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arcanarix · 17 days ago

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Make That Double, Ch6 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: non-con, blowjobs (with gojo), piv sex (protectd, with gojo), vibrators (with geto), overstim (with geto)

In spite of Geto’s adamant displeasure—a warning that feels like it’s been sewn with silken barbs—Gojo still returns for visits. He’s come here far too often, Geto has told you (and him), his voice a chilling undertone and thick with a hint of disdain, not necessarily toward Gojo himself. Not really.

And what can he possibly mean by this? You still are at a loss from his cryptic mumblings about some war between jujutsu sorcerers and humans, and the world of sorcery is an invisible force which exists just beyond the realm of your own understanding. Whatever it means, it shouldn’t concern you, and they both like to reiterate that fact to you on multiple occasions. These matters are well out of your scope, they both say, matters which are distant and incomprehensible to a mere human.

Yet you still can’t help but be curious.

Can they honestly blame you?

Gojo has returned to the temple at least three times this week, maybe more, slipping in between missions to join in on Geto’s shenanigans and his torment. The two certainly are a match made in Hell, the perfect power couple. Gojo always enters with that cheery, dark laugh and a touch laced too heavy with desire and much darker, sinister intent.

While he may be here for the thrill and doesn’t have that many strings attached to you, you fear the twisted pleasure that glows like lightning bugs in those sharp blue eyes of his. You suspect something running far deeper than some sick, twisted pleasure. He insists he just enjoys being around for Geto’s sake, but you doubt it.

A light gasp escapes your parted lips—an unintended slip of sound—as an arm snakes around your shoulders, slithering around them like a serpent, each finger that digs into your skin like a cold weight.

Ah, it’s just Tweedledum, drawing in close to you, his breath a teasing whisper against the nape of your neck that has chills dancing down your spine that sinks itself deep, settling like frost in your bones.

Your teeth clench, hiding behind the sweet mask you’ve worked so hard to build since you’ve been dragged here against your will. It feels like it can slip and fall at any moment like fragile porcelain.

“Hello there, Satoru,” you greet with your voice laden in that syrupy sweet warmth. God, do you long for the silence you used to just embrace back in your lonely days in your studio apartment between work and classes. Those moments of embracing that sweet solitude which, you have come to realize the longer you’re here, you have taken completely for granted. Now it’s a rarity to find time to yourself, solo moments slipping through your fingers like sand, much rarer like a jewel buried in the earth.

Silence is a gift you’re no longer permitted to own yourself, isn’t it? Neither is solitude.

It’s a foolish concept to consider humoring at this point.

He buries his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, sharply, letting the scent—faintly sweet, a faint note of fruit, a faint note of floral—consuming him like an addictive drug. “Missed you so much, Princess. Did you miss me?”

His words seep into the air, saccharine and venomous, laced with a dangerous edge, surrounding you like smoke from a dying candle made of black wax.

“Far, far too much, Satoru,” you reply, each word heavily enunciated and forced between your clenched teeth…the lie is cloying on your tongue. Betrayal. You feel betrayed by your own words.

Across the room, Geto observes you both, his gaze pressing onto your skin like scorching iron, silent yet all knowing. You know best not to test his patience, to toy with any chance he may disapprove of something. His very glance is a ball and chain tightening around your wrists, securing you in place.

You can’t say what you truly feel. You realize that.

Not now, at least. Not yet.

“I missed you far too much, Satoru,” you add just to fluff them up some more, laying it on so thick like buttercream slathered across a yellow cake. The words taste of poison rather than that sweet concoction, the poison sinking onto your tongue and contaminating your mouth with sweet, sweet lies that can only make them happy and pleased with you.

The bitterness of it all coils deep within your core, like a twisting knot of distaste, something you have come to wear well, the way an actress wears their character well. After all, you know how this all plays out—the lies all woven together with the threads which form their intricate web.

Every word you allow yourself to utter is just part of your plan—a way out, a possible fracture in their foundation.

A string of chuckles escapes Gojo’s glossed lips, low, soft, like the distant, ominous rumble of thunder. It’s far from comforting to you.

“You know,” he begins, his hand on your shoulder no sliding to your neck, fingers pressing into the delicate hollow just beneath your jaw, twisting you around to face his soft glowy eyes. “I’ve been thinking far too much about how good your mouth’s going to feel.”

His gaze dips to your lips, a dark twinkle sparking in his eyes. “Suguru said I could guide you, since you’re still new to this.”

Your entire body stiffens, muscles tensing under his vice grip. Of course he senses it—that little glimmer of resistance that ignites before you can suppress it, and he tuts at you softly, the mockery in his gaze sharpening as his lips curl into a petulant little pout.

“Come on, Princess,” he chortles, his voice dark, thick with derision, desire, and deeply condescending, as he guides you to kneel. Impatient hands move with surprising grace, as he unbuckles his belt, the click of metal against metal reverberating like the bell has tolled for you. You swallow hard on a lump that feels like a large chunk of coal, still possessing an air of defiance, but he only grins at you in something close to triumph. “Did you really think I could keep my hands off of you? I only did because Suguru told me I needed to go easy on you, and even he breaks his own rules like the damn hypocrite he is.”

“Satoru!” Geto’s voice cuts through, authoritative and cold. He’s now sprawled across the sofa, still maintaining a watchful eye, a faint frown creasing his face. A whole expression of displeasure etching his features like a master’s disapproving gaze. “Play nice, or I’ll have to restrain you.”

Gojo’s sharp blue eyes glowy with amusement, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“I am being nice,” he quips, his voice laden with a feigned innocence as his hand wraps around himself.

“Actually nice, Satoru,” Geto reprimands, his voice a low warning that hums through the room like the whirring of a machine.

“Oh, Suguru, you’re killing me here. Fine.” There’s still that petulant edge to his voice but he still surrenders, his gaze fixed on you, smirking as he observes that little flicker of fear and defiance in your gorgeous eyes.

While they’re bickering, you can’t help cowering over the idea of that in your mouth. You have no idea how good you’ll be, and you know well enough to understand that no man likes to feel teeth during a blowjob and your teeth surely will scrape and you don’t want to think about what kind of consequences could follow.

“I…I don’t think it can fit,” you squeak, and you hear the sickening cackles from both men.

“We’ll accommodate,” Gojo drawls, groaning as he brushes his stiff tip across your lips. You flinch. Geto soon approaches you from behind, cooing at you while patting your cheek.

“Open up, little dove,” he commands, his voice softer than what you’re used to—almost laden with a bit of jealousy? “Don’t make Satoru wait.”

With that, he grips onto your hair tight, and whimpering you pry your mouth open as much as you can, inching the head of Gojo’s cock inside. The salty tang of the skin hits your tongue, and you don’t know what to make of it. It tastes almost…zingy, like the taste of a battery.

“Oh fuuuuck yeah,” Gojo groans, eager, desperate, his blue eyes seemingly emitting a soft glow in the barely there lighting of the dungeon. “That’s it, Princess. Fuck, your mouth feels better than I imagined.”

You can’t speak, obviously. Not when you have this fuck’s dick in your mouth. You’re impressed you don’t gag.

And Geto pushes your head further until you engulf nearly half of Gojo’s impressive length. You kind of doubt you’ll be good at this, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

And Gojo clearly isn’t as patient as Geto.

The click! and whir! of a phone camera hits your ears and of course, of course they’re going to take a bunch of humiliating pictures like before, just to rub your nose into the dirt. You hate them both so much.

“Come on, little dove, a little more and you’ve got it all,” Geto instructs as he watches you inch the rest of Gojo’s length into your mouth. You can control your gag reflexes, thank God. A part of you wishes you can rip his dick clean off with your teeth, but you know that won’t bode well.

Just smile and bear it, you tell yourself like a mantra. Just smile and bear it…

“Oh my God,” Gojo gasps, his mouth hanging open slightly. “How does your mouth feel tight like your pussy?”

Geto hums, and you feel him guide you to bob your head. “Someone’s enjoying themselves. What do we say, Satoru?”

“Fuck, Suguru. Thank you,” he groans, his eyes fluttering a bit. “Th-thank you. It feels so good.”

Geto grins at his lover, ignoring the jealousy twisting in his gut.

“Use your tongue, little dove,” Geto tells you while peering down, and you fearfully meet his eyes, as they darken with something like lust and envy. “Breathe through your nose.”

You don’t know how, but you try. Each time you’re guided down his cock you lap your tongue along his sensitive skin and Gojo seems to like that, groaning and moaning. Geto seems pleased with your efforts, but it’s not always easy to tell.

“Suguru…” he moans, his eyes half mast and his face flushed. “Can I fuck her mouth?”

Your eyes widen at that, no way are you ready for it, and catching onto your reluctance, Geto shakes his head.

“We have to ease her into this,” he reminds him sternly, speaking as if he doesn’t fuck you in wild positions when Gojo’s not around. “Almost there, Satoru?”

He whines in affirmation, his lower lip quivering a bit. Geto chuckles at the sight.

“Good,” he says, as he kneels to your level. “Finish him off, little dove. Remember to breathe through your nose. Help him come. You’re doing so good.”

“Please, I wanna come so bad,” he begs, and Geto coos at him. He helps you pick up the pace, but one of his hands moves to fiddle with his balls, squeezing and teasing them.

“Need more,” he whines, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His dick twitches in your mouth and you know what that means. The squelching of your mouth with each guided bob of your head is fucking disgusting. Gojo’s a chorus of wimpy pathetic little moans until finally, you feel his arousal spill onto your tongue. Quite a heavy load, and you’re not surprised at your next command.

“Swallow,” Geto whispers darkly into your hair and you manage, grimacing as you do. You don’t enjoy the taste. Zingy. Salty. Awful.

Gojo’s dick slips out from your mouth, leaking and limp and spent. Geto peppers approving kisses all over your face, helping you to your feet.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Thank you for letting Satoru do that. I know that was your first time.”

Gojo’s eyes are still half-mast and a little hazy. His face is so red, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“It felt so good, Princess,” he praises, breathless. “You’ll get better with more practice, as with anything.”

Your jaw throbs, completely sore and you didn’t even get him fucking your throat like he wanted to. You can only imagine how much worse it’s going to get.

Your hand reaches up to massage your jaw, and Geto frowns, shooting a glare at Gojo.

“We should have held off,” he scolds, and Gojo’s eyes flash with worry. “You ought to be pleased she was willing to do that.”

“I-I’m sorry?” Gojo replies, casting a judgy look to Geto. “What’s got you all riled up?”

Geto studies Gojo for a moment before sighing.

“Nothing.” Geto returns his attention to you. “You did well, my dear.”

He moves in to kiss you, and the kiss feels soft, gentle. Like…

Like he’s worried about you?

This side of him catches you off-guard. When he pulls away, he cups your cheeks, gazing down at you with those violet eyes shining with something akin to affection.

How odd.

Gojo clears his throat, and Geto flits his gaze to him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something else, Suguru?” he asks, as his eyes land on you. Geto keeps a protective hold on your waist.

“I’m aware,” Geto sighs, and casting an apologetic (apologetic?!) look to you, he hands you to Gojo. “Play nice, Satoru. You can fuck her today, but I’m watching.”

“Duh,” Gojo scoffs with a roll of his eyes as he pulls you flush against him, and you gasp as eager hands yank off your robe. “I’ve been thinking about your pussy for ages.”

He hoists you up and carries you to the couch. At the very least they’re not chaining you, but it’s not like you have anywhere to run, anyway. Geto approaches the both of you, seating himself on the edge of the couch as Gojo pulls off your panties, tucking them into his pocket.

“Just another to add to my growing collection,” he purrs, and you don’t know how to react, your gut twisting in disgust. He runs his tongue between his lips as his head dips, his nose barely grazing the sensitive skin of your core.

“Fuck, what an adorable pussy,” he praises, licking a line between your folds, eliciting a whine out of you as you lean into Geto.

Geto silences your sounds with a kiss, shoving his tongue past your teeth and twirling his against yours. All the while Gojo’s digging his tongue into your pussy, making all kinds of lewd noises that makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little. Compared to Geto, he’s sloppier, less coordinated, but he’s softer in some ways. Each swipe of his tongue feels like little kitten licks while Geto prefers to absolutely devour every inch of you. Gojo seems to like to savor you, to tease you.

The foreplay feels more like torture.

Well, everything about this is torture, but you almost much rather they take what they want from you without much preamble. That feels far more merciful.

But these men aren’t known to be merciful.

Geto draws his tongue around your lips before pulling away, his eyes downcast.

“Watch him, little dove,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “He looks so happy between your legs.”

“This would the best way to go,” Gojo growls in agreement, plunging his tongue into your hole, making your legs twitch and jerk. His hands rest on your thighs to keep you in place. “Let’s get you nice and wet enough to take my cock, baby. I know Suguru’s already fucked you plenty, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to make sure you’re well taken care of, so just relax while I enjoy this perfect pussy.”

What a fucking shit show.

“Relax, my love,” Geto reassures you with a sultry purr. “He’s great with his mouth. Trust me.”

“Awww, look at you, fueling me while I feast on this pussy you get to fuck whenever you want,” Gojo remarks, twisting his tongue up your folds, making you keen. “God, you’re so fucking selfish, you know that? Getting to have something as perfect as this forever.”

“Bet you can still taste me in there,” Geto chuckles, and you wince.

Disgusting that they use you like this, to get each other off.

“I actually do kinda,” Gojo affirms, laving his tongue between your outer lips. “but you’re not overpowering her amazing taste. She tastes so fucking sweet; do you have any idea how lucky you are to get to have this whenever you fucking want?”

Gojo’s tongue lapping at your slick makes your body tremble. Even if he is sloppy, it feels so fucking good—

“—S-Satoru…!” you cry out, your orgasm splattering a bit onto his face, and when you peer up at him his face is glistening in not just sweat but your arousal, too.

He licks his lips, smirking, content with his work.

But far from satisfied.

“Good girl,” Gojo praises with a purr as he fiddles around his pockets for a condom. Ah. Geto’s very strict on the ‘no breeding’ bit, isn’t he? You really are the exception here. Just for kicks. Just for laughs.

Just a new pretty pet.

After he’s wrapped himself up, the tip of his cock brushes against your folds before catching at your hole. He doesn’t waste another second, pushing himself inside and groaning out through clenched teeth.

“Oh fuuuuuck yes,” he says, as his cock fills you to the brim. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good. Suguru’s been hogging you waaaay too much. But now it’s my turn.”

He bucks his hips, and you thrash in place, his size is comparable to Geto’s but at least he’s not as girthy. One hand grips the top of the couch while the other reaches for Geto, yanking him in for a heated kiss as he spears his cock into you with a deadly precision. So unlike how sloppy he is with his tongue.

“Satoru,” Geto mumbles against his lips before nipping them, hard enough to leave a mark on his lower lip. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Suguru,” he pants as he picks up a harder rhythm. “Fuck, thank you, baby. So good. She feels so good.”

Gojo doesn’t last long compared to Geto, his whole body shaking as he comes, and he pulls out, tossing the used condom into the trash before slipping on another one.

Of fucking course it isn’t over.

“Sorry, Princess,” he doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “Suguru here promised me a few more rounds.”

A few?!

“After all,” he goes on, pushing his dick back in. “I’m not going to be back for a while. Gotta make it count, right? You understand, don’t you, Princess?”

“Satoru,” Geto says in a warning tone. “Be nice.”

“I’m nice enough,” he quips, “But I’m still wrecking this pussy.”

You know how this is going to end, so you bury your face into Geto’s lap, while these horrid men continue to take from you.

As Geto excuses himself a bit earlier to tend to some clients, Gojo remains behind with you while drawing a bath. The bathwater steams a bit, casting a fine mist into the air, curling around the edges of the tub like ghostly little wisps. Gojo watches you as he wraps a towel around his midsection.

“Obviously Suguru would be here longer if not for that stuff,” he murmurs, voice low and edged with a hint of resentment for some reason? “It’s just you and me now, Princess.”

He attempts a trace of affection in his gaze, yet there’s always something darker beneath them.

He settles beside you at the edge of the tub, reclinging with a sigh that seems almost a bit wistful. His hands grip the rim, trailing his fingers through the steam like a child would.

“Suguru’s driving me crazy,” he starts, tone laden in bitterness. “It’s always ‘you’ve gotta prioritize something beyond me, Satoru’ as if he’s not the most important man in the world to me.”

Your eyebrows quirk at that, fighting the urge to laugh at the absurdity of all of this. Well, truthfully this situation has gone far past the point of absurdity and you can’t even properly name how you feel anymore. Here, with the weight of his world and its demands spiraling into chaos all around him as if he’s not the solution to it all, Satoru Gojo is choosing to be vulnerable with you.

“That sounds hard really hard, Satoru,” you respond in a little purr for good measure, and even you surprise yourself by the softness of your tone. You tentatively reach out, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. He lets out a dreamy sigh as he leans into your touch, his posture loosening.

“He’s just worried about you, that’s all,” you offer some kind of comfort, voice barely above a whisper, and then he shifts, seeming uncomfortable at your observation. Like he’s being put on the spot or something.

“I know,” he replies almost too quickly, his gaze flickering elsewhere. His fingers tighten against the tub’s edge. “I just don’t like being the reason for it. I’m really, really trying here. Trying to understand why he did what he did and why he left it all behind, to fix the damage he’s caused.” His voice peters out, dipping into a low murmur, deep in sorrow. “But he won’t return to that part of himself… not with me.”

Your curiosity piques at more of the cryptic shit he’s been spewing, and feigning that innocence, you tilt your head as if merely a curious little girl in this tangled web of chaos. “Is this, um, about, what did you call it? Jujutsu sorcery?”

You find you wear your character well on your shoulders, the feigned naïveté coating your words like honey. Gojo’s gaze sharpens, glinting with something unreadable before they soften, and he actually chuckles at you. Not so much in a mocking way—more amusement at your attempt to understand him and the burdens he carries.

“God, you’re so fucking adorable,” he mumbles, reaching out to brush your cheek. “But yes, it’s just pretty complicated. We don’t exactly see eye to eye, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want what’s best for him. I always have, you know? I love him. He’s not just my lover, he’s my best friend, too.”

“I understand,” you reply, slipping into the bath, sighing as you embrace the warmth of the bath water. You gesture for him to join you, and, without hesitation, he slides into the water, pulling you close until you’re nestled against him.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers against your neck in a reverent tone, his liips brushing your skin with a feather light touch. “Suguru really couldn’t have picked anyone better.” He trails kisses along your jaw, his touch shockingly tender yet there’s still that underlying sense of possession. “You may not be able to tell, since he’s so closed off and guarded all the time. But you really did mellow him out. He really needs that, you know?”

You tilt your head up a little at that, peering up at him with a curiosity that isn’t feigned for once.

“Huh? What makes you say that?” you ask.

He sighs, running a slender finger along your collarbone, trailing down until it circles lazily around one of your nipples, drawing a sharp inhale from your lips.

“He’s always had trouble opening up,” he babbles, as a finger moves to twist one of your nipples beneath the water, making you hiss. “And he still does, don’t get me wrong. I mean, that’s part of the whole reason why there’s this big mess in our world that he kind of caused. He just won’t ask for help! He’s got this issue with being a little too righteous about his morals, whatever they are now. We carry a huge burden and he’s over here like he’s completely over it, and now I have to carry that burden alone which is really kind of pissing me off…”

Oh. He’s venting to you. And spilling more vulnerabilities? Now this is good… he just has to keep going. The bitterness in his tone is raw, indeed. There’s actually a glimpse of the man behind a mask he’s wearing for Geto too, apparently.

And you can use whatever vague shit he keeps spewing later.

“…I just want him to, you know, trust me a little more. I know I can be kinda dense sometimes hut can’t he just tell me how he really feels sometimes? You know?”

“That sounds like it’s lonely,” you reply, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “You just want to show him you do see and hear him, right?”

“Exactly!” Gojo exclaims, a flicker of relief softening his gaze. “I guess I’m just bad at expressing my feelings too…and we’re both too old to be dropping hints.”

You hum thoughtfully, resting your hand on his cheek and he presses a kiss to the palm of your hand. “So…what are you going to do?”

Another soft sigh leaves his lips.

“I don’t know,” he admits, holding you closer, the water sloshing a bit as he moves. “I just want him to talk to me. Actually talk to me. Things don’t feel the same anymore. I mean, they haven’t for a long time and…sorry, I guess I’m spewing all of this shit and you have virtually no context, right?”

You manage a little smile as a subtle sign of reassurance. “That’s okay. I guess you have no one to talk to about this, right?”

“Yeah, especially since I go to Suguru for everything,” he retorts, resting his forehead against yours, grinning a bit. “And it won’t be wise to go to Suguru about Suguru.”

A giggle escapes your lips, and his face lights up at the sound, his eyes softening even more.

“You’ve got a beautiful laugh,” he comments, his gaze twinkling with childlike wonder. “Let us hear it some more.”

If only this situation is worth being light and happy about.

You can’t believe it slips out, but…

“I would,” you say, your voice barely audible. “If I was happy here.”

“Is Suguru not taking care of you?” he accuses, frowning in disapproval. “I can have a nice, friendly chat with him you know.”

“He’s not nice like you,” you go on, the irony of your words absolutely laughable. Gojo, nice? The man is no better than Suguru in the slightest, but you suppose there is some softness in him somewhere. “He’s…scary. Really scary. And a lot.”

“He can be,” he agrees, kissing your cheek. “But he just cares a lot, you know? He cares a lot more than I ever did about a whole lot of stuff. He’s passionate. Just give him some time to show you that. He also just really needs someone to care for him too. Not just me.”

“Is that why…he chose me?” you ask, your voice soft, almost like there’s a hint of wistful longing that you don’t fully understand yourself. You feel nothing toward either of them. They have taken you away from everything and they don’t care.

“Yeah,” he says, “You’re nice. To have around, I mean. You’re kind. Attentive. He needs someone more like that. Someone who can steady him, in ways I never could before.”

“And you don’t think you’re like that?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it, and his laughter rings through the air like wind chimes, but the sound is dark, hollow, more like a warning.

Gojo chuckles. You don’t like how it sounds. Off, like the rest of him. Off, like this entire situation because you definitely don’t belong here. You feel like you’re wedged into a world where you have no place, no room, but they bring you here because they want you to be here for their own amusement. It makes you so angry.

