Toji much easier.” You imagine your own mother - all of five-foot-four, standing up to the massive Fushiguro with a finger to his chest - and you can’t help but chuckle. “Whatever the General did, I haven’t seen you glowing like you did when you returned since you were a little girl. I’ll have to find a way to thank him for that.” 

You choke out a deep sob, closing your eyes as you think of the lack of tribute, the lack of a funeral, the missing images of him that won’t return to your memory. 

“Though Toji takes good care of you. I haven’t seen that man slack off on his job once since after the announcement. He’s also been very helpful with your father. You know, he would ma--” 

“Lady y/n!” Kaori sprints out of the home, and you both look up to see her flustered expression, wondering what would have her so worked up this early in the morning. “There was a messenger from the Imperial Palace in the square!” she stops in front of you, panting heavily. “The Emperor… has fallen… ill.” When she catches her breath, the head maid can finally finish her statement, and she exhales deeply. “As is custom, his eldest son will be taking a tour of the country. And he’s named this village as his final stop, with your house as his resting place for the time he is here. He’ll be in the village in a fortnight.” You sit up, eyeing the maid carefully. 

Pieces of a puzzle begin to click together in your mind.

“His eldest son is Prince Naoya, correct?” 

“Yes, my lady.” As if sensing your premature plan, Kaori looks you dead in the eyes, daring you to do what she imagines you are already thinking of. 

“And you said a fortnight?” Your mother butts in, squinting her eyes.

“Yes.” 

“Fourteen days to prepare.” you whisper, lifting your head out of your mother’s lap and retreating to the house to find the eldest Fushiguro. Kaori enters behind you, grabbing your elbow before you can open his guest room door.

“What you’re thinking of is suicide,” she hisses, but you shrug. 

“What better way to rejoin Geto than to kill his murderer and then die myself?” you retort, but she slaps a hand over the gap between the wall and the door, blocking you from entering. 

“This isn’t what he would want,” Kaori pleads. “Please, think about what he said.”

“I cannot wait for a dead man, Kaori. Now, let me go.” You yank free from her grasp and enter the guest room, eyeing a lazy Toji lounging by the window. “I need your help.” 

He rolls his head around to look at you and raises a brow. “With what, my lady?” 

“I need to kill a prince in two weeks. Think you can help me with that?” 

“You mean treason?” Toji sits up, letting the book he held in his hands drop to his bed, and hums thoughtfully. “Killing a prince as revenge… putting the Imperial Court into chaos… yeah, I think I can help you with that.”

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover @jotazinha @just4readingfics @mxhi @sammytamaki @brownskinnedgirll @keelyshayee @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something​

[hxlyhead-harpies]

Dream a Little Dream of Me (J.P.)

Requested: Yes  “Of course I remembered.”  “Please hold me. It’s been a day.”  “I think you might be my soulmate.”

Pairing: James Potter x reader

Summary: You have been having odd dreams about your best friend

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Cursing, pining

You shot up from your bed, your chest heaving. You had been having another dream, a blissful and happy one, but you awoke feeling nothing but dread. You had been having these dreams for months. They depicted a future of a happy and blissful relationship, days passed by with lazy, languid kisses and longing and loving stares. The dreams were everything you could ever want. The problem laid with who starred in these fantasies. 

James Potter had been your best friend since early childhood. Your mothers had met in school and the two of you had practically been raised together. You had seen each other’s first steps and had been there for each other through everything. You had always thought of him as a brother. That was, until the dreams began. 

Suddenly his presence made your stomach erupt with fireworks and roses bloom on your cheeks. Every smile he sent you made you nervous and every bit of contact made goosebumps arise on your skin. It didn’t help that your friendship with James had always been touchy; from a young age, the two of you would hold hands or hug often. Many nights the two of you could be found cuddling on the common room couch, your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist, and your legs tangled together. It had never bothered you before, but suddenly every touch made your skin burn. 

You knew it was cliche, falling in love with your best friend, but the dreams made it an inevitability. You couldn’t escape your thoughts of a domestic life with him. But there was too much at stake for you to ever reveal your feelings. If he rejected you, your friend group would shatter. You knew people would take sides and most of your friends would choose James. You also knew that if James didn’t feel the same, you’d lose him forever. You couldn’t bear the thought of a life completely devoid of him. You’d rather suffer the curse of friendship than the anguish of a ruined relationship. You also knew that a rejection could drive a wedge between your parent’s life long friendship. They were like your second family and you could never hazard the possibility of ruining that. 

So you pulled back slightly, hoping that the distance would help rid you of your feelings. You didn’t disappear completely, not being able to stand the idea of that. You just stopped touching him as much and you spent more time in the library than with him. You couldn’t tell if he noticed or not, but you hoped that he believed that everything was fine. 

You looked around your room, realizing that you were alone. You spared a glance at the clock and realized it was almost noon. Your roommates had probably left already, wandering around the grounds or down to Hogsmeade. You groaned as you realized that you were supposed to meet James nearly an hour ago. You hoped he wouldn’t be too angry that you overslept. 

You sighed and got up, your feet padding towards your dresser. You took a glance at yourself in the mirror, grimacing at the messiness of your hair. You smiled though when you realized that in last night’s sleep-induced haze, you had pulled one of James’s jumpers over your head. You took a deep breath, inhaling the remnants of his scent on the sweater. Your thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. You frowned and smoothed down your hair, unsure of who it could be. 

You walked over and opened the door, only to be met by James barreling through the doorframe.

“James?” you squeaked, surprise overtaking you, “How did you get up here?” James ran a hand through his hair and turned to face you. 

“You really think the enchantment on the stairs could stop me?” he asked, his words clearly intended to be a joke but the frown on his face ruining the effect. You laughed softly, though the sound was hollow. You wrung your hands, preparing the apology that was about to spill from your lips. 

“Listen James-” you started, avoiding his gaze.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked suddenly, interrupting you abruptly. You froze, unsure of what to say. “Because I think that you’ve been avoiding me and now you’re not showing up for our plans, and I don’t know what I did,” he said quickly, the words spilling from his lips desperately. You shuffled awkwardly in your place.

“I didn’t mean to not show up this morning,” you said meekly. James furrowed his eyebrows.

“So you did remember that we had plans?” he questioned. You looked up at him with an apologetic look.

“Of course I remembered,” you said, “I just overslept.” James let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping. 

“I feel quite dumb now,” he joked with a laugh, “I overreacted quite a bit don’t you think?” You gave him a forced smile, knowing that while he had been wrong about you ditching plans, you had in fact been avoiding him. James flopped dramatically onto your bed, kicking off his shoes in the process.

“Please hold me. It’s been a day,” he said with a playful grin on his face, his arms outstretched to welcome you into his embrace. You laughed and made your way towards him.

“James it’s not even noon yet,” you replied with a smile. Still, you clamored into bed next to him, feeling the warmth of his strong arms around you. 

“What about Hogsmeade?” you asked softly. James let out a non-committal noise and pulled you closer. 

“We can always go next time. I want to hang out just you and me,” he said, “I’ve missed spending time with my girl.” His words sent a jolt of electricity up your spine. You snuggled closer into his chest, pretending for a moment that maybe he wanted you the way that you wanted him. 

Several hours later you woke up, still curled up next to James. At some point, the two of you had fallen asleep in your bed. You looked up to look at his sleeping face, admiring how his eyelashes fluttered against his skin. You reached up and poked his cheek, causing him to stir slightly.

“Wake up sleepyhead,” you said softly in his ear. He groaned, stretching out his legs and his back. He reached up a hand and rubbed his sleepy eyes. He seemed dazed and half asleep, not fully aware of what was going on. He looked at your face and you saw a gentle smile grace his lips. 

“I think you might be my soulmate,” he murmured softly, his eyes half-lidded and his voice groggy. You felt your face fall in shock.

“What?” you whispered out numbly. James seemed to wake up fully then, shooting up to sit in the bed. He put his head in his hands.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, “I didn’t mean to say that.” You sat up, brushing hair away from your face, and removed his hands from his face.

“James,” you breathed, “Why would you say that.” He looked at his lap, avoiding your gaze. 

“I’ve been having these dreams,” he said, “Where you and I are, I don’t know, together I guess.” It took everything in you not to gasp at his words. 

“And everything in the dreams is just so perfect, and you’re so perfect. And for a while, I’ve wanted what the dreams showed me. I want to be with you,” he said softly. You sat in shocked silence, unsure of what to say. How was that possible? That you had both been dreaming of one another? 

“And now you’re being quiet so I’m pretty sure that I just messed everything up but I think that I love you,” he admitted, “I know I’ve always been shit at divination but something about these dreams seems too real for them to mean nothing.” His voice was filled with nothing but sincerity, his eyes downcast as he took your silence as a rejection. 

“I’ve been dreaming of you too,” you finally admitted after a moment. He looked up at you with a wide-eyed expression, a shocked smile spreading across his face. 

“You have?” he questioned breathily. You nodded shyly.

“I have. And I think you might be right,” you said softly, “I really do think we might be soulmates.” James let out an airy laugh before tackling you into a hug. You giggled as he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek and tickled your side. 

“James!” you shrieked in excitement, slapping his shoulder playfully. 

“Hey, get used to it,” he said playfully, “I am your soulmate after all.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @theweasleysredhair​ @spn-marvel-nerd​ @gloryekaterina​ @mytreec​ @levylovegood​ @inglourious-imagines @whatwoulddracodo @pattinsons-films @lunalovegxxd@kashishwrites @wonderful-writer @accio-prozac @sarcasticallywitty15 @lawsandother @teheharrypotter @hannolannno @flowercrownchic @chaoticgirl04 @kiwi-sloan @miss-fuck-the-world @durmstrange @aspiringsloth20 @breadqueen95 @ellyseveronica @layaa-layaaa @ultrabuzzlightyear @missswriter @camreid @emcchi @ari-stoteles @missmulti @tinylumpiaa @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @letsloveimagines  @fific7

[tsumtsumland]

for the valentines day event could i get 45 from the kisses list with osamu (nsfw) pls

Hello anonnie! Thank you so much for requesting! I got a bit carried away with this story so you get a whole fic, but I hope you enjoy! 🥲

Osamu + 💋#45 “Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa or bed.” + NSFW

It’s Saturday night and you’ve passed up on four different opportunities to hang out tonight, in favor of sitting in your favorite spot at the counter of Onigiri Miya. No one else knows that of course. Whenever you’ve got free time lately, this is where you spend it, eating delicious onigiri, and chatting away with the even more delicious owner.

“The usual tonight y/n?” Osamu asks, giving you a small smile. He’s busy, and you can tell he’s had a long day, but he still chooses to serve you himself rather than have one of his workers do so.

“Actually…I want to try something new,” you beam. “Surprise me.”

Osamu raises an eyebrow at that, and smirks, “I know what you need,” he says, and your face heats up.

Was that an innuendo?

Before you can ponder too long on it, an obnoxious yell interrupts your thought process.

Osamu’s twin brother slides into the seat next to you, yelling his order at his brother, “Fatty tuna, Samu!”

“He’s right there, Atsumu, no need to break my eardrums,” you roll your eyes at the blonde twin. You’d gotten to meet and know him from your regular trips to the shop as well.

Atsumu mock glares at you, “Don’t ya have better places to be than here on a Saturday night y/n?” he narrows his eyes, and a positively devious smirk erupts on his face.

“I- what is that look Atsumu?!” you almost screech at him, hoping his brother didn’t hear.

Atsumu cackles at you and looks at his brother, who seems totally focused on making onigiris behind the counter, but he knows better than that. Osamu’s attention was completely focused on you and Atsumu the moment he sat next to you.

“When ya gonna tell my brother you want him to rearrange yer guts?” Atsumu whispers loudly, making you slap a hand over his mouth, horrified.

“What are you saying?!” you squeak, not noticing how your breasts were pressed against his shoulder with the way you’re leaning over to cover his mouth.

Atsumu notices of course, and glances at his brother and smirks when you remove your hand but remain close as you chastise him. Osamu is radiating anger from where he stands, molding the onigiri in his hands aggressively.

You sit back in your seat when Osamu slams a plate down in front of you, with a little more force than necessary. He says nothing and sets another one down in front of Atsumu.

“Ya! Samu! What is this?!” Atsumu yells, pointing at the deformed looking onigiri on his plate.

Osamu looks at him with his signature deadpan expression, but Atsumu can see the anger behind it, “What you deserve,” he just about growls at his twin.

Atsumu looks between his brother and you, and grins, “Maybe you should tell her how you want to bend her over the counter instead Samu,” he whispers, and yelps when his brother punches him.

When you look up at the noise, Osamu is back to making onigiris as though nothing happened.

After Atsumu leaves, your usual playful banter with Osamu is non-existent. He’s been giving you the cold shoulder even though he’s not as busy anymore, with most of the dinner crowd gone. You frown wondering if you did something wrong, but every time you try to ask he cuts you off, making excuses about having things to do.

You’re stubborn though so you wait until it’s closing time and there’s no one left but you and him.

“It’s time to leave y/n, I’m closing up,” Osamu tells you, without looking up from wiping down the counter.

You bite your lip, watching his arms flex with every movement. It’s no secret that he’s hot, and you have frequently imagined what it would be like to have him use those experienced hands on you.

Your eyes follow his arms as they move up and cross over his broad chest. It’s only when he clears his throat that you look up and see him staring right down at you, expression unreadable.

“I- did I do something wrong?” you ask when you find your voice, but it sounds smaller than you intended.

Osamu’s gaze hardens again, “You like the attention Tsumu gives you?”

His question leaves you gaping, “What?! No! Your brother is just a loudmouth!” you scoff, “What does that have to do with why you’ve been giving me the silent treatment?”

“If ya wanna fuck Tsumu you can go ahead, but don’t come here pretending like you want me,” he tells you dismissively.

You gasp, “You’re such a fucking idiot,” you growl at him, temper rising from the way he spoke to you, “I come here because I want to fuck you!”

He’s out from behind the counter in flash, flipping the closed sign on the door and locking it. He crosses the room back to you in a flash and grabs your arm, pulling you into a standing position.

“Do you mean that?” he asks lowly.

Your eyes are wide at the whirlwind sequence of actions, and you nod mutely.

That’s all he needs as he leans down, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss, it’s not gentle, but you don’t want it to be. Your hands immediately go to his hair, shoving his cap off and running your fingers through the thick locks as his tongue slips into your mouth. You feel his hands cup and squeeze your breasts, then travel down your sides and rest on your hips before landing on your ass. He coaxes your legs around his hips and hoists you up easily. You tighten your legs around him, moaning when his mouth travels to your neck, nipping and sucking on the tender flesh.

Osamu carries you up the stairs with ease, attaching his lips to your collarbone as he stumbles through the door. Your hands are feverishly tracing his jaw and neck, his kisses get sloppier while he maneuvers you two towards the bedroom. You giggle when he apologizes as your hip catches the edge of a table and you kiss his lips again, the slight pain doing nothing to hinder your desire for him.

By the time you two make it to the bedroom, most of your clothes are gone. You squeal when he drops you on the king sized bed in the middle of the room and looks down at you like he could devour you.

“Samu...” you whisper, spreading your legs open shamelessly.

Osamu goes absolutely feral at that, his eyes darkening till they’re almost black as they zero in on the thin scrap of fabric that’s sticking to your slit, darkened from your slick. He wastes no time ripping it off and burying his face between your legs.

[letsfluxshitup]

​Technoblade Learns How To Relax (now on ao3)

Tommy's face became more and more contemplative as he guided Quackity to the ravine dubbed Pogtopia. 

He led him down the winding stairs at a pace that had Quackity fumbling to keep up with. 

On the last step, Quackity stumbled, heading face first into the dirt before an arm caught him around the waist.

"I told you we needed the guard rails." A voice huffed from behind him.

Quackity thrashed violently, whipping around and ending up on the ground anyways, staring up at the Blade himself.

"Oh! Technoblade-- Mr. Blade, sir, I didn't see you there--" Quackity stuttered, scrambling to his feet. He slipped twice on the gravel before Tommy took pity on him and offered him a hand.

Quackity took it, allowing himself to be dragged up before slightly frantically brushing off his jacket. He scrubbed at the mounting flush on his face, refusing to be embarrassed, and waved away Tommy's concern.

Tommy broke the silence, abruptly clearing his throat.

"Right- anyways, I was just showing Big Q around. He’s with us now, you know." Tommy nodded self-assuredly, glancing between Quackity and Techno.

Techno just nodded, making a noise half agreement half dismissive.

"I'll be in the--" Techno started before Tommy interrupted him, fisting a hand in Techno's cape.

"He needs a room to stay in! We don't have enough, we're going to have to share. I was thinking he could stay with Wilbur but he's a little uh..." Tommy trailed off, scratched at his chin before gesturing vaguely. "You know?" 

"I know." Techno sighed, turning to face them. "He can stay with me."

"No that's-- that's not necessary, I can just-- I wouldn't want to inconvenience you--" Quackity started, praying the panic in his tone wasn't too noticeable.

Techno just gave him a leering smile, too much teeth and tusk to be considered anything other than threatening before Tommy smacked him.

"Quit messing with Big Q, he's an ally now, alright?" Tommy said, biting down on a laugh. 

Techno snorted before shoving him in retaliation for the smack and Quackity backed away quickly before he got dragged into the rough-housing.

Finally, Techno ended it, sitting on Tommy's back effectively pinning him to the ground. Tommy flailed wildly before whining out a childish 'uncle', and Techno released him. Tommy got one last jab in before sprinting off deeper into the ravine, laughter echoing off of the walls. 

Quackity wished he hadn't left, the stale air suffocating as Techno eyed him. 

"You like what you see?" Quackity blurted out, before slapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry-- I didn't-- that was an accident I didn't mean to say that, sorry." 

Techno just raised an eyebrow at him, and Quackity just knew he was laughing at him, on the inside at least.

Techno gestured in front of him, a silent request to start walking.

Techno followed close behind, managing to avoid stepping on his heels but still unbearably close. His hand was resting loosely on his sword, did he really expect Quackity to attack him here? In his base, all by himself?

Before he could think more about Techno's paranoid tendencies, like the fact that Techno hadn't turned his back to him once, they stopped at a simple wooden door.

The wood was pockmarked with arrow holes, centering around a makeshift bullseye on the door. Above the bullseye was a crude drawing of Techno, Techno's name carved into the door above it.

"Tommy decorated." Techno deadpanned, gesturing vaguely at the door's decorations. 

Quackity just nodded mutely, following Techno into his room.

The difference between the rest of the ravine and Techno's room was jarring, to say the least.

The floors were meticulously clean, a broom propped up in the corner. 

Everything was shoved to one side, except for the sole bed that was lodged in the far corner, the perfect vantage point to see the door and every part of the room. 

There weren't any nooks or crannies to hide in, everything flush against the wall and on ground level, too short to hide behind.

Every corner of the room was lit up, no shadows to lurk in, no area left in the dark. 

Techno's bed was frameless, mattress box directly on the floor. He wanted to make a teasing remark about being scared of the monsters under your bed but he swallowed it, all the details clicking into place.

Maybe it wasn't monsters but considering everything else, Techno must have considered the space under his bed a security risk. Part of him wanted to poke fun at his paranoia but another part just felt... Sad. 

Did Techno relax? Ever? He couldn't imagine what it must be like, constantly keeping your guard up.

Even now Techno had positioned himself with clear access to the door, and with Quackity at hand’s reach. Well, more accurately, at sword's reach.