“Far from it,” he tells you as he keeps fondling your breasts, using them like they're stress balls while he babbles on and on and on. You wince but you don’t stop him. You know better than to try. “I’m a monster. More of a monster than he is.”

You absolutely agree with him, but likely not for the reasons he thinks.

For a myriad of reasons you don’t care to dig into, Geto has been showering you with more affection.

It begins, as these progressions often do, with the smaller gestures. Sometimes it’s just an umbrella held just a moment longer while he strolls with you through a rainy day. Or his voice lingers just a tad longer at the end of a seemingly ordinary question, as if he cares for your opinion on trivial matters. You have come to find that he now considers your presence first, insists on it with the twins backing him up. During outings with the little family, on one occasion, he buys you a Chanel jacket, its leather soft as butter against your skin, custom made to suit only you. A lot of these gestures feel almost comical, just another way to lull you into a sense of security in a role you never wanted to play.

Yet, while you don’t think much of it, he still continues, trying and trying to continue to peel back those layers of resistance but you just keep slapping them back on. You refuse to give into him. And yet… he keeps going. He doesn’t stop.

Whenever you crave an escape from the temple, he knows just where to take you and how to indulge your tastes without truly granting you the freedom you sorely craved. Whenever you yearn for a sense of newness or novelty, be it in a new café or bakery or in a public park, he whisks you there like a knight in shining armor without hesitation, as if he truly bends to your wishes.

It all feels like a mockery. A joke.

He gets more and more spontaneous. More and more romantic. Sometimes dinners are just between you and him while the twins are dining in another room with some of their servants. Those dinners complete with soft lighting from candles and an extravagant bouquet of roses he bought for you during one of your recent outings. You don’t realize they’re ‘forever’ roses, ‘everlong’ roses, and you know what that symbolizes in romance, but you’re not going to entertain those thoughts. That isn’t possible between the two of you, and you have a feeling he definitely knows it.

You understand his motives all too well, so well, that you refuse to yield to it. Every attempt at bending to your will is just another way to charm you into compliance, into obedience.

Sure, he wants you to be more obedient, more submissive, but nothing beyond that, right? Surely he can’t possibly expect you to fall for anything he does. Everything he does is always laced with a darker intention.

Still, Geto’s efforts do not falter. During moments where you insist you cannot follow through on his desires, he simply listens and relents rather than pushing you to comply. Even his restraint feels like a mockery.

Sometimes, in the slower moments, Geto likes to find other ways to appeal to you. Whatever that means to him. Whatever he thinks is ‘flattering’ to you. As long as it means he doesn’t have to touch you in intimate areas, then you’re not going to complain. You’re given some time to actually breathe.

You just hope this lasts. Even if you know he expects you to return his grand gestures of kindness, you won’t, because that’s just not who you are.

Tonight, as per tradition now, he draws you a bath, his hands steady as he pours oils into the water, cooing praises and sweet nothings to you, as if to comfort you.

As he sponges your skin, you hold yourself still, all too knowing of the true intentions hiding just beneath these seemingly kind, thoughtful gestures. You know the last thing he wishes to be is tender, yet tonight, this is the closest he has ever come to it, dangerously so. You almost find yourself being yanked into the illusion if only for a nanosecond. You have remembered, reminded yourself not to fall for any of these tricks, any of his deception.

Once you emerge from the bath, he treats you to yet another bountiful feast as per his tradition now, presenting you with an array of different cuisines that make your mouth water. He has been hospitable. Kind, like you have said, even more so since Gojo has been absent for the time being. He’s standing behind you as you scarf down some of the freshly seasoned veggies and tear off a leg from one of the rotisserie chickens to enjoy all to yourself.

Why not take advantage of this? After all, these moments aren’t too bad.

A slender finger brushes under your chin and lifts your head up to meet his violet gaze. Your heart drops to your stomach. What is that look in his eyes? Surely it can’t be…

“I might be moving too fast…” he starts. No fucking kidding! As if the forcing you into this weird shit isn’t already moving too fast?! Is he fucking SERIOUS right now? “But I’ve had time to sit with my feelings for a while, and I need to address something to you.”

You dare not to tear your gaze away from his, because you know that he would see that as an offense—something you can’t afford now or ever here. But he can’t be serious. This can’t be real. He can’t truly expect you to believe anything he ever says is true.

“I don’t expect you to return my feelings, but it’s true: I’ve come to feel some kind of affection for you. Perhaps the closest thing I can come to affection for someone I usually deem lesser than someone like me,” Geto starts in a low voice, there’s almost an edge to it as he speaks, twirling a strand of your hair as his gaze drifts elsewhere, lost in a daydream of sorts. He can’t be serious. He really, really can’t be serious—right? “I might even go as far as to say that you are the closest thing to a mother the girls will have, and I must thank you for being so cooperative and willing to bond with them. They do truly adore you. They’re right, after all. We do make an excellent pair.”

You have no idea whether you should laugh or cry; this is absolutely out of left field for you. This must be another one of his tricks. It must be!

You have come to that conclusion a long, long, loooong time ago, but he keeps filling in all the blanks for you. He’s absolutely bonkers. Insane. Must be thrown into an asylum if they can hold sorcerers. They must have something akin to Arkham Asylum in their world, right? If sorcerers are as powerful as they claim to be?

And cooperative? Oh god, of course you have to be cooperative! Do you have a choice? You either cooperate or you turn up dead somewhere in a ditch, and at this point, the latter sounds like the more merciful option, don’t you think?

“I…” you gulp. How do you react to this? How can you react to this? If you have a stronger backbone--which the longer you stay here, the more you realize you definitely aren’t as strong-willed as you initially believed—you would have told him what for, you would have spat in his face, you would have kicked, screamed, bitten, punched, anything else other than…

“I’m…I’m so glad you think so,” you opt to say in spite of your insides telling you to protest! To fight! To give him a taste of what it means to have everything taken away from you and hurled back out! Why are you just accepting it? Have you given up? No, you haven’t, you just don’t know what else to do right now. “I’m so glad I make you happy, darling.”

“You make me the happiest,” Geto drawls as he tugs on that stray strand of your hair a bit before his finger ghosts over your cheekbone. Your breath catches, and it’s never for a good reason. You know what to expect from here. You can’t remember the last time you had any true agency. “The happiest I’ve ever felt in years, little dove. I don’t think you understand how much you’ve come to matter to me.”

Why does your heart skip a beat from that? Why does it, when you know all he says are pretty lies? He knows how to make anyone feel on top of the world, a sweet talker; he has to be, with a title like his and the fact that he’s a cult leader should give off enough of those warning sirens and yet you still find yourself drawn to his false promises. Why? Why’s that? Is it because in spite of everything, you’re still a woman who desires connection and to be desired like anyone else?

Even if it’s from someone like Geto?

“It’s like I’ve just told you, I don’t expect you to return my affections. That’s ultimately not important,” he adds, “What is important is that you’re here now. And maybe you’ll come to feel something for me in time. I only hope you grow to like Satoru too.”

You wince at the mention of his name.

“Speaking of Satoru…” You know you should keep this to yourself, yet the question leaves your lips, completely uncontrolled. “He’s been feeling like you’ve been shutting him out. Why’s that?”

A shadow crosses Geto’s face and his expression hardens before softening a bit. His gaze drifts away as though your question has struck too close to the truth, like it truly just struck a chord with him.

You don’t like this at all. Have you crossed a line?

“What goes on between Satoru and me,” he murmurs, “is none of your concern, little dove.”

“Please, Suguru, darling,” you plea, gathering some courage, but trying to keep your voice soft, meek. “I just want to understand. Maybe I can—!”

His gaze snaps back to you, his eyes narrowing into slits as his lips twitch into a cold smile.

You freeze.

“No,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “Once you’re finished here, meet me in the bedroom.”

You make your way to the bedroom in silence once you finish dinner, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Chills dance down your spine as your hand finds the doorknob. Twisting it, you push the door open just enough to slip inside, shutting the door behind you.

There he is, lying in wait as he’s settled himself on the foot of the bed.

“Disrobe,” is all he tells you, at first. Hesitant hands still comply, and you stand before him fully exposed as he desires.

“Come to me. Kneel,” he continues, his eyes not leaving yours.

You obey, not daring to meet his eyes as they remain fixed on you while you sink down to your knees.

“Look up at me, Mamma,” he instructs, his tone soft but laden with an edge of darkness. With a bit of effort, you dare to raise your head, timid eyes meeting his piercing violet.

He sighs, “Why are you questioning about things that shouldn’t matter to you?”

“I…” you stammer, feeling your mouth dry and your throat tighten. “I just want to h-help.”

The laugh that escapes his lips is bitter, mocking, condescending like he always is.

“Do you?” he growls, tone sharp. You jump from shock. “I told you numerous times what happens between Satoru and me, stays between Satoru and me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he rises from his seat on the bed, and gestures for you to take his place. You sink onto the bed, fearing the worst. You feel the dread twist in your heart.

“Lay on your back,” he says, and you don’t hesitate, sinking into the mattress immediately. You don’t protest when he pulls your panties off, flinging it aside. He pries your legs apart, hooking them to either corner of the bed with a tight rope. He does the same to your wrists to the headboard.

“Suguru, please, I…please, I didn’t mean any harm by what I asked, I just…”

“Be quiet,” he growls as he draws closer to your face, and as you peer up at him, your heart drops at the sight. You haven’t seen his face like that since the day he and Gojo took you.

He circles the bed until he’s looming over you. He seems beyond displeased and it’s terrifying you more than it should. Still, even after something like this, you plan to hold your ground. You aren’t going to let him discourage you.

“You shouldn’t have upset me like that, Mamma. Prying into business that isn’t yours. Taking advantage of Satoru’s vulnerability. That takes a lot out of him, you know. He prides himself on being the strongest person he knows,” he scoffs at that notion while tightening the knots to where your ankles and wrists have been secured onto the bed. “And that is something about him you can’t take lightly. I’m unhappy with you right now, and we can’t have that. I have to punish you.”

“Please…darling, I’m so sorry, I just…I just wanted to understand his side to things, and he opened up to me willingly and…” you beg, babbling on and on, attempting to struggle but when he glares at you, you cease immediately. What a sight. He’s so upset.

He shuffles through the side table drawer and finds a vibrator wand, and you feel dread coil in the pit of your stomach. You know what he’s going to do and it’s not going to be good, it’s not going to feel good at all.

“I told you it was nothing of your concern, Mamma,” he yells, making you cower, as he switches the vibrator wand on. Your legs begin to tremble before the device even reaches between your legs.

“Suguru…” you murmur, your eyes giving him a pleading look.

“Shush,” he snaps, resting the wand on your pussy, the high vibrations making you thrash about in your confines.

OhmyfuckingGod I can’t—

“Please! I can’t!” you gasp, the whirring of the vibrator in combination of the sloshing of your juices drive you absolutely mad. Yes, you have done this before on yourself but not like this. You understand your own limits. Geto doesn’t care about your limits. He cares about setting an example.

He coaxes one out of you in mere seconds, something you’re surprised is possible, but he doesn’t remove the vibrator from your pussy, instead angling it against your clit as a dangerous, nihilistic grin spreads across his face.

“I’ve been far too lenient with you,” he tsks, “I should have reminded you of why you’re here. You’re here for me. Not just for the girls. For me. That’s why Satoru’s okay with this. He shouldn’t be the one benefitting from your companionship.”

“I’m sorry,” the apology spills from your mouth like word vomit. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just…”

“Shush,” he snarls again, his tone sharper than even you’re used to as he massages the vibrator along your pussy folds, licking his lips as he observes how your slick builds up, sticky and gooey between his fingers when he dips them into your pussy. You thrash about in your confines and his frown deepens, his forehead wrinkling. “I’m not interested in your apologies.”

No fucking kidding.

He pushes the vibrator against your clit, and you keen, your next orgasm washing through you sharper and wetter than the first. It doesn’t stop at the second one. He doesn’t stop circling your clit, rubbing between your folds, the lewd squelching getting wetter and wetter with each pass of the vibrator.

He coaxes another. And another. You know better than to keep count.

“Suguru, please, it’s too much!” you plea again, trying to find a way to back away but you can’t, not with how tight those knots around your ankles are. You’re completely defenseless, just like he wants, and you hate it, you hate that you make him angry, you hate that you can’t fight back the way you wish you can. You hate being powerless, anyone does, but like this? In such a humiliating way? This isn’t fair. This just isn’t fucking fair and you’ve done nothing to deserve this except be adjacent to the wrong people and you can’t change this.

Finally, it all stops.

The sheets beneath you are soaked in your arousal, and Geto grins in amusement.

“You didn’t put up that much of a fight, Mamma. If you swear not to meddle into business that isn’t yours, we can stop for the rest of the evening. We were doing so well and I’d hate to spoil the mood with something like this.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you cough, your body still shaking, still oversensitive. “I-I won’t do it again. I’m s-so sorry.”

“Good, Mamma,” he says after a period of consideration. “I believe you.”

You almost sigh in relief. But then you hear the vibrator click back on again.

“But I have to just ensure that this doesn’t happen again.”

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rendy-a · 8 months ago

Note

hi I really like the yandere Vil and Rook with a reader who's disguised as a male, post.

So can I request something familiar with the savanaclaw trio?

In the interest of being inclusive to all readers, I will write this as there is a rumor the Prefect might be a girl. Yandere suitors will attempt to uncover the mystery, but the ultimate outcome will be left to the reader to determine.

I’m running out of ideas on that particular scenario, so I did all 3 in one scenario. Hope you like it!

When Leona stepped in to the Savanaclaw locker room, Ruggie and Jack quickly jumped apart. Leona rolls his eyes, “Could you be any more obvious?” Ruggie holds a hand to his mouth and laughs, “Shishishi!” Regardless of being caught having some sort of illicit conversation, Ruggie remains unashamed. Instead, he seems to find this more of an opportunity than a hinderance. “Say Boss,” Ruggie says as he slides to Leona’s side, “What do you make of this whole Prefect business?”

Leona allows an eye to slide and observe the sly hyena. He needn’t ask what business he meant; it was all anyone was talking about the past few days. “Just stop it!” Jack grumbles, “It’s none of our business. If the Prefect wanted to tell us something like that, they would.” Ruggie catches hold of that statement and returns to prod Jack with it, “So you agree, there is something to be told there?” Jack is taken aback and quickly backpedals, “I..I don’t know! Its not like we talk about that sort of thing!” Ruggie scoffs, “Well why not?” Then he gets a mocking look in his eye, “I mean, we are all guys here, right? Its totally normal to compare..” A loud slam cuts Ruggie off.

Ruggie clamps his mouth shut and looks at Leona where he glowers with a fist against a locker. “See,” Jack smugly retorts, “Leona agrees with me. You just don’t do that to a guy you owe your loyalty to.” This sets Ruggie off again, “And what if they aren’t a guy?” Finally, Leona steps in, “Then its even worse. You should show a woman proper respect.” At this, Ruggie finally appears to be a bit ashamed. He rubs his head softly, “Aren’t you even a little curious?” Leona stares into the distance silently for a long moment. Then he sighs and says, “Doesn’t matter. It isn’t something you can ask.” Ruggie looks crestfallen and so Leona, taking pity on him, replies slyly, “I only said you couldn’t ASK.” Then he bares his fangs in a cunning smile. Jack looks apprehensive but Ruggie is already onboard with whatever plan Leona has come up with. Shishisshi…

“Thanks for helping out, Prefect,” Ruggie says as he pulls the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm along beside him with an arm tossed over their shoulders, “I can’t tell you how helpful it is to have someone to play manager for us.” You stagger a bit under the weight of the towels and equipment you are carrying in addition to the pressure of Ruggie’s arm but hold on. “Ah, its no problem, really. I think it is sort of interesting to watch you guys play Spelldrive since, you know, I can’t really play.” You think for a moment that Ruggie seems to feel guilty and quickly rephrase, “Not that being magicless is bad! I’m learning so much about Twisted Wonderland and everything just being here!” This seems to cheer Ruggie a bit and he smiles and pulls you in very close. Then he practically puts his head to your shoulder and takes a deep breath. ‘What is this, some sort of get-your-head-in-the-game deep breaths or something?’ you wonder. It was very awkward, so you nervously chuckle and sort of shrug your shoulders. Ruggie, instead of seeming discouraged, merely smiles back at you and copies your shrug and chuckle.

You open your eyes wider and stand, not knowing quite how to respond when Jack comes to your rescue, shouldering between Ruggie and you. “Quit it,” he mumbles softly over his shoulder to Ruggie. You feel relieved to have the tension broken but aren’t sure what to make of this interaction. You look at Ruggie questioningly. “Don’t worry. It’s just a minor difference of opinion,” Ruggie assures you warmly. Then shouts at the disappearing Jack, “He still came though! Guess he isn’t too good for this after all!” Jack’s ears flatten to his skull, and he glares at Ruggie before catching your eye. Then he flushes strongly across the cheeks and turns nervously away. “Training is training,” he mumbles before setting out at a run to join the warmup.

You watch him go curiously until you hear a low rumbling voice from behind you. “Not to worry, Prefect, the pup is just eager to wag his tail for you.” You look deep into the shadows to the bleachers set up for viewing and finally locate Leona. He watches you with deep interest before smiling a challenging half smile at you, “Hope you are eager to show off yourself. We’re really going to work you hard today.” You straighten your back and loudly retort, “I’m up for it, Leona Senpai!” He steps forward in a slow stalking step until he comes an arm length away, “Good. You’ll need that enthusiasm.” Then he peers over your shoulder at Ruggie who gives Leona a shrug as though to say, ‘who knows.’ He scoffs at the hyena, “Too soon. You need to learn patience.” Then he locks eyes with you for just a moment before jogging away to the Savanaclaw students who are finishing their warmup. Training has begun.

Intense was the only way you could describe the training regimen you were observing today. Not only was it intense for the training Savanaclaw members, but it was also intense for you as well. Woosh! A stray spelldrive disk veers wide of the goal and ends up in the stands. “Another one for you, Prefect,” Leona calls with a satisfied smirk. You give a tight smile and set off into a run to the other side of the stadium to climb into the stands to retrieve it. You’d been doing a lot of this today. Not that you minded retrieving the disks that went out of bounds, but it seems like today luck wasn’t with you. Every errant disk seems to be on the complete other end of the place. You were sweating like crazy before training was half over.

The only one not missing disks today was Jack. He was running wild as though it was his personal mission to catch not only all his disks but as many of the errant disks as possible too. Each time he manages to save you a jog, he looks at you proudly, tail wagging behind him. Unfortunately, it also feels like these times Jack is saving the day are also the times Leona is most prone to lobbing long and difficult throws to Ruggie. The second-year student appears to be having a new training regimen and…it isn’t going so well. Most of Leona’s difficult passes seem to evade the hyena. “Woah, oops. There goes another one! Be a pal and grab that for me, eh Prefect? Shishishi!”

When you finally hear Leona call for the end of practice, you are beyond grateful. “Am I done then?” you hesitantly ask him. “One more for you to grab over there,” he says as he nods vaguely toward a tall patch of grass and shrubs. “Umm,” you mutter hesitantly, “Where exactly?” His eyes sharpen and he gives you a fang-tipped smile. Then he saunters over to you and spins you toward the patch, leans over you and points, “Just there, see?” You stand that way for a moment as you try to track where he is pointing and find the disk. “Umm…” you begin before eliciting a laugh from Leona. Then he huffs, takes a large breath and leans even closer, “See that tree there with the bent fork? Look just to the right of it.” And then you do see it. “Oh! Oh, ok. Let me grab that!” you say as you set off. In your eagerness to retrieve that LAST disk, you miss the look that passes between the gathered Savanaclaw students and Leona.

When you grab ahold of that last disk and lift it for Leona to see, he shouts over to you, “Go grab the first shower. We’ve got some cool-down laps and stretches to finish first.” You give him a grateful look and rush off before they can ask you for any more help today. Once you are out of sight, the herd gathers around Leona, “So?” He looks at them disdainfully, “So, what?” Ruggie’s mouth drops open, “What do you mean, ‘so what?’” Leona gives the crowd a dangerous smile, “So next time, make a plan of your own. Now get running.” Jack gives Leona an approving nod and sets off and, after a bit more muttering, the others have no choice but to bow to Leona’s will.

You emerge from the locker room and give the guys a wave. Surprisingly, Leona jogs over to see you off. “You worked hard out there,” he drawls slowly. “You could tell?” you playfully ask him. “Yup, I could smell it,” he says calmly. You don’t react for a moment but then get immediately flustered, “Sm..smell!” He pats your head gently, “Not to worry, Herbivore, it’s just a beastman thing. We’re built like that to scent out pheromones and such.” You look down at yourself and give yourself a worried sniff. Leona lets out a hearty laugh, “Not to worry, the scent is well and gone now. You smell shower fresh, Herbivore.” You give him an embarrassed smile and wave as you set foot through the portal to leave Savanaclaw. “Just be more careful next time,” Leona softly whispers. Maybe he was fonder of you than he’d admit, even to himself.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #tw: yandere #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #yandere jack howl #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere ruggie bucchi

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zirconika · 4 months ago

Note

I would love if you could write a fluffy negan x fem!reader one shot, there is genuinely not enough!!! I can’t think of any prompts tho I’m sorry 😭 but if you’re not able to write it then it’s all good🫶🏻

déjà vu

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Negan Smith x Fem!Grimes!Reader WORDS: 3.6k SUMMARY: Being in charge of guarding Negan’s cell has given you plenty of opportunities to spend time with him against your will, but you unexpectedly end up bonding with him. Which is why nothing could have prepared you for finding out that you’ve met before and how. (Reader is Rick’s sister) WARNINGS: fluff, blood … idk what to say just read it!!! SETTING: post-negan alexandria A/N: oh my god nonnie u r absolutely correct i just checked there’s a concerning shortage in negan fluff so ask and you shall receive!!! ps im nawt sure what u had in mind so i hope this works

You hated Negan. End of story.

“Why do I have to be the one to do all this?” you’d complain to yourself every time you were handed the food you’d have to deliver to his cell. But you knew why. Your grief and your injury made you a liability than an asset out in the field, thus you found yourself assigned to something worse than desk duty—Negan duty.

The day your brother presumably died, you were so close to reaching him. Just a couple more steps ahead of you and you could have saved him…

But upon the explosion of the bridge had you skidding away, having you hit your head down on the harsh surface of the ground, blood spilling from under the back of your head as well as your broken leg… It had gotten blurry, but it happened nonetheless.

You were bedridden for a week, and you hated it—being left all alone to bear the weight of your grief. The communities were in shambles, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to lead just like your brother did.

When you got better, the ‘council’ refused to let you out, assigning you instead to managing the damned prisoner you had never once bothered to visit for any reason ever since he got locked up.

Now, there you were everyday, feeding the sick bastard canned tuna for breakfast.

“Where’s the other guy?” he had asked you on the first day you stopped by. Without a word, you gave him his plate, only to sit down across from him, your arms crossed.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m just doing my job.”

“Goddamn,” he said, that grin of his spirited as ever. Fuck this guy. You started to think of ways you could poison his meals without anyone knowing. “They gave you the fun work from home job? Not cool!”

The first time you met Negan was when he came by Alexandria. You weren’t there when the line-up happened, but it changed Rick. You’d never seen your brother so lost, disconnected from himself and everyone.

He didn’t eat the first meal you brought him, or the second, not even the third.

For a while, it was just like that—you glaring at him while he talked all about… Well, Negan talked about everything. He never seemed to shut up. At least when you were around. When you got better, you began going out again to go on supply runs and when you returned to fulfill your tasks of distributing his food, you also began to notice the change in him.

“Took you long enough,” he said. This time, he really took the time to dig in. “How was the outside? Fun?”

“It was alright,” you said. You’d been against holding a conversation with him, having carried the anger you thought your brother deserved to harness against him. But you’d been feeling so alone the entire time, you decided talking wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “Found a box of canned goods, so that’s that. Good thing I don’t have any assholes taking half of whatever I got.”

“Ha ha,” Negan deadpanned as he continued eating. “I was worried you’d never show up. Been meaning to finally talk to someone.”

“What, you don’t blabber your ass off to any of the guys who’ve visited you?”

“Hell no,” he responded, looking at you as if what you just suggested was the worst thing in the world.

Racking your mind on why on Earth would this dipshit find you entertaining to talk to despite you not holding any form of conversation throughout your entire time together last time, you decided there was only one possible reason. “You think I’m easy to crack.”

“No, are you crazy?” He looked up at you with a grin on his face as he ate his meal from his seat. “You just seem like the listener type. A lot of you Grimes do.”

You wanted to ask what he meant by that, but you kept your mouth shut. You let him talk his ass off until he finished his food before you wordlessly took his plate.

As you were about to leave the room, he called out to you. “This gonna be a regular thing?”

“I hope not,” you said as you stepped out and closed the door behind you, with no intention of making this your daily routine.

Except it eventually did. You don’t know how it happened, but it just did, and you let it. At one point, you started bringing him the food you cooked for yourself, asking him if it was good.

“Are you kidding me?” Negan said in between chews of the spaghetti you made. “I’d go as damn far as saying you might’ve beaten me in my own game.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned, parallel to what he’d replied to you on the first day of your routine. “You’re just trying to get me to open your gate for you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s the thing that just tickles ma balls.”

“Fucker,” you laughed.

You brought him all sorts of dishes you tried to cook. You would’ve asked Carol for help, but years after Rick’s death, everyone maintained a sort of distance from each other. It didn’t help that the Kingdom was hours away, and if you brought any of the food you made, it would’ve been rotten by the time you got there thanks to the heat.

It surprised you how easy it was to talk to him. Some days, you’d forget he was even a prisoner, but more of your friend. Then you’d remember everything he’s done and you’d become distant at times. Negan never commented on it, but he noticed it.

Michonne wanted to ask about why you were making food suitable for two people, but even she felt the gap between the two of you. You loved Michonne, but there was definitely a rift there somewhere.

The only time you’d hang out was when you were at the dinner table with her and the kids, and even then the two of you would only talk about whatever it was the kids wanted to talk about.

You were more close to Judith. For one, she was also fun to talk to.

You and Negan had that preference in common—talking to Judith Grimes.

It was thanks to Judith you found out about something. After reading to her in bed, you noticed she seemed to still be wide awake. “What, you’re not sleepy yet?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you,” she said, seemingly scared of something. You wondered if Negan had threatened her, that maybe his kindness towards you was in preparation for something sinister.

“Tell me what?”

Judith beckoned you to come closer. You oblige. To your surprise, your niece leaned into your ear to whisper, “Someone has a crush on you!”

You had a feeling who she was referring to. “Who?”

Judith backed away, sinking into her blanket. “I can’t say!”

“Well, what did this someone say?”

“I can’t tell you! Goodnight, Auntie!” And then Judith covered her blanket over her head, guilty about what she’d said. Could it be?

“You’re really not gonna tell me?” you teased your niece. But you knew that once Judith’s made up her mind, that was it. You watched as the blanket shifted left and right out of Judith shaking her head. “Alright, then. Good night, baby.”

Alas, you weren’t able to have your questions answered when you found out about Negan escaping.

You couldn’t find the words to describe how you were feeling, because it felt wrong to admit you even did feel anything. Maybe he was just using me so I wouldn’t notice his plans to escape… Did he always have plans to escape? Did he get out because of me?

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When he returned, he looked forward to seeing you again. While waiting, he fidgeted with his fingers. Negan Smith was a man of boastful performances; he always knew how to exude confidence in any situation. Coming back into his cell, he was so sure he’d have a fun time slipping back to your old routine together.

His heart almost leapt out of his throat when the door opened for the second time. The first time, he thought it was you, but he just got a whole lecture about everything.

It bored him to death. He’d returned. There was nothing for him out there, and even if there was… It didn’t matter anymore.

You had to ignore the familiarity in what he called you…

“Hey, gorgeous. Missed me?” He excitedly watched as you came in, his friendly grin faltering when he realized you came in with the food he was originally given during his first few years of imprisonment.

Canned tuna.

“What, no new meal you want me to test today?” he asked, albeit nervously. To Negan’s dismay, his confidence was wavering. “Hellooo?”

Instead of sitting or standing right next to his cell, you sat at the spot you’d taken on the first day. You crossed your arms.

“Oh, you’re pissed.”

You stared at him coldly. It bothered him, really. He’d gotten so used to seeing you with a warm, friendly smile on your face. He thought he’d have the luxury of seeing it again as soon as he returned.

Instead, he was met by your cold script, “Finish your meal.”

Negan began to strategize, thinking of how he wanted his play to be. In an attempt to reclaim his confidence, he decided to play the stubborn card, saying, “Nope.”

But you weren’t in the mood to play. “Alright, then don’t eat.”

“Fine,” he challenged.

But you weren’t the kind to back down either. “Fine.”

You were curious to know the story behind that subtle flash of recognition in his face that disappeared as soon as it came. It piqued your interest, as you recall having this conversation a long time ago…

Deja vu, you thought to yourself.

To your surprise, Negan shook his head. “Jeez, just got goosebumps. Got deja vu there for a minute, it’s insane.”

Though you were intent on maintaining distance from the prisoner, you couldn’t help but ask. It surely was easy to talk to the guy, you had to give him that. “You felt that, too?”

“Felt what?”

“Deja vu,” you clarified. Negan watched as you stood up to approach his cell. “Like it happened before.”

“Is it just me, or are we literally doing some batshit telepathy right now?” Negan jokes. “Makes me think it’s a soulmate thing.”

“It’s not a soulmate thing.” You wrap your fingers around a bar of his cell, contemplating where you might have had that conversation. The first time you met Negan, you felt as if his voice was familiar.

You searched the deepest crevices of your mind, trying to recall a time in your life when you might have possibly met the prisoner. One look at him and you knew he was doing the same.

Nothing came to mind.

“Fine.”

Except for one. Holy shit. He wasn’t sure, but a part of him felt like it was yanking something out from a library in his mind.

He set it aside for now. He wanted to talk to you first, properly. “[Y/N], this is gonna be a strange request but… Could you come in?”

“What?” you ask, snapping out from your focus. “Why would I do that?”

“Just get in the damn cell.”

“How do I know you won’t trick me just so you could slip out?”

His face screwed up into a frown. “Because I’m not even gonna try. I came back; I chose to. Because of you.”

“What?” you ask again, lost more than ever. It felt wrong that you were expecting something. This was Negan.

The same Negan who…

You shook your head. And you don’t know what force of nature propelled you to be stupid, but you oblige with his request. You sat down next to him on his cot in his cell.

Your backs were to the wall. It felt comfortable somehow. You eyed the stack of books he’d sped through reading whenever he was alone.

Negan set the plate of canned tuna aside, putting his hands on his lap. “You know why I came back?”

“Because you’re an idiot?”

The prisoner laughed, and an unsaid guilt clawed at you from the back of your mind, saying whatever this was… It was wrong. But with Negan, you never felt like you were alone. Which is why it sucked when he left.

“No, stupid. Because there was nothing for me out there.”

“What makes you think there’s something for you here?”

He looked at you this time, his eyes free of the malice you were used to seeing constantly present. “You.”

You had to scoff. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He thought back to all the times you’d sat right next to him with bars separating the two of you. How he’d never felt so welcomed except for in your presence.

How he waited for you to visit him. How he was constantly excited for the next time you’d come. How he’d get frustrated whenever it was someone else who’d open the door.

“Thought I was done for,” he confessed. “Until you came and I… I told myself I’d make amends with you out of respect for your brother and your nephew, bless their souls. Then you started visiting me by routine. I knew it was your job, but I never felt like I was behind bars whenever I was with you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

“It means I like you, if you didn’t get that.” He nudged your elbow, looking at you as if he were already expecting you to turn him down. “I just wanted to tell you so you’d understand.”

“I like you, too,” you blurted out.

This time, Negan was the one who couldn’t seem to find the right words to say, much less at least even any words at all.

“Rick dying like that… It changed me. Changed everyone, really. Nothing was ever the same and I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt alone, and I’m grateful you were there when I grieved. It just… Feels wrong to feel this way about you.”

Negan nodded. “I get it.”

You felt his hand on top of yours, rubbing it. He didn’t even realize he’d done it, but he left your hand alone when he noticed he did. You wish he didn’t.

But you had to be brave. Shamelessly, you grabbed his hand in yours, lacing your fingers with his. Negan let you. “You suck at this game, asshole.”

And the two of you froze. He knew where he knew you from, and so did you.

“Ho-ly shit,” Negan started. “Are you GorgeousArsenal777?”

It all made sense now. Holy shit, indeed. “You’re SaviorNutsack69?”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Way before the apocalypse, Negan had made it his personal mission to destroy every single child XBOX Games. First was Gears of War.

But he decided he wanted more than just a game with a co-op campaign mode. He needed to obliterate opponents in a ranked multiplayer combat game. It wasn’t that he hated them, he just needed a win…

He found a guaranteed win when he matched with MrPuddingCyborg. It was an easy win, really. It was very clear that whoever was behind that avatar was a newbie, thus it was easy for Negan to rank up.

“Fuckin’ loser,” he said, turning on his mic. “I bet you picked that username ‘cause you thought it was cool, didn’t you! It isn’t!”

“Your technique sucks!” a little boy on the other end said, furious.

“Pants pisser,” Negan said one last time before beginning the game. “Are you shittin’ your pants now? What’re you gonna do, tell your mom?”

The growling on the other end stopped, meaning the kid turned off his mic. Negan scoffed, sensing victory from miles away. “What a fucking crybaby.”

Looking for the same benefits of winning, he requested a rematch. MrPuddingCyborg accepted. Negan leaned back, knowing it was gonna be a cake walk when—

You were killed by MrPuddingCyborg.

What?

Negan’s avatar respawned, but his tactic was used against him.

You were killed by MrPuddingCyborg.

It went on like that for a while until the two words he most dreaded to find on the screen flashed before him: GAME OVER.

Game over? No way.

Negan ended their match, frustrated to find that his failure jeopardized his progress in getting up to a higher rank.

Affected by his loss, Negan kept playing with two different players before finally getting to the third player.

Negan grinned to himself, gripping his controller with the drive to defeat everyone, but for now, GorgeousArsenal777 would be the one to get the heat.

To his delight, he got the first win. He exclaimed with a mischievous laugh. “Haha! One for Virginia!”

But that was just it.

Negan watched in horror as the player obliterated him in every round. He could already imagine his rank getting lower and lower…

He turned on his microphone. “The fuck’s that about? Are you trolling me right now?”

“Troll you for what? Coins you don’t have?,” taunted a girl on the other end as they waited for the intermission time to finish so they could leave the lobby and play another round. “Checked your account, saw you’ve been here for half a year and you’re still in a mid-tier rank. News flash, you suck at this game, asshole.”

“Game on, Gorgeous.”

“Suck my nutsack,” said the voice on the other end. Somewhere almost ten hours away south of Virginia, you clutched your nephew’s controller with a burning desire to destroy the gaming career of this fucker who pissed off your nephew.

Negan watched in poorly disguised horror as the words notified him of his losses on the screen.

You were killed by GorgeousArsenal777.

“Listen here, Gorgeous,” he started. Whatever relaxation Negan had was gone. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, concentrating more than ever. “I am gonna make you regret that you ever got a console.”

You snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”

Negan was dead serious. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you fired back. And just in time, you sent a bomb his way, killing him for another time.

You killed SaviorNutsack69.

While you waited for the next round in the lobby, you and your nephew watched as SaviorNutsack69 approached your avatar. The two of you couldn’t help but snicker as he did.

His mic turned on again. “You’re a cheat.”

You resisted calling him a virgin seeing that he came from Virginia, acknowledging the presence of your eleven year old nephew sitting right behind you with his legs crossed, giggling.

“I could’ve beaten this guy,” Carl said with a laugh.

“I know, pumpkin.” You gave the kid a warm smile before turning back to the screen, eager to destroy this man further. “But guys like SaviorNutsack69 deserve to be obliterated.”

You turned your mic back on. “Not my fault you suck. Look at your avatar, dipshit.”

You and Carl snickered on your end, giggling.

The guy on the other end laughed mirthlessly. “I do not appreciate you talking ass about my Limited Edition skin.”

“Sorry you’re not more appreciative,” you quipped, resisting the urge to laugh out loud. “And sorry you can’t rock a leather jacket like I can.”

Negan hated leather jackets, thought it was too hot. He preferred those loose zip-up hoodies. But was not gonna tell GorgeousArsenal777 on the off chance that she uses it as substance to say he just couldn’t pull it off.

“I can so rock a leather jacket, shitface.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” And then he left the lobby before the game could start. You and your nephew burst out laughing at the thought of the dude getting a leather jacket.

He was nothing to the two of you three minutes later, because you let Carl play with his account after that. But SaviorNutsack69? He was not the type to back down from a fight even long after it had ended.

700 miles from Georgia, SaviorNutsack69 got up from his chair and drove to the mall. He ran into the edgiest store he could find with purpose and unapologetically purchased the coolest leather jacket he could find.

And the rest is history.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The two of you sat there in silence, the thought of having met before all of this…

It was refreshing—the prospect of destiny. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Either way, it made you an ounce closer to him.

He grinned. Negan thought back to the leather jacket he abandoned before returning. “Hey, you’re the genius behind my look.”

“Guess I am,” you mused.

Your shoulder brushed against his, and you could have sworn there was electricity there somewhere.

“Feels like a rocky start to a love story, huh?” he asked, looking at you expectantly.

“You think this is a love story?” you asked him nervously.

Negan thought about it for a second, grinning. “I don’t know, do you?”

“Well,” you started. You paused before standing up and leaving his cell. Before leaving, you looked back at him with a smile. “We’ll see.”

“See what?” Negan stood up, holding the bars of his cell only to realize that it wasn’t locked.

“If you’re as bad on garden duty as you are on Call of Duty,” you taunted him with the same spirit you had from all those years ago. “Maybe then I’ll consider if it’s a love story.”

And that was it. You liked Negan, but that was just the beginning of a whole new story. You just knew you were lucky enough to have gotten the chance to meet again.

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annwrites · 5 months ago

Text

⸻ a house in hawkins. part five.

· pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: a local boxing match is held in town, & afterward, you have the worst night of your life. · tw: rape, suicidal ideation · word count: 7,931

You ride with Scott to the fight, staying pressed up against his side the whole way over to the local rec center where it's being held. It's just amateur boxing—bare fists only—with only three weight classes and four contestants in each.

Winners in each weight class will go up against each other after defeating their initial opponents, and whoever wins gets—what you assume will be—a cheap belt to show off, and bragging rights.

Scott is going to be fighting for the heavyweight title, which makes heat pool in your core. Just the thought of him shirtless and throwing fists with another man had gotten him lucky before the two of you headed over.

You wrap your arms around his own that’s not atop the wheel and just stare at him, making his lip twitch.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

You drag his hand between your thighs and he chuckles. “Again?”

“Do you want to pull over somewhere?”

He grins. “I’d love nothing more, sweetheart, but you’re going to make me late if you keep it up.”

You keep his hand in-place, but don’t push it any further. You’d only been joking, anyway.

Well, half-joking.

“I want you to know that no matter what happens, even if you lose, that I’m really proud of you just for trying. Putting yourself out there.”

He smiles. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You wonder how he doesn’t seem nervous. You're beyond jittery on his behalf. Worried something will go wrong and he’ll end up seriously injured, if not having to be taken to a hospital. But he’d told you that they would have medical care, and an ambulance as well, on standby tonight just incase. But he was sure he’d be fine.

You prayed for as much.

When he pulls into the parking lot, the place is already packed with people milling about, generally having a good time, and having little tailgate parties before the fighting begins.

You smile, feeling excited.

“There’s the big man!” Joe calls as you and Scott get closer to his truck, which has an open cooler sitting upon the tailgate, numerous tallboys sitting on ice inside of it.

You release Scott’s hand, so he and Joe can embrace with smiles and laughs.

You glance to your left and see that Travis is here as well. He smiles at you, and you do the same in return.

Rhett is absent, but you’re not wholly surprised. He’d been making himself more distant from the group for awhile. Now, you supposed, you understood why.

You really do wish him all the best once he leaves for Indianapolis. You're sure he’ll make the most of it.

You then turn your full attention back to Scott, pressing yourself up against his backside, wrapping your arms around his middle and closing your eyes, smiling warmly at the feel of him; the rumble of his voice through his back as he speaks to the other guys about tonight.

Finally, he turns back to you, cupping your face in his hands. He leans down, crushing his lips to yours.

When he pulls away, you beam up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you. And I’m proud of you either way,” you remind him.

He smiles, kissing you one last time before heading inside.

You watch as he disappears into the crowd, only then turning back to the rest of them, watching as Joe retrieves another beer, popping the tab on it before taking a long drink, his eyes trailing along your tight body.

You’d done your hair in braids again, worn jean shorts that hugged your waist, and a black Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt that was cut into fringes at the bottom, a pair of flip-flops on your feet, numerous bracelets on your wrists.

You glance to Travis and see that he’s already looking at you as well, smiling.

You step closer to him, desperate to have his hands on you instead of Joe’s.

You smile up at him. “Hi.”

He runs his knuckles along your cheek. “Hi, baby.”

“Is your friend coming?”

He raises a brow. “Already got your eyes on Cy, huh?”

You smile, laughing lightly. “No, I was just curious. I just figured if you were here, he would be, too.”

He nods toward the direction behind you. “Well, looks like you’re in luck.”

You glance behind you for only a moment to see Cyrus climbing out of an older model Chevy Impala; sleek and black and shiny.

You then turn back to Travis. “He kind of scares me a little.”

“He can seem intimidating at first. But once you get to know him, you’ll see that he’s a pretty laid-back guy.”

You step closer to him, pressing your hands against his chest. “Like you?”

He smiles. “Difference is, I’m also fun.”

“Oh, really?”

“What?” He asks, gesturing toward himself. “You think I’m all work and no play?”

You shrug, studying him with a smile.

He turns around then, bending at the knees. “Hop on.”

You laugh. “What? On your back? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty serious piggyback.”

You step closer, gripping his shoulders, then hop up and wrap your legs around his waist. His arms support you under your calves, hands clasping at the fingers as you wrap your arms around his neck to keep yourself securely in-place as he stands straight once again.

Honestly, being wrapped around him makes you feel just the least bit more secure since you’re going to be around Cyrus in just a moment.

Travis turns his head to the right. “You good?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

He pretends to consider for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe I should readjust.”

He pretends to drop you for a moment, quickly bending down, loosening his hands and you squeal, laughing, hugging yourself closer to him. “No, stop!”

“Yes? Was that a yes?” He does it again.

“Travis!”

Joe jumps into the playful banter. “I don’t know. Think those shorts need adjustin’. What do you think, honey?”

He walks around behind you, squeezing your ass cheeks in both of his hands, humming his approval at the feel. You just laugh louder. “Joe!”

You playfully kick off a flip-flop and then another and he chuckles, giving you a firm smack before retrieving both, stuffing them in one of his back pockets.

Travis then whirls you one way, then the other, and he pauses for a moment as Cyrus comes over.

And then you spot him across the lot, watching you.

Billy.

You can’t make out his expression. It seems…unreadable. You wonder if he’s ashamed of you.

And then you think of your conversation from yesterday. That you’d warned him of this, so he’s aware of what’s going on. Why you’re…this girl tonight.

That this—this moment of your eyes meeting—is you saying hi; that you can’t wait to be with him again. And he’s replying; telling you that he sees you. Not the you you’re giving the boys this evening to make them happy. The you from the house. Your house—as in both of you.

Travis whirls you back in the other direction, Billy disappearing from your line-of-sight.

You glance to Cyrus and he watches you with dark eyes, only a nearly-undetectable smirk upon his lips.

Music then blares from the entrance of the rec center—Saturday Night Special, even if it is Friday—and the boys turn in that direction.

Joe quickly shuts his cooler, pushing it further back on the bed of his truck before slamming the tailgate up and the four of you make your way inside.

Your seats are nearly ringside, and, even if you have a ticket, meaning you have a seat, Joe just pulls you onto his lap instead. You bite back a groan and an eye-roll at the gesture as he bounces his thigh under you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his hand settling atop your thigh.

You just instead smile like a happy little idiot, and he seems pleased.