Quackity cleared his throat, trying to interrupt the uncomfortable silence they'd settled into. Techno had just quietly watched him look around, and Quackity desperately wished he knew what he was thinking about. His face was as blank and impassive as always.

Finally, Techno spoke.

"Do I need to feed you?" Techno was eyeing him up again, as if he'd be able to tell if he was hungry or not just from looking.

"Uh-- well, I'm a little hungry, but if it's too much trouble don't worry about it, I'll be fine!" Quackity squeaked when Techno abruptly moved forward, hands curling around his shoulders as he nudged him back into a sitting position on a chest.

One of Techno's hands moved from his shoulder to his jaw, forcing his head back slightly.

This was it, Quackity thought, This is where he rips my throat out.

Instead of ripping his throat out, Techno made direct eye contact with him, which was, in Quackity's humble opinion, objectively worse.

Techno broke eye contact first, mouth opening like he was going to say something before his eyes caught on a shallow cut at the base of Quackity's neck.

He'd gotten it on the way to Pogtopia, a skeleton getting a lucky shot on him from the shadows. Thankfully it had barely nicked him, and he hadn't bothered patching it up.

Techno leaned closer to it, forcing Quackity's head farther back, his other hand moving to lightly thumb at it.

Quackity's heart kicked into overdrive, because hey, what the fuck, Technoblade had his sharp ass teeth inches away from his jugular, but he didn't move. 

After another uncomfortably long pause Quackity finally mustered up the courage to speak.

"Am I dying, Doc?" He blurted, twisting his head to try and see Techno's expression.

"Huh? Oh, no. You have a heart shaped mole on your neck." Techno huffed a laugh, warm breath ghosting across his neck and Quackity hadn't realized before how fucking cold it was in the ravine.

Techno moved away after that, and Quackity could breathe easier now that he was less worried about dying. 

Techno still hovered close, though, nearly nose to nose and without thinking Quackity spoke.

"Are we going to kiss?" He mentally slapped himself afterward, but Techno let out a loud snorting laugh as he moved away more. Quackity was slightly proud he'd gotten a genuine laugh from the man but was still absolutely mortified.

As Techno moved away from him to dig in a chest, Quackity mourned the loss of Techno's warmth. He wondered if it had something to do with being half piglin, or if he always naturally ran hot.

Irrationally, Quackity worried that he had a fever, before squashing that down because the piglin theory made a lot more sense than the Great Technoblade catching a cold.

Techno moved around the room quickly, plucking two bowls out of a chest and giving him a look that silently screamed stay there, before he left the room.

He was back minutes later, and he handed Quackity one of the bowls of soup.

Techno plopped on to the floor and without thinking Quackity slipped down to join him. Techno side eyed him, but rested his back against a chest and started eating.

Quackity ate quickly, the food burning his tongue, and if you asked him he'd have no idea what was in it. When he was finished he carefully placed the bowl next to him, and Techno eyed him expectantly.

"More?" Was all he said, and when Quackity shook his head, a muttered no thanks following, Techno shoved bread at him anyways.

"You don't have to eat it now, but it should stay good for a bit. If you want to keep it on you." Techno went back to his soup, expression once again impassive.

Quackity scooped the bread up, tucking it away into one of his bags. He wondered what made Techno give him extra, if worrying about where your next meal would come from was as inherent to him as it was to himself. 

--

Techno lay on his back, eyes closed and breathing even. He doubted Quackity would be able to tell if he was actually awake or not, but he also didn’t have a very good read on Quackity. It was the main reason he’d offered up his room to him, he wasn’t sure what Quackity was capable of so the closer to him the better. 

He didn't know if Quackity could hold his own in a fight, and what if they were invaded in the night? He’d rather be there to protect their weakest link than leave it to the hands of Wilbur or, God forbid, Tommy. Tommy was an adept fighter, sure, but he still hadn’t quite grasped defense over offense, something that would leave Quackity vulnerable.

On the flipside, what if Quackity was a spy? It’d be a lot more difficult to snoop around if Techno was there to watch over him. He was a light sleeper, and his door creaked louder than the others, something he’d never bothered to fix considering it alerted him whenever anyone entered or left. 

Quackity also wasn’t known for being particularly quiet, either. Techno was sure that if anything happened when he was asleep, Quackity’s loud panicking would wake him up instantly.

Speaking of his inability to be quiet, Techno listened to him roll over and shift again, his uncomfortable shuffling capturing Techno’s attention in the relative silence of the room. Techno tilted his head, looking at Quackity. He was curled up on the floor, on a thin mat that Tommy had produced from God knows where. He had the blanket stuffed around himself, shivering slightly. Techno hadn’t realized it had been that cold, his back was pressed against the wall behind him that was unnaturally warm due to the lava pool on the other side of it. 

“Quackity?” Techno said into the quiet of the room, voice hushed.

“Uh, yeah? What’s up?” Quackity’s voice was high pitched, a nervous titter to it. “Was I bothering you? I can leave--”

He’d moved to a sitting position as he spoke, his shoulders tense and looking ready to bolt. 

Techno sighed. Quackity being afraid of him was fun, but also very inconvenient. He gestured at Quackity, beckoning him closer.

Quackity shakily got to his feet, muttering under his breath, this is it, this is the end, this is where he kills me, curse my poor circulation, why do I get cold so easily. 

Quackity stopped next to the bed, and Techno lifted up the blanket with one hand and patted the bed next to him with the other. 

He stared blankly back at him, looking between the spot next to him and his face, expression quizzical. 

“Sleep with me,” Techno huffed, impatient.

“Woah, woah, woah, you seem like a really nice guy but c'mon isn’t this a bit--” Quackity stuttered, looking genuinely surprised and vaguely amused.

At least he doesn’t look afraid, Techno thought absently.

“Not like that. If you’re cold we can share, the bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Quackity studied him again, rocking back and forth on his heels before letting out a sigh and shrug in the personification of fuck it, and slipping into the bed next to Technoblade.

Techno studied Quackity, frowning before scooting closer.

“Climb over me, the wall gives off heat. You’ll be warmer over there.” 

After a bit of fumbling and a push from Techno that was more of a drag, Quackity ended up on his other side. 

Techno squinted at him again, before dragging Quackity back into his chest. Quackity huffed, offended that Techno could manhandle him so easily. He wasn’t tiny, it was unfair how strong Techno was.  

Techno’s arms wrapped loosely around him, he hooked his head over his shoulder.

“Aw, I didn’t take you as the cuddling type,” Quackity teased, pressing his cold feet against whatever part of Techno they could reach.

Techno huffed again, and Quackity wondered how many emotions he could express with just a huff. 

“It’s not cuddling.” Techno readjusted his arms, absently rubbing warmth back into Quackity’s cold fingers, “It’s a tactical advantage.”

“Oh? Well, sorry to say, buddy, but your tactical advantage is crushing my wings.”

“Wings?” Techno echoed, abruptly pulling away. Quackity’s face scrunched in displeasure at the rush of cold air that met his back as Techno sat up to look down at him.

Quackity sat up too, unzipping his jacket. Techno eyed him warily for a second, before impatiently tugging at his jacket, trying to lean around him to get a look. A wing hit him in the face then, fluttering slightly before folding back against Quackity’s back. Quackity squeaked, looking terrified but desperately trying to hold back laughter.

“You need to groom your wings,” Techno finally said, after Quackity’s laughter faded.

“Hey, hey, you don’t just comment on a man’s wings!” Quackity’s voice pitched upwards, defensive as he crossed his arms and his wings puffed up slightly, only accentuating the issue. They were small, smaller than Philza’s certainly, and Techno doubted that Quackity could actually get any air time from them. 

They were kind of cute though, Techno thought. Objectively, of course.

“What if I spoon you--” Quackity started, only to be cut off by a petulant Technoblade.

“It wasn’t spooning. It was tactical. If someone came in here and saw me, they’d likely leave you alone. I doubt you made any friends when you defected from Manberg, and you’re kind of an easy target.” As if to accentuate his point he gestured vaguely at, well, all of Quackity, and Quackity’s wings puffed out again, expressive now that they weren’t trapped under a jacket.

“I resent that,” Quackity said in response, sticking his tongue out at him. 

“Alrighty, if you want a tactical advantage what if we hit 'em with one of these--” Quackity abruptly flopped across Techno, throwing an arm across his chest. Without thinking Techno’s arm came up, catching him across the throat and shoving him backwards against the wall.

“Sorry-- I didn’t mean that, sorry.” Techno pulled away quickly, straightening Quackity’s shirt and fixing his hair, hands dancing nervously across his chest.

“It’s alright,” Quackity rasped. “You’re a bit jumpy, that’s fine, we can work with that.”

Quackity waved away Techno’s mother henning, before slowly lowering himself against Techno’s side. 

“This alright?” He murmured, moving so he was laying across Techno’s chest, head on his collarbone. 

Techno curled an arm around Quackity’s waist in lieu of a response, careful to avoid his wings.

Quackity opened his mouth to comment on it, but Techno beat him to the punch.

“This isn’t cuddling. It’s a tactical advantage. Now you can’t sneak away without me knowing, how do we know that you aren’t a spy? I don’t know if I can trust you, yet.”

“You don’t trust me, buddy? We’re literally snuggling in your bed.” Quackity snorted.

“It’s not snuggling, it's a--”

“Tactical advantage, right, I know.” 

“Anyways, I know I could take you in a fight. You aren’t a threat to me.” Techno continued, as if Quackity hadn’t said anything. 

“You don’t know that--” Quackity started before Techno moved to make eye contact with him, a single eyebrow raised. “Ok, you’re probably right, but I think I could get, like, one lucky shot in, you know?”

“Sure,” Techno said dismissively, patting Quackity’s hip placatingly. His hand moved to rubbing up and down Quackity’s back and Quackity realized how tired he was. It’d been a long day, with a lot of running and the fighting with Schlatt took a lot out of him. 

Schlatt.

He was sure the man had already forgotten about him, labelled him a traitor and a coward, but Quackity couldn’t stop thinking. He tried to focus on Techno’s steady breathing, to ignore the rising memories from his earlier fight, but it was too much. He finally felt like he could think again, wasn’t panicking or in survival mode. Had he done the right thing? Had he made the right choice? 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp tug to one of his feathers.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Techno murmured, smoothing the ruffled feathers back into place. “I’ll protect you from whatever’s got you all flustered, just go to sleep.”

Quackity huffed, but buried his face into Techno’s neck anyways, curling their legs together.

“Fine. Didn’t realize Grandpa had such an early bedtime,” Quackity mocked, earning him another warning tug on his feathers. He smothered his snort against Techno, before sighing out a quiet good night.

Techno just hummed, eyelids growing heavy, surprised that he was comfortable enough to sleep.

[august-bleeds-red]

Texas Heat (Part Three)

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Warnings: This chapter is almost exclusively dub-con. Also Hoyt being a gross jerk. Bad stuff under the line.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

~

Hoyt sniffs the air appreciatively as your scent is contained within the confines of the basement. The blonde girl is gone, to where and to what end you can only imagine.

 “Set ’er down there, boy,” Hoyt’s toothy grin is frighteningly animalistic – more so than Thomas himself – as you’re deposited on the filthy mattress. The stuffing squelches unpleasantly beneath your weight, and you’re met with a sudden wave of scent – the frightened pheromones of the many poor girls trapped here before. Now it’s your turn.

 “Now, son,” Hoyt lays a hand on his heaving shoulder, his voice lowering to an almost comforting timbre. “This is your first time, and you’re not gonna know what t’do. But I’mma talk you through it.”

 “What?” the horrified squeak escapes you before you can stop it. Strange as it sounds, you were prepared for Thomas to take you as an alpha would, but a redneck cheerleader had not been in the equation.

 Grabbing hold of your hair, Hoyt squats down behind you and holds you in place. “Now, you listen here, omega bitch,” he growls in your ear, and you cringe away from the stench of stale tobacco on his breath, “you’re gonna just take this how I tell you to. I won’t have you ruinin’ this for him, y’hear? Tommy, spread ’er legs nice and wide.”

 Thomas takes hold of your knees and splays them apart, leaning in close to breathe in the saccharine aroma of the slick still fresh on your thighs.

 “Sure smells good, don’t it, boy?” Hoyt reaches down over your shoulder, one large hand pushing past the waistband of your shorts and into your panties. You cry out in disgust as he slips a finger through your folds and pulls it out dripping with sweet-scented slick. He waves it under Thomas’s nose like a dog being baited with a bone.

 “You’ll wanna taste summa this,” he places the moist finger in his own mouth and sucks at the juices with nauseating satisfaction. Thomas rumbles deep in his chest and Hoyt chuckles.

 “Sorry, son, forgot myself there – she’s your little bitch, after all.”

 Settling his hand down to fondle one of your breasts, he secures the other over your mouth.

 “Now just y’all keep quiet, don’t wanna go wakin’ Momma from her beauty rest.”

 You numbly allow Thomas to rip your shorts from your hips, tossing the ruined garment aside into the shadows.

 “Get on in there and get a good taste ’fore you stick it in her,” Hoyt says.  

 Leaning in close, Thomas takes a long, unapologetic inhale of your scent and you see his pupils dilate. With beginner’s caution, he presses the muzzle of his mask against your clit and laps at the delicate pink flesh, the ridge of the leather adding an extra layer of sensation. You curse yourself for the moans that Hoyt’s fingers are stifling, but pressure against your clit married with the attention of his tongue is just too much. You can feel your orgasm already starting to build, like the smallest of waves far from shore. When Thomas pulls back, his mask is shining with your slick, and you see his tongue seeking out droplets from around the muzzle.

 “That’s it, boy,” Hoyt encourages, “now for the main event. You stick your little bitch good, knot her right up.”

 You can’t hold back a whimper at the size of Thomas’s cock when its revealed to you. At least nine inches long, thick as your wrist, the reddish-purple head already leaking precum. You want to be horrified, want to shy away from such a fate, but the urge to be claimed by such a cock as this, to have that cum filling you up ‘til it spills from you is like trying not to breathe.

 “Hold up,” Hoyt removes his hand from your mouth and you flush beet-red with shame at the moisture on his palm. “Well, I’ll be! This bitch is gaggin’ for ya, Tommy!” He fists the back of your hair and pushes you forward. “How’s about we give ‘er somethin’ to really slaver over?”

 The overpowering musk of Thomas’s scent fills your nostrils, and your mouth falls open with almost no help from Hoyt as he rubs your face against the head of Thomas’s cock. You can taste Thomas’s discomfort with the way Hoyt forces your head back and forth, your mouth barely wide enough to accommodate his cock, but it clearly feels far too good for any morals he might have to get in the way. Your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears and you gaze helplessly at the behemoth above you.

 Please, you try to express without words, please, alpha – help me.

 With a growl of frustration, Thomas grips your shoulders and pushes you off of him, his strength more than enough to combat Hoyt’s, who sits back with an accepting shrug.

 “Y’want me to hold ’er down for you?”

 He backs off when Thomas shoots him a sharp look, leaning back on his haunches to watch the alpha at work, a proud grin on his shit-eating face. You whimper helplessly up at Thomas as he cages you in against the mattress, hands splayed either side of your head.

 “That’s it, boy,” Hoyt’s voice is low now, as though deep in concentration. From the corner of your eye, you can see him palming his crotch through his pants. “Show this omega bitch who the real boss is here.”

 Your scream as he enters you is quickly stifled by Hoyt’s hand. You feel yourself stretch impossibly wide around him, searing pain bleeding into intense pleasure as he drives into you with the force of a rutting ram. His undiluted alpha scent washes over you, rendering you utterly helpless to him. You can hear Hoyt as though through water, urging Thomas on, his drawling voice getting rougher and more aggressive as he touches himself to your desperate cries. You’ve never known a pain to cut so deep – the physical toll of such an enormous man as Thomas thrusting into you combined with your omega instincts screaming against such abuse from the alpha you’ve submitted to. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be; once an omega submits to an alpha, that alpha is supposed to take care of them. Your vision swims with tears, and even the warm rush of orgasm can’t soothe the betrayal that bites at your core. Your blood runs cold with hatred for Hoyt, his satisfied grunts as he ejaculates making you feel sick.

 “C’mon, Tommy,” he slaps the damp mattress, the stink of beta cum strong on his hand. “Give her your fuckin’ knot, boy! This bitch is yours – claim her!”

 You’ve never seen a man so torn as Thomas in that moment. His scent is thick with predatory arousal, but his eyes are filled with bewilderment.

 “God damn it, Tommy!” Hoyt’s voice rises in anger. “Don’t go bein’ a pussy on me, now! Fuck her bloody! Be a fuckin’ man!”

 “THOMAS BROWN HEWITT!”

 Both men turn to stare at Luda May standing at the foot of the stairs, a motheaten bathrobe wrapped around her. Fury is etched into the lines of her face, and Thomas recoils from you, retreating into the shadows while tucking himself back into his pants. Your abused pussy feels cold and empty, but you can’t deny your relief at the ordeal’s end.

 “We’re a little busy here, Momma.” Hoyt responds, looking equal parts sheepish and pissed off.

 Satan himself would have flinched from the look Luda gives him. “I tolerate you doin’ whatever wicked things you do on your own time, Charlie,” she says, “but I will NOT stand by and watch you drag my sweet boy down with you.”

 A burst of hysterical, tear-laced laughter escapes you at the description of Thomas as ‘a sweet boy’, but Luda doesn’t look at you. You get the feeling she’s ashamed to.

 “He needs a real man to show him how things’re done,” Hoyt – Charlie? – says.

 “Oh, and you think that’s you, do you? Shut your dang mouth,” she snaps. “Tommy, get over here.”

 Thomas glances at you, for all the world as though he’s imploring you for help. The heady scent of his alpha pheromones is already fading.

 “Now!”

 He jumps and shuffles over to his mother, large boots splashing through the water. He barely moves when she deals him a sharp slap across the face, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

 “Get this poor girl to bed,” she says, unwrapping her robe from around her shoulders and pushing it into his hands. “I don’t want a peep from you ’til mornin’.”

 Despite everything he’s done to you that night, you find you’re more eager to get away from Hoyt than you are from Thomas. You take the robe he drops on the mattress and wrap it round your shoulders, tucking it over your bare legs. You try to stand but your knees give out before you can rise even halfway. You stumble, grabbing on to the nearest thing that can offer you support – which happens to be Thomas’s muscular arms. As easy as one might lift a child, he scoops you up and cradles you against his chest. Too exhausted to be afraid, you simply allow him to carry you up the stairs, leaving Luda and Hoyt’s furious voices behind you.

 The last time you were in these arms, all you knew was fear and dread. The fear still remains, but at least you know the worst.        

~

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Killing Cure (Part 24)

Salvatore is a surprisingly useful little creature. It seems to trouble him none to slink about and stalk around Donna’s home.  This time, Ethan is more than content to stand outside and wait. He will be doing much of the work when it is time to meet Karl. Admittedly it is rather boring to simply stand about in the cold. But it is infinitely better than trifling with those abhorrent dolls and whatever else might be lurking in the darker, lower corners of House Beneviento.

Ethan shivers, the frosty breeze seeping through his skin and into his very bones. He can’t help but think of the massive fireplace in Castle Dimitrescu. His mind betrays him further still with a memory of laying with the Lady herself. Of her warm skin and her soft embrace. He imagines being curled up with her in front of that fireplace basking in its heat… He shakes his head. He is mad at her and he has to hold himself to that. There is no room for domestic fantasies. Especially not when he has family matters to attend. Family matters that Dimitrescu had willfully hindered.

“I’ve got it.” The man looks pleased with himself as he holds out the third flask. The moonlight catches on its glass throwing a twinkling prism at the treeline.