You drown out the conversation between he and Travis and Cyrus while you glance around, pretending to just people-watch, when in reality, you’re trying to spot Billy.

And then you do. In the nosebleeds. You nearly feel guilty at your far-superior seats.

You see him before he sees you, but when he does, he merely greets you with a gentle nod and you just blink at him in response, before turning back around. You hate that you can’t even give him a smile, but God-forbid one of the guys are watching you while you watch him and you don’t know it, and then questions start getting asked.

You’re doing it to protect him.

It’s perhaps ten minutes later before someone comes onto a microphone, welcoming everyone to the event and stating that the first fight will commence in another ten minutes, essentially telling the crowd that now is the time to go to the restrooms and concessions if they so need it.

You turn back to Joe. “I think I’m going to run to the restroom.”

He nods. “Grab me a couple beers while you’re up, honey.”

You stand on bare feet, waiting as he retrieves his wallet, and then handing you a five. “I’m going to grab a pretzel, too.”

He nods. “Just use the change from the Buds.”

You stuff the money into your pocket, then stare at him with a soft smile.

He smirks. “Somethin’ else you need?”

“My shoes.”

He crosses his arms. “And what do I get?”

You lean in toward him, gripping the back of his chair with one hand and you can just feel the other two’s eyes on your ass. “I’m getting you your beer, aren’t I?”

He smirks. “Alright.” He slips your shoes from his back pocket, setting them on the floor and you grip his shoulder for a moment as you slip them on.

Just as you go to head out, Cyrus stands. “I’ll go with you. Grab something myself.”

You smile and nod, heading out into the bustling crowd of people grabbing snacks and making last-minute bathroom breaks. You head in the direction of the lady’s room, quickly giving yourself a once-over in the mirror before relieving yourself and heading back out…to find Cyrus leaning against a wall, waiting for you with crossed arm.

You blush. “You didn’t have to wait.”

He shrugs, pushing off the wall. “It’s fine.”

You follow him to the concessions and have to assure the young man running it that the beer is indeed not for you, until Cyrus grabs the cash from your hand, shoving it in his direction and telling him to give you whatever the hell you want.

And he does.

You turn back to Cyrus. “Thank you,” you say sweetly.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, taking a sip of his own beer. “You got it.”

You know by this touch alone that he already has his eyes on having you next. You wonder what all Travis has told him about you. Or Scott when they went out drinking.

You return to your seat in Joe's lap and wait for the first fight to start.

During Scott's match against his opponent, you, along with the rest of the guys, had cheered him onto victory. You'd stood for most of it, breath caught in your throat as you watched him; his body, his footwork, feeling every blow he took yourself, clenching your hands tightly against your chest, gasping each time he ended up close to the rope, terrified he was about to get pinned.

But he always got out of it, and then you'd screamed in happiness—relief—as the other man finally fell. One more round—Scott against the other heavyweight fighter that had also beaten his opponent—and then the fighting as a whole would be over.

He would be able to leave—to go home. He was going to be just fine. Just one more round and it would be done.

One more.

There's a brief intermission, so you run out to grab Joe a couple more beers, and yourself a small bag of gummy bears.

Cyrus follows you out, pulling you over to the side once you've made your purchases.

You stare up at him with a pleasant smile, hoping he doesn't notice just how on-edge he makes you feel.

"Heard a lot about you," he says, eyes flitting between yours.

"Oh?"

"Mhm," he says, a muscle in his jaw feathering.

"Like what?" You ask, taking a tiny step closer.

He smirks. "Scott told me a few things I think I'd be interested in finding out for myself."

Hearing him mention Scott in this context makes your stomach twist. You just blink up at him.

He reaches up, running the pad of his thumb along your lower lip. "Like all the things this mouth can do. Just how wet you get without any effort, always ready to be fu-"

You hear the announcer come over the microphone, informing everyone that the match will begin in less than two minutes.

Cyrus drops his hand and you feel your heart hammering, but are glad this moment is now at an end.

You make your way silently past him, back to the row the both of you are seated in, and Travis reaches over, grabbing your hand, pulling you into his lap now.

You easily wrap an arm around his neck, preferring him to Joe, who's now on his way to getting drunk.

He slides a hand along your thigh, settling it there and softly smiling at you. "You look really good tonight, baby."

You turn toward him and smile in return, pressing a kiss to his nose. "Thank you."

You then reach into your bag of candy, holding a gummy bear up to his mouth. "Want one?"

He opens and you place it on his tongue and he chews.

You hear the bell ring just as you're gently brushing your thumb along the corner of his lips, his eyes staying trained on your own, and then Joe stands up so quickly from his chair that he nearly knocks the thing over as you hear him yell "beat his fuckin' ass, Scotty!"

You jerk your head back in the direction of the ring, just in time to see Scott punching his new opponent without mercy, like he's suddenly fighting in a black rage.

You don't think you've ever seen him so angry before.

The man falls, and Scott gets on top of him, pounding away with his right fist, blood flying. You cover your mouth, worried he's about to kill him, until the referee pulls him off of him just in time, the bell dinging over and over again, signaling that it's over.

All you can think about is how...if the tables had been turned...

The referee holds up Scott's right fist, deeming him the winner of the match by knockout, and you stand, squealing, cheering.

He turns to you and you throw a probable rule that you're not allowed in the ring to the side as you climb up and jump into his arms, crushing your lips to his, running your fingers through his sweaty hair, pouring every ounce of love that you have into the embrace.

You'd been right in Scott being awarded a belt, but it'd been just the least bit nicer than you'd previously expected. Gold and red and black details, a pair of fists holding a banner between them that state 'Hawkins Heavyweight Champion '84' as the design.

Scott leaves the arena with the rest of you with the belt slung over one shoulder, you holding tightly to his opposite arm, staring up at him, completely infatuated.

You were so glad he was okay. A black eye, and some swelling in the face, but other than that he was just fine. Perfect.

Your whole world.

The four of you stand in the parking lot near Joe's truck—Cyrus having already left, due to needing to be at work soon for a late shift—talking and drinking and joking. Scott gets numerous congrats from passer-bys, while you cling to his right hand, holding ice to it as you just stare and stare, in disbelief that this man—he—is all yours.

You're so enamored that you hardly notice that he barely bothers looking at you in return; speaking to you.

Nor do you see the glare he eventually gives Travis.

Joe glances to you with a smirk and you decide you don't like the look on his face, your stomach twisting. "What'd'ya say the three of us get outta here and go have ourselves some fun?"

You blanch. He'd had far too much to drink tonight. Did he want Scott to put him on a stretcher next?

You lean back against the truck, staring up at Scott, waiting for him to shoot Joe's offer down promptly, but he just stares back at you.

Your brows furrow for only a moment. Why wasn't he...

You look down then, shrugging. "I'm not really in the mood right now."

Scott scoffs and your head shoots up. "Guarantee that's bullshit. Maybe I should check."

He shoves his free hand down the front of your shorts, plunging two fingers between your folds and you gasp in shock, wrenching his hand out and he just laughs at you.

He laughs.

He turns to Joe. "Oh, she's definitely in the fuckin' mood, man."

Your eyes sting. Maybe...maybe it was the adrenaline from the fight. Testosterone could make men act...different. Right?

They both turn back to you and Joe leans in toward you, resting an arm atop the side of the truck's bed. "His place or mine, honey?"

You look to Scott again. He can't...he can't be serious. He's never done this before—shared you with another man. When you had sex, it was just the two of you. No one else got to be involved in such intimate moments.

"Isn't your wife home?" You ask, barely turning to look at him.

"Mine it is, then," Scott replies.

Joe chuckles, looking at you. "You ridin' with him or me, then?"

You don't reply before heading in the direction of Scott's truck. You needed to talk to him. This wasn't happening. It...it couldn't.

Not this. Please, not this.

Once you're both inside the cab and the engine roars to life, you turn to him. "What...what're you doing? We-"

"Heading to my place to have a threesome, or were you not payin' attention?"

He looks behind the both of you as he backs out of the lot.

Your eyes sting again. "We don't do that. When we're together, it's just us. Please. Please don't. I don't want-"

He peels out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of his trailer. "You want to ruin a good night? Think I deserve a reward after the fight. You about to tell the both of us no?"

He barely glances to you before looking toward the road again.

Your chin wobbles. "Why're you acting like this all of a sudden? I thought you were happy? I don't understand. I...I don't want to. Please, Scott. Just...tell him you changed your mind. You're tired or don't feel well, or-"

"Feel just fuckin' fine. Great, actually. But you keep runnin' your mouth and you'll just ruin it."

Your lip trembles. "I...I love you."

He stays silent.

"I don't want to. Please, Scotty, I love you. We can, if you want. Just...not with him. I'll do whatever you want-"

"Then you'll do this."

"But-"

"Stop fuckin' whinin', Jesus."

A tear slips down your cheek. He's never acted like before. Never. Had...did he have a concussion?

"Are you sure you feel okay? You don't seem like yourself."

"Never been more clear," he spits back at you. "Sorry Trav' couldn't tag along. I'm sure you'd be jumpin' for fuckin' joy if he was to be the third instead."

Your brows furrow. "What? What're you talking about?"

"I saw you. Both of you. Siting in his lap. Just...fuckin' staring at each other. Guess you need a reminder of who you belong to."

Your bowels turn to water. "That was nothing. That's all I did was sit in his lap for a minute or two. I...I had been sitting on Joe's all night. You didn't seem to have a problem with that?"

He shakes his head. "Joe's a different case and you know it."

What was happening right now?

"Scott, I told you: I love you. Only you. Please, don't punish me like this for...for sitting on his lap. I haven't done anything-"

He pulls up outside his trailer, Joe already having parked, waiting on the porch with a smug look.

Scott exits the cab, coming around to your side and opening your door.

"Please, Scott, I don't want to. Please, I'm begging-"

He grabs your upper arm, squeezing so hard that it hurts and he pulls you from the cab, causing you to stumble before he grabs you again. "You forget who's fucking in-charge around here? You do as you're told. And you're about to."

Joe grunts from between your legs, hands sliding up your thighs, Scott's cock buried in your mouth as you suck silently, praying it'll all be over soon.

It feels like you're watching yourself from afar as you let them have at it, doing as they wish. Whatever will please them.

What you want doesn't matter.

Maybe it never did.

Joe chuckles as Scott grips the back of your head, forcing himself deeper and you gag, unable to breathe. He moans, bucking his hips.

Joe slaps your clit, then circling it with his thumb and your body jerks, betraying you.

He looks to Scott, grinning. "Sure did teach her how to suck fuckin' cock, though, didn't I?"

Scott pulls out for just a moment, leaving you gasping for breath before he shoves himself back in. "Damn straight."

"Fuckin' fourteen was the first time I had her on 'er knees. Gotta start 'em young," he says and they both laugh.

You feel sick.

How could he do this to you? Punish you like this for simply sitting on Travis' lap? Did you really deserve this?

You think him beating you within an inch of your life like he had his opponent to be a kinder punishment.

Scott pulls his cock out, slapping it against your face, humiliating you. "Open up, sweetheart. I got somethin' to keep that mouth quiet."

Using his name for you...like that... How could he?

You do as you're told. Like always. And you open.

Joe rams himself between your legs, making you gag against Scott, whimpering in pain. And he does it again, his skin slapping against yours.

"Who's daddy's good little slut? That you, honey?"

Scott looks down at you, smirking. "Think her mouth's too full to answer right now. Ain't that right, sweetheart?"

It feels like another kick to the stomach.

He pulls his cock out, stroking it as he positions his testicles over your mouth. "Think the family jewels need some attention. Why don't you polish 'em up for me?"

You gently take one into your mouth—causing his cock to twitch—and then the other. You gently lick, and suck, before Scott eases back in, grabbing the hair at the back of your head painfully. "Take it. All of it."

Tears sting your eyes as you struggle to breathe once again. You stare up at Scott, desperate for him to make it stop, but he won't even look at you.

This is what you've always been to him, isn't it? A thing. A possession. A toy.

Not a human being. Not a girl in love. Not a young woman, desperate for a different life.

You were going to die in this town. You could see it now so clearly. A horrible truth that had always been there, just waiting for you to see it.

Joe begins to moan and he breaks his condom, finishing all over your stomach, then laughing. "Woo! That's some damn fine fuckin' pussy, ain't it, Scotty? Trained just how we like it."

Scotty slips himself out of your mouth. "Guess it's my turn now."

They trade places, Joe tossing his used condom to the side as he plunges himself into your mouth, Scotty slipping himself into your cunt and you finally go away somewhere else in your mind, unable to take anymore as you feel your heart shatter.

He never loved you.

Never.

This fact...discovering it—it's the last straw. The only thing you had left to hold onto to keep you going was now gone. Forever.

You find yourself underwater, in the pond by the house, staring up at the sun from under gentle ripples of blue and green, flowers floating on the surface, even your dolls bob around you. Everything is muffled and quiet.

No more pain. No more sadness. No more anything.

You open, breathing the water in, letting it fill your lungs. One mouthful, then another and another.

At least you can choose this much; your death. How you leave this world to find another of kindness and gentility.

No one can ever touch or hurt or use you again.

You're free.

Or, at least, you will be.

You retch on the side of the road, your head now feeling fuzzy and your senses unfocused. You've never felt so distant from your own body before. You feel about a mile away, watching yourself slowly break.

This would be the last one. The last night.

You saw it now. Him. For what he is. For what so many others had told you he was. What's he's been all along.

Why hadn't you listened again?

Oh, right, love. That.

It doesn't exist anyway. At least you know that now. It'll make letting go easier.

You take in a slow breath, eyes burning, a sore feeling between your legs. Scott had done it again. He hadn't used a condom.

You and your baby would die together.

You stumble, clutching onto a tree, staring up at the silver moon in the sky, wondering if it sees you. Cares.

Perhaps that's where you'll go when you take that last breath and blink and swallow—into the stars.

At least you won't be alone there.

You hear tires slowly rolling along asphalt and you squint against the headlights blinding your vision, until the driver switches them off and you see that it's a cruiser.

Travis. He...could he help you?

Save me, please. Oh, God, help me.

It's put into park, the driver exiting.

Cyrus.

He smirks, taking you in. "You lost, hon'?"

You merely stare at him, realizing: no one is coming.

He shuts his door, heading around to you.

You get a sinking feeling in your stomach. Maybe you're going to be sick again.

He tips your head back, looking down at you. "Been thinking about you all night."

You don't reply.

He raises a brow. "Hard to get, hm? That's alright, I can work with that." He glances around. This stretch of road doesn't receive much traffic this late at night. Meaning you'll have privacy.

He looks back to you. "How about you finally give me a taste? Heard a lot about it. Maybe I'll finally see for myself what all the fuss is about."

He pulls you in the direction of his cruiser, then pushes you face-first down against the hood. You don't bother trying to fight back. Not anymore.

You rest your cheek against the warm metal, closing your eyes.

You hear a belt being thrown onto the hood next to you, then another being unclasped, a zipper being pulled down.

Next, your shorts are tugged down your hips, your legs—you'd lost your underwear somewhere. You couldn't remember where now.

And then he pushes inside of you, pressing a palm against the side of your head, the other gripping your hip painfully as your toes lift off the ground.

All is silent tonight, minus the sounds of frogs and crickets and his grunting behind you.

You barely even feel it anymore. Notice. They're all the same. All men. It's like they're one homogenous being that seek, hunt, thirst for, and eventually take one thing.

Take, because it's not nearly as good when it is freely—willingly offered. They hunt their prey, striking a killing blow between its legs.

Maybe it's what they survive off of—sex. No.

Fear.

He grips both your hips then, driving into you from behind, bucking wildly. You wince in pain, silent tears slipping from your tired eyes.

And then he finishes, crying out loudly, twitching between your walls, his hot cum leaking out of you.

Twice now. It had happened twice.

He stumbles back, pulling his pants back up, situating himself.

You lie there for a moment and then you realize you're supposed to move. Supposed to be doing something.

You stand straight then, and watch from a distance as you pull your shorts back up, even as he continues to run down your leg.

You don't look at him when he speaks, saying something about 'seeing what they're all so fuckin' crazy for now' and 'sorry, but I don't do rubbers, hon', he throws in that he 'hopes you're on something'.

You strip down naked once you reach the house, numbly walking outside, off of the porch and toward the pond, ready to make it stop.

You've nearly reached the edge, you can hear the water lapping, can feel something waiting for you, and then you feel a hand wrap around your wrist.

Not again.

Please.

Not again.

Not here.

You stare up blankly at a familiar face. Pretty. Curls. Long lashes.

He's speaking to you, but you don't hear him. You know what he wants. There's no use in fighting. You'll just give it to him. And then he'll let you go.

You reach toward his belt, quickly undoing it, cupping his penis over his jeans.

He backs away from you then and your senses clear, even minimally.

"What're you doing?"

You blink at him, your face blank. "It's ok. I can do it one more time."

You take a step toward him and his brows furrow. "What-"

"I know this is what you want. I see how you look at me. We should just do it." Another step. "I'm really good at it, too. Giving blowjobs. Gave my first one at fourteen. You don't have to use a condom."

"Stop."

"Do you want to know what I did tonight? Maybe it'll turn you on. A threesome. They said I was good. And then he fucked me on the hood of his cruiser. Three in one night is a new record for me. Maybe we can make it four."

The look on his face is that of horrification. What had they done to you?

You reach for his zipper, ready to get on your knees, or on your back, your stomach.

Whatever he wants.

Doesn't matter if you do.

And then he cups your face in his hands, his eyes searching desperately to find you still in there.

"Fuck me," you whisper.

His throat bobs. "This isn't you. This isn't my girl."

Your lip twitches. "C'mon, there's a mattress inside. We can-"

He shakes his head. "No. This isn't you. Come back to me."

You try to press your naked body to his. He'll like that.

He continues looking at you, refusing to avert his eyes. He won't look away from it—from you. He refuses. He won't let you carry this alone. Won't leave you. Because, if he does, he'll return to you lying dead in a watery grave.

"This is the you they want. Not me. I know the real you. I want her back."

You stare at him in silence.

And then you break, your face crumpling.

"It was...so horrible," you choke out through sobs.

He quickly shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around your naked form, then holding you to him.

"I didn't want to!" You scream against his chest.

He cups the back of your head, your body trembling so hard it's shaking his own. God, what had they done to you?

You clutch yourself to him, terrified that if you let go, you'll be swallowed whole by the black hole that now surrounds you. Or, perhaps, you are it.

A gaping void of nothing.

Billy reaches down, picking you up bridal-style, carrying you back to his car.

"I'm taking you some place safe."

Doesn't he know?

Nowhere is safe. Not anymore.

Hot water beats down on you from above and you watch as a stream of blood flows down the drain from between your legs. It's not your period.

You shut your eyes, resting your cheek atop your bent knees, wrapping your arms more tightly around them, making yourself as small as possible.

Maybe you'd been asking for it. Look at the way you'd dressed tonight; acted. Giggling and touching them, letting them touch you. Just like they always do.

They didn't know any better, because this—rather, that—was all they've ever known. At least with you, that is.

You wonder if they're thinking about it right now with a feeling of guilt. If they feel as empty as you do. Completely hopeless.

What do you have that's worth going on for now? How, in a few hours, had your entire world fell out from under your feet?

And you just kept falling.

Your chin wobbles, and you squeeze your eyes shut more tightly.

Not all men.

That's what they say, isn't it? When it's implied that all any of them think about is sex.

You want to believe Billy is different. He could've so easily done anything he wanted to you just an hour ago. Instead, he'd not even been hard from the naked sight of you. He'd looked into your eyes, not at your body. Had spoken to your soul, not your ears.

He saw you. And he hadn't turned away at the hideous, broken sight.

Was life worth giving one last try, then?

For what, though? You'd trusted Scott. Had worshiped him. And then he had betrayed you.

Judas.

You resolve in the moment, knowing: he'll pay.

You'll have to use and hurt another to do it, but that's fine. Because he deserves it, too. They all do.

You'd merely become a product of their own creation. Now, you would finally come to life.

You stir the chicken and broccoli Billy had made you for dinner idly around your plate while he sits across from you, watching.

"Do you want me to make you something else?" He asks softly.

You look at him, having forgotten he was even there, lost in your own mind. You look around the kitchen for a moment, then back to him. "This is your house."

He's wondering if he shouldn't take you to a hospital.

"Yes."

You gently grip the t-shirt he'd given you to wear for tonight, then run your hand along the soft sweatpants that were too big for you that were also his. "It's nice."

You take a very, very small bite of your food, chewing for a long time before swallowing.

"Thank you," he replies quietly. "It still needs a lot of work, but I'm doing what I can."

He doesn't give a shit about the house right now, but if he can get you to talk at all—he doesn't give a damn what the conversation is about.

You nod, taking another bite.

He wants to ask you to tell him what happened tonight exactly, but knows it'll ruin what little appetite you seem to have just found. So he holds off, watching as you take a sip of water.

"You can take my bed tonight to sleep in." He says with a small smile, reassuring you that it's okay; he won't be joining you.

You look at him, surprised. He...isn't going to send you back there? You aren't sure it was ever a home for you.

"Where will you-"

He jerks his head toward the living room behind him, off of the kitchen. "I have a pullout couch."

"Then I should-"

He shakes his head. "It's okay, really." His lip twitches. "The truth is, sometimes I sleep on it just so I can stay up watching TV."

Lie. The only time he watches TV is when he's eating dinner in there. And even that was only occasionally.

You nod. "Oh."

You eat the rest of your meal in silence.

You toss and turn in Billy's bed—he'd even put clean sheets on it while you'd washed your dishes; you'd insisted on doing at least that much, even if he'd told you he would get to them once you were in bed for the night—for nearly half-an-hour before you finally relent, knowing you'll never fall asleep like this. Alone.

You don't want to close your eyes.

You quietly pad toward the direction of the living room, hoping Billy is still awake. You assume so, since the TV is casting colors of blue and green and red across the walls. You're in luck when you see him leaned back against the cushions, remote in-hand, his other arm resting atop his head, which he lowers to his side when he sees you.

He should've kept a shirt on. What if seeing him even half-undressed made you uncomfortable?

He fears are quickly assuaged.

"Can...can I sleep with you? I'm..." Tears sting your eyes. "I'm scared."

His face falls, his heart breaking on your behalf. "Of course you can."

He pulls back the covers and you step closer, glancing to him and he gives you a kind smile, reassuring you that it's okay—he won't touch you—and you crawl in next to him.

You're the one who touches him then, curling against his side, desperate to be held by someone safe.

He wraps an arm around you, then his other. "Is this okay?" He whispers.

You nod. And then hot tears begin to fall.

You press your face into his chest, crying quietly and his hand comes up, fingertips rubbing the back of your head.

"You're safe now. It's okay. You can feel whatever you need to feel. Cry, scream. Whatever you need. I'm here."

You whimper, curling your body against his.

"Will...will you tell me what happened? Everything seemed fine during, until that guy lost it. Scott?"

You sniffle, raising your head, curling your fingers around the blanket settled overtop the both of you. "He...he saw me sitting in Travis' lap. He got...so angry. After, in the parking lot, Joe..." You grow quiet again for a moment, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat so you can continue.

You take a deep breath, calming yourself. "He suggested a threesome. I looked to Scott to tell him no. He...didn't. I begged him not to. That I didn't want to. He did it to punish me. Said I needed to remember my place. So they did it. Scott didn't use a condom."

You sob quietly. "I left and then Cyrus—one of the cops—found me. He bent me over the hood of his car. I just let him. I didn't want to fight anymore. Not that I ever do. I let it happen. He didn't use anything, either."

He fights down his rage. He doesn't want you to see him angry. Not for a moment. You'd leave, and then God only knows what would happen to you next.

"What were you about to do when I found you?"

You press your forehead against his shoulder, crying. "I wanted to end it."

He doesn't need you to elaborate as to what 'it' is supposed to mean.

You continue. "I wanted to make it stop. It hurts. I hurt. I don't know if I can...take anymore. I thought he cared. About me. I was so stupid. So stupid."

You cry harder then, remembering. You don't want to remember. Don't want to feel their hands on you—their...body parts inside of your own. You hate him now. Well and truly.

There would be no forgiveness for this. He had finally gone too far.

All because you sat on a man's lap that he dislikes. The punishment didn't fit the crime. Not that it should even be considered that. You had done nothing wrong. Right...?

Billy pulls you closer. "I'm so sorry, angel. You need to understand that it wasn't your fault. It never has been. Nothing you've done warranted any of this. They were the ones that knew better; were supposed to do better by you. You didn't deserve it."

He pulls back, cupping your cheek, looking at you. "Do you understand?"

You shrug, lip trembling. "I'm a worthless whore. I'm so disgusting. Unclean."

He shakes his head, pressing his forehead to your own. "You are anything but. You are so bright and kind and full of life and hope and warmth. You're a dreamer. Don't let go of that. Don't let them win. Because, if you do, their lives go on, while you've chosen to cut your own short for people that just do not matter.

"You're so young. And you have everything ahead of you. Maybe it's hard to see that now. It was for me, too. I get it. I was in a dark place for a time. A really long fucking time, and I couldn't see a way out. I never thought I'd have a home of my own, or a halfway-decent job."

He pulls back, brushing tears away from your cheeks. "Or that I'd find you. But I did. So, stay. If not for me, then for you. Just...lean on me. I can handle it. Can shoulder it. Whatever the fuck you need, give it to me and I'll carry it instead."

You burst into tears then, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face in it.

And he just holds you, telling you that you're safe now. Over and over again.

The house is quiet, the living room dark, apart from a lamp in the hallway casting a soft orange glow. You'd asked Billy to turn a nightlight on. You were afraid of the dark now. At least for tonight.

He'd not mocked you for it. Hadn't rolled his eyes or complained. He'd simply asked which one you would like best and you'd chosen one with blue flowers painted on the glass shade.

You roll onto your side, your hand resting atop his warm bicep. "Are you awake?" You whisper.

"I am."

You're quiet for a moment, then you whisper. "You saved my life."

His eyes sting from unshed tears. "Just...promise me that if you ever think about that again, you'll come to me first. Or call. In the morning, I can give you my home and work phones. I don't care what time it is, or what day. If you need me, I will be there."

No one had ever been so reliable for you before. Or kind. No one.

"Thank you."

He rests a hand atop yours, curling his fingers around it; you can feel the warm metal of his ring.

"I can't stop thinking about it," your voice begins to raise. You don't want to cry again. You're so exhausted.

He turns on his side, resting a palm against your cheek and your eyes flutter closed.

"Tell me about the house. What you would do if you had unlimited funds; an army of workers."

You reach out, pressing your fingertips against the soft skin of his chest, smiling, your eyes opening. "Cut the grass, for one."

He chuckles.

"Maybe plant some more trees. Lemon and cherry and pear. And I would put flowers and bushes all around the house, which would have a big wrap-around porch. And planter boxes on the windows, once they've been replaced, of course. And maybe have the windmill repainted; the rusted parts replaced. Some bird feeders hanging along the porch, a bird bath in the front yard."

You hum, thinking. "The porch would have sitting areas throughout, and swings in the front and back, maybe one on the side. Lanterns for at night. And on the inside, I would have the wood floors polished and re-stained, the chimney cleaned out and a small pile of wood for cool evenings kept near it.

"I would tear down all the wallpaper and repaint all the walls white and blue and cream instead. New furniture. The only thing that would stay would be my nesting dolls."

He grins.

"Oh, and the outside shutters would be blue, too. The house would be painted white. So, that way, it would match inside and out. And the kitchen would have marble countertops and backsplash. And a rack for pots and pans would hang from the ceiling."

He doesn't see it, but you're gesturing with your hands as you paint him a picture of your dream home.

"And lots of little spice jars on a rack, and I would grow herbs in pots on the windowsill. And there would be sugar, and flour, and tea, and coffee..." You trail off.

"The dining room would have a nice new table, and chairs. Maybe even a tea-set. China. Fine China. And a hutch cabinet full of pretty dishes. And the stairs and banisters would have to be re-done. For the bathroom upstairs, I think I would keep the tub, so long as it can be restored. Everything else can be replaced with white porcelain. And a medicine cabinet for storage could be mounted above the floating sink."

You consider what you would do with the room all the furniture had been stored in, then smile. "The next room would be my own personal library. Every wall would be lined with ceiling-high bookshelves. And there would be rugs and plants and a rocking chair in front of the window. Maybe I'd get a cat."

He smiles at that, pulling you closer.

"The master bedroom would have a big, fluffy king-size bed with a canopy, and I'd have a nice dresser with a big mirror atop it. Matching bedside tables with Victorian lamps atop them. And there would be a balcony off of the room, with chairs on it for sitting in the evenings. Glass doors, and gossamer curtains hanging on the inside."

You grow quiet when you consider the final room.

"And the last one?" He asks.

You know what the first idea that pops into your mind is. Even if that'll never be you; if you'll never have that. Not that you should.

You're the last woman on Earth who should ever consider such a thing. But this moment is for dreaming. About the life you want, even if it's one you know you'll never have.

"A crib. And a mobile. Toys and stuffed animals and soft lights and soft things. And if it was a girl, no man would ever touch her except her father. So long as he was a good man. If not, I have a large yard and a shovel. And no one will ever find him. Ever."

He doesn't smile or laugh. Nor do you.

"That sounds like a beautiful dream," he says, fingers curling around your side.

You wrap your hands around his arm, slowly closing your eyes. "It is. Maybe...I'll find someone to share it with one day."

He closes his as well.

"Maybe you already have," he replies softly.

You fall asleep with a smile upon your lips, and warmth in your heart.

A feeling of safety wrapped around you. A feeling...which has a name.

Billy.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #stranger things x reader #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you

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katareyoudrilling · 8 months ago

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The Sweepstakes: Frankie Morales Epilogue (Porn Star AU)

Series: The Sweepstakes

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Porn star Female reader

Summary: You texted Frankie after your evening together, but what happened next?

Word count: ~600

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: descriptions of sex acts

A/N: This follows the events of The Sweepstakes: Frankie Morales so be sure to read that first! I did the most minimal of research for this, so please forgive any inaccuracies. I have been overwhelmed (in the best way) by the response to Sweepstakes Frankie. I hope what I’ve imagine here does him justice. Enjoy!

Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist

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Taglist – link in my bio or ask me to add you!

“Frankie! Come see this!” you exclaim from the bedroom.

“What is it?” Frankie comes in, running a towel through his shower-damp hair, wearing just his worn blue jeans. You take in the view of his soft tummy and bare feet, momentarily distracted from the news you called him in to share.

You just had him in your bed less than an hour ago, but you’d gladly have him back again. You shake your head to clear the distracting thoughts.

“Right. I was just uploading today’s video when I saw that we hit 1,000 subscribers!”

“What? Really? That sounds like a lot.” He sits down next to you on the bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip and bumping your knee against his side. His fresh, clean scent wafts over you and you have to resist the urge to snuggle into his warm skin.

“It is a lot,” you beam at him, and he returns your smile with a lopsided grin of his own. “We’ll be making real money soon.”

It had been after another fun and satisfying fuck with your favorite civilian that you had pitched Frankie the idea of starting an OnlyFans with you.

The way you saw it, there was an untapped market for soft, brown-eyed men, who gave amazing head. Your rapidly rising subscriber numbers are proving your hunch to be correct.

Frankie had thought it over, but he said it was ultimately a pretty easy decision. Why not try to earn a little extra money doing something he loved?

You called your channel “The Pussy Eating King”

Your signature videos were first person POVs of him eating you out. Sometimes he looked directly down the camera with those soulful eyes. Others, he closed them to get completely lost in the pleasure of your cunt. It was devastating… in the best way. And the viewership numbers agreed.

Second to those, were the videos you filmed from between Frankie’s legs, looking up at him while you stroked his gorgeous cock until he came. His disheveled curls and pink cheeks are the stuff dreams are made of.

Dirty dreams.

Dreams you wake up needy and desperate from.

It would be selfish to keep that view just for yourself.

“I think we should celebrate,” Frankie muses, pulling on his t-shirt and running his fingers through his messy curls. “Can I take you on a date?”

“A date?” Your pulse pounds in your ears. Sure, you have sex with Frankie on a regular basis. You have sex with a lot of people. Sure, you often wind up spending the day in bed with him just talking, but being with him in public? With clothes on?

Frankie senses your hesitation. “It doesn’t have to change anything. I just really like you and want to spend time with you.”

“I… ok,” you hear yourself answer.

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 8.” Frankie kisses the top of your head and makes his way out of your apartment, picking up his hat as he goes. Before he closes the door, he turns and winks.

- - - - - - - - -

Later that night, Frankie takes your hand as you walk down the sidewalk. He twines his fingers with yours in a way that feels more intimate than anything you’ve done in the bedroom.

He said nothing would change, but things always change.

For the first time in a long time, you wonder if maybe that isn’t a bad thing.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: If these types of videos exist, please let me know…

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – in reblog

#the sweepstakes #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal

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starfall-spirit · 6 months ago

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Read on Ao3 // Chapter II

Summary: After one last screaming match and a good cry, Feyre is finally ready to move on from her lousy ex and rebuild the life he took her away from. She didn't imagine she'd be right back in the thick of it, reviving buried feelings for her best friend's cousin.

OR;

Feyre dumps Tamlin, moves back to big city life, and gets herself an alpha who will treat her right.

AN: Omegaverse!Feysand, as promised. A gift for @whatishowedyouinthedark. If you hadn't posted Too Sweet, I don't know that this would have left the drafts. This ended up being 4.3k, but there will be a morning after chapter as well.

CW: NSFW, mildly dubious consent/coercion

Chapter I

“You sure you’re alright, Feyre?” Another ounce of weight seemed to lift from her shoulders at the soft worry in Mor’s voice. “I know you don’t really want to talk about this yet, but I’m always here for you.”

“I know. And I’m okay, Mor. I’ll be even better in, oh—” She lifted her wrist enough to glance at the time. “—six hours when you meet me outside SFO.” Her friend stayed quiet a moment longer. “I’ve wasted so much time and energy on that guy. He doesn’t deserve my tears too.”

“Damn right. I can’t wait to see you. It’s been so long, Feyre.”

“I know.”

That’s what it had really come to. The lost time. The isolation. A year ago, Feyre had been at the center of it all, her art sales lucrative enough to keep her head above water, her friend circle close but full of life. When Tamlin’s work had taken him out of the big city and to someplace more remote, Feyre had imagined it would be temporary. Her “nest egg” from her art sales would only need to hold her for a few months before she could dive right back into dealing with her clientele face-to-face.

But whatever silver lining her situation came with was in short supply. Hopeful as she had been once upon a time, nothing could change the fact that this move halfway across the country was made with only the purpose of separating her from the life and people she knew. Feyre was just ashamed it had taken her so long to see it herself. She’d confronted him last night and the truth had all come to light. “So what if your account is running low? Do I not take care of you regardless? I thought this was what you wanted, Feyre. Isn’t this what all omegas want? Someone to depend on?”

It turned out Feyre and Tamlin’s views on designations were worlds apart.

After a devastating break up fight and a good long cry, Feyre had locked herself in the guest room and called Mor with the promise that she was scraping together what she had left and coming home the next afternoon. “Say no more, Feyre. I’ll get Rhysie to make that ticket first class for you.”

“Don’t you dare, Mor.” But for the first time in months there had been laughter beneath her words. For once she didn’t find herself rolling her eyes when Mor reminded her that her older cousin was rich and single, last she heard of it. Not that Feyre’s memory needed jogging on that point. Ever since Rhys had stepped into her first art showing, oozing raw confidence and control, she’d been no better than a school girl doodling hearts and initials in her journal margins. But he’d then flown out to manage his father’s New York business, his return to California only in the past few months, when Feyre was long gone herself.

She shook off the flush running through her body, trying to focus on Mor jabbering in her ear about events around the city. Served her right, lusting after an alpha so far out of her league. Rhys might be nice enough to buy her paintings or bump her flight ticket to first class, but she certainly had no illusions that he would be the male helping her through her next heat. Hell, by now he likely had an omega of his own, hand-selected by his prick of a father.

Not exactly fond of the flare of… something… that thought sent through her, Feyre stood, pacing the few feet she dared from her carry-on in the crowded terminal. “Hey, girl. We’ll be boarding any minute. Can I let you go for now?”

“Absolutely. Love you lots. I’ll see you tonight. Don’t eat anything huge. We’ve got dinner plans.”

~~~~~

Dinner plans amounted to a delivery of Feyre’s favorite chinese food not even five minutes after she was settled in from the car ride home. “You spoil me, Mor,” she said, setting down her chopsticks long enough to shrug into the oversized hoodie behind her that smelled absolutely delightful for some reason and debate the nearly identical bottles of red nail polish in front of her. Her friend certainly had a signature color.

“Someone has to,” Mor groused, starting an episode of a cop show they’d seen one too many times. “If you won’t spoil yourself, your bestie’s gonna do it for you.” She eyed Feyre’s newly acquired hoodie with a slight smirk. “Among a few others.”

“What? I was cold. And what do you mean, others?”

Mor just waved a hand in dismissal. “Rhys, Cass, and Az are around here all the time. Rhys lives a floor above me, for that matter. You know they’re all thrilled you’re back in town. Emerie is excited to meet you too. I think you guys will really hit it off.” Mor sighed, a wistful look in her eyes.

“You really like this one, don’t you?”

“She’s amazing. And she’s been so patient with me. You know how my family can be about my preferences. She hasn’t said much, but I think her family gives her a lot of the same shit about it. She gets it. Gets me.” Feyre’s heart just about melted at that and she reached across the couch to squeeze Mor’s hand. “I even asked—”

The front door opened then, to both their surprise, Cassian falling through the frame with a shit-eating grin on his face. “She’s back! Feyre Archeron, where have you been?! C’mere.” She squealed as he lifted her by the hips to spin her around

Mor shook her head, mumbling about how this was supposed to be girls’ night before everyone saw her at Rita’s the next evening. “Sorry, Mor,” another voice said from the door, warm, rich, and amused. “We saw you ladies pull in earlier from the window. I kept him there as long as I could. It’s good to see you, Feyre.”

Grinning ear to ear, Feyre braced a hand on Cassian’s chest until the vertigo faded. “Yeah, good to see you guys. I—What?” she asked, finally looking at Rhys.

He was just as she remembered. It had been fice years since he’d flown out to manage that east coast business after earning his business degree and he hadn’t changed one bit—still the most beautiful man she’d ever met. The only thing that truly caught her off guard was the odd glint in his eyes, focusing on the hoodie she was wearing—almost pleased, if she was reading him right. Another step into the room and his scent hit her, citrus and the sea, the same soothing fragrance that clung to the sweatshirt she’d thoughtlessly pulled on with the assumption it was one of Mor’s baggier favorites.

Fuck.

Rhys smirked then, every bit the smug alpha she knew he was. She wasn’t ready to analyze the response that inspired in her. The fluttering in her stomach that quickened as he approached, the heat that flushed her check when he stepped into her space, fingering the ratty sleeve that fell well past her fingertips. “I was wondering where that had wandered off to.”

“I—”

“Keep it, darling. It looks better on you anyway.”

She shuffled back a step, uncharacteristically flustered by his proximity. Omega or not, the flirtation of men didn’t usually affect her this way. Even in the early days between her and Tamlin she—She would not be comparing her ex to anyone. She came back to San Francisco to wash her hands of him, after all.

“I—” She sighed. “Thanks.”

Mor cleared her throat, though her shameless grin was a near mirror to her cousin’s. “If that’s all, boys.” She batted her eyes, looping her arm back through Feyre’s. “This was girls’ night, remember?”

Cassian chuckled, ignoring the dismissal and slumping into the couch. “So, how goes the move in?”

Feyre scoffed. “My plane touched down only an hour ago. Can I finish my dinner and wine before tackling my bags?” The other three exchanged a look, Mor seeming suddenly guilty. “What?”

“With how quickly this all came together, I suppose I never got around to mentioning I… I asked Emerie to move in. It doesn’t change the fact the extra room is yours,” she hurried to say. “You have a place here of course.”

“Or you could have one upstairs,” Rhys mumbled.

Feyre blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They get their privacy, you get a good night's sleep every night.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s just a room, Feyre. You know I’m a gentleman.”

“I wouldn’t suggest otherwise.” Eyeing his reaction, she sipped from her wine glass. “Out loud.”

Cassian cackled. “God, I’ve missed you. About time you traded the hills for skyscrapers again, little sister.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

~~~~~

“I told you,” Rhys sang as Feyre stepped out of the elevator and into his apartment. It had only taken two nights to change her mind about his proposal. She adored Mor and Emerie was a delight—a perfect match for her oldest friend. But that didn’t change the fact the walls were paper thin.

“Hush. Emerie is a wonderful woman. I could never begrudge them their happiness, even if it costs me my sleep.”

“Of course not. Anyways, welcome to my humble abode. The first door on the left down the hall is your room for as long as you want it. Just across from mine, if you need anything. I’ll let you get unpacked.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, heading down the short hall and into the room he directed her to, only to stop short in the doorway. “Rhys.”

“Yes?” he called back, presumably from the living space.

“What is all of this?”

He approached slowly, looking almost sheepish. “Too much?” She gaped. “I can return it if you don’t like it. I just happened to overhear you tell Mor you had left behind some of your favorite nesting things and… Here, I’ll just pack it up and—”

“No.” His brows rose as she shifted to block the doorway. “I—” She cleared her throat softly. “It was sweet of you to consider it. I’m not far from my next heat, actually. I really appreciate you letting me crash here and letting me nest.”

He scoffed. “Nesting is natural. It isn’t something I’d try to stop any omega from doing.”

“If only my ex had seen it that way.” She flinched. “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

He growled softly, eyes dark as he dropped his head to hold her gaze, one hand braced against the doorjamb she already leaned against. His scent washed over her once again and Feyre hoped her full body shutter wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Your ex was an alpha?” She nodded. “Not one with any honor, it seems. You are what you are, Feyre. If that bastard ever made you take shame in it, I hope you’ll soon change your way of thinking.”

“I’m not ashamed of anything,” she murmured.

The knuckles of his free hand brushed along her cheekbone. “Good. I’ll let you finish up here. As I said, if you need anything for the nest or otherwise, I’m here to help.”

“I’m not a charity case, Rhysand. I always manage to get back on my feet quickly enough.”

“I know that, darling. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy spoiling sweet little things like you rotten.”

A quiet, shocked sound escaped her, but her usually sharp wit had been neutralized, it seemed. And all by a few charming words. Sweet little things like you.