“Good work, Salvatore.” Ethan whispers. “I hope that it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all.” The man smiles. “Donna let me have it right away when I explained that Mother Miranda wanted me to watch all of them.”

“Th-then what took you so long!?” He sputters.

“Donna makes good tea. I don’t get to talk to her often.”

“I don’t have time to wait for you to have tea parties.” Ethan grumbles. He sighs when the fish man flinches and seems to shrink back. He rakes his fingers through his hairline and lets out a frustrated puff of air. “Okay, I didn’t mean to snap. Socializing is very important but I thought that we could do that at Karl’s place where I can talk more and you can see less dolls.”

At this Salvatore chuckles, “it isn’t the dolls that you need to worry about, it’s the hallucinations.”

“Hallucinations?” He pauses, “nevermind, explain it to me as we walk.”

Said trek through the forest had already been plenty unpleasant without listening to the fish man prattle on and on about deformed fetuses and grotesque imitations of his loved ones. Worse still, the cretin seemed to be rather delighted by these morbid monstrosities. For a few moments, the man didn’t seem so helplessly meek and pathetic. For a short while he could understand what Mother Miranda had seen in the beast. Of all of the repugnant things that this village has shown him, Salvatore Moreau has to be the most repulsive. If only he weren’t also the friendliest.

The Duke and his hearty banter are pleasant enough but he is too shrouded in mystery for Ethan to confidently call him a trustworthy man. It might be that he his annoyed by the man’s teasing and matchmaking attempts…

“And that is why I choose to stay on my own reservoir.” Salvatore concludes a topic that Ethan had realized had begun.

“Yeah, that’s fair enough.” Ethan replies and to his relief the other man grins at the validation. He sighs, likely he still has to endure a few hours of this, perhaps a few days. He can’t even see the distant outlines of Karl’s factory yet.

.oOo.

If he had known that the bastard was coming, Karl might have ensured that the route would have been more hospitable and easier to navigate. But Ethan Winters isn’t a bright man, couldn’t be fucked to ring before dropping in. And for his spontaneity he was awarded with the full Heisenberg experience! It was none dissatisfying to Karl, in fact it was quite reassuring to see that Ethan could hold his own. He likes to think that his traps and tricks are on par with Mother Miranda’s and if Ethan could weather them then he would make a superlative ally.

“Have a seat, Ethan. Wherever you can find.” Pushing up on his sunglasses he leans back in his chair and has a drag. “It’s a bit cluttered in here but, fuck, if you want a clean visit then you’ve got to warn a man that you’re coming by. Is it an American thing to come by unannounced?”  He slaps his hand upon the table and chuckles at his own joke.

“Uhh...some Americans do that I guess.”

“Well let’s get straight to the point then--Americans like things fast, right? You’re here because you’ve finally seen the light. You know that the screeching bird bitch has to go. And I take it that, since you didn’t come in guns blazing, that you know that I’m your best chance.”

“I...something like that.”

Karl rolls his eyes. “Don’t be shy now, I heard that you did a number on the super-sized bitch.”

He notices the man tense.

“You did get her out of the way, right?” He takes another drag and exhales. “Because we’ll have to take care of her if she’s not on our side.” His gaze flickers over to Salvatore. “No loose ends.”

“I’m not a loose end.” Salvatore squeaks.

“Aren’t you? I’d wager that your devotion to Mother Miranda might be even deeper than the super-sized bitch’s.”

“He’s on our side.” Ethan says firmly. “He already helped me get a flask from Donna.”

“And the head flask?”

“Alcina gave that one to me.”

“Aw shit, Ethan.” He quickly rubs his thumb and pointer over his lips. “So you haven’t put that bitch down.”  He rises from his chair and wanders over to his hammer. “No matter, we’ll take care of that easily. She’s only human, right?”

Ethan rubs his hands over his face. “Actually she’s done more to help me than Salvatore.” He clears his throat, “no offense, Salvatore, you’re very useful too.” The little man grins, tiny sharp teeth glistening in his maw.

“Then where is she now?”

“She said that if you saw her you wouldn’t be as...willing to talk.”

Karl shrugs, the man isn’t wrong. “You're an idiot to think that she won’t double cross you.” He trusts the bitch only as far as he can throw her in her largest form.

“She won’t.”

“You don’t sound too certain of that.” At these words Ethan seems to cringe.

“Listen, it’s complicated. You said that you wanted to get to the point so let’s get to it; I want to take Mother Miranda down, you want to take her down, and so does Alcina…”

“And Salvatore!” The fish puts in.

“Are you in or not?”

Karl strokes at his mustache and works a muscle in his lips. Truly he does resent the idea of working with Dimitrescu, resents it more than anything. More than anything but being stuck under the command of the bird bitch. “Well shit, Winters, how can I say no to a face like yours?”

.oOo.

She wakes up groggy, and with her head pounding. This is more or less a routine when the Duke isn’t  around to distract her. Her girls must be terribly frustrated with her; they’ve been carrying her to bed for the past several nights and she is more or less dead weight to have to drag up a flight of stairs.

This time it is terribly early. Early enough that the stars are still twinkling brightly outside her window. Alcina has, perhaps, a few moments of peace before sensations slam into her without mercy. It is those, now very familiar, sharp pangs in her belly. This time they are debilitatingly unbearable. As soon as she rises from her mattress she is splayed back upon it. She has enough strength to curl up into a quivering little ball and tightly hug herself around the middle. The pain festers and branches out. Spreading so far and fast that she isn’t sure which  part of herself to cradle. Her aching chest, her cramping legs, her throbbing arms and head… The solution is rather apparent; it is easier to keep her hands where they are. It isn’t as though massaging or cradling does anything to alleviate the pain. To a degree, with the numbness and tingling in her arms, it only makes things worse.

She bites back a whimper and squeezes her eyes shut. She wills the feelings to pass. She needs them to pass. She needs to find the strength to get to her medications… Everything stings and jabs, she can’t find it in her to get up.

Stress. Drinking. Neglect. The three finally come together to topple her and she doesn’t have the strength to call for her daughters. She doesn’t want them to see her in such a prone state anyhow. Just why the hell did this have to happen on a night when The Duke wasn’t there to fetch her medication? How had she managed to forget to take it? She gives a bitter laugh, the empty bottle on her bedside is an answer in itself.

She wonders if this will be the night that she dies. She wonders what Ethan will do when he finds her stiff and cold. Wonders if he will feel pity and guilt or if he will sneer and find relief in her passing. And her girls...she imagines them looking on in horror and dismay. Perhaps mouths agape while one of them cradles her limp form in loving arms.

Alcina presses her head deeper into the pillow. Her beating head… She can’t think straight, not that she has had much clarity these days anyhow.

She lays there for an hour or so before things start to get strange. There is a haze in her mind, a foggy disconnect. And in it there is relief. She sees her hands, they are connected to her body but they don’t feel like they belong to her. And soon her body doesn’t feel like her own. It is easy to feel as though it isn’t because technically she doesn’t think that it is. She dosn’t think that it matters how much time passes, this body will never feel like hers. And maybe that is why it is so easy to let the disconnect overtake her. To let this sense of detachment carry her away…

She doesn’t remember much but she remembers how piercingly her chest and stomach ache. She remembers the first few tremors and the blurring of her vision. She remembers acknowledging that she is, aside from leaving her girls, perfectly fine with this. She remembers a cacophony of grating caws and the tapping of a beak at her window sill.

She realizes that she hasn’t called Mother in a while...

[eternalstann]

hi could i request a smut where reader and tom are best friends and she’s living with him and all the boys during quarantine and they’re both basically oblivious to the fact that they’re both drooling over/pining after each other and all the boys wanna see how long it goes on for and she hears tom having a steamy dream ab her or smth idk take this wherever u want it to go ilysm boo

im a sucker for housemate & domestic Tom ughhh. i love you more thank you for sending this I got you babes 🥺🥰

———-

“TOMMMM!” You screamed.

He’d gotten water all over the bathroom floor again and you were about to take a shower. You listen to his quick footsteps grow closer before he burst in the door. Eyes frantic he scans the room, pausing when they reach your frame covered in nothing but a towel. He took in the way your hair fell, the annoyed look on your face. Then swell of your breasts, and the curve of your hips. He forces his eyes back to your face.

“Tom you got water all over the floor again!” You complain, gesturing to the puddles of h2o on the tile.

“Y/N seriously I thought you were hurt..” he rolls his eyes and you glare. “Yes Tom seriously! It’s so gross walking through all of this barefoot, or getting my slippers wet! And, you could cause mold to form. What’s so difficult about closing a fucking shower curtain!” You ask angrily and you didn’t mean to go off like this but you were frustrated.

“There’s three bathrooms in this house just use a different one if it’s such a big deal!” He yells.

You squint your eyes at him and take a deep breathe. “Whatever Tom, just get out” you snap and he turns around, closing the door harder than necessary.

As soon as the door is closed he adjust himselfs in his pants, he was mad... but you looked other worldly. Harrison walking by see’s him and his problem, laughing loudly at his hopeless friend.

“Why don’t you just tell her mate?” he asks, and Tom shushes him.

“Shut up you div she might hear you!” He warns, punching his arm.

“Ow! I’m just trying to help!” He frowns, but they both freeze when they hear the shower cut on through the door.

You don’t know why you went off on Tom like that. Maybe because your feelings for him were getting stronger every day and you were scared to show it? Or maybe because you were reaching critical levels of horniness and it was making you cranky. Probably both you shrug, stepping into the water. The hot pellets beating your skin instantly relax your tense muscles. You rub your neck, sighing, and let your hands wander downwards.

Between the valley of your breast and lower. You don’t stop until your hand is cupping your wet heat and pause, listening for sounds outside the door. You continue when nothing but silence can be heard, unaware of your audience.

Tom and Harrison are still as statues, only turning to look at each other when they hear soft moans echo through the small bathroom.

“This is super pervy, cmon Tom” Harrison drags him away.

“What was that all about?” Tuwaine asks, eyeing his friends coming down the stairs.

“Just a lovers quarrell between Tom and Y/N” Haz waves his hand nonchalantly and Tom denies it immediately.

“We are not lovers!” He clarifies and both his friends smack their teeth.

“No but you wanna be” Harry adds, walking in from the kitchen.

“Fuck off, I’m going to bed” Tom grumps. He trudges up the stairs to his room. He wishes sleep would take him as soon as he lays down but his mind is heavy with thoughts of you. His chest grew tight whenever he heard your name....which was a lot because you lived together. You were all he could think about. The way you looked in your towel, the way you sounded in the shower. The semi he sported earlier was now a full on boner and groaned, trying to ignore it.

Jerking off to the thought of you? How could he look you in the eye after doing something like that? But his brain wouldn’t let him rest. He let his mind wander. To what you’d taste like, or how you talked as you came. Tom didn’t even realize he’d started stroking himself until he heard something clatter in the living room.

‘That’s enough’ he tells himself firmly.

He tosses in his bed a few more times before finally falling asleep. But even in his sleep you wouldn’t leave him alone.

—

You run your fingers through your wet hair and stand at the top of the steps, peaking through to see if you saw Tom. You decided to put your pride aside and apologize.

“Hey guys where’s Tom? I wanted to say...sorry” you explain sheepishly and the boys all gasp.

“You! Say sorry?” Harry laughs and you glare. “I literally cannot remember the last time you apologized to any of us three...” he recalls and just turn on your heel to find Tom; ignoring all their snickering.

You stop in from of Toms room and take a deep breath. Go in, say sorry, get out. You tighten your towel and raise your hand to knock when you see the door is already cracked open. You call his name but hear no response.

You take a half step inside and can’t help the small smile when you see him sleeping peacefully. “Awww” you coo, watching him for a moment. He deserved some rest you think, you were about to turn and leave when you hear him murmur something in his sleep.

“Y/N”

It’s quiet, but you hear it. Your eyes widen, and watch his hips push up against nothing. His face tinted red and lips parted. You keep reeling your self to walk away but your legs won’t move. He was having a wet dream about you! Your hand clamps over your mouth, and you finally force yourself to take a step backwards.

But of course, you lose your footing and hit the ground with a thud. You scramble to get up, but you’re too slow. You hear the bed shift and in three seconds tops a disoriented Tom is pulling his door open and looking down at you.

You stare up at him, trying to ignore the bulge in his shorts and take the hand he offers to you. You both just stand, looking at each other for a moment before he gestures for you to come inside. You sit down on his bed, him beside you.

“I uh, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I talked to you earlier. It wasn’t that big of a deal and I shouldn’t have yelled” you apologize and e smiles.

“No you’re right, it is kind of gross. But I appreciate it” he laughs, and you do too.

You get quiet again, and try to work up the nerve to ask him, was he really dreaming about you?

“I heard you before I came in...Tom were you having a dream about me?” You rush through your words, nervousness encompassing you. You watch the color drain from his face.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what that was all about and I..” he speaks even faster than you did and you cut him off.

“I thought about you today while I was in the shower” you admit, and you don’t know where this sudden burst of courage came from but you hoped it would see you through.

“I thought about you fucking me from behind. What was your dream about?” You ask and Tom eyes are darker than usual, he was staring at you so intensely and with so much fire you could melt.

“I dreamt the same thing” he whispered. Your breathing quickened as he leaned closer to you. You let yourself fall backwards, and Tom climbs over you. His hands go to you towel, unwrapping it from your body. He’d seen you in close to nothing before, but never like this.

He eyes roam your now bare frame, and lets his hand rest on your cheek. “You’re so beautiful” he compliments before coming down to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Your lips smack loudly and shamelessly together. You’d imagined this for so long and now it was reality.

“Can I touch you?” He asks, parting lips for second and you squeak out a yes, connecting your lips again. Toms hand runs down your torso, and parts your thighs. You gasp when he runs a finger through your folds and finds your clit.

“Right there baby?” He asks, and you nod; eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. He rubs you just right, like you’d done this together a million times. He kisses your collarbone, letting his tongue trace over the raised ridge.

“Tom..” you moan, back arching into his kisses. He goes lower, pulling a nipple between his lips and sucking. You moan again, and Tom quickens his fingers between your legs. Your toes curl into the sheets as you grow closer to your peak.

“Not loud enough” he growls, hand reaching up and wrapping around your throat. “Cum for me Y/N” hums, mouth next to your ear and he squeezes the sides of your throat. You grips his bicep as you cum, squirming while he works you through it.

He lets go of your neck and you pant, trying to catch your breath. You look up at him and watch as he kicks off his shorts. You can’t take take your eyes off his dick, much thicker than you’d expected and your pussy clenches at the thought of it stretching you open.

“Please fuck me Tom” your voice is wobbly, probably from literally being choked you think.

“Fuck, flip over” he instructs and you comply happily. Face down, ass up in Tom Holland’s bed. He slaps your ass and you whimper.

“Look so pretty” he whispers and you dig your nails into the bed when the head of his cock pushes inside of you.

“Jesus Y/N” he groans, pushing in all the way He pulls out slowly, then slides back in. You let out a shaky breath, you felt so full.

“Want you to scream my name like earlier” he chuckles, giving you an extra hard thrust. He keeps up the quick, hard thrusts and you bite your arm to keep from screaming. You feel his hands hands grip your hips tighter and pull you back onto him. You have to lift your head up to breathe before biting your arm again but Tom notices this time.

“Fuck that!” He grabs your arms and pulls them behind your back, pounding you even harder. “Tom I’m gonna cum again” you cry out, and he moans, “Me too, baby”

Tom shifts behind you, the bed creaking. He puts one foot on the mattress, and rails into you. The sound of skin clapping echoes through the room, and you know the boys can hear.

“Tom!” You scream, just like he wanted; and your legs shake as your high washes over you. Tom thrusts sloppily a few more times before cumming inside of you.

You both pant, and Tom lays down beside you. “Do you think they heard?”

“Oh, they definitely heard”

[peakyxtommy]

The Midnight Hour

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Angst, Fluff, & Death (Minor) Word count: 3.5K Summary: There’s a hit on the Shelby Mansion, while Tommy is away. Reader heads off with Rival Gang Leader.                                                  

A/N: Felt inspired by S4 Ep.1. Gang leader is made up. Enjoy!

It was another late and quiet night in the Shelby household. You were rocking an upset Charles back to sleep in your arms (due to teething), but enjoying the comfort he brought you while your husband was away in London expanding the business.

You haven’t seen him in almost a week and were used to going longer than this but on nights like these it made you miss and long for him more than usual. Feeling the weight of not knowing if you were going to see him again. The dangers of being a part of this world, but you chose this life. It was like a switch you had to flip on and off in your head sometimes.

You trusted Tommy with yours and Charlie’s life. He would try to call at some point in the evening just to say goodnight to you and Charlie, say I love you, to you both. You couldn’t stop thinking of your phone call with Tommy earlier in the evening, - after 3 days of not hearing from him -, of him checking in with you and the fondness in his voice as you made him laugh about Charlie trying peach jello for the first time. His voice comforted you that he was going to be coming back home in two days to spend time with you both.

The rocking chair squeaks against the floor as you make your way to the crib to place Charles down for the night giving him a small peck on the forehead. The door shuts behind you as you trail down the stairs to make a quick tea before bed.

It was pretty dark on the way down except for on the way to the kitchen you hear voices and notice the light on, wondering who was awake, thinking one of the maids was up. As you get closer to the kitchen you hear a loud crash, followed by a small scream and yelling going on in the kitchen. It was about to be your worst nightmare made true.

“Where is Mrs. Shelby?” You heard the gruff voice shout. You pace lightly across the floor just to where you can have a sneak peek into the kitchen being kept unseen.

“I don’t know.” The voice cries out and you realize it to be Margaret, one of the maids you have hired on since you have lived here. You assess the situation, of three men, all in the kitchen, all with loaded guns. One of the men you recognize to be one of the cooks, you hired recently named Matteo. Margaret has a bloody lip and is silently crying.

“Really? You don’t know.” Matteo lets out a chuckle, before turning to his other two friends, “Lads, you hear this. She says she doesn’t know. Which is funny because she works for them day and night. She knows this woman's whole routine.” He mocks, before he turns around slapping her hard in the face, the force bringing her down to her knees.

They all just laugh as she groans in pain. As she turns her head toward the door she catches a glimpse of you. Her eyes plead with fear and worry; you just put a finger to your mouth to tell her to keep quiet. Finding a way to tell her to trust you silently by looking in her eyes. She slowly lifts her face back up to look at the men and spits at their feet. Gaining back their attention quickly.

“You think that’s funny eh?” He slowly takes out his gun pointing it right in her face, forcing a loud scream to leave her mouth.

“If you don’t tell me where she is right now, we’re going to kidnap the little boy and kill you instead of her.” Matteo grips her chin forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“No, no, please don’t do this. Please don’t kill me.” You hear her pleads but it’s too late. The shot fires as you see your maid bleeding out on your kitchen floor. Your hand comes to your mouth as you swallow the lump in your throat and hold back the tears as you feel sick to your stomach.

That’s when you knew you had to form a plan, quick on the fly. Your mind raced a mile a minute because as much as Tommy prepared you and how prepared you knew you should be for a day like this you never imagined it would take place this late in the evening and with your infant son sleeping upstairs.

You start on foot to your husband’s office where you know he keeps the guns. Locked up on this side of the house only. You wished you would have turned more lights on the way down because halfway there you bump into a table knocking down a glass vase.

You stop dead in your tracks for what felt like a long minute but really a mere few seconds, hearing a shuffle and more loud sounds going on in the kitchen. You began sprinting to the office shutting the door behind you, pretty loudly. You flipped on the switch and as you approached the desk your hands began shaking as you tried to remember where the key was kept to unlock the cabinet you needed to open to save the day.