“No,” she muttered to herself, refusing to watch him walk away. Approaching heat or not, she was not getting tangled up with an entitled alpha ever again. And that vow would not be changing

~~~~~

The next few weeks were normal, all things considered. Rhys went to work in the morning and Feyre either arranged calls or set out to reopen contact with previous buyers interested in her art. In the evenings they alternated cooking meals and washing dishes, occasionally enjoying a movie or game together before returning to their separate rooms for the night.

Everything was perfectly platonic if you excused a few mildly flirtatious remarks. The only thing that left her unsteady was the surprise treats and little actions to take care of her, each one either frivolous or thoughtful. It was as frustrating as it was pleasing and she hoped Rhys couldn’t see how she truly felt about each little favor. She didn’t know what she’d do if he came to learn about the pure satisfaction she felt each time she saw that he had snuck into her room to switch out the sweatshirt she’d so carefully placed among the pillows and blankets in her nest the moment his scent faded from the fabric.

She had dared to ask him after the third time he’d replaced the garment why he was so attentive to that specific want.

“You may not be my chosen mate, but you are an omega under my care. Just as you follow your instincts to keep something with an alpha’s scent, I will follow my instinct to provide for you as long as you live with me. A missing sweatshirt is hardly a great sacrifice, Feyre.”

He’d stood from the dinner table with a smile, mumbling something along the lines of, “Such a pretty little blush you have, darling,” before loading his plate in the dishwasher and heading for his room. Any other remarks had been few and far between, but each one stuck with her for days afterwards.

She gave a sharp huff as she stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea, prepared to do nothing more than hole up in her room with a good book and a hot drink as the Saturday storm bathed the city. “Read my book and not think about this a second longer.”

If only she’d realized what a hopeless endeavor that would turn out to be.

She was only two chapters into her newest read when the first hot flash came. Her heat. And damn if she couldn’t already feel this was going to be a rough one without a partner. Jumping from her chair, she started to head for the bathroom, reaching for the tub’s faucet. Then, a cool bath wouldn’t do her any favors. As quickly as she felt her skin burn, she knew she’d be shivering in a matter of minutes, that first cycle of hot and cold lasting for a few hours before the endless heat became constant, especially without an alpha to soften the effects of her episode.

“Fuck.” She needed to get off the floor and back to her room. To her nest, whatever small comfort it could offer her. “Fuck,” she repeated.

“Eloquently put,” a too-familiar voice said. She didn’t bother peeling her eyes open, letting Rhys drop to a knee and slip his arms beneath her knees and behind her back. “Come on. To bed with you.”

“Put me down. I’m fine.” Never mind that her teeth were already chattering and a cramping had started low in her gut.

“I’m sure you are, darling.” Shifting his arm so her back remained supported, he pressed his palm to the back of her head, pressing lightly until she caved, letting him guide her nose to that special spot on his neck where his scent was strongest. The tension that had claimed her body vanished in an instant. “There, little one. Better, hm?”

She mumbled something equally proud and bitter that she could really only half understand herself with this fog stealing over her mind so quickly, then, “Hurts,” she whimpered.

He hummed, laying her down in the very center of the nest of bedding and clothes she’d so meticulously arranged and rearranged over the past few weeks. She should have realized she was days from her next cycle when the impulse to perfect the space became so prominent. Now she would be glued to it for days on end. The problem? “Why are you so far away?”

Rhys chuckled. “You said you wanted to work through your heat alone, little one. That you don’t need an alpha. Have you changed your mind?” Feyre bit her lip, contemplating her options. Endure this alone and maintain her pride, or welcome his help and pray she was only opening a physical connection, rather than an emotional one. “Feyre.” She blinked up at him. “Temper your pride. Invite me into your nest, little one. This doesn’t have to be so painful.” It only took a moment for her to grip his hand, tugging softly. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, settling in carefully, so as to not disturb her arrangement.

“Don’t need a knot,” Feyre told him petulantly. “Just…” Nose buried in his neck, hand tucked under his shirt, Feyre stopped protesting for the moment, the only sound leaving her a soft whimpering.

That’s when he began to purr, summoning a gush of slick, to her humiliation. “Rhys—”

“Hush, sweet girl. Let’s see what we can do about your little problem here.” She couldn’t help but squirm a bit as he peeled her leggings away inch by inch, face flushing hot when her slick clung to the fabric of her panties on their way down. “Settle now, pet. You just lay back and let your alpha take care of you.”

“You’re not my—I didn’t ask you to—” Feyre hadn’t realized her pants had been completely cast aside until his tongue was stroking up her slit. “Oh, god.” Another drag of it and her fingers were threaded in his hair, tugging sharply. He hummed. “Rhys.” She tried to lift her hips, only for Rhys to reach up and lay his arm over her waist, keeping her mostly still. She let out a groan of frustration.

“All in good time, little one. All in good time.” He looked all too pleased by the frustrated growl that passed her lips, her protest cut off the moment two thick fingers pushed inside of her, curling in a way that had her hurtling to the edge of her release. “That’s it, darling, he encouraged her, repeating the motion while twisting his hand enough that he could rub her clit with his thumb. “Come for me.” Considering the state she was already in and how it only seemed to worsen with time, it took nothing more than those few words for her to shatter, clenching around his fingers so tight he cursed—even as he stroked her through it. “Good girl.”

Feyre shuttered beneath him, She didn’t need to peel her heavy eyes open to know she would find him smirking down at her. There wasn’t a chance in hell a man as observant as Rhys would misread what his praise did to her. She felt the tip of his nose skate across her cheek before his soft mouth was pressed to the flesh of her throat, his fingers already beginning to curl inside of her once again. “Rhys, wait.”

“Darling, do you really think that little knotting toy you bought the other day is going to be enough to satisfy you in this? You know what you need and you know who can give it to you.”

That unbearable cramping began anew, and Feyre knew she had no hope of resisting.

~~~~~

Most days, Rhys would consider himself an honorable man. He was capable of detaching emotions from matters of business and handling what needed to be handled without causing a fuss. Taking losses he earned himself with grace. Regarding his personal life, he never stooped to pursue someone who’s capability of consent was so precarious. He’d certainly never attempted to coerce a hesitant partner.

But he’d walked into the house and her heat scent had hit him in full force. Finding her slumped on the bathroom floor and burning up had his protective instincts rearing their head. Now he was in her nest, had his fingers buried inside of her, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, addling his own mind.

He could reconsider the standing of his honor tomorrow.

He’d get rid of that last edge of nerves his little omega was facing, then he’d show her where she belonged. Right here in this apartment, in this nest, for him to come home every day and spoil senseless. He had already come to enjoy their evening bonding immensely, and could only imagine he’d be even more delighted to share those talks when Feyre had her studio up and running, resuming the work she cherished so dearly. And whatever her reservations about alphas may be at the moment, she’d come around to the thought as well, he was certain. Every omega needs an alpha to lean on.

“God,” she hissed, palm pressing low on her stomach. Eyes shut tight once again, Feyre let her nails bite into his wrist, spurring him into action. He stripped the shirt she wore, baring her entirely before bringing that hand back to her center, this time with the intention of preparing her to take his knot. At the rate her heat was progressing, her pride would fall away momentarily and she’d be begging for the relief she knew it would provide her, he was certain.

Her next groan morphed to something softer, her head falling back to the pillows when his mouth closed over her nipple. Once again, her fingers found a home in his hair, tugging just harshly enough he felt justified in nipping her breast. “Be nice, darling.”

Scowling, Feyre surged upwards, gripping his shirt front as her lips finally found his. “You know it’s really, really unfair that I’m the only one undressed here.” She didn’t give him the courtesy of unbuttoning the garment himself, yanking hard enough to send the buttons flying, lost to the fabrics of the nest. Her teeth sank into his bottom lip hard enough he groaned, his free hand sliding up around her throat. “Rhys.”

He couldn’t help but smile as her eyes fluttered shut, her body relaxed enough for him to manipulate, guiding her back down into the pillow and removing his hand from its home between her thighs. “Sweet thing,” he cooed when a little pout began to form. “So needy for your alpha.” Moving his hand from her throat to her waist, he pushed those two slick fingers past her swollen lips, swallowing the growl building in his throat at the stroke of her tongue, letting himself watch as she fell deeper into that haze of lust and need.

“Well done, sweet girl,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers.

“Alpha,” she whispered, one hand sliding down until it rested over the hard line showing through his jeans.

“You need your alpha’s cock, pet?” He began working his thumb over her clit, just letting his fingers graze the rest of her. “You think you’re ready for that? Think you can take my knot, Feyre?”

“Please.” The next down stroke was rougher and he knew she was close to coming again when her body bowed towards him. “Please give it to me. Need your knot.”

There it was. And how sweet it sounded.

Kissing her neck, he let himself enjoy that lilac and pear scent for a moment before peeling out of the last of his clothes. Feyre had a hand around him before he could reach down to stroke himself, painfully hard beneath her touch. The moment she grazed his knot he jolted, one hand closing over hers while the other fisted one of the pillows beneath them. “Fuck, Feyre.”

“I want to taste you.” He clenched his jaw tight. This woman would be the death of him.

“Soon, darling. But first I need to be inside of you.” She lifted her hips, bending them at the knees in invitation. “Soaked for me,” he purred, lining up to claim her. “You’re going to take me so well, Feyre. Every inch.”

She swallowed, but nodded. Pinning her hips to keep her from rushing to take him, he pushed the tip in, grunting softly as she clenched around him. At this rate he wasn’t going to last long. “More,” Feyre begged, heels digging into his back. “Need more.”

“Patience is a virtue, pet.” Still, he fed her another inch, rocking in and out, working into her until only his knot remained. Smirking at the blissed out look covering her face, Rhys leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So fucking beautiful, filled up like this. Open those eyes for me, Feyre.” She trembled, eyes remaining closed. A sharp flick to her clit and she cried out, eyes flying open and snapping to his. “Watch, Feyre. Watch me give you my knot.” Her eyes darted down. Her nails bit into his back the moment he bottomed out. “Hot little cunt, taking me so well.”

Rhys didn’t let her catch her breath before he started rolling his hips again, dragging in and out of her, animalistic pride beginning to build when he felt her thighs trembling around him and the hot little puffs of air against the shell of his ear, when each thrust was made easier by another gush of slick soaking his length. “So close,” she whined, writhing beneath him, his name falling from her lips in a constant chant.

His rhythm faltered, feeling his release within reach as well. “Come for me, Feyre.” She keened, needing that push over the edge. Flicking her clit, he slammed home, spilling into her the moment her teeth latched down on his shoulder, nails cutting into his back. A moment later she shuttered beneath him, her grip going lax. He couldn’t help but push her damp hair back from her sweaty face, kissing her brow. Not wanting to crush her, he turned on his back, repositioning her legs on either side of him.

“That was…” She sighed, eyes drooping. “Thank you.”

“Rest, Feyre. Before the next wave hits. I’ve got you."

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

#acotar #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #omegaverse #omegaverse!feysand #feysand fic #fanfiction #pure self indulgence #i hope you enjoy it too #omega nesting

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

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Demon! Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 3[***]

A/N: you guys really shouldn’t be encouraging my monsterfucking habits but here we are. Also, sorry it’s late!

Summary: You get stolen away by one of his half siblings, and he nearly tips over the irredeemable edge. You’re running. He’s hunting.

Warnings: monsterfucking (yk), demon!azriel, kidnapping, gore/violence, blood, beast form!Azriel (no, you don’t fuck him like that), soft!Demon!az (in his own way)

-Part 2- -Part 4-

He doesn’t understand how he managed to lose you so effortlessly.

He’d been keeping you in his private chambers, locked far below ground. But then you’d started getting ideas in your head after the mating, ideas of your own independence being important. It set his ire blazing, the thought you would any sort of individuality to separate yourself from him. You belong to one another now.

Still, an unfamiliar part of him had granted your offending requests of freedom, returning you to the mortal worlds from time to time whenever you claimed to be struck down by a sickness for your previous housing. His lip curled whenever he thought of it.

He’d allowed you out, and you’d been snatched away. Ripped from his claws, leaving him wounded and tender. And furious. Black flame incarnate. The embodiment of wrath, his body sensing something fundamental having been torn from his inner energies. You.

He needs you back, or he might wither under the unyielding might of his rage.

————————

The marshy land squelches beneath your feet, the wet slap of your toes as they sink into the mud. Icy razor blades slice the soles of your feet as the cold bites into you. The skin is a raw pink, the swampy terrain containing little but festering small creatures that cannibalise one another for the sake of prolonging their pitiful but desperate lives.

The beasts dragging you along have no place in your heart, twisted with malevolent cruelty to the point of being unrecognisable. You can’t even begin to comprehend them, yet they continue stringing you through the bemired ground, no care for the burning pain that slices with every step.

Salty paths have long since dried on your grimy skin, wind whipping at your hair as it howls in the skies, thunderous. Rain lashes at your back, stinging in its persistence. A crack of lightening above has you jumping, stumbling as you fall into a stagnant bog of putrid smelling water. The creatures pay you no mind, continuing on their slouching way as your ankles are pulled out beneath you.

Your mouth opens to scream before you seal you lips as you’re dragged under, your weight sinking into the marsh. You thrash until your break the surface, gasping for air as you try to push the mud from your eyes. The best you can do is wait for the unkind rain to rinse your skin beneath it’s torrential rage.

How much further?

The question repeats in your mind until it’s a dull throb of pain, hair pulled out from under you as you slide through the muck, sludge caking your back. It becomes unbearable when you hit stable land, the cold ground biting at your skin, tearing at the thin robes you adorned before you were snatched away. Again.

The thunderous crack of lightening whips closer, more regular. A small part of you hopes it will somehow seek you out, strike you down where you lie, freeing you from the endless hurricane of events you seem to have been unsuspectingly caught in. Things were just beginning to look up for you and Azriel. He’d allowed you freedom you hadn’t been granted even in the mortal realms, the promise of safety, gifting you with the liberty to run wild in forests, bathe in streams without worry of prying eyes or snatching hands that wouldn’t listen to your cries of agony. How false those promises had been.

Perhaps he’d gotten bored of you.

He was a creature of hel, after all.

The wind beats down on your accepting features with all the force nature possesses. It harrows your skin, lashing at your cheeks, stinging your lips as the wind turns every strand of hair into cruel, half bitten whips, cracking against your tender skin with sharp, wet smacks.

And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to call him a beast. The things dragging you by your ankles were the monsters, though perhaps he was simply a master to the arts of deceit and mockery.

Sharp stones scrape against the raw flesh of your back, surely the same bitten-pink as your feet. Had he really, truly abandoned you? The side of your throat stings, your hands automatically flying to sense out the pain. The bite marks are pulsing, throbbing with a burning sensation, prickling at your bloodstream. Azriel.

Where are you?

You manage to crack your eyes open, gunk teeming at the edges where the rain couldn’t slither in. There’s a black spec in the sky, darker than the thunderous rain cloud. Lightening cracks, silhouetting the shadow.

You hiss as rocks drag against your should blades, splitting up your spine as they grind against the bone. Fresh tears spill as unceasing pain lances through your back, flaying your torso.

The shadow is larger - closer. It’s dropping, plummeting through the air, terrifying wings slicing through the atmosphere silently. Lethally precision in the set of it’s form. He’s a very quiet predator.

Your breath catches, choking on air as it clogs your lungs, tongue feeling rubbery against the walls of your throat. The words blurs but not from the sting of rain, neither the dark haze when your squint your eyes in desperation to shield from the wild onslaught of the elements trying to corrode your skin. Hot wetness warms paths along your skin, neck stinging as his glittering ire slices along that eldritch connection, zapping at your mind.

The utter fury blazing along the bond warms your from within, heart picking up to the beat of the wind that whips unforgivingly across the flat moor, fog rolling in thick, suffocating clusters, sprawling above the fen. Your lower lip trembles as he dives, swooping down, shadows wreathing him in unhallowed darkness.

He crashes into the beasts dragging your human body so carelessly across the boggy flatland, piercing screams tearing from their bodies as they’re crushed beneath his razed sharp claws. The Dæmon lands in a mess of splintering bones, dark blood spraying into the mud as jaws snap viciously, tearing at rough skin as their bodies are pulled apart.

“Azriel…” You’re disbelieving, finally coming to a stop on the biting floor. Power fills the air, frenetic static building, lightening cracking above. It’s his fury incarnate, imbuing the world with depthless wrath as it zaps across the wet fields. Beastly snarls rips from his chest.

You shakily push up, hardly able to move from the bludgeoning numbness. His wings are larger, the talons glittering at their peaks sharper. His arms and legs are transformed into crushing paws, decorated with slicing talons that could spear your entire body. His thick fur curls in the torrential downpour, changed from his bi-pedal form into moving as a predator would, enabling his lethal speed.

He’s hardly recognisable save for scar peaking through the matted hair on his corded throat, a matching pair to the bite marks on your own neck. There isn’t an ounce of hazel in his blacked out eyes, snout searching for life to rip into as he shoves it into the disembowelled stomach of one of the pitiful creatures that’d been crushed beneath his weight.

It happens under a second, one moment he’s a spec in the air and the next he stalks over the bloodied carcasses of the beasts that have been hauling your roughly through the dirt. The once firm land now withers beneath their weight, saturated with blood, their corpses sinking into the morass, swallowed by the land. Pickled.

“Azriel,” his name grates against your vocal chords. You know it’s him. He’s found you, he’s come to save you. Fresh tears wrack your body as shadows slither through the cloying fog, snapping the locks on your rubbed-raw angles as you pull them against your body.

You’re pushing forward on trembling limbs, onto your hands and knees as you crawl forward, rain washing away the grit from your excoriated skin. “Azriel,” you whimper, his body looking so warm and you know even with the wetness soaking his fur you’ll be shielded.

The metallic scent in the air evens out as he shifts into a more familiar form, his own features surfacing, sharp cheekbones splitting through his animalistic demeanour, the darkest shine of hazel breaking in his blacked out eyes. A snarling roar drags from his throat as his gaze settles on you, prowling forward.

The shifting halts, as if frozen. As if he’s struggling to return to his form. Black swallows his hazel as it’s sucked down, size doubling as he doesn’t transform back. His crushing paws sink into the marshland, wings flared wide as he stalks closer.

You still, suddenly scared. All over again.

Your name to scramble back but your abraded skin stings. You collapse back into the mud. “Azriel…” you rasp as he traps you beneath his titan-like body. A scream rips from your throat as his jaws drop open, fragments of bone falling out as they enclose over you.

You won’t even make a mouthful as the others had.

But his tongue unfurls, the wet muscle scooping you up tenderly, bringing you into the hall of his mouth as darkness writhes around the outside. A weightless sensation overcomes you as he rights himself, accompanied by the thunderous thump as leathery wings flare, shooting you into the sky as it’s blacked out.

It reeks of blood and flesh, but it’s warm. His tongue is soft, your weight sinking into the tough, slick skin, heating your bones as you melt into the cavern of his mouth. After the overpowering stench of the marsh, the scent of death isn’t that unbearable. Besides, you’re still caked in it, so you wonder who’s really got it worse as you lie on his tongue.

Fatigue weighs on your eyelids, the hotness of the muscle beneath you paired with the repetitive thump of his wings lulls you into needed sleep, darkness filling your vision as you melt into him, stiffness seeping from your bones.

————

You wake to the feeling of falling, your muscles screaming to tense as you slide from his tongue. Blinding light fills your vision, forcing your eyes to shut again. You’re plunged into a warm pool of water, the sensation oddly pleasant as you can already feel the mud being soothingly worn from your skin.

When you break the surface, you’re spluttering, hands trying to scrub your face free of muck. You dip back under, the water burning at your eyelids but it’s preferable to the gunk that’s caking your skin.

A powerful arm hooks beneath your own, lifting you effortlessly from the water, setting you on a submerged ledge that leaves the cleansing water lapping just above your collar bones. Something dry and slightly rough is pushed against your face. A towel, you realise, hands raising to scrub yourself off, to clean your eyes.

You take in your surroundings, limbs resting in the water as your strength completely drains. You’re in a warm coloured bathing area, the vast pool containing creamy looking water, thick bubbles lathering atop the surface.

Beside you, the pool shifts as Azriel settles down, shifting into a form you’re familiar with. Hazel returns to his eyes, colour dancing if you look deep enough. Your eyes trail to his mouth, noting the canines that protrude from his lips, tinted a dark red. Almost black.

He’s still far too big to be normal. You bet if you were stood beside him in his current state, his hips would line up with your rib cage. You look up at him with tired eyes, his own dark ones watching you silently. “Where were you?” You hear the break in your voice, the raspy crackle. Fresh tears fill your eyes, the events returning to you in all their blistering pain.

His brow narrows and for a moment you’re worried he’ll be angry, lock you back up in his room, take away the freedom you were afforded. But he’s brought your to this open space in favour of the washroom that connects to his chambers. Maybe it counts for something.

You grow scared when he doesn’t reply, only watching you. It feels like that’s all he’s doing. “Azriel,” you cry, softly, “where were you?” He remains silent, observing you keenly. Then, he reaches one taloned hand forward. You flinch back, water splashing as you push away from him. His lip curls at the action.

Azriel reaches again, shifting fully as his large hand wraps entirely around your legs, dragging you forward. He’s too strong for his own good, and you go under, water shoving itself into your eyes, stuffing itself into your mouth. You gasp when you’re lifted out, spluttering painfully. It’s only when he pushes the towel into your face again and your eyes are clear that you realise he’s set you between his legs.

Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks as you note his powerful arms are casually wrapped around your middle, keeping you against him. You want to be upset, angry even but all you can do is revel in the feeling of security he gives you. The press of skin against skin, solid warmth behind you. You’re pleasantly surprised by the soft brush of fur, made infinitely silkier beneath water. It’s so nice you lean back, making him grunt softly.

You stiffen. He’s completely bare. At least you still have your clothes on - dirty as they are. Initially, you’re shocked at the hard press against your lower back, then your realise he’s doing nothing to act on it. No attempts to lull you to sleep, no attempts to seduce you into jumping onto his cock. Just allowing you some peace and quiet, while keeping close by.

But you don’t want peace and quiet right now. You want to scream at him. You tip your head back, so it’s pressing against his chest - maybe your ass pushes against him a little - peering up into his dark eyes. “Back out there,” you begin, determined to get answers out of him, “my throat was stinging. Why?” He cocks his head, expression remaining blank, “your throat?” You don’t like the way he says it.

You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, following down to your chest, your nipples just hidden by the water’s surface. His hips shift behind you, legs widening - allowing you to slide against him, you realise. It’s probably pleasurable to him, you guess. Your head bobs in confirmation as you tilt your head to the side, fingers dancing over where you had felt the pain.

His pupils dilate as he takes in the expanse of your throat, the bite marks. His bite marks. His upper lip twitches, wanting to pull back from his canines in order to refresh the scars. Drink from you. Hear your blood sing for him. It doesn’t help, the way your lower back is pressing tight against him. He’d half hoped you would accept his invitation, when he’d widened the stance of his legs to allow you closer.

Azriel’s mind shudders as you shift between his thighs, lips parting to speak, “the marks. They stung.” That’s all you’re giving him. His claws twitch with the need to touch you, to feel that you’re returned to him. A grin lifts the edges of his mouth, “you were waiting for me to come find you.”

He revels in the way tell-tale warmth flushes your cheeks. You keep your gaze on his, embers slowly heating in your irises as you come back to life. “I had no such thoughts. I was convinced you were the one who had me—” you cut yourself off. It’s far too soon for you to repeat the burning pain you felt, even through memories. You swallow, forcing down emotion, “I thought you were trying to get rid of me,” you mumble, your head lowering, breaking the connection, “I thought I’d spent my use.”

You tense as his arms wind tighter around your waist, feeling as he leans over you, front pressing to your back. Cock pressing to your— You swallow. “And that made you unhappy,” he taunts, quietly beside your ear. Awareness lights your skin as his claws wrap around you, so sharp. “You didn’t like the idea of me losing interest in you,” he drawls, the tip of one razor-like talon slipping beneath the hem of your clothing. You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs together, in attempt to make yourself smaller, shying away from his touch. “None of my kind - as you so affectionately tend to stress - would revel in abandonment. It means nothing about you.”

Your back cools as he leans against the marble edge of the bathing pool that’s large enough to easily contain a few squadrons of creatures like him. He laughs, darkly, hips shifting so he’s pressing into you from behind, “remember the night we mated?” He drawls, watching as tension lines your small body. “I told you in no uncertain terms, should you continue, you would not deny me,” he taunts, “you’d accept the joining, the breeding.” The talon slices up the inside of your clothes, splitting them in two, making it easy for him to slide them from your torso.

You gasp in shock, legs folding over one another as you frantically try to cover yourself. But his hands have dropped to your hips and you squeal as he lifts you from his lap, turning you to face him. Your cheeks flush hot as you’re torn between covering your breasts and trying to shove him off you. He has no right to hold you in such an objectifying way.

Seeing no point in attempting to push him off you, your arms wrap across your chest defensively. He raises a single brow as your hips wiggle, trying to slide from his grasp. “Let me go,” you demand softly, through your embarrassment. His mouth lifts into a mocking grin, “what will you do for me if I follow that request?”

Your lips drop open as you’re rendered speechless. He hums deep in his throat, a smug glint dancing in his eyes. Anger burns in the pit of your stomach, all the overwhelming emotions that had been tearing through you for the past few hours manifesting as seething fury, “you—” Roughly, he pulls you down into his lap, your thighs spreading as he pulls you tight against his front, breasts against his powerful chest, lower abdomen squeezing against his cock, the soft fur brushing invitingly against your stomach.

“What you need,” he drawls once your seated, forcing your head to crane upward to see him, “is a good fucking.” Your mouth drops open as his hips buck gently against your own, and you feel the mocking promise he’s giving you. You want to smack him, to scream at him. Why does he lack such a basic understanding of human emotion?

His hands have loosened around your hips, allowing you to push up from his lap, standing on weakened legs, somehow managing to keep your balance. He only laughs, shadows twining beneath your skirts and up your thighs as he keeps you where you are, “and where do you think you’re going?”

Rage gives way to despair, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tremble in his grip, “fine,” you snap, lip wobbling as you try to push his hands away. Your slim fingers catch on his claws, the razor like blades slicing into you, blood dripping into the pool. His eyes widen marginally with anger as he watches it, scents your blood on his talons. “What are you doing?” He snarls, furious with you for being so careless of your delicate human body.

But you don’t reply, you’ve already settled your thighs either side of him, hand guiding his cock to your entrance. More tears roll as you push yourself down into his lap, burning pain screaming in your abdomen. You look up at him, anguish clear in your eyes, “this is what you wanted, right?” You cry, the stinging only worsening, “so hurry up and get it over with, you beast. Fuck me. Breed me. Whatever it is you so need to do to me.” You’re hitting your fist weakly on his chest as his hands hurriedly move to your hips, so careful not to nick at your skin. “Just get it over with.”

He’s panicked, unaccustomed to the foreign feeling of tension in his throat, heart pounding as he lifts you off his lap. “Don’t,” he snarls at you, anger coating his words as his eyes flick to your hands, bleeding steadily. He shifts into the form he’d been in when you’d met in the forest, claws shrinking into nails, fur disappearing entirely as he frame smallens. “Stop hurting yourself,” he growls, pushing you away from him slightly, panicked eyes flicking between your hands and teary eyes. It’s disarming seeing you like this.

“You wanted it!” You cry back at him, shoulders hunching over as you move to bring your bloody hands to wipe away the tears. He grabs your wrists firmly, jerking them away from your face as he glared at you. “Calm. Down.” Something snaps inside of you. You thrash in his hold, violently writhing, sending water spraying into his eyes.

“Fuck off, Azriel! My back is in pieces, I’ve been dragged for hours across a freezing wasteland, you’ve— you keep doing this. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You can feel your throat tearing as you scream the words, hot paths of water cascading down your cheeks heavily. You want to claw at him, want to punch him, rip his skin from his body with your teeth. He’s unfairly strong. You know you can’t do anything. Meanwhile he can restrain you without even touching you.

You don’t even notice as his hands release your wrists. You fall forward into his chest, sobbing as you slam your fist over his heart over and over, pounding on his cage as if it’ll open up for you if you knock loud enough. “I hate you, I hate you so much!” You collapse against him, sobs still wracking your body.

It’s as though you’re bathing in hot milk and honey, the warm water licking at your wounds, numbing their pain. He’s warm beneath your fingertips, solid warmth beneath your fists. Unshakeable. It’s so unfair. Why can’t you be like him? Why don’t you get to have skin seemingly made of the thickest leather, talons that’ll slice should anyone get too close? You sob harder, tears dropping to the pool. Why are you so weak?

His arms wind around you, almost gingerly. His hands span your shoulders, tucking you against his chest as his shadows skitter across your back, soothing coolness blanketing your skin. You sniff, peering up at him. You almost regret it. His eyes are hard, cold. Glittering malevolence sprawling in their depths. More tears roll as the spark in your chest douses itself. It’s clear he has no attachment to you, only having saved you because you’ve been mated and bred.

Then you freeze.

His hands pull away from you, one wrapping around your wrist as he lifts it to his mouth. His eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly as he uses his thumb to separate your fingers. It’s almost tender as his lips part, licking up the blood that’s ebbing from your slim digits, trailing up to the small cuts. You hiss instinctively, expecting pain, but instead you only feel a vague tingle. It’s kind of nice, actually.

Azriel’s tongue laps over each of your cuts, sealing them so there isn’t even a mark left in their place. When he’s finished, he doesn’t release your wrist. Instead he guides your hands to splay across his shoulders, forehead pressing against your own. “Your back isn’t in pieces,” he murmurs over your mouth, making your brow furrow. You guess it isn’t stinging as it had been, but you had chalked that up to numb adrenaline.

“I know it is,” you snap softly, “I felt every sharp rock, every piece of gritty mud that abraded me.” His eyes lose their harsh cut, the edges mellowing every so slightly. “I carried you in my mouth,” he reminds, lips brushing over yours, making your hairs stand on end, “your back was on my tongue the whole flight. I could taste you.”

Heat flushes your cheeks as you pull back suddenly. His hands automatically tighten on you but relax when he sees you’re not attempting to escape. I could taste you. How can he say that with a straight face. And even after everything that’s happened, you’re left with a singular thought circling your mind. Did I taste good?

You don’t have a chance to foolishly voice the question as his hands lower to your hips, lifting you with him as he stands. Instinctively, your arms wrap over his shoulders and you hiss at the movement, a stinging feel coming from between your legs. He sets you down on the edge of the bathing pool, the cooks tiles pleasant against your thighs. “What— Azriel?” You question, confusion prominent in your tone.

Carefully, despite his now shortened nails, his hands press against your shoulders. The tips of his fingers dip beneath your sodden, still grimy clothes - now the only part of you that was dirty. Finally, your skin can properly breathe as he guides the wet fabric away from your tender skin, slowly stripping you down until you’re completely bare. His eyes drink you in, brow narrowing as he notices a few bruises - ones that are not from him.

His eyes settle on yours as he pushes your legs apart, gently. You resist, scared. You’re stinging, and you don’t want him to hurt you. “What are you doing, Azriel?” You ask, mouth trembling at the looming threat of pain. At this, his demeanour shifts, sending your fear. His hands moves to your waist, thumb brushing over your hip bone, “you’re hurting,” he replies, as if it’s answer.

“I don’t want you to fuck me again,” you manage, your words soft and small, scared he won’t listen. That he’ll inflict more damage upon your already battered body. His lips quirk at the edges, “I won’t.” Then he’s lowering himself into the water, until he’s between your thighs, spreading them.

Oh.

Saliva contains healing properties.

Carefully, he lifts one leg over his broad shoulder, then the other. Even now, your muscles tremble slightly, remembering the rigour they’ve gone through. You brace for canines, but are instead rewarded by the gentle lap of his tongue. You could almost cry at the feeling as your cunt tingles, the feeling that was zipping through your fingers when he sealed the cuts.

Almost immediately, you feel better, his saliva coating your heat as his tongue heals you. There’s still a vaguely piercing sting coming from inside, but it’s bearable. You wince when you shift your leg, pain prickling beneath your abdomen.

Inadvertently, you meet his gaze and you know he saw the reaction. His brow narrows. Swallow your tongue and be surprised when you choke, he’d once muttered to you. And now you can’t shake the urge to tell him. It’s like a strange compulsion. And he keeps watching you, with those dark, knowing eyes.

“Azriel,” you whisper, scared. He stops, giving you his attention, something surfacing in his black eyes. “I—… It’s still hurting,” you mumble. “Where? I can heal it,” he reassures. The second you articulate that emotion, you freeze, brow tightening in confusion. You swallow, shifting then stilling as you ache. “Inside,” you mumble, barely managing the word, shame crawling beneath your skin.

A grin lifts his lips, and suddenly he’s pulling away from you. “Stay there,” he orders, gently, as power thrums in the air, that same frenetic static as before. His eyes lock onto yours as he begins shifting, “don’t run from me.”

Then his eyes are swallowed by pitch darkness, wings largening, fur lining his body as he grows. His talons return, as long as you are, longer. His hands shift into those paws that can so easily crush things your size as his features are swallowed by more animalistic ones, snout protruding.

Oh.

You suddenly understand why this bathing pool is so vast. It’s built to house him in any form, including this one.

You realise he’s halted his growth, keeping himself from filling the room as you’re sure he would should he completely transform into that beastly body. Instead it a vague in between. He’s probably triple your size, if not more. Maybe a quarter of his true form. You fight against the instinctive urge to run, remembering it’s him.

His pitch eyes drink you in, prowling forward, all the while not making a sound. You keep still, scared but not feeling in danger. It’s an odd combination. He stops in front of you, your back arching as you peer up at him. It takes a lot of will power to not look at what’s most likely directly in front of you.

“Azriel?” You whisper, unsurely. His eyes glint, and you recognise him. Even with his usual features twisted into a more animalistic light, your body recognises him as an integral part of yourself - not something to fear.

Shadows swirl at your body, lapping over your skin like waves. He moves forward, dipping down to be between your legs. You still, “what are you—” He cuts you off when his jaw opens, the wet muscle of his tongue rolling out. Your eyes snap open, lips parting in shock. The end is tapered, but thickens the closer it gets to his mouth. Oh gods.

“Azriel,” you stammer, “you’re not going to…?” He releases a puff of breath over you and you’re the most taken aback that you’ve been this evening. “Did you just laugh?” You inquire, disbelievingly. His eyes spark and you squeal when his tongue moves, dragging down your chest, over your perky nipples, settling between your legs. He huffs again at your surprise, and the tension leaves your body.

The tip of his tongue presses against your entrance, and you brace.

Your cheeks heat when he slides in, embarrassingly easily.

All your thoughts melt away as he fills you, saliva already working it’s powers as that pleasant tingling feeling blossoms across your lower abdomen. Your lips part and his shadows guide you back so you aren’t sat upright: reclining into the darkness.

Pure pleasure sings in your body as he starts moving, tongue pulsing inside of you as it slides gently in and out. Your back arches in response, hands cupping your breasts as sensitivity lights you up. His shadows don’t allow that, though. They twine gently around your wrists, replacing your hands as they flick at your nipples, refreshing cool, like a breeze on a hot summer day.

“Azriel…” you pant, peeking your eyes open. He’s already watching. Of course he is. Your toes curl, knowing he’s drinking in every second of your pleasure. You bite the inside of your lip as arousal coils in the pit of your stomach, already about set to spring free. “I’m—” you pant as he grazes a spot inside of you, mouth dropping open as you melt entirely into his shadows.

A growl of pleasure rumbles through his chest, and it feels so fucking good. Silver lines your eyes, flying closer and closer to that high. “Azzie,” you squeak softly, hardly a breath. A scream tears from you as he growls again, tongue vibrating inside you, the base of it pushing against your clit as you hit your peak.

Your back curves as the growls lose their harsh edge, softening as he feels you fluttering around him. He’s purring. His tongue retracts after the last aftershock has faded, shifting into his more recognisable form.

You don’t even think about it as you reach your hands out, making to grab at him. His brow narrows as he slowly prowls forward, “do you need something?” He asks softly, curiosity lying beneath the bland tone. “Come here,” you snap. His brow raises but for once, he obeys.

The second he’s in reach, your arms loop around his neck, tugging him into your chest as your legs circle his torso, locking around him tightly. You bury your nose in his hair, inhaling that scent that is so inherently him, so deliciously soothing. The feeling of his strong body encompassing you sends a shivering thrill humming through you, lighting you with incandescence.

You press kisses into his hair and his eyes widen, muscles locking up. He’s not sure what you’re doing. But he likes it. He likes feeling your soft skin beneath his cheek, having your thighs hugging his waist while your arms keep him tucked against you. He likes the feeling of your mouth pressing tenderly against him, repeatedly.

He decides it’s a good sign. A display of human affection.

Something tingles in his chest at the idea.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#Azriel x reader #demon! Azriel #demon!azriel x reader #Teeth and Talons #Teeth and Talons part 3 #[***]#Azriel smut #Azriel fluff

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annie-creates · 7 months ago

Text

Desperately by her side

Pairing: Queen Ravenna x reader

Genre: fluff (basically)

Words: 1400

Note: Right when I thought noone reads Ravenna fics anymore, I got such an amazing request! Thank you so much, I hope I didn't let you down.

The situation was slightly getting out of hand. Queen Ravenna was desperately trying to hunt Snow White down for weeks, even months at this point. And it was successfully getting her nowhere. Her guard always came empty handed, soldiers returning with nothing but dumb excuses for their incompetence. If she didn’t need to stay here and rule, she was starting to believe that even she herself would have a better success finding the girl. She needed for someone to finally get her and her patience was running thin.

“Finn!” She ordered for like the tenth time that day. “Why does everyone fail! It’s not that hard to catch a little girl, it’s not like she’s some witch!”

“Well she knows the land way better than our soldiers do…” the man was scared facing his sister’s anger.

“Then find me someone who does!” The queen orders and he scrambles away to execute it.

However unsuccessful they were trying to find Snow White herself, it didn’t take long to fins Y/n. Her reputation preceded her, Finn hearing all about the mighty warrior on his road. Apparently she knew the craft of swordwielding like no one else, and could track down her pray from weeks old tracks. Following precisely all the directions he was given from people in the village, he must have had the wrong house. Sure a woman that magnificent and skilled wouldn’t live in a small cottage in the middle of nowhere? He knocked non the less, asking your name.

“I’m looking for miss Y/n.” He barks, not wanting to waste any of his precious time.

“Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?” You question with hands folded over your chest, leaning lazily on the doorframe.

“You?” His reaction didn’t offend you anymore, given your reputation no one ever expected the seemingly fragile girl of small stature.

“Yes, me.” You assure him, waiting for him to register the information.

“Then why do you..?” He critically eyed your small home with hardly three rooms, decorated cheaply but warmly.

“Did you come visit me to discuss my living choices?” You cut his train of thoughts, trying to get back to the topic.

“No, excuse me madam, I was just surprised.” He fixed his language and attitude back to someone who needs to employ you. “I come at the behalf of her majesty the Queen. Would you please accompany me back to the castle so she can discuss her offer with you?”

Judging by the few guards standing behind him at the forest road it wasn’t really a question, so you take your knitted sweater, place your sword by your hip and with a shrug of your shoulders you get into his carriage. The road wasn’t long, taking you straight to the capital city. Finn wasn’t one of the most talkative people you’ve ever met, honestly he wasn’t talkative at all. You thought maybe it was because of the knights riding with you, but maybe he was just like that. Quiet and intimidated by everything and everyone.

You stop at the courtyard and with just a quiet ‘follow me’ he takes you straight to the queen’s throne room. The walls are lined with pillars and guards, tall windows let in colored light and in the middle her throne stands, tall and cold, ruthless and strong as his lady appears to be. She wears a metal crown that makes you wonder if her head doesn’t hurt from the weight after a long day wearing it, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders. She’s mesmerizing, coldly gorgeous and mercilessly splendid.

You watch her as Finn runs to her side, whispering about you to her ear and she watches you intently. Her face changes facades from surprise to disbelief and it finally settles on something close to villainous satisfaction, an expression that leaves an unsettling feeling in your gut and makes your spine shiver in cold sweat. You have never seen a person of such angelic appearance with such an evil soul. It was like even the air around her was scared of her malice.

“My brother tells me you are an excellent fighter.” She states, her sight burying deep into your soul.

You stand in front of her stiff as one of the columns, mesmerized yet petrified at the same time. Now you understood why people spoke so highly but warily about her, maybe they were scared she’ll actually hear them. Her beauty had no comparison, but her presence put people on notice and her piercing eyes seemed to look right into the essence of your being.

“And you can track people?” her patience was clearly running thin, forcing you to answer her.

“Yes, your majesty.” Gaining up some of your courage and shaking her bewitching spell from your shoulders you step from foot to foot.

“Excellent. I have a little someone I need to find, yet my soldiers always return empty handed. You think you can find her?” She challenges you.

“I can find anyone.” You answer confidently this time. “What is their crime madam?”

“Let’s say she took something dear from me.” She plays with her words, charmed by your curiosity. “Say your price, I’ll give you anything you want if you bring me the girl alive.”

“You need to tell me who this lady is first, my queen.” Remaining polite you state your terms.

“Are you familiar with the girl named Snow White? I need her to come back here.” Of course you were, everyone knew the princess.

“No.” You shake your head shocking everyone in the room with your impudence.

“No?” Ravenna repeats in shocked disbelieve that someone had the audacity to oppose her.

“No. I know Snow White, and I know she wouldn’t have done anything to deserve your wrath.” Squeezing the handle of your sword for confidence you explain.

Before the queen could even register your determined resistance, Finn himself gave a silent order to the guards along the room. They all closed on you so fast you had hardly the time to even draw your sword, but your training and skill proved itself in a fight against the queen’s soldiers. Being pushed by Finn to leave the room and flee for safety, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you, gracefully moving between the armed men like in your own kind of dance, effortlessly cutting their limbs and piercing their bodies like it was nothing but a piece of fruit, your hidden muscles showing off now in a combat of death.

As she looses the sight of you, she’s not angry, she’s enamored. She didn’t care for the lives of her knights, they were nothing but her pawns in the great scheme of things. But you, you were truly something. As she paces the throne room now bathing in blood with her bare feet, lifeless bodies laying around like nothing but ragdolls, she admired your talent and skill, and adored your unrestrained personality. You were long gone, the guard watching you run out the city gates, and suddenly a feeling of longing settled in her chest.

For a moment she forgot all about Snow White and her petty disputes, remembering your pretty eyes instead. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have such a strong, uncompromising woman by her side, mighty yet compassionate and gracious. She used to be like that herself, a long time ago before the world hardened her smooth skin and sharpened her warm eyes. How you managed to keep your pure righteous heart in this cruel place and time was an enigma to her.

“Finn!” She calls again as he crawls to her presence more frightened than ever before. “Find her. You did it once, do it again. Find me that girl.”

This time it wasn’t to threaten or execute you for your actions. She wasn’t mad at you, she wanted you desperately by her side. Not only would you be a perfect protector for a hated figure in her position of power, you seemed to have a wit many people could only dream about. You were determined, strongminded and you weren’t scared to disagree with her, yet you did so politely and non-judgmentally. Maybe protection of her life wasn’t the only reason she wanted to keep you close after such a short encounter. Maybe she would be able to see you as her equal friend and partner.

#charlize theron #queen ravenna #queen ravenna x reader #queen ravenna x you #queen ravenna fluff #ravenna #ravenna x reader #ravenna x you #charlize theron x reader #charlize theron x you #snow white and the huntsman #snow white #fanfic #fanfiction

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 1 year ago

Note

Thoughts on this scenario?: Alucard sometime before s3 or during s3 meeting Trevor's older sister (neither of them are aware they have a sibling who survived the massacre) after she show up at the castle knocking on his door with her knife like "WHY is Dracula's castle on top of my family's ruins?!" I think it would be very interesting for both of them. (Especially once Alucard tells her that her little brother is alive.)

A/N: Lol, this is effing hilarious! I can totally just see Alucard watching this woman come out of nowhere and start throwing cheap shot punches and being like: “There’s ANOTHER Belmont??”

Alucard Meeting Trevor’s Older Sister Headcannons

So she shows up to what she expected to be nothing more than a pile of ruins only to find said pile of ruins plus a giant ass castle next door. Which makes no sense because 1) Why not repair the Belmont home if someone was going to build something there? And 2) Why choose to make a big ugly-ass castle of all things?

On the inside, she’s like: ‘Has it really been THAT long?’ (Maybe, lol.)

Once the initial shock subsided, she’s like, ‘Okay, this thing’s gotta go’ because again, it’s ugly af, and it can’t be good for the open-earthed Belmont Hold to be responsible for supporting all that weight.

So she goes to the door and starts banging on it like she owns the place.

Of course, the doors swing open revealing a very disgruntled Alucard.

Commence the interrogation.

She’s all like: ‘Who the fuck are you?’

And he’s like, ‘Um, excuse me, I live here, who the hell are you?’

And she’s like, ‘Well I lived here first!’

And Alucard’s like, ‘That’s a very immature argument.’

And she’s all like, ‘Oh yeah? You wanna go pip-squeak?’

And Alucard’s like ‘I’m literally a foot taller than you.’

And she’s like ‘Well fine, that makes you the perfect height for me to do this!’ And she knees him in the groin.

…

Suddenly it clicks for Alucard. “Are you by any chance a Belmont?”

“Yeah, what’s it to ya?”

Needless to say, the two of them are quite shocked to learn the identity of the other. She’s half in denial that her little brother, if he really is alive, would be friends with a dhampir. And Alucard’s not sure she is Trevor’s sister once they get to talking, mainly because she’s well-spoken and rather intelligent when not she’s not threatening to kick his ass, something Trevor is not.

But from his descriptions of their battle with Dracula, her gut tells her it really must be her brother Alucard’s speaking of.

“I take it you didn’t know he was alive, then,” Alucard says.

She's like, yeah, no shit.