Throwing papers everywhere and moving a small lamp you finally found the key. You heard footsteps approaching down the hall. You open the big cabinet first taking down one of the submachine guns and put the clip in place. As soon as you shut the cabinet you heard a loud teasing knock on the door, followed by shaking on the knobs.

As you make your way to hide on the long side of the desk, you place the key on the desk. You had to flip the switch of your brain on to survival mode because you knew after this moment; it was going to be life or death. The struggle was going to happen.

You had to stay alive and you kept reminding yourself you were strong. That you needed to be strong for Charlie, you needed to see your little boy again and you weren’t going to let anything happen to him. Your thoughts were cut short at the first rounds of gunshots going through the door. You held your position cramped under the desk, as you heard the footsteps enter the room. Trying to distinguish how many men were in the room.

“Mrs. Shelby, we know you’re in here. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to talk.” You remained silent deciding to see what the next move would be.

“We have your maid, she’s unharmed. She’s still alive, but if you don’t listen we will have her killed.” You hear the second voice and decide to remain silent, not falling for the lie.

The next round of gunshots flew around in the office flinging above the desk and ricocheting off the glass windows until the first clips were empty. That’s when you knew it was time to strike.

“We have all night darling, we know your husband isn’t home.” You watch as he snaps in his clip making his way closer to the side of the desk you were on. That’s when you take the first shot into his kneecap and then the torso, letting a few clips go off watching as he falls to the ground. As the partner begins shooting rounds and you go back to hide behind the end table, knowing you had to get out of there.

It’s silent for a moment as you decide to get yourself back to the center of the desk trying to avoid the glass as much as possible, knowing your blood was going to be all over this floor, as the small shards were making their way into your soft skin. You slightly peek over the desk and begin to start shooting in his direction, noticing him hiding behind a chair on the right side of the room.

You stop firing to bring yourself closer to the right side of the desk, hearing him coming in your direction as you stand swiftly clicking him in the throat with a bullet. His gun drops to the ground and you stand over as he grasps for his final breath of air.

Two men down, one more to go. You could do this. You are fucking Shelby.

As you exit the office you are still on high alert. You notice the living room light to be on and check the hall before deciding it was clear to go. Before you enter the living room you feel a warm hand wrap around your nose and mouth, a body pulling yours into theirs. The shock causes you to drop your gun as you begin struggling, trying to fight the person off to no avail.

You enter the living room seeing Marco Lucchese, rival gang leader sitting on the couch, legs cross with his hands folded together on his knee. You only knew his name and what he looked like, due to a family meeting you sat in a few months ago.

“Looks like we get to finally meet Mrs. Shelby.” He smirks at you as you find yourself forced to sit down on the couch across from him, by the third man you saw in the kitchen.

“Yes, we do. I wouldn’t say your men were so lucky.”

“Those two were collateral damage. I guess I can say the same about your maid.” His shoulders shrug as you feel the barrel of his partner’s against the side of your head.

“What do you want?” You question as he hadn’t killed you yet and you didn’t understand why.  

“For you to get me a drink and then we can talk.” He points toward the drink set on the lounge table across the room.

“I have nothing to say to you. Drinks are for guests and I didn’t invite you into my home, so get your own fucking drink!” Your voice raises, feeling the heat radiate throughout your body.

“I see your husband likes them feisty. He’s trained you well, but not well enough.” He chuckles as you feel his partner, grab your arm forcibly, signaling you to stand to your feet.

“I am not moving. Get your own drink!” You hiss, remaining still.

“I thought your husband would teach you to have manners. I don’t think your son would appreciate his mother mouthing off.” You remain silent because you knew he was trying to get under your skin.

“So I suggest you get my drink.” His accomplice squeezes your arm as you stand to your feet. The gun staying pointed at you as you get the drink. You can feel his eyes piercing through your body, as you were only in your nightgown. When you hand it to him, he forces you down on your knees in front of him.

“Thank you Mrs. Shelby.” He sips his scotch as his right hand caresses your face.

“How would Thomas Shelby feel about his wife sleeping with another man?” His breath breezes across your face.

“You wouldn’t make it to see daylight if that happened.” You spit, as you feel the harsh sting upon your cheek.

“I think I would.” He gulps the rest of his drink down, placing it on the table behind you before standing to his feet. You watch as he makes eye contact with the guy still holding the gun pointed toward you.

“What about the message?” You shout as he leaves the room chuckling, your heart stuck in your throat.

“You are the message, love.” The third guy whispers in your ear. It’s moments later when the gun goes off. - Thomas Shelby, OBE, the man with a plan. It was a long week in London as he figured out his new strategy and expanded his booming business. He spent the evening crunching numbers and having meetings with men in high places, trying to seal the next deal.

When he threw himself into work, it was a way to put a block in his mind, to distance himself. He knew his family was his weakness but you and his child made him vulnerable, made this business vulnerable.

He missed you and Charlie. He enjoyed the call he spent with you earlier in the evening, of your musings over your son. From eating jello to growing his first couple of teeth. He could hear the happiness in your voice. He could tell you were worried too, but didn’t press it, because you usually were when he was gone this long.  

He returned back to the hotel around 12am and went straight to sleep knowing he was going to have a long day ahead of him. It wasn’t until a quarter after 4am when he got the phone call that knocked all the air out his lungs.

“Thomas, you need to come home right now. There’s been a hit on your home.” Polly speaks rushed.

“By who?” 

“Marco Lucchese.”

“Is (Y/N) and Charlie okay?” He shouts, slamming his fist on the dresser.

“Yes, they’re at my house. She’s been hurt but will be fine. They’re sleeping now. There’s a bullet with your name on it waiting for you.”  

“Alright, I’m on my way. Tell me the rest when I get in.” He hangs up the phone.

“Fuck!” He screams out loud throwing the phone against the floor. He hurriedly grabs his things, gets in his car, and floors his foot on the pedal to get home. - Everything felt like a blur. The night kept playing back in your mind like a fragmented movie. It was on a loop over and over. It wasn’t making sense as to why you were alive when you should have been dead.

The sound of the gun still ringing in your ears. It took you a moment before you realized what had happened. He fired a blank pistol. He was gone before you could even think of getting yourself off the ground due to sobbing uncontrollably and the ache in your temple.

When your eyes open, you see the sunlight streaming through the blinds and the sight of your husband smoking by the window with a grim expression as he stares outside.

“Back so soon? Guess, I know how to get your attention.” You speak watching his trance break, eyes focused on you, as your elbows sink into the mattress to lift your body up against the headboard, trying to ignore the ache in your head.

“Always have my attention, love. How’re you feeling?” He sighs, stubbing out the rest of his smoke, coming toward you. You can notice the bags under his eyes, showing how hard he’s been working himself, but also the slight redness in them.

“Head hurts, legs are achy. Feel like a bloody rag doll.” He passes you the glass of water on the nightstand and some aspirin.

“Should be dead.” He growls, cold blue eyes meeting yours as he towers over you.

“How bad do I look, for someone who should be dead?” You scoot over, making room for him to sit on the bed, which he accepts.

“Not good, not good at all.” His hand holds your chin, turning to look at the bruise on your cheek and his brows furrowing when he sees the wound on your temple.

“Well, you should have seen the other guys. I removed half the problem.” You removed his hand from your chin, taking it to hold into your hand into his to squeeze. His face is unamused at your teasing comment, knowing he’s had enough of your unnecessary banter. You knew him well, knew the guilt was eating him up, but he wouldn’t say it.

“Shouldn’t have had this problem to begin with in the first place. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.” He removes your hand from yours, as he stands back up, turning his back against you.

“I know and I did get hurt, but will be okay. It was handled well.”

“At the expense of almost dying, killing two people, and watching our maid die!”  His voice raises as his hands shake, balling into white-knuckling fists. You remain silent letting him get it all out as he paces shoulders raising and breath becoming labored.

“What if he killed you? What if that bullet wasn’t a blank? What if something fucking happened to Charlie?” He lashes out fist colliding with the wall making you wince.

“I should’ve been home, should’ve checked those hiring papers more thoroughly. Should’ve had people watching the house.” He tilts his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose, as the tears threaten to leave his eyes.  

“Tom stop! Look at me!” You yell, as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“Come sit please.” You plead as he takes his previous spot on the bed. You take his hands in yours holding them. You sit in silence for a few minutes, staring at your hands in his as your mind feels like it’s on overdrive. When you’re finally ready to speak, you bring your eyes to his red stained ones, taking in his straight face.

“I know you always have our best interest in mind. I know that you will do everything in your power to keep us safe. I trust this everyday and trusted it in my gut last night. He just wanted to get under your skin, used us to do it. If I had to go through this ordeal again, even to take a bullet for you, I would. I love you, we’re in this together.

I know what I signed up for when I agreed to marry you and you taught me how to defend myself. You’re a great husband and father. Don’t you doubt that. We’re both okay, everything is going to be okay.” You thumbs pad softly against his cheeks as his eyes are closed soaking in your gentle touch and words of assurance.  

“Get off your soapbox.” You see the small smile grace his lips as he pulls you in gently to his chest. Your head resting in the crook of his neck, listening to his heartbeat, as his finger card through his hair. Finding comfort in his scent and warmness of his body holding yours, after not being in them for almost a week.

“You shouldn’t be taking bullets for me. I won’t allow it. This won’t be happening again. Going to put a bullet straight through his head and anyone else who comes two feet near either of you. I’m glad you’re both safe, couldn’t stomach the thought of losing either one of you. I’d lose my fucking mind.” His breath is hot on your ear as he speaks in a deep hushed tone. Lips coming to press into the crown of your head.

“I love you so much. Such a good mum to our boy and put up with me. You’re my darling girl, the only one I need by me side.” His finger tilts your chin up as he gazes into your eyes with devotion. His lips come down to connect with yours slow and delicately enjoying this little moment to yourselves. When you both break apart for air, both your lips are swollen, and cheeks tinted.

“Do me a favor?” You whisper, fingers carding through his hair.

“Anything, what is it that you want.”

“For you to get our Charlie, I would like to see him please.” You grin as you untangle yourself from his embrace to lean yourself back against the headboard.

“That I can do. I’ll be back with our Charlie.” He disappears out the door and you’re left in the still quietness. You close your eyes glad you were able to have another day and more time with your husband and son. It was going to take some time for you to heal and get back to normal. For your mind to process the night and death of your maid. For you to not be even more worried than you were before about Tom’s and Charlie’s safety. How much more overprotective and stubborn your husband was going to be and on edge.

“Charlie, look who I found.” Your eyes open, pushing your thoughts to the back of your mind. Tommy grins his signature smile, pointing his finger at you, as he makes his way toward the bed. Your heart swoons at the sight of your son in his father’s arms, with his little stuffed black horse, cooing away to himself.  

“Look at my sweet boy.” You can feel the tears threatening to leave your eyes as you scoop him into your arms, pressing him into the warmth of your chest, lips pressing against the top of his head.

“Missed my sweet boy.” Your voice is thick with emotion as the wet tears roll down your cheeks. You hold him, rocking him gently for a few minutes, as Tom watched you both. Your eyes would dry a few minutes later, your husband’s hand fitting yours in his palm, holding tight. You both would spend the remainder of the morning playing with your son and laughing, just the three of you. In your own little safe haven, safe and sound for now.

Masterlist

[fritae]

the missing piece (dabi)

chapter 15 - black market

gang! au / ceo! au

characters: dabi x f. oc, lov

status: ongoing

read on ao3 here.

Dabi grabs my hand into his as we weave through the crowds.

I feel strange in my new clothes. Dabi made me change out of my work fit and into black jeans and an oversized hoodie. Dressing so casual feels...alien to me. For years, all I've known is how to look perfect and impeccable.

But...

"You'll stick out like a sore thumb," Dabi had warned.

I can't say I'm upset though. My feet are especially relieved. After going week after week in heels, the sneakers are more than welcome.

And they make me look smaller next to Dabi.

I'm excited, though in the back of mind lies the thought of what's to come after this illusive deal. Will I still have time to do what I was planning tonight? If I miss it.... I swallow. I won't get another chance like this again.

Dabi snaps me out of my thoughts. "Lighten up a little," He says without looking back at me. Then with a smile he adds, "I can still replace you with Jin, you know."

I chuckle and hold his hand closer. My heart flutters at this moment I get to enjoy with him, just the two of us like back then. I love the League, of course. But I miss the Dabi that comes out when it's just the two of us.

Like he has a side only I get to see.

Dabi seems much more comfortable with our fingers intertwined than before.

Maybe it's cause he initiated it this time.

But the way he pulls me along with him feels almost...

Protective.

"So how this works is you're safe so long as you're with someone who can make anyone else feel unsafe."

I look up at Dabi and he grins.

"That's me."

"You?"

As we speak, a drunk man pushes into Dabi. Before I have time to process what's happening, Dabi shoves his entire leg deep into the man's gut.

I yelp in surprise.

A resounding squelch is heard as the poor fellow doubles over.

"Watch where you're fucking going," Dabi clucks his tongue nonchalantly before walking away.

I immediately see the crowd make way for him to pass.

"I see," I squeak.

The incident doesn't phase Dabi at all.

We keep sifting through the people, up and down corners and alleys until we reach a particularly loud restaurant. There are skulls strung together with thread at the entrance and a strange smell emanating from its door.

I swallow and look at Dabi in askance.

Of course, that's the place we enter.

"If you're scared you can hold onto me," He says into my ear.

There's a calm smirk on his face, looking way too relaxed for someone in a shop with literal skulls adorning the walls.

Part of me wants to give him a snarky response, but as I see the large, shady individuals that fill the entrance, my hand reaches for his bicep, ensuring people can see that I'm not here alone.

Dabi puts a hand on my lower back as we go down a flight of stairs. Every time someone glances at us, he shoots them a glare that forces their eyes forward.

"Keep your head up," He mutters to me as we make our way downstairs. "No one's gonna touch you, you're with me. Looking at the floor makes you look like a target."

I try to take his advice. I imagine I'm at the Blaze, second in command to Dabi. The thought forces my back straighter, my footsteps firmer in response.

"Atta girl," Dabi holds me tighter.

I can't help feeling we could almost be a couple like this.

A couple?!

Not what I should be thinking about right now.

I hide my cheek against Dabi's arm so he doesn't see me blush.

We continue down the hall, passing various suspect faces, until we reach a wooden, worn down door. There's another drunken old man sitting on the floor outside it, his head bowed down like he was sleeping.

Dabi steps over him and reaches for me. I take his hand, but before I could hop over the man's legs, a long cane comes between me and Dabi.

I blink.

"No newcomers past this point." The man grumbles.

"Why?"

"New rules."

Dabi groans.

I expect him to fight the old man or take me in regardless, but to my surprise, he sighs.

"Can you stay here for a while?"

My brows knit together. "What happened to..."

"I know - my bad. Gotta pick your battles. It's not worth it. Give me a few minutes. Okay?"

I hesitantly look around me, but not wanting him to think I can't stay alone for a few minutes, I nod.

And he disappears behind the door.

I stand awkwardly, shifting my weight from one side to the other as I wait for Dabi to reappear. My legs start to hurt and I almost lean against the wall for support. But seeing the grime that covers it, I think its safer to stay as far from it as possible.

Drunken people walk all around me, and I do my best to ignore them.

After a few minutes with nothing to do, I pull out my phone to make myself look busy.

But in the midst of my scrolling, my blood turns to ice as I feel someone's hand on my ass.

Without thinking, I dig my heel into the foot of whoever stood behind me and hear a resounding 'ooomph!'

Then before they have time to recover, I turn around and slap the figure so hard, the sound of their head slamming into the grimey walls brings people outside out of curiosity.

"Who the fuck gave you permission to touch me?" I spit out.

The man groans in pain.

A wolf whistle behind me makes me turn around.

I look over my shoulder and see Dabi wearing an expression he's never had before.

"That was hot," He claps slowly. I stand up as he walks my way, eyeing the groaning body beneath me. With a chuckle, he kicks the man's legs and grins wider when he hears a scream. "What'd he do?"

I give the man I final dirty glance before stepping away. "Put his hands where he wasn't supposed to."

Dabi leans down beside the man.

"Did you know she was here with me?"

The man sees Dabi and starts sputtering, crawling away from him immediately. "No, no!" He babbles. "I- I swear, if I-"

But Dabi strikes him with his fist, making his head ring against the floor.

"And look where that got you."

Dabi brushes his hands off and gets up.

"Violent one, aren't you?" I ask, looking over his shoulder at the groaning mess.

"Better to be the violent one than stand on the other side of him."

Well, he's not wrong...

Everything was strategic to Dabi.

"Are you done here?"

"Made the deal. They're arguing about it. If they have a single good head in there then..." He grins.

"They should be out shortly."

[isis-astarte-diana]

Spare The Rod

Summary:  “Do you think it’s clever to make mummy cross like this? Do you think that naughty little girls get their own way?” A bratty, disobedient reader gets more than she bargained for when Missy gets her back to the TARDIS.

Warnings: NSFW/18+/Explicit. Nothing too icky but use of ‘mummy’/’little one’ as pet names. Corporal punishment with a cane. The usual unhealthy dynamics/potential consent issues/Missy is her own warning.

Word Count: 6223 (!!!)

NB: Sorry for the Simm GIF but I’m weak for the way she pushes him up against that beam 🥵🥵. Also I can’t fucking believe how long this ended up being.

Missy’s hand is vice-tight around your bicep as she pushes you into the TARDIS, forming a band of pain that constricts down to the nerves and makes your fingers twitch. You don’t need to see her face to know that the set of her jaw spells trouble, and for an instant you curse your own bravery. There’s no doubt in your mind that you have really and truly done it now.

When you arrived on the planet this afternoon, she made it clear that this was a mission of simple reconnaissance; she had to speak to the inhabitants and locate the artefact she needed for her latest plot, and you were to be meek, mild and, above all, inconspicuous.

No chance. Maybe it’s hormones, or something in the air, or just the fact that she looks exceptionally lovely today, but you haven’t been able to control yourself. You’ve been petulant all day, desperately vying for her attention in the hope of working her up into such a frenzy that she’ll take you somewhere private and have her wicked way with you. At last, it seems like you’ve gotten your wish.

The door barely closes behind you before you’re being slammed against it. You can’t help the startled noise shaken loose from your chest by the impact. She’s as close as she can get without climbing inside your ribcage, so little space between your faces that your head is forced upright and back against the door, spine ramrod straight.

“Explain to me,” she hisses, teeth flashing an inch from the tip of your nose, “why you’re being such a recalcitrant little thing today, hmm?” 

This is one of those rare instances where she looks truly alien. Her rouged lips are stretched too wide to be comfortable, her eyes too bright, too old for this human face. Her diminutive frame is belied by the raw strength of her grip. She’s incandescent with fury, a supernova funnelled into a body too soft to contain her. It’s breathtaking and it inflames the desire smouldering in the pit of your stomach.

You pout and lean in to kiss her, but she isn’t having it; she nips at your protruding bottom lip hard enough to make you whine in protest at the rough treatment. “I just wanted to play, Missy.”

“Oh, I can smell that much, don’t you worry.” Her thigh slots between yours and presses into the seam of your clothes, insistent even through her purple skirt. You inhale sharply at the contact. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your little game. I have been exceptionally patient with you, but this is your last chance to apologise and start behaving like a good girl, do you understand?”

She isn’t the type to give warnings before she strikes. A mercy like this is reserved for you and you alone, and you know not to take it lightly. It’s clear that the day’s transgressions have not yet been forgiven. There’s danger in her eyes, but feeling her between your legs, so relentless and bold, reignites your courage long enough for you to bite back, “make me.”

“Now now, poppet,” she croons, voice dripping with poison. “You should know by now that if you want to play rough, all you have to do is ask nicely.”

“I know.” You squirm against her thigh, pushing yourself into her through your clothes until you feel the pressure where you need it, your breath hitching. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Her face hardens at your unrepentant teasing. “Do you think that it’s clever to make mummy cross like this?” She grinds into you, bending her knee, turning the relief of her touch between your thighs into sharp, aching discomfort. You bite your lip and try to retreat onto your tiptoes but she follows without faltering. “Do you think that naughty little girls get their own way?” 

A whimper; a slight shake of the head. “No,” you admit, in a strained whisper. She raises an eyebrow. “No, mummy.”

“No, mummy,” she echoes, unimpressed, and inches closer, crushing you tighter between her body and the door. “I expect you thought that I would thrash you soundly and fuck the defiance out of you.”

The moment she says it out loud, you realise that the plan has been fatally flawed all along. Missy does not like to be teased or toyed with. Manipulation like this is her forte, and you could never hope to beat the Time Lady at her own game. For the first time it occurs to you that she must have known from the beginning what you were about; her lack of responsiveness to your taunts hasn’t been because she was ignoring you. Each misdemeanour has been carefully noted.

She’s been giving you enough rope to hang yourself with - and you have.

The first flicker of true regret sets in. Fluttering your lashes, you switch on the charm, already suspecting that it’s futile. Your last hope now is worshipful penitence. “I’m so sorry, mummy. I’m ready to be good now.”

Her wry chuckle quickly extinguishes that idea. “Oh, no, little one, it’s too late for that. I gave you a chance, remember?” She cups your cheek in a hand still gloved in supple brown leather. “I suppose it’s not really your fault, after all. A girl like you needs a firm hand.” She emphasises the words with a harsh pat to your cheek, not quite a slap but not far off. “I’ve been far too soft on you, and now here you are, crying out for some discipline.”

You squeak. Her face is impenetrable, giving away nothing of what she’s planning, but you can tell from the sparkle in her eyes that you haven’t won this game. In fact, it feels rather more like she’s changed the rules and taken all of your cards. “But-”

“Shush, now,” she cuts you off with a finger pressed to your lips. “Mummy’s talking.” Your eyes widen in a plea. Your calves and back are beginning to feel the strain from standing like this, rigid on the balls of your feet in an effort to keep your weight off of the leg still pressed between your own. “You’ve been begging for my attention all day, and now you have it, darling. I’ll make sure you get exactly what you need. Come along.”

You drop inelegantly back onto your heels when she pulls away. Her fingers are still hooked around one arm, leaving no room for evasion as she guides you across the console room and down the stairs to its lower level. This is where she works, most days; it’s furnished with ornate neoclassical fixtures, surreal and anachronistic against the bare metal floor and the humming, violet-tinged lights in each wall. She steers you now towards the high mahogany desk littered with blueprints for her newest invention.

Her swirling, frenetic script is a mix of languages you recognise - English, Gallifreyan, Arabic - and some kind of logographic code. It’s totally indecipherable and it gives you a headache to look at it. Noticing your distraction, Missy pulls you to a stop none-too-gently.

“Undress, then.” She says it sharply, businesslike. “And do it neatly.”

There’s a tremble in your fingers that drags the task out. While you’ve spent all day longing to be alone with her in the TARDIS, divested of your clothing, this is not the passionate disrobing you imagined. She’s not even watching, moving away from you as you begin to undress, her attention turned instead to a towering armoire on your left and its unseen contents. Stripped down to your underwear, you tuck your shoes beneath the desk chair and place your folded clothes on its seat. 

Shifting nervously from foot to bare foot on the frigid floor, you can’t help but think that there’s something familiar about this tableau; the tidy stack of discarded clothes, the gleaming surface of an antique writing desk, the trembling young woman and her stern, corseted counterpart. You can’t place it, but it sends a shiver up the length of your spine and pricks your exposed skin with goosebumps.

Preoccupied as you are with this thought, her presence behind you goes unnoticed until she slides a finger beneath the band of your bra and pulls, snapping it hard against your back. You cry out and jolt forwards from the shock more than the slight sting. “All of it, dearest. I won’t tell you again.”

You hurriedly slip out of your underwear, wincing in embarrassment at the evidence of your arousal that slicks the fabric of your knickers, and add it to the pile. Despite the chill of trepidation, you’re still burning for her, eager to see what new torments she intends to visit upon you.

The cool leather of her gloved palm lands in the small of your back and your eyes flutter closed, her touch balm to your frayed nerves even now. "Stand up straight, there's a good girl." She pushes hard, forcing your posture until you're standing like a marionette pulled taut, your naked breasts held proudly, the muscles in your core engaged. "Eyes forward." You straighten your neck. "Much better. The first step to being a well-disciplined young lady is good posture, you see?" Her voice is saccharine sweet, close to your ear, her breath fanning warm and seductive across your throat. You manage a shallow nod. All of your focus is channelled into maintaining this regimented position. 

Missy strides out in front of you, hands clasped behind her back, and gives you a pointed look. "The second is good manners." 

The way she holds herself, so confident and unyielding, isn’t helping you control your arousal. If Victorian governess is what she's aiming for, you think, drinking in the stern set of her features and the angles cut by her jacket’s tapered shoulders and darted waist, mission accomplished. She clears her throat impatiently and you look back at her bemused face, standing frozen in silence for a moment as your mind struggles to catch up. Struck by the realisation, you stammer out, "oh! I- yes, mummy, of course."

“There we are.” Her fingers slip under your chin for a moment to tilt your head a degree further back. There’s an encouraging quirk to her lips; it’s a faint reminder that whatever this is, it’s just a game, and also a reassuring indication that she’s enjoying herself. She takes a sweeping step backwards and inspects her handiwork. You square your shoulders again, blushing under her scrutiny. “Put your right hand out.”

Your brow furrows in confusion but you do as she says, presenting the palm of your right hand at elbow height, held parallel to the ground. She makes a minor adjustment to the placement of your fingers and lets out a small hum of satisfaction before finally bringing her other hand out from behind her back.

When she does, you recoil, gasping out loud as the pieces all fall together in your mind; the polished desktop, the contents of the armoire, the chilly promises of discipline. Her hand wraps tightly around your wrist in an instant, preventing your retreat.

“Don’t make a fuss, poppet,” Missy admonishes, resting the shaft of the cane against your palm. It’s cool and pencil-thin. “I thought you were ready to be a good girl for mummy?”

“I am,” you protest weakly, your voice small. “I am, but-”

“Then take your punishment. Show me just how sorry you are, hmm?”

You look up from the fine strip of wood lying across your vulnerable skin to meet her gaze, and the intensity you find there makes you swallow hard. At once, you see it all - the tender affection, the uncertainty as she awaits your response and, sharp as flint just below the surface, the sadistic way she savours your anxious squirming. Nodding imperceptibly, you straighten up again and resume the position she’s put you in.

“Of course, mummy. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you will be, my dear.” Her fingers unfold from around your wrist. “Keep it there for me.”

You can’t watch, clenching your eyes tight and setting your jaw against the anticipation. The cane leaves your hand and you wince, fighting to keep your breathing steady; she taps it a few times against your palm, picking out a mark just below your heart line.

The noise registers before the pain.

Your chest tightens as if with muscle memory at the sharp crack of wood, and then you feel it, a narrow thread of blistering heat like grabbing hold of a fire iron. Before the cry has even left your mouth you’re reflexively tucking your injured hand beneath the opposite arm, pressing it to the naked skin of your side in an attempt to soothe the welt. Your breath comes short and whining as you turn your wounded eyes on Missy.

Unmoved by the display, she raises an expectant eyebrow. “I told you to keep it there.”

Grimacing, you offer her a strained nod. It takes all of your strength to present your hand to her again, teeth sinking into your bottom lip with the effort. The tendons in your palm twitch as you fight the urge to close your fingers and you squeeze your left hand into a tight fist at your side. The cane comes to rest a half-inch above the pink mark blossoming on your skin.

This time the steadying taps reverberate through the tight, stinging welt, making you hiss through your gritted teeth. With every muscle tensed you manage not to snatch your hand away when the cane snaps down for the second time; the blazing pain has you curling in on yourself, knuckles of your free hand jammed in your mouth and between your teeth to muffle the shriek. Your arm quivers, still extended in offering, and your fingers flex uselessly around the screaming, white-hot stripe of agony.

“Oh, well done, poppet,” she soothes, folding your fingers down into a protective fist. The first touch to your palm draws a wavering moan from your lips, left hand falling free of your face. “That was very impressive.” She tips your chin back up and gently strokes the first tears from beneath your eyes with her gloved thumb. The proud grin on her face makes your heart clench, and you smile back, weak and watery. Something harder stirs in her expression. “Now your left hand.”

Your face falls but her hands are on your body once more, insistently repositioning your back and shoulders until you’re standing up straight again, your right arm tucked against your stomach and your left palm exposed for her. She toys with you less this time; her eyes stay trained on your face, giving you the opportunity to plead your case as she chooses her mark.

The thought crosses your mind, of course. There’s a definite temptation to drop to your knees in front of her, cling to her skirts and beg her to forgive you, to let you atone with your mouth pressed between her thighs instead. You even suspect that she might grant you such mercy. 

As the pain in your right hand slowly dissipates, throbbing in time with your heartbeat, you become increasingly aware of how much this thrills you. Adrenaline licks at your veins, turning the warm air of the room on your skin into a thousand cold caresses. Each breath aches down into your stomach and lower, rippling through the sensitive flesh between your thighs that is - you realise now - significantly more slick than it had been.

If the smirk on Missy’s face is anything to go by, she could well have read your mind. Satisfied you have no intention of protesting, she cracks the cane across your left hand.

It could be that the sting in your other palm is enough of a distraction, or, more likely, the jolt that her pleased little gasp sends straight to the centre of you, but it seems somehow easier now. You make a strangled noise behind your teeth and your knees buckle beneath you as if absorbing the impact, the slippery insides of your thighs sliding together in a way that feels entirely too erotic, but you manage to straighten up before she can assist you. She chuckles.

“Very good, pet,” she praises, selecting another area of unblemished skin and knocking the cane against it thrice. “Perhaps you need a few more to humble you properly?”

Her tone is jovial and you suspect that she’s just playing with you, enjoying the power you’ve surrendered to her. Even so, the threat makes you twitch. As much as it frightens you, it’s still a tantalising prospect - you’ll let her flay you down to muscle and bone as long as she keeps looking at you like that.

“If you like, mummy.”

An appreciative look of surprise flashes over her face, but she quickly regains her composure. “We’ll see.”

The cane snaps across your palm again, not quite crossing the first stripe but coming close enough to make you see stars. A broken moan spills from your throat. Despite the scorching pain and the tears biting at your eyes, it sounds pitifully lewd. Missy shivers at the noise.

“Let me see your hands.” She sets the cane aside. You present both palms to her and she inspects each welt one by one, ghosting her fingers across them until the touch of leather on injured skin makes you whimper. When she finally glances up at you, her pupils are blown with desire. “I think that’s enough, don’t you, little one?” She chucks you under the chin and wipes a few more tears from your face. “I may actually need you to use your hands tomorrow.”

The sigh you can’t suppress is not entirely one of relief. “Thank you.”

“Oh, I never said I was finished with you.” She turns away in a whirl of violet fabric. “Clear the desk.”

It’s a struggle to tidy away the debris strewn across the desk with your hands as sore as they are; you work carefully with your fingertips, avoiding touching anything with your palms as much as you’re able to. Rolling up the vast sheets of illegible diagrams proves impossible this way, and you grimace with each brush of paper against the raised pink marks that still prickle with heat. Her hand is firm against the small of your back as soon as you’ve finished.

“Bend over.”

You comply, pressing your breasts and stomach down against the cold wood, resting your cheek there with your face turned towards the mass of knotted cables that hang beneath the console. The glossy surface of the desktop is a comfort under your hands. Her boot slides between your feet and knocks them wider apart, leaving you excruciatingly vulnerable.

“Oh, we did enjoy our punishment, didn’t we?”

Your right leg quivers as she trails her fingers up the back of it, from the curve of your knee to the crease where it meets your exposed arse.

“I asked you a question.”

The first smack of leather against your skin makes you jerk in place, inhaling sharply. It hurts more than a blow from her bare hand; the impact is duller, less of a sting than a deep, throbbing burn. You wince. “Yes, mummy.”

“Masochists are so tricky.” Another slap, to the left this time, making your toes curl and your breath catch. “Still, mummy knows best.” Lower, just on the undercurve towards your left thigh, she strikes again. You rock forwards against the desk with a high-pitched gasp.

She works methodically, unhurried; the placement of each smack is carefully chosen to highlight the spots that you feel when you walk, the areas that take your weight when you sit. The backs of your thighs aren’t spared, either. Within a few minutes you’re panting hard, dizzy and dripping with need, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Such is your state of abject ruin that a thin trail of saliva streaks past your parted lips and slicks the desk beneath your cheek.

“You do look fetching in pink, dear.” She pinches hard enough to bruise at the back of your right thigh, abusing the sore flesh there and making you cry out. “Though I much prefer you in red.”

Your legs start to tremble unsteadily beneath you when she doubles back, layering fresh blows over the marks that already bristle with pain. Your skin feels tight under her merciless hand. She covers the full expanse quickly, turning the dull haze of discomfort into a sharper, more present throb. Your lashes are wet and heavy with tears before she’s finished. Even so, every intimate muscle in your cunt spasms and pulses in time with your heartbeat, clenching uselessly in an attempt to achieve some stimulation.

Missy repeats this whole procedure twice more; a temporary reprieve before overlapping the aching flesh with new, blazing slaps, each one somehow harder than the last. By the time she stops, each sensitive curve and swell of your arse and thighs cries out, the skin taut and burning. There’s a small puddle of tears and spittle under your face but you can’t bring yourself to be ashamed, every nerve consumed with the mingling flames of agony and desperate, overwhelming need.

Her soft wool skirt feels coarse as sandpaper when she presses herself against you, hips cradling yours and thrusting, grinding without consideration for the pain there. A devastated groan rattles from your chest. You can feel the fabric between your thighs, growing slick with your own arousal. Her gloved hands caress your back, your sides, your breasts, in rough and greedy strokes.

“Do you know what this does to me?” Above you, behind you, her accent is thick. “You’re wrecked, my girl, squirming and crying and still so desperate for me.” One hand gropes your breast and squeezes hard as the other slides underneath your stomach, pulling you back against her. Your fingers flex against the desk, stunned by the new and welcome assault. Every breath comes harsh and whimpering.

“If you’d only behaved, I could have fucked you like this.”

She’s gone as suddenly as she appeared, leaving you bucking and whining, spread across the table. She strides out from behind you and runs a hand gently through your hair. “Instead, I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.” You blink up at her, enraptured, chest heaving with longing to touch her as she takes off her gloves with a snap of leather.

Watching Missy undress is always captivating. She takes her time removing her jacket and hangs it tidily on the back of the chair. Her quick fingers untie the pussy bow of her blouse, leaving the collar gaping just wide enough to reveal the elegant hollow at her clavicle. She carefully untucks the shirt from her waist and makes short work of the buttons, slipping her arms free and folding it with aching precision. The skirt unfastens by a concealed hook near the base of her spine and drops to the ground in a ripple of dark fabric. She bends at the knee, her back held straight by the corset, and places her neatly folded clothes on top of yours on the chair.

When she slides the pins from her hair and leaves it to fall in thick, loose curls about her pale throat you can’t bite back a desperate moan. She’s a vision like this, the thin cotton of her white chemise just translucent enough to reveal the silhouette of her nipples and the thicket of raven hair between her thighs either end of the ivory corset that holds her posture rigid and imperious. The tumbling black waves of her long hair frame her cheekbones like something from a painting.

The adoration is plain on your face when she mounts the desk in front of you, knees drawn back and open, weight braced on one hand behind her as she lifts the chemise to her hips and exposes her dense curls and slippery pink folds. She’s almost close enough to taste. The scent of her fills your mind and you don’t wait for permission, rising on your tiptoes to lean closer to her.

“Oh, no, poppet.” Her boot lands on your shoulder, pushing you back. “You are still being punished.”

Your heart sinks as you retreat, your nose barely an inch from her. She slides her fingers down through her thatch of hair and strokes the full length of her vulva, pale skin and wine-red nails quickly turning glossy with her arousal. Her head falls back with a soft noise of pleasure.

“Can you see how much it excites me?” She’s breathless from her own skilful touches, breasts heaving above the corset. “How wet mummy gets from making you cry?”

You grip the edge of the table in both hands, heedless of the pain. “Yes, mummy.”

“Would you like to taste me?”

“Please. Please, yes.”

She presses two wet fingers between your lips and you accept them greedily, bathing them with your tongue and whining with appreciation at the bittersweet flavour of her desire. They reach just far enough past your tongue to make you gag but you withstand it, impaling yourself further on them, each desperate pulse of your throat making your thighs clench around your own dripping cunt.

“Now, my girl,” she purrs, sliding them free, “watch me come.”

Missy doesn’t tease herself. She presses her fingertips straight to the pert, satin bud of her clitoris and strokes tight circles against it, groaning lustily as she does. You’re hypnotised by the display as her hips rock atop the desk, a pool of sticky-sweet nectar collecting on the surface beneath her, creeping nearer to your parched tongue with every breath.

Every inch of you burns as you watch her, from your injured hands clamped tight around the sharp edge of the table to the stinging, throbbing skin of your arse. You can’t help shifting your hips in time with hers, grinding uselessly against the desk without any hope of stimulation. It’s a Herculean effort not to touch yourself.

She quickens, obscenely wet noises coming from the rapid twisting of her fingers, and arches her back as far as she can. Dark hair hangs behind her as her chest rises as if pulled by an invisible string and you almost weep at the sight of it when she comes with a feral cry, gushing hot and fragrant so close to you. The rapturous vision is almost too much to bear, more beautiful than a hundred stars being born.

Her head rolls lazily across her shoulders as she steadies her breath, stroking herself slowly a few more times while she comes down. You scarcely blink, unwilling to miss a moment of it.

When she offers you her fingers again you pounce, debasing yourself with ravenous licks that clean the slickness from her skin in moments. She chuckles ecstatically and drags them through the puddle beneath her, painting your lips thickly with the taste of her before thrusting them into your mouth.

“Would you like to come, poppet?” The strangled noise you make around her fingers is enough of an answer. “You can, but it will cost you.”

Anything. The word throbs in your mind, howling through your skull, all that you can think. Anything you want.

“The cane.” She pushes deeper, makes you choke. “Six of the best. Count them nicely or I’ll start again.”

She barely has time to pull her fingers free before you’re answering, your voice the sound of ruin. “Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

“Such a brave little girl.” She pats your cheek and hops down from the table with startling grace, heels clicking as she lands. You turn your head to watch her circling you, the chemise rustling about her knees.

“Now,” she’s behind you again, the cane resting across the swell of your arse, twisting back and forth against the stinging skin there, “remember your manners.”

You jerk forwards on your toes with the first stroke, shrieking, instantly regretting your bravery. You throw a hand back to cover yourself before you can stop it. So sharp is the pain that you expect to find the skin broken and bleeding, but your fingers come away dry.

“I’ll allow that once,” she warns, “but if I see that hand again I will break it, do you understand?”