But she still has a lot of unanswered questions: how did Trevor manage to escape? How did he survive being so young on his own? Why didn’t she hear of his existence until now?

Alucard doesn’t have all the answers, but he does have good food and wine, so she decides to crash in the castle with him until her brother returns.

It’s good for Alucard to have the company, mainly because he was starting to lose his mind. (Something she would pick up on like right away lol.)

But that’s okay because almost being murdered as a kid and then running from place to place fighting the odd supernatural creature has made her a bit crazy so they’re a decent pair.

Oddly enough, I think they sort of mellow each other out: she’s just hyper/nuts enough to get Alucard to stop wallowing in self-pity. And he’s just cautious and introverted enough to keep her from accidentally (ahem*intentionally*) burning the place down.

Sure, there’s a lot of ribbing, and witty jokes thrown back and forth between the two of them, but they’d probably form a strong bond based on mutual respect and necessity. Alucard realizes his mental and emotional state will improve if she stays, and she realizes her chances of fulfilling her destiny as a Belmont increase tenfold should she stay and learn from the ‘enemy’ himself.

Of course, it takes a while for them to overcome their residual prejudices of one another, especially on Belmont’s side. She’s spent her entire life viewing vampires as monsters- something to be eradicated- it’s not exactly something you can unlearn overnight. But Alucard is such an enigma, and the more she hears of his and Trevor’s travels and adventures in defeating Dracula, the more she sees him as human- the more she sees him as a friend, even.

They get very close. So close that they even think up ways to prank Trevor once he comes back, planning especially to use her existence as the central super-charged element of surprise.

Who knows, maybe if she was there with Alucard post-S2, things would have turned out more positively with the twins' arrival in S3. If Alucard wasn’t so dependent on them and them alone for companionship, he wouldn’t have been so hesitant to quickly teach them everything they wanted to know as a way to keep them at his castle longer. If Alucard was more open and forthcoming, the twins might have felt encouraged to put all their own cards on the table before making the drastic (and fatal) move that they did.

Thanks to her existence, any monsters nearby stand no chance against the occupants of the castle and the surrounding villages. With the newfound double-trouble Belmonts, no one ever has to be scared (or lonely) ever again.

#castlevania imagine #alucard imagine #alucard tepes imagine #castlevania x reader #alucard tepes x reader #adrian tepes #castlevania #hc

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thetomorrowshow · 6 months ago

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seven

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

this story takes place about a year after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: light eye horror

He’s still new to the whole going-to-work thing. It’s kind of like school, and Jimmy had never liked school, but it’s different in the way that he’s getting paid for his work. And it’s a decent bit more enjoyable than school—he’s learning about cars, getting familiar with the inner workings of machines, and he hasn’t properly had the chance to pop open a hood since he was a teenager and would help his dad with checking the coolant and whatall.

It’s nothing glamorous, but Jimmy really likes his job—more than when he worked as a call service agent, at least. Today he’d learned how to even the weight of a motorcycle, and even though he’d pinched his fingers between the exhaust pipe and the engine, his boss had praised his efforts and let him off early.

Scott usually picks him up from work—they’ve got a second car, but Jimmy doesn’t take his driving test until this weekend so he’s not really meant to be driving himself anywhere—but Scott isn’t free for another hour, so Jimmy meanders around downtown.

He used to live on these streets, so it’s more instinct and less purpose that leads him down to the park across the block from his old apartment building—now closed, he observes, for renovations. The park is lonely at this time of day, two rusting swings hanging silently and a plastic slide gleaming in the sun.

Jimmy stops for a moment, stares at the yellowed grass and bleached plastic playground equipment. He’d never allowed himself to go anywhere near this park, a spot of joy for the kids living in the rundown neighborhood.

He can’t hang here long for risk of being chased off by some bathrobe-clad mother, accusing him of being a predator, so Jimmy turns back to the main part of downtown and heads back in the direction of the mechanic. Maybe Scott’s patrolling in the area, can show off some ice tricks.

There’s a handful of other walkers starting to appear when he makes it back into downtown proper, mostly those returning to work from lunch and high schoolers skipping out of school early. Once upon a time, Jimmy knew how to blend in perfectly with this crowd. Once upon a time, he could never stay in one place for too long.

He slides in among them just as easily as he once might have, moving at the same speed and keeping to the common footpath. He keeps his eyes down and dodges anyone coming from the other direction without issue.

Which is why it’s weird when someone runs right into him.

“Oh, geez—sorry, can I—”

“Well, isn’t it great to see you!”

Jimmy blinks, flinches as the man he’d run into slaps him on the back a couple of times. He . . . he has no clue who this is.

His mind instantly cycles through various brutes from Xornoth’s manor, but this face doesn’t match any of them. This man is a bit stocky, straw-colored hair hanging over his forehead, thin beard a bit darker in color. He’s smiling widely, even as he takes Jimmy by the hand and starts dragging him off.

Jimmy can’t help it—some strange man is pulling him away and he panics—with a snap of adrenaline—

The man jumps back, Jimmy coming with him, as a chair is thrown out of the window of the building beside them, narrowly missing them. He chuckles, taps his nose knowingly.

“You aren’t getting me with that one! Don’t worry, I just want to talk. How about in that deli?”

He doesn’t point anywhere, strangely enough, so Jimmy just glances around until he sees a deli.

All the well-trained alarm systems in Jimmy’s brain are firing, but. . . .

Now that he thinks about it, there is something familiar about this man. Maybe it’s his cadence, or his eyes—

And Jimmy realizes with a start that the man is blind, his eyes clouded over, faded scars stretching across them.

He’s shocked enough that he lets the man lead him into the deli, grab them a table, and order himself a sandwich.

That’s when he notices that the man is not only blind, but has earplugs in.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying loudly as the man tucks into his sandwich, “I think you may have mistaken me with someone else.”

The man winces. “You don’t have to shout, I’m right here,” he says around a mouthful of sandwich. “And no, Tim, I know who you are.”

If that isn’t ominous. And also the wrong name, though it once again scritches at the part of his brain that finds something about this man so oddly familiar. “Jimmy,” he automatically corrects. “Not Tim. And I really ought to get going—”

“Back to Scott?”

Jimmy freezes, halfway out of his seat.

“Because I’m pretty sure he’s patrolling around the East side of the city, y’know. Unless you want to call Lizzie. Pretty sure she’s not busy at the minute.”

The man takes another bite out of his sandwich, scratches his beard.

Jimmy’s stomach goes cold. How did he—how can—it’s—

“See Tim, there’s not a lot that I don’t hear about,” the man continues. “However, there is something that I need to know, if you wouldn’t mind answering.”

He needs to get away. Fight or flight has fully kicked in, and Jimmy needs to run. Jimmy raises his hand, ready to do—something, shatter his chair or collapse the table or hurt him in some way—but the man only tsks.

“Come on then, none of that. The three of us have got to stick together, really. Wouldn’t be good to start fighting, especially with the way Nine acts.”

Slowly, Jimmy sits back down. It’s not because he’s intimidated, he tells himself. His fingers twitch. He could kill this man in an instant, and no one would ever know.

The man puts down his sandwich in its wrapper and leans in, head tilted a bit to the side. “So,” he says lowly, “did you kill them?”

Jimmy knows, instinctively, that he means Xornoth.

And it’s not intimidation that makes Jimmy answer. It’s some strange feeling that he knows this man, and cares about him. Something familiar in the line of his nose and the color of his hair.

“Yeah,” says Jimmy in the same low tone. “Yeah, I did.”

The man sits back, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Good. I figured you did, y’know, but I was sleeping when it happened. You could’ve pulled a runner, y’know? Could’ve been someone else to get them. That wouldn’t have been right, though. It had to be one of their . . . erm, what did they start calling them? Subjects?”

Jimmy swallows, then mutters an answer in the affirmative. He keeps having to remind himself that he doesn’t know this man, as familiar as he is. How does he know so much?

“Right. Back in my day, we were ‘participants’. What a joke.” The man shakes his head, then takes another bite of his sandwich. “Well, thanks for the info. I won’t tell anyone, promise—well, I’ll tell Nine, but Nine isn’t much of a talker, so it won’t get out or anything.”

“Right,” Jimmy manages. He checks his phone; Scott should be coming to pick him up soon. He casts his eyes about, trying to think of anything to say to the strange man with white scars and earplugs.

“What happened to your eyes?” he asks eventually. The man smiles ruefully, one hand going up to trace over the scars. They aren’t precise in any way, some smaller ones littered around the corners, long ones down the middle. If Jimmy looks closely, he can even see the places the irises are entirely missing along with the scar, leaving the man with cloudy white streaks through his eyes.

“Let’s just say—next time those scientists of theirs have you on the table, make sure and ask ‘em to strap down your hands,” the man says. “Not that that should ever happen to you again, but you never know, y’know?”

Well.

Jimmy feels slightly ill, staring at those scars. Most of his aren’t self-inflicted, nor nearly as visible as those. Sure, he has one across his cheek, and a small one above his eyebrow, but they don’t usually attract much attention. Scott even thinks they make him look rather dashing. He can only imagine the stares and questions this man gets on a daily basis.

The stranger finishes his sandwich, wiping his fingers off with the wrapper. He stands, tips an imaginary hat toward Jimmy.

“Well, I’ll be off. The city’s a bit loud, don’t you think? Oh, and thanks for footing the bill.”

And then he’s gone, and Jimmy sits there in stunned silence until he shakes himself, heads up to the counter, and pays.

He tries to forget about the man. As weeks pass, he moves on, his days taken up by work and Scott and his friends. And he mostly does forget about the familiar stranger, too busy to spare the mental energy needed to try and figure out who he was.

That is, until one night, nearly a month later.

Lizzie had managed to get a hold of their high school’s yearbook from when she was a senior and Jimmy a sophomore, and together with Scott and Joel they paged through it, laughing at Lizzie’s galaxy-themed outfit and Jimmy’s unbrushed hair.

They stop on the page of the soccer team, and Jimmy knows from the coos and laughs that they’re looking at him and his ridiculous hair, but his eyes are caught on a familiar face.

“Who’s that?” he finds himself saying, pointing to the boy beside him, the boy who has his arm slung around his shoulders, the boy who—in one small picture off to the side, is knuckling Jimmy’s head.

And then he remembers.

He pages through the yearbook until he finds him.

A senior that year. One of his friends, and one of the only people who tried to still hang out with him after his powers got out of hand.

He’d almost completely forgotten about Martyn.

Martyn, the dude with the new Playstation. He’d been powered—not strongly, but with some fairly average super hearing and far vision.

Jimmy thinks back to the man he’d met, blinded by his own hands, hearing so intense that he has to wear earplugs at all times.

And then he wonders, dreading the unknown answer, what kind of mistakes had been made with the experiments before his own—and who on earth Nine might be.

#empires smp #empires smp fanfic #empires superpowers au #esh au #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #flower husbands #martyn inthelittlewood #mas writes #051424 #finally. he's here #after all the fighting he did to get here #when i explicitly told him no #martyn: that sign can't stop me bc i can't read! im blind!#the number seven really just suits this man huh #somebody guessed that martyn would have been one of the subjects lol #you were correct! congrats!#lmk what you guys think #love you guys

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writtenontheport · 1 year ago

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Just an Afternoon at Portland Row

Pt. 1: Just a Morning at Portland Row

Finale: Just a Night at Portland Row

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) reader

Warnings/Tags: Idiots in love (again), mentions of death and loss, Still a romcom though, major tropes, a bit of bittersweet angst, Lucy and Reader friendship, Old Man with advice, Lockwood’s a silly guy and I stand by this, George and Lockwood friendship, Norrie is mentioned indirectly, please tell me if you catch any more, Imagine that moment where character a dumps on a random elderly stranger and has an epiphany about character b

Notes: I wrote this all under a trance, I will be 100% honest with you, I only lightly read it over after 😭 I will make a part 3, but who knows when it’ll be!! This fic is what happens when you’re forced to binge classic romcom 2000’s movies and then treat yourself to Lockwood and co LAWL.

Summary: Lockwood wants to return the favour for once, and gets a bit of advice from an old-timer along the way. You have a lovely chat with Lucy, and George is too close to pulling his hair out over everything happening.

Word count: 2k+

The jingle of a bell has Lockwood turning up to find it hanging over the door, his lips pressed thin. The shop is empty as he walks in, sunlight pouring from the windows lining the walls and splaying over the flowers tucked in every corner and on every surface. The whole place smelled refreshingly sweet; cool despite the heat. Teal walls hide behind endless arrays of every other colour, tables strewn and pots haphazard.

An old man comes out from a door behind what must be the counter, small pots lined along the top. He hobbles over and squints his eyes at Lockwood, a dopey smile on his wrinkly face.

“Would you like to come in?” He asks kindly, his voice like a croak. Lockwood sends him a small smile as he steps out of the doorway and shuts softly behind him. “Do you have anything specific you’re here for, or are you just looking around?”

He runs a hand along the edge of the nearest table, basking in the openness of each and every bud and bloom. “I’m here to return a favour. Someone I… know gave me a bouquet recently and I…“

“My,” the old man laughs when Lockwood’s words fail to come through, “You sound awfully shy! Someone you fancy?”

“Well—“ he thinks about it for a second, and the weight of his words lies like a dam in his throat “—I don’t… know?”

“Are you asking, or telling me?” The old man (who Lockwood doesn’t really know what else to call but The Old Man, which is starting to get repetitive) says, rounding the counter to make his way opposite of where Lockwood is lingering. There, a whole shelf of red flowers sits like a still parade, and the old man looks back at Lockwood curiously when he catches him caught on one bouquet.

“Those- um, the red carnations,” He says, making his way over, and gently picking up the red bouquet. The flowers shake and settle in his hands.

The elderly man hums, giving him a terse nod with his eyebrows lifted. He doesn’t say anything as Lockwood fumbles for words, and waits with an amused smirk as he picks up a watering can from the corner and starts on some of the pots.

“…What does it mean when someone gives you red carnations?” Lockwood finally asks, his voice small and his eyes focused on the flowers twirling between his hands.

“My better half used to tell me that they meant pure adoration or true love. Not much different from a red rose then, that lot,” He chuckles, and Lockwood is surprised dust doesn’t burst out of the cough that follows. He sounds worn but content, the old gardener. Lockwood wonders if he still misses them, and aches.

The thought of losing someone after so long frightens him. He doesn’t want to be someone people lose and he doesn’t want to lose anybody else, but there’s just so much love hanging around him. It chokes him sometimes; scares him when he realizes he can lose something— some people. He wonders how any one, even the gardener, can handle it at all.

“Are they not here now?” Lockwood blurts out before he can catch himself, but the elderly gentleman just shrugs.

“No, but it’s not like that’s surprising,” He chuckles, “I’ll be with them soon, anyhow. These old bones won’t be running around for much longer I tell ya’. No use in waiting to just join them, though. The shop still needs tending, and there are people to love, still.”

Thoughts of Portland Row call to him, an echo of all the people he’s loved and still loves. The house still stands whether or not the people in its walls are still the same, like how this old shop still stands, whether or not how many flowers pass in it. His hands tighten lightly around the pot of the carnations, and in his peripheral he can feel the man watching him patiently.

“When someone gives them to you—” Lockwood says instead, because what can you say to that? “—say, a friend of mine received a bouquet of these from someone they… fancied, what does that mean?”

“I think it means they really like you enough to give you flowers,” The shopkeeper laughs, deepening the wrinkles on his temples. Lockwood hides his smile at that, giddy even if it might not be the answer he had exactly been fishing for.

It takes him another half an hour before he’s found a bouquet fitting to give you. He gets the bouquet for free (the shopkeeper insists), but in return he has to come back after and tell the old shopkeep what happens.

“Good luck on you,” The old man smiles on his way out, “Don’t let those flowers go to waste, you hear me?”

The door to 35 Portland Row clicks open with ease, and you carefully step around the line of shoes near the front to slip yours off. A breeze ruffles you from behind as the door falls shut, and you hang your coat up on the stand. Surprisingly, only Lucy’s coat seems to hang up by yours.

“Lucy?” you call out, feeling your voice echoing about the walls. The main hall of the house is spotlessly clean (all thanks to George) yet the walls feel lived in and old. You can feel the history of the house rumbling in your bones; a welcome wave of nostalgia washing over you.

“In here!” Lucy calls from what sounds like the kitchen, “I’ll come out to meet you in a second! Don’t come in!”

You quickly find a seat in a stray chair out in the hall, and settle down to wait. Lucy pops out not a moment too late, quickly shutting the door behind her. Something about the way she doesn’t look away from you as she shuts the door makes you raise your brow in suspicion.

“Thought you would come by a bit later,” She says, pulling you up from your chair with a guiding hand on your arm.

“Did I stop by too early? I can go, if…” You ask worriedly, checking her over in case she was hurt. She’s dressed casually business-like, and it makes you wonder if you’d interrupted her from something important instead. She shakes her head quickly, a sincere smile finding its way onto her cheeks.

“Just— some gadgets in the kitchen that we’re trying out.” She takes you both up the stairs to the library, going on about some new salt bomb as she wildly gestures with her other hand. You eye her suspiciously; she never does that unless she’s nervous.

“Uhuh… and George and Anthony?” You ask playfully, stopping by the doorway of the library. She teeters on the balls of her feet in front of the bookshelf.

“At Satchell’s,” She says easily. Too easily. “How are you and Lockwood?”

Ah, you finally get it. “Did he get himself into trouble again? You don’t have to cover for Anthony, Luce.”

When she quickly shakes her head, you feel a little more confused and suspicious. She pulls an old book out of the shelves, and throws it open, pretending to read it.

“Just… wondering. Can’t a girl just ask her friend how they and their other friend who they’re totally not in love with, are doing?” She hums, flipping a page as she glances at you from the corner of her eye. Her words hit you with a resounding strike, but you manage to keep steady.

“We’re… fine.” You look away from her, which was a mistake because she catches the way you tuck your lips in, and her grin grows teasing.

“Fine? You gave him flowers!” She says, incredulously. When you snap your head her way to protest, she holds a hand up and starts listing all the things you and Lockwood do together that just don’t make sense for ‘fine’.

“…I’m pretty sure you guys pretend to be mad at each other just so you can stare at each other and call it glaring— which, the only thing glaring thing there is the glaringly obvious fact you are ogling each other—“ She takes a breath, all but dumping herself onto a chair, and you take it as a chance to interrupt her.

“Who even says ogling anymore—“

“You are ogling at each other. Face it.” She levels with you, glaring at you through her lashes.

You shuffle your feet for a second under where you’re sat across from her, and you huff in something close to defeat. You bury your head in your hands and refuse to look up. She softly whispers your name and reaches out to pat your shoulder.

“What if… he doesn’t like me back though? I don’t want to ruin all that just for my silly feelings, Luce. I can’t lose him like that.” You meant for it to be playful, but it comes out self-deprecating and quiet. Lucy hums thoughtfully, and you hear the note of it turn a bit sombre.

“Gross as you guys are, I think it’s sweet that you have each other— that you’ve always had each other. It can be easy to lose something like that, and it hurts like hell when you do, but… I don’t think that would happen so easily to you two. I mean, with how long you’ve both been dealing with each other, it’d be mental to let this be the end of it.” Her eyes are glazed over when you peek up; her hand still on your shoulder. You pull her hand into yours and give it a squeeze.

“You’ll be ok, no matter what happens,” she whispers like a secret. You wonder if it is one; if it’s a secret like the cassette tapes she sends home and the flowers you give to Lockwood. You wonder if they were really that much different at all.

“Thanks, Luce,” is all you can say, as you pull each other into a hug that squeezes at the doubts and the fears and the worries.

“You know, George, this makes me think you actually care about me,” Lockwood chirps, walking backwards as George scowls at him from behind a big hefty bag of supplies.

Curfew’s soon to set in, and George is not keen on wasting anything they could save for a case by being tardy of all things. So he scowls at Lockwood, even though he’s endlessly amused.

“Did you hit your head hard enough to finally start hallucinating?” Is all he replies, huffing as he bounces the bag in his arms. Lockwood’s got one full bag, too, but he’s strutting along like it doesn’t bug him. He should have made him take the heavier bag, George thinks.

“You came to fetch me when I took too long—“

“Cause you were taking too long, dickhead!” George feels a smile slip onto his face, and Lockwood beams. They’ve rounded the corner before they spot the house’s porch lights, the route familiar to George.

“I was already at the door when you opened it!” Lockwood argues, spinning forward and slinging the bag about.

“With flowers, Lockwood. You went out to get supplies and came back with flowers—“ George froze as they came up to the house. In one of the higher windows of the townhouse, he can spot two silhouettes in the window laughing about. “Lockwood.”

“It slipped my mind! Besides, we ended up getting the supplies anyway and having a nice little adventure, yeah?” Lockwood goes on, still walking up to the house without a clue in the world.

“Lockwood, stop walking,” George hisses a bit louder, trying to catch up.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had an adventure with us two, if I remember correctly. Last time was… that case, with Ms. Whittle? Luckily Lucy’s still there to make sure they haven’t seen the flowers yet just in case they stop by early,” Lockwood says, still completely unaware.

“Yes, but— Lockwood,” George whisper-yells, finally catching his attention, “They’re already here!”

Now, George Karim is a sensible and (in his very right opinion) incredibly patient person, but it still took everything in his power not to strangle Lockwood when he begins to panic-walk to the front door, rambling the whole way. Sometimes it helps to have had siblings, just so they can train you for moments like these and your head doesn’t go flying at how frustrating people can just be.

The things George does for his friends, he’s glad someone can tolerate Lockwood’s scatter- brained attitude enough like you can. He finds it endearing how much you both go stupid about one another, and just hopes one day you both level out, or else he’s going to go absolutely mental.

A/N: There’s an almost completely written version of this where Lockwood was 100x sillier and miscommunication ensues, but my instinct just told me not to post it. Instead, I got sappy, and you all get this. I wrote the other version mind you, and almost completed it, the same night I started and finished my George x reader fic, so I was honestly a little proud of it. Took a bit to the ego when I realised I could absolutely go about it in a more satisfying manner, but I’m glad I went and took the plunge

Also @tangledinlove asked me to tag her in case I wrote a part 2 so here you go!! Hope it isn’t too bad of a sequel!! Though I did write this mostly sleepy…

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x you #Portie writes fanfic

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