“Yes, mummy,” you manage, bouncing on the balls of your feet in an attempt to divert the sting that’s slowly sinking into your already-bruised flesh. “I’m sorry.”

“Not sorry enough to count, apparently. Stand still.” Her voice is chilly as she taps the cane just below the first welt. “We’ll try that again.”

Determined to avoid another false start, you tighten your grip on the desk until the edges dig sharply into your sore hands. This time you manage a more dignified cry when the wood cracks down, your shoulders curving up from the tabletop. “One,” you gasp, grimacing as the shock of the impact develops into an all-consuming burn. “Thank you, mummy.”

“Better.”

Missy gives you no time to steady yourself before she strikes again, even lower, almost at the undercurve of your thighs. It’s worse here, the acute pain of it making tears spring to your eyes, but it’s also closer to where you’re desperate and aching for her and the sting and throb has you slicker than ever. “Two, thank you mummy,” you breathe hoarsely against the desk.

“Louder than that, poppet. I want to hear you.”

You can’t stay quiet anyway when she snaps the cane against the sensitive crease where your arse meets your thighs. Your eyes and teeth clench tightly but you can’t stop the tears that escape or the loud whine that shoots up your throat and past your lips, one hand slamming down against the surface of the desk, reigniting the sting in its palm. “Ah! Three! Thank you, mummy!” Your tense thighs are quaking beneath you, drawing your attention once more down to your own weeping cunt and the pitiful evidence of your enjoyment.

“Oh dear, that one was sore, wasn’t it?” She taps the welt twice, each time making you twitch. Her voice turns teasing. “Shall we do it again?”

You throw your head back and howl when she crosses the welt with another, the intersection between them blistering with pain. You’re crying in earnest now, heavy, shameless tears rolling down your face and puddling beneath it on the desk. It takes a moment to regain your composure enough to speak. “Four! Thank you. Thank you, mummy.”

“Almost there, dearest.” The cane rests higher, rubbing back and forth as if to sketch out its mark. “I can smell how desperate you are for me.”

She’s trying to distract you, to make you miscount, and you know it. She waits longer this time - until your muscles relax and you’ve let your guard down - before the fifth biting stroke lands on the fullest swell of tender red-purple skin. You lose track of all of your senses, your entire being reduced to pain and desire as you rock forward again and wail out your count, “five! Oh, thank you, mummy.”

“Last one.” Even as ravaged as you are, you can’t miss the breathy excitement in her voice. “Let’s make it count, shall we?”

Teeth bared, you nod as best you can, feeling your rapid pulse in your throat. There’s sweat beading on your brow from the strain and trickling down towards your eyes, mingling with the tears to leave your face damp and salt-bitter. You can’t control the minute twitches of your thighs.

Only as the sixth crack of the cane marks a blazing path across your arse do you realise that she’s been merciful with you so far. The strength behind this final blow is unmatched. Your knees buckle with your cry and you have to grip the desk just to keep from crumpling, every nerve screaming out in protest. Six of these might have knocked you unconscious.

“Well done, my dear,” she purrs, and her hands are on you in an instant, helping you straighten up and rubbing soothingly across the burning ridges left by the cane. Your whimper at the first touch, her skin like ice against your injuries, but she persists with the rough strokes of her palm and it does begin to lessen the sting. She pulls you closer until you’re cradled against her, nuzzling into the swell of her breasts. Her other hand cards through your hair. “You were a very brave girl. Hop up onto the desk for me and show me how much you enjoyed it, hmm?”

She’s already turning you around, pushing you back against the furniture. When the edge of the table digs into your bruises and welts you whine, clinging to her, the chemise soft under your still-aching palms. “No, no, please, it’s gonna hurt.”

“Oh, I know it’s going to hurt, poppet, that’s rather the point.” She takes your face in her hands and tilts it towards hers, still pressing you against the desk. Her thumbs tenderly wipe the tears from your skin. She’s breathtaking, and at last she kisses you, her mouth rough and needy against your own. Your body melts into her, hands roving greedily over her undergarments, charting the curves and angles formed by her corset, her hips, her strong shoulders. She loops an arm around your back as the other strokes down the length of your spine, grasping hold of one thigh and before you know it she’s lifting you, too strong for the body she inhabits, forcing you up and back until you’re sitting on the desk.

The smooth, polished wood could be hot coals for all the comfort it offers when your weight lands on it, irritating the abused skin of your arse and thighs. You groan into her mouth but she presses on, pulling you tight against her until there’s no way of wriggling out of her embrace. Her nails drag down your back sharply. Your breasts are crushed against hers, your bodies sliding together obscenely, her knee parting your thighs.

Missy bites at your lip and snakes one hand down between where your stomachs are pressed together, her fingers slipping through your drenched folds and making you cry out. She nestles your face in the curve of her neck and speaks close to your ear.

“Are you ready to come for mummy?” You nod mutely, kissing her throat, your breath coming in short gasps against her skin. She presses her fingertips to your clitoris and starts up a slow rhythm of firm, small circles. Your teeth graze her neck as you moan and she growls appreciatively. “Come on then, poppet. Whenever you’re ready.”

The need is all-encompassing. You rock your hips into her movements, hands scrabbling for purchase against her back, gripping the laces of her corset and fisting around the cotton of her chemise. Locks of soft, perfumed hair fall against your face and enclose you until your perception shrinks to the scent of her neck, the stinging pain of inflamed welts, the sweet and unhurried pleasure she works into your cunt with deft fingers.

She flicks her tongue against the shell of your ear and you gasp, shuddering in her arms. “Do you need more?” When you nod again she chuckles, soft and teasing. “Oh, go on, pet, ask for it. You know how much I like it when you beg.” Her teeth close around your earlobe and tug gently.

“Please, mummy,” you gasp against her shoulder, planting worshipful kisses as you do. “Please, I need it faster.”

“Good girl.” She speeds up just slightly, just enough to make you jerk and writhe, finally chasing the orgasm you’ve been denied for so long. “You looked so pretty spread over my desk like that, coming apart at the seams for me. I wanted to tear you to pieces.” Her tongue drags along the side of your neck. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You pull her closer, wrapping your legs around her hips as if you could pull her inside of your abdomen. “God, yes, anything you wanted.”

“Be careful what you wish for, love.”

The shock of her teeth sinking into your shoulder is all that it takes to push you over the edge and you shriek against her, biting down on the skin under your mouth as well, an ouroboros of screaming ecstasy as every cell of you is consumed in excruciating pleasure. You’re flooded with it, soaking her hand, her chemise, the skin of your thighs.

She keeps you close even as you start to come down, sobbing with the intensity of it, totally wrecked in her embrace. Her tongue soothes the deep crescents left by her teeth. “Oh, my girl,” she murmurs. “How naughty you were today.”

“I’m sorry, Missy.” It’s a tearful whisper against her throat. “Thank you for correcting me.”

“My pleasure.” She strokes your hair with a gentle hand. “Did you get what you needed?”

You chuckle weakly. “And then some.” More kisses, adoring and feather-light along her neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, poppet.” She nuzzles against your temple and the brush of her nose at your ear makes you shiver. “Cross me like that again, though, and I promise I’ll give you the full dozen.”

[chelsfic]

The Hot List, in which the NYC Familiar Discord Ranks their Masters - Nandor x Guillermo Fanfic (one-shot, crack!)

Summary: The familiars of New York City use Discord to connect and blow off steam...and also to rank their masters’ hotness. Nandor discovers this impertinence and throws an internet fit.

Tags: Crack with a touch of angst

A/N: I don’t know. 

---

NYC Familiar Chat #thirsty

Celeste-is-Best: nngh, have you guys seen Mr. 50ss’s’s’ss instagram story????

Celeste-is-Best: He’s so pretty! it’s like turn me, already!

Imurdad | colby: I know, right? I can’t believe he’s only 7 on the hot list…

[Gigi the great and sam teh pretty like this]

Gigi the great: Don’t forget to vote on this month’s poll!!

Best Hair!

We’re the ones who make them look pretty--but who’s the prettiest one of all? This month we’re voting on the NYC vampire with the best hair. Cast your vote!

A. Simon the Devious

B. Nandor the Relentless

C. Tilda

D. Evan

E. Houston

F. Nancy the Relentless

---

Guillermo locked his phone with a little smile. If he could he’d vote a hundred times for Nandor’s hair. It was unlikely that his master would win against the likes of Evan, Tilda and Nancy. He’d thrown Simon on there as a joke and was kind of horrified by how many familiars seemed to be into the limp mullet look. To each their own, he guessed.

On that note, it was almost nightfall and Nandor’s hair wasn’t going to brush itself. Guillermo made his way into the crypt, lighting candles and gathering the soft brush, comb, detangler spray and hair oils. Nandor was what he lovingly referred to as “high maintenance.” He was also surprisingly pitiful for a 750-year old warlord. It took Guillermo ages every night to carefully tease out and brush the knots from his hair without hurting him. It should’ve been annoying after so many years, but the chore remained one of the highlights of Guillermo’s day. 

For one thing, he got to touch his master without being scolded or hissed at. So that was nice. For another thing, Nandor’s hair was as soft as his personality was prickly. Guillermo would often drag out the task, running his fingers through the silky strands and lightly touching Nandor’s jaw to get him to tilt his head this way or that. 

He was doing just that, as well as admiring the expanse of cream and bronze skin revealed by the open collar of Nandor’s loose shirt, when the vampire opened his mouth. 

“Guillermooo...Did you happen to get any virgins for tonight?”

Guillermo’s fingers momentarily tightened around a hank of his master’s hair. He imagined giving it a sharp tug. He forced himself to loosen his grip and replied, “No, master, I’m sorry. Virgins are getting pretty thin on the ground lately. I managed to pick up a couple people from a bible study class, though. They should taste pretty innocent, right?”

Nandor made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat before answering, “You’d be surprised.”

---

NYC Familiar Chat #the-struggle

Gigi the great: I know we all jealously guard our sources, but I’ve been in a dry spell for a few weeks and my master is going to lose it and drink me one of these nights. Anyone have any new leads on virgins in the area?

Gigi the great: I’ve tried the usual stuff...LARPers, church socials, chastity clubs (surprisingly unhelpful…). I’m kinda desperate!

Direct Messages

Celeste-is-Best: only because you had my back last month when I ran out of burial sites…

Gigi the great: OMG! Celeste, please!! 🙏 🥺

Celeste-is-Best: there’s a magic the gathering tournament in brighton heights this weekend...😈

Gigi the great: You are like the virgin whisperer, Celeste. Thank you!

Celeste-is-Best: np

Celeste-is-Best: hey! Are you posting the poll results soon? I voted for Tilda--don’t tell Houston!! LOL

#main

Gigi the great: The results are in! The vampire with the best hair in NYC is……..EVAN!

Check out the Google Form for the full results...

docs.google.com...best_hair

Evan (26%)

Tilda (22%)

Nancy the Relentless (17%)

Simon the Devious (16%)

Nandor the Relentless (13%)

Houston (6%)

---

“What are you typing over there on your intelligent phone?”

Guillermo hurriedly tucked his phone away and looked up to find his master mopping blood from his mouth with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. They were in an alleyway a few buildings down from the comic shop. The limp body of Nandor’s victim lay discarded on the dirty ground. Guillermo smiled affectionately at Nandor trying and failing to clean himself. He took the hanky from him and set about doing the job himself. The snow white fabric was quickly drenched in dark red arterial blood. 

“I was just, um...checking on another potential virgin source,” he lied. 

The familiar Discord was strictly secret. If any of their masters ever found it and saw their human servants’ uncensored discussions... The thought sent a panicked tremor down Guillermo’s spine and he thought--for the thousandth time--that he should delete the app and not look back. But the idea of continuing with this emotionally draining, thankless job without his little support system was just as disturbing. Besides, the server had really come through for him tonight.

“Well done, Guillermo!” Nandor praised him and Guillermo’s heart swelled pathetically. A small, shameful part of him imagined Nandor patting him on the head and he didn’t hate it. “That was the most delicious virgin I’ve had in months!”

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo smiled sweetly, his cheeks dimpling. Nandor watched him for a long moment and he could swear he saw his master’s eyes linger on his mouth. He shut that thought down before it could bloom into a hope that was only doomed for disappointment. 

“Well…I’ll see you back at the house.” Nandor vanished before his eyes, taking his bat form and darting out of the alley with a high-pitched squeak and a furious flap of his leathery wings.

Guillermo sighed, looked at the broken body and wondered if he’d be able to fit his car down the narrow alley or if he’d have to drag the corpse to the opening. He fished out his keys and started the short walk back to his parking spot. All the while thinking, with distracted horror, Simon the Devious beat out Nandor for best hair?!? Really?

---

Direct Messages

Gigi the great: Hey, thanks! The Magic tournament was a hit!

Celeste-is-Best: i do live to serve…

Gigi the great: Har har.

#bitch-session

mish-bish: Ugh!!! Pretty sure my asshole master is hypnotizing me again.

call-me-karen: That’s rough, Misha! You wanna talk about it? My master lets me take the car whenever I want. I can come pick you up…

mish-bish: Yeah, like...I definitely have a huge black hole in my memories from last night. Fuck.

mish-bish: Oh, that’s ok Karen. Thanks.

Gigi the great: Hey @mish-bish. Sorry you’re having a hard time. If you feel up to it, check out the #support channel. A lot of other familiars have gone through this and talked about it there. Sometimes it helps to hear how others cope!

---

“Guillermo! Guillermoooo!”

Nandor’s panicked bellow reached him all the way in the basement where he was checking his lye supply. Guillermo huffed it up the stairs and raced into the fancy room where he found his master staring aghast at his laptop.

“Wh-what is it, master?” he asked, bent over and catching his breath.

“Someone named...Rap4Unlyfe has sent me a fake news!” Nandor wailed, gesturing to the laptop as if the device was personally responsible. 

Guillermo suppressed an eyeroll and walked over to sit beside his master. He watched in dismay as Nandor scooched farther down the couch but he tried not to let it sting too much. 

The browser was open to Nandor’s Hotmail account. He leaned forward to read the open message, unsure what to expect. The blood drained from his face as he read.

from: rap4unlyfe@sassycat.com

cc:  devious@sassycat.com; nandortherelentless@hotmail.com; travelbug54@aol.com ...

subject: rofl bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahah

yooooooooooooooooOO!

Has ne1 else seen there familiars on this site??? I hypnotized mine last nite to give me his phone password and...👀 

Mierda. There were two screenshots attached. One was the survey results page from the “best hair” poll. The other was an excerpt from the chat, specifically Guillermo posting the winner of the poll and the link to the results. 

Guillermo’s face fell into an adorably distressed frown. He darted a glance at Nandor but the vampire just looked confused. It wasn’t clear if he yet suspected that his own familiar might be “Gigi the great.”

“Huh…” Guillermo leaned back and smoothed his expression into one of untroubled amusement. “You’re right, looks like fake news. You should probably just ignore it.”

Nandor punched his fist into his thigh and snapped, “But Guillermo! I cannot let this go unanswered! This...this...ludicrous insult! Imagine...me losing a hair contest. Everyone knows I have the most beautiful hair!”

Guillermo blushed magnificently, “Of course, master! This is just...a prank. Someone playing a mean trick on you. You shouldn’t give them the satisfaction--”

The laptop chimed. Guillermo dove to prevent Nandor from reaching it but the vampire simply slapped him away with a petulant whine, “Give me that! Fucking guy…”

Nandor’s lips curled into a snarl as his eyes scanned over the screen. 

“Oh, no! Now they are making a mockery of me on the ether net!”

from: devious@sassycat.com 

cc: nandortherelentless@hotmail.com; travelbug54@aol.com; rap4unlyfe@sassycat.com… 

subject: RE: rofl bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahah

Oh! That is too delicious! Suck it, Houston and Nandor! 

It gets even better. Have you seen this, yet?

vamp_hot_list.doc 

“Guillermo, what is a hot list?” Nandor asked with a worried frown, clicking on the attachment. 

“No, master! Don’t--”

It was too late. He watched as his master’s eyes lit with understanding and then intrigue and finally outrage.

“29?! I am number 29 on your dirty hot vampire list!? What is the meaning of this?” Nandor bristled like an angry porcupine, his eyes shooting metaphorical quills into Guillermo’s soft flesh.

“It’s not my list, master!” he insisted and then, guiltily, “Not only mine…”

“Guillermo!” Nandor gasped, his eyes returning to the screen for a moment before pinning him with outraged accusation. “So, it is you!? You are...Gigi the great? Well, I do not think you are so great, little guy! In fact I think you’re pretty un-great right now! And disrespectful!”

Guillermo sank into the couch cushions, melting under his master’s ire and replying miserably, “It’s not as bad as it looks!”

Nandor turned back to the screen and began reading off names from the top of the list, “Viago! Nancy the Relentless! Evan! I suppose these are all vampires you’ve been dreaming of doing the hanky panky with! Putting them on the top of your list above your own master! That’s two demerits, Guillermo!”

“What!? No! Master, I didn’t make the list! We vote on it! Everyone gets a say. If I made the list of course you’d be at the top--”

Guillermo snapped his mouth shut. His face was on fire and he felt like crying. Nandor must have some inkling of his crush, right? After ten years of service? This couldn’t really be the life-ending mortification that it felt like. He waited, wide-eyed, for his master’s reaction. Nandor stared at him, his huge, dark eyes filled with shock and anger. After a long minute he turned back to the laptop, waving a hand dismissively in Guillermo’s face.

“Go to your room now, Guillermo! I need to think of how to punish this impertinence!”

Guillermo stood, barely holding in humiliated tears. He gestured to the device in Nandor’s lap, “My laptop…”

Nandor held it out of Guillermo’s reach and hissed, “No! Vampire only computer time, Guillermo!”

Guillermo left, trudging out of the room with a sinking feeling in his stomach as the sound of Nandor’s flop-wristed typing followed him out the door.

---

#main

Gigi the great: Is everyone okay?

call-me-karen: not fukcing great!

Imurdad | colby: Seriously! WTF!!?

Gigi the great is typing…

Guillermo lay on his little cot with the crocheted blanket his amá made for him pulled up to his chin. Tears streaked down his cheeks and the phone’s glare reflected in his glasses. He thought back to every off handed complaint, every silly photo turned into a “master-shaming” meme, every confession, every joke. All of them laid bare to the world. The Discord server started out as goofy, harmless fun. The hot list was the perfect embodiment of that. But it became so much more. Being a familiar could be lonely. You were isolated from other humans and surrounded by cold, uncaring monsters all the time. Guillermo loved Nandor. Everyone knew this...there were even memes about it on the server! But sometimes his master’s aloofness got to be too much and he needed to reach out to other humans who understood him! 

He threw his phone down onto the mattress, angrily pawing at his teary eyes and wondering if this was it. Not just the end of NYC Familiar Chat, but the end of Guillermo the Great, his long-dreamed-of vampire alias. There was no way Nandor would keep him as a familiar after this…

---

Direct Messages

Celeste-is-Best: OMG! Guillermo, have you seen this?

Celeste-is-Best: http://familiar-hot-list.colinrobinson.net

Celeste-is-Best: hey, if this is Nandor’s big revenge scheme I think you’re going to be ok

Celeste-is-Best: we miss you! 

---

Guillermo heard his master calling him and cringed. It had been a week since the hot list incident and Nandor had spent every waking moment making little jabs at his familiar and grousing about how he’d been betrayed on the internet. But to Guillermo’s surprisingly intense relief, he hadn’t been fired. After ten years of disappointment and hopeless pining, Guillermo half-expected to welcome the prospect of finally being put out of his misery, so to speak. He was kind of shocked, therefore, to feel happiness and gratitude that his master had decided to keep him around, even if only as a verbal punching bag.

He found Nandor in the library, smugly brandishing the purloined laptop. 

“Come have a look at your punishment, Guillermo,” Nandor patted the couch beside him. “This is what happens when you disrespect vampires on the ether net.”

Guillermo swallowed the lump in his throat and collapsed beside Nandor feeling like a man condemned. Their thighs pressed together but for once Nandor didn’t move away. He shoved the laptop at Guillermo and handed him a yellow sticky note with Colin Robinson’s handwriting on it.

“Colin Robinson has assisted in creating a webpage for your disgrace. We have done our own hot list! A familiar hot list. All of the New York vampires voted. So, now you can see how not nice it feels to have your hotness besmirched for all the world to see.”

Guillermo typed in the URL and blinked as the neon green background scorched his retinas. The page was a hideous callback to the internet of the late 1990s right down to the hit counter at the bottom. There was a border of pixelated dancing Draculas surrounding bright orange text.

NYC Familiar Hotness Ranking

1. Guillermo (Nandor the Relentless) - 19%

Guillermo looked at the screen, then over at Nandor, then back to the screen again.

“Master? Have you looked at the results yet?”

Nandor’s brow knit with confusion, “No, why? What does it say?”

He grabbed the laptop and squinted against the garish colors. Guillermo watched Nandor’s face carefully as he read the results. He looked surprised and almost...pleased at first, before giving in to his patented aggravation.

“Fucking Colin Robinson!”

---

New NYC Familiars Group! #welcome

Imurdad | colby: Hey @everyone! Welcome to the new Discord server. Guillermo has stepped down as a mod but he’ll still be around. We don’t have a perfect solution for the security problems we had with the last server. We’re asking everyone to be vigilant about hypnosis and if you feel like you’re losing time, please be sure to secure your phones/computers away from your masters….

---

to: nandortherelentless@hotmail.com

from: travelbug54@aol.com

subject: Something you might want to see…

Hey Nandoorman! How’s it hangin’?  

Listen, I’m sorry that your revenge didn’t go as planned. I noticed you’ve been a little short with Gizmo ever since this whole thing started. As someone who cares about my roomie, I want to advise you to knock it the hell off. Also, I don’t relish the thought of returning to the days before Gizmo came along. Do you even remember what the house used to look like? Pools of blood everywhere. Dead bodies. Melted candles all over the place...

I digress… I managed to snag this screenshot from Count Rapula. I think you may find it interesting.

Your pal,

Colin Robinson 

discord_gizmo.jpg

#confessions

Gigithegreat: Hey guys. This isn’t easy for me to share but I know I’m not the only one who’s dealt with this and if I can help one of you feel less alone then I’ll be glad. As most of you know, I recently “celebrated” my 10th anniversary as Nandor’s familiar. I was convinced, absolutely convinced, that my master was going to make me into a vampire. Well, once again it didn’t happen. He made me this weird portrait out of glitter instead. And the thing is...like, I should leave, right? He’s never going to turn me and that’s the basis for our whole arrangement. I serve him faithfully, he turns me into a vampire. It’s simple, right? So why am I still here? Why am I still burying bodies for him and making human sacrifices? Dressing and feeding him? Treating him like he’s some kind of god and not an ancient cranky baby?  It’s because I’m in love with him. Hopelessly, stupidly, self-destructively in love with my vampire master who thinks of me as nothing more than a really well-trained poodle who can talk. Why? WHY? Because he makes me laugh. Because he’s fiercely protective of his vampire family and (sometimes) that includes me. Because when we’re alone he can be so adorably, painfully vulnerable and it feels like a privilege that I get to witness that side of him. Because he does ridiculously stupid but considerate things like spending hours making me a glitter portrait. When he’s happy with me I feel like I could float and when he’s disappointed I feel like being swallowed up by a sinkhole. And, yeah, he’s also man-of-my-dreams outrageously hot and I cannot believe you cretins have him ranked #29 on the hot list. It’s a crime. 

Gigithegreat: So, yeah. That’s why I stay. I’m no longer hoping for a bite that will never happen. Now it’s a kiss, a hug, a touch, a look. Anything he’s willing to give me I’ll gladly hoard in my little closet-room along with my glitter portrait. Because I’m pathetic. That’s it. That’s the confession.

Imurdad | colby: Brave words, Guillermo. Hang in there, friend.

blood_princess: this is a mood

sam teh pretty: Sending you healing head scritches ❤️

Celeste-is-Best: look, i think i speak for us all when i say we need to see this glitter portrait!!!

[You’re Viewing Older Messages … Jump To Present? ￬]

---

Nandor looked uncharacteristically thoughtful while Guillermo readied him for sleep. The familiar guessed he was still angry that his little revenge plot had backfired. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug about his position as the hottest NYC familiar. Even if he was pretty sure it was mostly due to the other vampires messing with Nandor. Guillermo couldn’t really enjoy his victory, though, not with Nandor’s feelings of betrayal still weighing on his heart.

Nandor’s face was a stoic mask as Guillermo helped him undress. He cooperated listlessly, picking up his feet for Guillermo to remove his heavy boots, lifting his arms up over his head as Guillermo took off his brocade tunic. Finally, he placed his giant hand in Guillermo’s soft, small one and stepped up into his coffin. Guillermo stood by the side of the coffin as he always did, watching over Nandor with affection choking his throat. Nandor smoothed his hair down and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sweet dreams, master,” Guillermo whispered, leaning across him to catch the lid of the coffin.

“Wait, Guillermo,” Nandor spoke without looking at him, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I wish to say something to you.”

Guillermo’s heart sank in his chest. Oh no...his stupid middle schooler revenge didn’t work and now he’s going to send me away… Tears pricked his eyes and he choked, “C-can’t it wait until tomorrow, master?”

“No. I must say this now,” Nandor responded, oblivious to his familiar’s internal drama. “I want to say to you that--and I think I’m being extremely gracious and lenient here--it is fine for you to have your little, pathetic familiar group on the dark internet.”

“O-oh,” Guillermo quickly swiped the tears from his eyes, “thank you, master…”

“But no more mee-mees, Guillermo! Master-shaming...very disrespectful!”

“Of course!” Guillermo laughed, delirious with relief. 

Nandor looked up at him with a final warning glance before softening, “Alright, then. As long as we are clear on that…”

There was a long beat of silence during which Guillermo found himself locked inside his master’s gaze. Nandor’s eyes were like pools of rich, melted chocolate. Guillermo imagined himself as the German kid from Willy Wonka and for a second he was in danger of breaking down into giggles. But then his master spoke in that soft, uncertain tone he only used when they were alone and he was feeling fragile.

“Guillermo...did you really vote for me to be the number one hottest vampire?” Nandor toyed with the buttons on his shirt and looked up at his familiar with a shy, open expression.

Guillermo’s cheeks burned and he wanted to laugh and hide and kiss his master on the mouth all at once.

“Yes, master, I did. You’re…” he cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the lip of the coffin, “so handsome, master. So beautiful...”

He watched his master’s chest expand with pride and his lips twitch into a haughty smirk. 

“That’s true, Guillermo. Good job for noticing,” Nandor praised him in a voice that was a little too loud. It rang with a false sense of self-assurance. After a few seconds he went on in a quieter tone, “Do you know, I--this is very silly, Guillermo, you mustn't tell anyone this--I voted for you, too. As the hottest familiar…”

Guillermo’s stomach did a little swoop and his lips curved into a blinding smile. His dumb, beautiful master thought he was attractive? Guillermo tried to reel himself in; he tried to remind himself that Nandor probably only voted for him to boost his own reputation. But--wait?--hadn’t the list been meant as a revenge against Guillermo? God, what a handsome idiot.

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo gushed and now he was certain that Nandor’s eyes strayed too long on his smiling lips and red, dimpled cheeks. 

“Alright then!” Nandor pulled the emergency break on the moment. “Time for my evil slumber. Night night, Guillermo!”

And in a slow motion moment that would feature in Guillermo’s dreams that night, Nandor reached up and put his hand over his. Nandor’s cool, smooth palm rubbed over the back of Guillermo’s warm hand and his fingers squeezed slightly. The breath rushed from Guillermo’s lungs and he could only squeak in reply, shutting his master into his coffin and moving away with a dazed smile on his face.

A muffled sound came from the coffin just as Guillermo reached the door to the crypt.

“...And I don’t think of you as a poodle…”

“What was that, master?” Guillermo called.

“Nothing, Guillermo!”

Guillermo shuffled off to his little room feeling like he was carrying a happy little flame inside his chest. For once he gave himself permission to hope without fearing disappointment.

---

New NYC Familiars Group! #thirsty

Celest-is-Best: SORRY NOT SORRY!!!! Simon can get it…

blood_princess: ummmm thirst after your own master, Celeste. Oops sorry she’s 12.

mish-bish: Lmaooo. Gross Celeste!

Celeste-is-Best: listen.

Celeste-is-Best: ...i got nothin. I want his evil dick.

…

Gigi the great: Please look respectfully at this photo I snuck of my master the other night. Do I really need to explain myself further???

Celeste-is-Best: that’s it. guillermo, ask nandor if he needs another familiar. my body is ready!

Gigi the great: Back off, bitch!!!!

Gigi the great: jk love u

Gigi the great: but srsly back off

#master-shaming

mish-bish: submitted without comment

[Imurdad | colby, Gigi the great, Sam teh Cat, and 6 others like this]

...

Gigi the great: 🙄🙄🙄

Gigi the great: I hate him I love him

#main

black-peterrr: ohohoho, has anyone talked to Guillermo lately…..?

black-peterrr: a little raven told me he and Nandor were seen HOLDING HANDS in the park the other night…

call-me-karen: WHATTTTTTTT

Celeste-is-Best: @Gigi the great, CONFIRM OR DENY!! GIIIIIGIIII!

Gigi the great: ……...I don’t kiss and tell 😉

Imurdad | colby pinned a post

Imurdad | colby: This is momentous.

#memes

Gigi the great: hot take…

Imurdad | colby: bahahaha, okay…

Imurdad | colby: 

Gigi the great: But have you considered…

Imurdad | colby: lol compelling

Call-me-karen: I mean…..👀

Celeste-is-Best: Ha...ha...ha…*sob*

Direct Messages

Celeste-is-Best: Gigi! we miss you! ur never online lately... 

Celeste-is-Best: too busy getting that ottoman empire dick, huhhh??

Gigi the great: OMG Celeste! You’re out of control!

Celeste-is-Best: that wasn’t a denial…

#main

Gigi the great: Hey guys...sorry I haven’t been active lately

Gigi the great: Quick update though....

GIgi the great:

blood_princess: OSDFJweoiflkdfaf omgggggg gggggiiiiiiigiigigig!!!!!!

Jameson: Holy shit, man. Congrats.

Celeste-is-Best: GuillerrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmooooooOooooO!O my baby! you look amazing!

call-me-karen: DO YOU NEED A FAMILIAR!!?!?!?!?

Celeste-is-Best: jesus, karen lol

blood_princess: my master is having an orgy right now. I just locked myself in the bathroom--I’M FREAKING OUT!! What is it like? IS that blood on your collar??? OMG how was ur first feeding?

Imurdad | colby: FAMILIARS ONLY, GUILLERMO!!

Imurdad | colby: I’m kidding. OMG I’m so happy for you! (And burning with jealous rage)

Celeste-is-Best: look how fucking happy Nandor is

Celeste-is-Best: i’ve been shipping you two from the beginning, Gigi!

Celeste-is-Best: …..hope you’re not going to forget who helped you out with those virgins last month…

---

“Guillermo!” Nandor’s voice was half whine, half growl. “It’s very difficult to sleep with that light filling the coffin! What are you doing anyway?”

The screen illuminated Guillermo’s grin as he answered, “Just posted that selfie we took to the familiar chat. They’re freaking out.”

Nandor turned onto his side, nuzzling his face into Guillermo’s neck and tickling him with his beard, “That’s nice. Sleepy time now, Guillermo.” 

“Yes, master,” Guillermo breathed and Nandor purred low in his chest. Some things had changed since becoming a vampire and others had stayed the same. Calling Nandor “master” had taken on a new, thrilling subtext.

Nandor’s arms snaked around Guillermo, tugging the smaller vampire into his chest. He let out a contented sigh and his body went still as he began to fall asleep.

“I guess I should probably leave the group,” Guillermo yawned--force of habit. “Since I’m not a familiar anymore.”

Nandor wrenched himself from sleep with the power of his own petulance, “Hey! What do you mean ‘not a familiar anymore’? Just because a guy gives his boyfriend the gift of eternal life he thinks he can quit being his familiar!? Who’s going to brush my hair?! ‘Not a familiar anymore’...fucking guy…”

[nctzendreamz]

HOMECOMING — PART I

Prologue / Part l / Part ll / Part lll 

Summary: The year is 3030, and the divide between the rich and poor couldn’t be greater. Wildwood University is the most prestigious school in the entire world, but it isn’t only because of the impeccable flying cars that can be seen best during the fuchsia lit nights, or the dexterous education everyone receives. It has secrets. A lot of secrets.

Genre: Gang!AU, Futuristic!AU, Dystopian!AU

Warnings: Vivid descriptions of violence, foul language, drug use, and murder.

Taeyong had never been on a train before. In NEO, there was no reason to use them. No one could afford to go anywhere, but even on the rare occasion that you had no children, and owned a buisness successful enough to have the cash, you couldn’t past the test; the certification test.

The purpose of the certification test was to ensure that people who resided in NEO, or practically anywhere that had the familiar smell of poor water systems and hunger breath, couldn’t cross the border that lead to the “brightest place on earth”; Valhalla. They asked impossible questions, but most importantly, you couldn’t have a criminal record. Something impossible in poverty and they knew that.

Valhalla didn’t feel like a real place. I mean, Taeyong knows it’s real because they always drop the brochures from their solar powered helicopters four times a year; one for every season. Everyone always runs and practically slips on eachother’s drool to get the newest addition of the futuristic landmarks they decide to bless the masses with. Photo’s only, of course.

Taeyong finds it to be quite taunting. To actually give these people any hope that they could make it over. It was hilarious.

If you work hard, you too, can see the light. Absolutely pathetic.

Currency wasn’t a familiar term back home either. You purchased what you needed with other things; your body, drugs, or being a child.

Everyone had sympathy for the children that came into the convinence stores with dark hands, and heavy bags under their eyes indicating they had the weight of the world on their shoulders, but also the slouch that proved they knew even now that there was no out. This was life. Now, they just had to figure out how to live it.

He’s alone right now. The sound of the tracks and rails continuously slapping against eachother was unfamiliar, but he didn’t mind it. He enjoyed hearing new sounds, smelling new things; good or bad. Even the scenery that laid before him wasn’t too harsh.

He can see the homeless on the streets, currently trying to prepare for the storm that was predicted to come tonight. With the small amount of privilege he has, there is a radio in their residence. Maybe this was because if not for that, everyday would seem like a hurricane was out to murder them all for good. Black and white vision didn’t leave room for much imagination.

“I haven’t taken this drive in a while, kid.” The man conducting this ride hadn’t spoken a word to him this entire time, but he didn’t mind the conversation. Even with his lack of communication skills, he was willing to put in an effort.

“That’s nice.”

“You know, I think we should throw a fucking party. I mean, you have to be extemely intelligent to be going across the border. A fucking genius.”

A drunken confession. Not surprising to Taeyong as everyone in NEO was on something. Or everything.

“But you know what, I know about you.” He starts, but Taeyong doesn’t move a muscle. He had been injected with enough Indigo to last him the next 48 hours; enough time to get on the campus without a squeak. Sooman promised he would give him further instructions later on. “I know you have some connections. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I don’t know what you do, but I respect it.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

Being so high, Taeyong can’t speak any longer. His hand rummages through his black bag that usually held his heavier weapons, and he feels for the blanket that never left his sights. It’s old place was on his bunk he shared with Jaehyun. He had the top. Now that he thinks about it, Jaehyun was quite jealous that he was the chosen one for this particular mission. He joked, saying that he must have sucked enough dick for a lifetime, considering he was obviously better looking, and more charming, but didn’t get chosen.

Taeyong simply shrugged, one of his signature moves. “I’m a better shooter, a more cold blooded killer, and my dicks bigger.”

But back to the blanket. Secretly, he was able to preserve the scent. His parents scent. This blanket, although seeming like a rather childish need, was his safe place. It was the last thing they gave him before he came downstairs one morning, expecting a large breakfast becuase they promised him. And they never broke promises. But instead he found them dismembered, blood splattered all across their wooden floors.

Even while thinking about his nightmare, there was no anxiety. He falls into slumber more peacefully than he ever had before, as he doesn’t have his guard up. No one is out to get him right now. He’s on his way to Valhalla, after all.

Also, thank God for Indigo.

Hours had passed, followed with the drunken conductor spewing on about how NEO could make it out. Become a real city, and purge its current anarchy position. Taeyong took the seat all the way in the back, so he obviously thought he was getting a response. Taeyong heard none of it.

Oddly enough, he feels himself waking up just when the train seemed to be slowing down. Taking a plane, or a jet, would’ve been so much quicker, but he doesn’t mind the good rest. It’s supposedly night time now, but there is a glow radiating from the sky. Damnit, he wished he could see the color. It was rumored to be fuchsia every single night. Every damn night.

Taeyong begins to stretch out his back muscles like a swan, preparing himself for his true specialty. He looks out the window, making sure they are in the correct location. The woods are steep; trees everywhere. According the brochures, this was a frequent camping spot for the residents of Valhalla. You had a perfect view of the burning stars that always left the weather warm, and sweet.

In his pocket, he feels around for the paper. He knows he can’t experience those luxuries right now, but it’s not against the rules to imagine, right?

A sweet vanilla scent always fills Camp Lolly! Maybe it’s because we wanted it to match with the pink sky! Or maybe it’s because you deserve it. Either way, you need to bring the whole family! Opening March 21, 3030.

Taeyong chuckles to himself. Cute, he thinks, already feeling the familiar rush of blood bounce around his anatomy. He hasn’t even touched his pistol yet, but his mouth was watering. He even felt his member getting excited, something he had never in his life experienced. He had never been dosed with this much.

“I don’t know why we stopped here.” The conductor takes another swing of his drink. “But I trust you. Wasn’t our conversation just amazing this whole trip? You know, maybe when you come back we can catch up in different ways?”

With the silence that filled the train, you would assume that he wasn’t in it. But that was the best part. A sky fox, he was. He’s crawling on the floor, looking nothing less of a demon. The sight is horrid, and as he approaches his prey, he can feel his eyes flashing. He had never been able to look in the mirror to see if this was a real thing. If the color was actually a bright purple color. Regardless, it feels good. It feels so good, he wants to scream.

“Taeyong? Where are—

Splat.

The pistol is silent even as it cools off, smoke receding from the hole. There’s a fat blood stain on the window, and it brings comfort to Taeyong. He can’t smell it, but he inhales deeply anyway. God, he wanted so badly to keep going. To take this high and do things he had never done before. Shoot him more, squeeze his throat to see if he can make it burst. But there’s no time for that.

“Sorry, buddy.” He laughs loudly. “But you talk too fucking much. Also, bosses orders.” He looks at the watch he always sported on his left wrist; tapping it twice. The text he recieved just minutes before the train showed up hologrammed above the dead body.

Get rid of him when you get there safely.

With his black gloves on, and his mask now covering his identity, he throws the man down the stairs of the train. He cleans the leftover blood on his way out, and with the strength of a million men and woman, he carries his body to the deepest parts of the greenland.

“Did you handle it?”

“Of course I did.”

“I know you can’t see it, but how does it look? It looks different, doesn’t it?”

Different was an understatement. Taeyong had found a safe place to finish his resting, and he was so ready. He was so ready to step foot onto the campus, class.

“They have black bricks.” He stares up, eyes rushing to search for everything. The scenery screamed the future. He can hear cars zooming down the road. They’re everywhere. People are laughing, and walking around with genuine smiles on their faces. Girls are with boys, and they’re not being assaulted, or being forced to show themselves just so they can eat. Some are even holding hands.

The grass seems so soft. More than ever now, does he want his colored vision. Grass is green, but he knew this grass was greener. Possibly a completely different shade of green.

“They have a lot more than black bricks, boy.” Sooman laughs, finding this whole ordeal too adorable. “They look clean don’t they?”

“Mhm.” Taeyong swallows.

“Your Indigo is wearing off.”

“How do you know?” He’s asking questions, but he’s not even listening. He’s quite distracted with the rumble echoing through the sky. On the brochure it always describes the day as blue. So that’s what color he was going with.

“You’re feeling a lot right now.”

“I can take extra. I don’t want you to think—

“Calm down, boy. You deserve to have fun. Starting today, no more Indigo for you. First and foremost, people will start asking you questions, and if your senses are off, it’ll expose you completely. But at the same time, you obviously can’t just stop taking them completely. You’ll be a mess. You’re smart enough to split the grams in half, lessening the dosage, aren’t you?”

“Are you sure? I mean—

“God, I’ve haven’t heard you ramble this much since I found you.”

That sentence brings an unfamiliar tingle to Taeyong’s chest. As usual, that days pops right into his memory, but he’s not content. He can feel his blood pressure rising slightly as he can see the blood again. The way their eyes were in the back of their heads, and their skin was pale.

“Sorry.” Is all he can muster.

“Take a half right now. It will calm you down. Call me when you see her.”

“Okay. See you when I come back.” He speaks, immediately hanging up the phone. Why the fuck did he just say that? So fucking sappy, and weird.

He continues to walk around the large campus. He can still feel that shaking, and it’s making him quite anxious. Just how he was feeling when he got this mission. The worst part of it all, or maybe the best part, was that his mission wasn’t what was bringing him the slight shake. He had literally been sent to murder the president of the most prestigious university in the world, and his entire family, but no sweat.

“Excuse me.” He finally speaks, noticing a girl, white hair, cruising cooly beside him. They happened to be walking over a bridge, assisting them over water. Beforehand, he thought he saw little fish swimming around in it, but he would have to test that later.

“What’s up?”

“What is that vibration? I’m new here.”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t know?”

His heart slightly stops, but he catches himself as his feet continue to scrape against the cobblestone walkway. He doesn’t care if it’s annoying the girl. He enjoys the sound.

“It’s landing hour. All the people who have flying cars are arriving at school as we speak. Some of them come in flocks, some alone. Most in flocks though.”

“Flocks?” He questions with an innocent head tilt. He knows what the word means, but he wanted to know what kind. Did they have gangs here too?

“You know, sports teams?” Her voice is becoming lighter, indicating she either was really annoyed with his idiotic questions, or she genuinely felt sorry for him.

“Yeah of course!” He corrects, turning his inner liar back on. More like outer liar. Not being on Indigo was way harder than he ever could’ve imagined. Especially when talking was his only way of finishing his mission. “I just mean, what kind of sports do they have here.”

“Well, we have the typical stuff. Swimming, floating rollerskating, but our most popular team is the speed demons. Electrical NASCAR. Hard to explain? you just have to see it in person. Complete jocks. So hot.” She gushes.

“Interesting.” He notes. “Why can we feel them, but not see them?”

“You see, everyone thinks that just because you go here that you’re rich. But that’s not true. I only drive a Tesla! My parents would never even think about buying a flying car! Even though I’m at the school that fucking invented them—anyways,” she breathes, slapping herself a quick time, “they have privileges, like their own parking lot. If you’re on the other side of the campus, you can see them rolling in, but from here? They don’t think we deserve it.”

“Right.” His lips are now folded into a thin line, wanting so badly to scoff at her. She was complaining about having a Tesla, when he had never even been inside a car. Fuck you. He thinks to himself. He’s not stupid enough to say it outloud. This girl is clearly naive, even if annoyed, and he knows he can get more information out of her.

They finally make it over the bridge, and Taeyong continues to observe the campus. There’s more students on this side. He can see ramps, and people using their hoverboards to skate and do tricks. It’s almost an electrical current thats surrounds the boards; lightning. They have no shoulder pads or knee, clearly knowing they are safe. No danger in sight.

“I never asked for your name?” He slides in, adjusting her book bag strap ever so slightly. He notices her blush.

“Mackenzie.” She chokes out. “You?”

“Lee.” He answers simply. “You like it’s here? Other than not having a flying car?” He chuckles. She can’t see or hear the aggression behind it. If his drugs weren’t wearing off, he might have fed on her like the idiot she was later tonight.

“I love it.” She sighs in content. “You meet a lot of great people here who just want to keep the world a beautiful place. Valhalla is...magical. Funny enough, the flying car guys may be hot jerks, but one of them has a sister.”

His ears perk up immediately. This can’t be this easy, can it? The chances of your name about to leave her mouth was actually quite slim, but it was possible. And a possibility is an opportunity.

“Really? Who?”

“Johnny and Y/N. Hottest people here. I know I say hot a lot, but they’re like—sexy. Most popular kids on the campus.” Her hand reaches for his own, and she slyly takes his schedule from his hand. She opens it promptly as they hault at a large pair of stairs. It’s a hologram, and rumor has it; your feet tingle when you walk on it.

Everyone gets a boost! The sign floats.

“Funny enough, she’s in the class. We all have class together.” She smirks. She’s happy. She thinks she has a chance to get with him; or at the least, get in his pants. “Environmental science.” She finishes. “Lucky me.”

He laughs, this time loudly. It echoes, and he sees her smiling even brighter from the sound. This makes him laugh even louder, taking his first steps into his new life; temporarily of course. It does indeed tingle, and feels himself waking up even more.

“No, Mackenzie,” he breaths out, taking a hand and swiping it through his hair ever so gently. “Lucky me.”

When he walks in, his heart stops. The ceiling seems to be unreachable as it practically touches the moon. He also can see right through it, although it seems to be able to protect from horrible weather conditions.

“Also lucky both of us, we’re here.” Mackenzie walks up to a black door; a keypad floating in the center. Her thumb locks itself on the scanner, and it opens immediately. Well, more like dissapeared. He quickly follows behind her, but is stopped and shocked, causing him to hiss.

“What—“ he ravels, rubbing his stomach from the pain. From the other side, he can see her, laughing at him. She thinks it’s cute.

“Everyone has to use their thumb print.” She confesses.

“You couldn’t have told me that before I walked behind you?”

“Everyone has to learn.”

Real funny, Mackenzie. More now than ever did he know she was going to be added to his list.

He sticks his thumb on the pad, and sticks his foot through to be safe. He’s in, and he can see so many people inside. The desks are all levitating; it’s unbelievable. He looks to see if there’s a professor, but there’s nobody. At least not yet.

“You can sit with me. Study buddies?” She cooes, locking his arms into hers, and for a split second, he almost reacts. He was not used to so much affection, not even with his brothers. They weren’t touching unless their hands were around your throat.

Once again, he’s following her lead. She hops on seemingly thin air, adjusting herself into the chair. He does the same, and now that he’s up, he can look around. All over, he can see familiar images. The images from the brochures.

Goon Lagon! Limy likepark! Winter frost!

There’s also a huge map resting in the back of the classroom. He’s too far to read what it says, but he wants so badly to know if NEO even made the cut. Do these people even know it exists? Probably so, right? A smile is creeping on his face again, because he really did it. He’s a monster, invading their world.

He’s caught up in his thoughts, but not so much that he doesn’t notice the door clearing again. He immediately breaks into a cold sweat when he sees who’s coming in.

It’s you. Johnny can also be seen, and he prays that he’s not in this class as well. That would make things so much harder. The two of you hug, followed by hoots and hollers from the guys floating in the back. They must be on the team, too, as they sport similar coats.

Your walk; it’s addicting. The sway in your hips is something Taeyong wasn’t acccustomed to, and the outfit you sport. He can’t see it, well the color, but in reality you’re wearing an orange tube top that read “NASCAR”, and has a car zooming on a track as a finishing touch. Your orange pants match perfectly. You had combat boots, just as he did on your feet, and shades were covering your face. You looked exactly what Mackenzie said you were; popular.

He expects you to find a way to sit in the back. Those seem to be your people. Your potential protectors. But without even thinking about it, seemingly, you hop up right beside him. You remove your shades from your face in dramatic fashion, and your eyes; they’re beautiful. They don’t even have to be a bright color. They’re just black to him, but they’re sparkling.

And yet, he’s unfazed. You’re nothing special, he thinks. A pretty face was nothing.

[doodle--writes]

It’s Okay- Eddie Kaspbrak Imagine

*GIF not mine*

Word Count: 2,291 Warnings: Description of Abuse, Clowns, Guns, Alcohol Request: Hello! May I request an Eddie Kaspbrak imagine where the reader has low-self esteem and is terrified of Pennywise because of past abuse and Eddie is sweet and loving and comforts them? Thanks! _____

"What the fuck is wrong with you lately?"

You looked to Richie, ready to give him more than a playful punch. He had been getting on your nerves all afternoon and your mood before that wasn't helping.

You stood.

"Nothing is wrong. Maybe if you can shut your mouth for more than five minutes I'd be a little more cheerful!"

"Oh yeah! Well what abo-"

"Beep beep, Richie."

You pulled your attention away from Richie and looked over to see none other than Eddie standing about a yard away. You could feel his condemnation from there as he looked at both of you, arms crossed.

You looked at him, pleading. "Eddie he's saying something is wrong with me. There's nothing wrong! I'm fine!"

Eddie's eyes locked with yours. Immediately you looked away, focusing more on the ground and how dirty your Keds were.

"Richie, just drop it. Y/N doesn't want to talk about it with anyone but me." He stepped closer, grabbing your wrist. "So we're going back to my house. We'll call you guys later."

Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut, knowing full well that arguing with Eddie was about as effective as telling a cat not to knock something off a table.

So you begrudgingly accepted Eddie dragging you out of the clubhouse and to his bike; you didn't have your own so you always hitched a ride on Eddie's.

The ride was silent other than the two times Eddie screeched curses because he almost got hit by 'careless drivers' as he called them. In reality he was the one being reckless.

Once at his house, both of you dismounted the bike and Eddie carelessly let it drop onto his driveway before he headed inside.

Your welcoming sight was Sonia Kaspbrak practically spilling over the sides of her recliner as she knit something; probably her one thousandth winter scarf for Eddie.

Eddie nervously smiled. "Hey mommy, Y/N is staying over for a while, alright?"

She looked up, smiling, her cheeks taking over her eyes entirely. "Of course Eddie-Kins. I love you."

Eddie smiled and began to walk to his room before he heard an abrupt: "Say it back."

Eddie silently cringed and sighed before he turned back to her with a painfully fake smile. "I love you mommy."

She smiled and looked back at her crocheting. Eddie practically ran to his room, gesturing for you to do the same.

Once inside of his room with the door shut, he gave a sigh if relief.

"I hate when she makes me say that in front of you guys." His cheeks grew red and he fussed with his hair.

You casually sat on his bed and waited for him to keep on talking because it was his brilliant idea to drag you to his house.

After a moment to calm down, Eddie sat next to you. The air felt stiff and uncomfortable, and it was easy to see why.

You already knew Eddie was dragging you out to talk about your... experience, your run-in with good ol' It.

"Alright," Eddie sighed, "I guess I'll start." He shifted so he's sitting criss-cross on the bed. "I'm worried about you. You've been just- you've been angry and upset lately and I know partially why, but you need someone to talk to."

You put your head in your hands, your shoulders tensed, every muscle pulled tight from pure anxiety. "But I don't want to talk! I hate even fucking thinking about it!" You took a moment to breathe out slowly.

Eddie delicately wrapped his hand around your arm, trying to pull it from your face, but by reflex you tore your arms out of his grip, your eyes going wide.

You put your arm down, looking at your lap. If Eddie wasn't concerned before, he was then.

He hesitated for a moment before asking: "can I hold your hand? I think it'll help."

Without looking him in the eye, you placed your hand in his, fingers interlocking.

You refused to look at him but you finally told him what happened to you. ___

It was still barely the start of summer; school had ended a few weeks prior, but instead of the freedom summer typically brought, most kids and every parent were filled with fear.

Kids had been going missing since the preceding October and most parents wanted their kids home by six o'clock.

That night was no different.

You and Eddie had just finished hanging out and getting ice cream at the local candy shop and he offered to ride you home, but you declined. It would take Eddie about a ten minute bike ride to get home after dropping you off but if he went straight home, it would be less than half that.

You figured the less time he was out alone, the better. At least, you tried to convince yourself to think that was the only reason you didn't want a ride home.

You subconsciously put your hand over a part of your arm that was bruised with finger prints.

Eddie gave you one last worried smile before he rode home.

So you began your walk, all alone, to the outer edge of town.

It wasn't that scary considering it was still light out, but the air felt suspiciously cold.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing the skin in hopes of warming yourself up any. It didn't work.

You picked up the pace, hoping movement would maybe help you warm again. It didn't.

You sighed, craving the warmth of your bed, but you heard a sound behind you; like someone was dragging their feet against the pavement of the road.

You looked behind you to see... nothing. You tell yourself that it was just a stick blowing across the road from the breeze. That was plausible, right?

Once you reached home, you couldn't be happier to sprint inside, slamming the doors behind you.

Only as soon as you did, you heard your father yell.

"Be careful with the God damn door!"

"Sorry," you squeaked, making your way to your room.

You sighed happily seeing a mound of blankets and a single teddy bear. You felt somewhat embarrassed, still sleeping with a stuffed animal at thirteen, but it helped you sleep.

You laid down, pulling two blankets over you and cradled the stuffed animal in your arms.

You were ready to close your eyes and take a half hour nap, but your bedroom door slammed open.

"Get your ass up and come clean!"

You sat up and looked at him before getting up as told. The look on his face said that it was not a day to try and push back.

You walked to the kitchen, where there was already a bucket of cleaner, gloves, and a sponge laid out for you.

You quietly thanked your father, knowing that he would say something around the lines of 'you oughtta be grateful that I set this up for you'.

He hovered in the kitchen doorway for a while before retreating to the living room to watch whatever amused him that night.

About half an hour in, you heard his recliner screech as he got up and started to head out the door. "I'm getting some beer. Be done with the floor when I get back."

So, you continued to work, knowing that he could get violent when he drank.

When you were just about to finish up, the door opened to reveal your dad with a six pack dangling from his right hand.

"Didn't I tell you to have this done by the time I got back?"

You tried to make yourself look smaller, hunching over even more as you continued to scrub the floor.

"It's almost done daddy. Just give me five more mi-"

That's when the first slap came.

You sat there, stunned, the inside of your cheek bleeding.

"If you don't finish in the next five minutes, you'll get more than that."

You had never cleaned faster, finishing with two minutes to spare. You discarded your gloves, emptied the bucket, and cleaned out the sponge all before walking to the living room.

"I finished."

"Good job; get me some ice for my elbow, would ya?"

You agreed, getting an ice pack for your dad's elbow.

When you handed it to him, you immediately noticed he put it on the wrong arm.

Your father was right handed and it put a lot of strain on his right arm when he worked at the factory. So he would ice it but continue to use it.

You watched him put the ice on his left arm and grab the remote with his left arm. He took a swig of his drink using his left arm.

After a moment you decided, "You're not my dad."

His eyes looked towards you, their usual brown amber color was a glowing yellow.

"What do you mean Y/N? Of course I am." His voice wasn't his. It was a hideous harmony of the voice you recognized and a much higher one.

You stepped back, running into the doorway. You knew where your dad's gun cabinet was, but you didn't want to face away from that thing.

Carefully, you backed out of the doorway creeping backwards to the stairs, your eyes locked on the eyes of whatever was standing in front of you. It stayed feet away, but followed you at the sane pace you crept.

Once you felt your heel hit the bottom step, you turned around and scrambled up the stairs as fast as you could.

Just as you were about to reach the landing, you felt saliva on the back of your heel. You turned to see the monster seizing and shaking, your dad's resemblance missing entirely, leaving a clown.

Suddenly, he froze, his eyes angled up at you but it looked as if he wasn't really seeing you. Spit dripped from the scarlet of his lips.

You didn't know what to do.

But just like that, the clown smile was replaced with a gaping mouth, rows of gums filled with teeth more fearsome than a shark.

With a shriek, you were on the landing and into the hall. You found the study, already knowing the door was locked. You braced yourself knowing full well that it would hurt, but you started kicking and ramming against the door.

You could hear the creature enter the hall as you broke the door open. You had never moved faster as you reached the cabinet, pulling it open with ease. Of course he locked the room but not the actual thing with guns in it.

You reached for a gun you knew was loaded before turning around to see It there.

Blindly, you fired the gun. It hit dead in the clown's stomach. It hissed, moving back somewhat. You reached behind you for spare bullets as you fired again, the knock back making you stumble backwards this time.

Yet you straightened up and followed the creature, shooting rapidly until you heard the click that signaled you're out of ammo.

It had begun to flee downstairs. You stood in the hall, reloading the gun before you stepped to the top of the stairs and pointed your gun down.

There was nothing except for the front door swinging open to reveal your actual dad.

That night hadn't ended well for you. ___

After you were done telling Eddie what happened, you were pulled into a hug.

He finally understood why you wore long sleeves in the middle of summer or why you hated people touching you unless you initiated. It made sense. Your spite for the past few weeks made sense to him.

"It's okay Y/N, it's okay." He planted his chin on your shoulder and whispered into your ear, smoothing your hair down and rubbing your back.

Eddie would do anything to make you feel safe. Part of him thought that he alone would be able to take on that fucking clown if it were to make you smile.

You cried against him, your body shaking with relief. Finally someone understood, they knew how you felt.

After a moment, you pulled away, rubbing your eyes. "Can you talk to Richie for me? Maybe not tell him everything, but at least help him understand why I've been," you pause, thinking for a word, "so bitchy?"

You looked at Eddie and after a moment, both of you burst out laughing, to the point of tears. (Although Eddie's the one crying, not you.)

After a few moments, waiting for the laughter to calm down, you stared at Eddie for a second. His cheeks went pink.

"What are you looking at?"

"You."

His cheeks went darker.

"Why?"

"Because I wanna do something."

His eyebrow quirked up.

"What is it?"

"This."

With that, you leaned forward, rocking on your knees and pressed a soft kiss onto Eddie's cheek, already feeling an almost overwhelming heat from his blush.

"Oh," he said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

You felt your own face heat up. "Yeah well consider that a thank you. For everything. Not just today."

Eddie smiled small. "Oh c'mon, you don't need to thank me."

"But I do. I couldn't have ended up with a better best friend."

"Best friend?" His smile fell a little.

"Yeah, best friend. Something wrong with that?"

He shook his head. "Not at all! Just a little surprised considering what happened a minute ago."

Your face grew hotter. "Well I mean-"

He kissed you.

You kissed back.

The both of you pulled away like grade schoolers who were embarrassed about holding hands on the playground.

"Alright," you laughed, "maybe more than best friends."