#this line continues to haunts us i fear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

melminli · 4 months ago

Note

I LOVEDDDDDDD your Thanos “bang bang bang” post and it made me very curious abt how they know eo and stuff and like I’d love to read more about it in general if you don’t mind. It’s so great and I love your writing <333 have a fun day / night 🫶🏻

BANG BANG BANG ll

summary - thanos was always just such an easy person to argue with. you really hated the guy and that was something that was never going to change, even if your life was on the line and it fucking was.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.8k

contains: violence, angst, death, drug use and addiction, dark content - just usual squid game stuff really

a/n: ty so much! this turned out kinda freaky but that is because thanos is a freak so, i didn't really have a choice.

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There was an eerie silence among all the participants for the first few seconds after the first death happened. The realization of what this meant for everyone present slowly sank in, and you thought that maybe the crazy man with all his screaming, wasn't quite as crazy as you originally thought. The real madman was probably the person somewhere upstairs or - you didn't know exactly where, but you knew that they were watching you.

“Don't move!” His voice shouted again, but this time with a completely different force. It may be that this was the most logical conclusion one could draw from what had just happened, but some seemed to throw all logic out of the window as soon as the fear of death hit. It only took one person to panic to set off a domino effect and from one second to the next loud gunshots could be heard, following the fearful screams of one person after another. The participants were being slaughtered like frightened animals in a cage, what kind of sick game was really going on here?

You too began to tremble as you looked down at the floor, dissociating and trying to ignore your surroundings as best you could. You had to stop yourself from flinching when the person right next to you was killed, even as you felt his still warm blood covering your cheek, even as a small river of it started pooling around your foot. You were most likely going to leave a trace of him all over the ground as soon as you started walking again - whoever he was. It didn't take very long for everyone who had moved to be shot, maybe half a minute - and yet it must have been the worst half minute of your life so far.

“Don't you dare move,” Thanos said in a voice you weren't used to hearing from him. “I'm serious, don't make me mad.”

You just looked at his back from behind, with a tense posture while you tried to regain control of your breathing again. Finally, there was complete silence on the pitch again. Even if it wasn't an entirely welcome silence.

The voice from the loudspeakers began to speak again and you already knew that this would be a voice that would haunt you in your nightmares. “Let me repeat: You can move forward while the tagger shouts, Green light, red light. If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”

Ah, so that's what you meant with eliminated. A bit literal but no biggie! The game continued, but no one really dared to move a muscle even when the puppet looked away. You then saw Thanos shift slightly out of the corner of your eye and noticed that he was pulling his cross necklace out of his t-shirt. Safe to say, that you could barely believe what you were seeing right before your very eyes. You've got to be kidding me, they took everything we had from us, but he was allowed to keep that old thing? “Are you seriously going to take that stuff now?” you whispered in disbelief but didn't really judge him for it. You were this close to just laughing out loud at the absurdity of the scene, but you didn't.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweetheart,” he replied with slightly shaky hands as he stopped his movement abruptly when the doll finished talking. He just stared longingly at the colorful pills in front of him. “I don't mind sharing with you, you know that.”

You sighed inwardly at the thing you were about to do. You had been clean for maybe about three years by now and quitting drugs of any kind overnight was fucking hard - definitely one of the hardest things you had to do in your life. On the other hand, your life was still as shitty as before, the only difference being that you were now consciously depressed and unhappy, so who cares? You could die every second anyway. “Thanks.” you just said after taking the pill out of his hand and threw the thing as quickly as possible in your mouth as soon as the doll looked away. Yeah, you were the biggest hypocrite on earth, old news.

It only took maybe a few seconds after that for you to feel the effects of the pill and then finally, all the stress started to dissipate. Your muscles relaxed, all the shouting about whatever felt like a soft pillow hugging you and the weird laying positions of the dead around you suddenly seemed incredibly funny. These were really strong pills, you could practically feel your whole body tingling. “Why are they all suddenly forming a line?” you asked with a grin and Thanos just hummed, not knowing the answer himself. “No idea, but watch this,” he said and waited until the puppet had turned towards you to push the person next to him, causing everyone in front of them to fall over too. “Ding! You lost,” he told them while wiggling his eyebrows and smirking after he watched them get shot.

You didn't even try to stifle your laughter at the scene. “You really are such an asshole.” you replied, shoving him aside this time after the doll averted its gaze. You then ran away as fast and as far away as you could so that he couldn't take revenge on you for what you had just done. However, you quickly stopped moving with both hands in the air as soon as the girlish voice emitted red light as if you were surrendering to her. You stifled your grin and pretty much failed when you noticed a slightly older woman standing relatively close to you. “Hey, are you trying to hide behind me to use me as a shield?” you spoke out without moving your mouth much and watched as she began to sweat more after you realized what she was doing. Still, she didn't pay you any further attention. “And now you're ignoring me too?” you spat out annoyed and grabbed her by the arm when you were free to move and pulled her in front of you against her will.

She tried to fight you off but you forced her further forward while she tried to defend herself. “You're older than me, aren't you ashamed of yourself?” You asked her and stopped walking before the robot's face turned towards you.

Number 57, who was still resisting your grip, stumbled a little to the side when you suddenly let go of her. She was about to howl in delight when she noticed how everyone else stood still. “No…” she mumbled out fearfully. “It's because of that bitch! I didn't -” she tried to defend herself to someone as she looked around the room, but her head caught the bullet before she could even finish her sentence.

“I may be a bitch, but at least I'm still alive.” you sang to her dead body on the floor before running past her. You didn't know how much time was left, but you had almost made it to the finish line anyway. You stopped with your back to the robot girl this time and it didn't take you long to spot the purple hair in the crowd. “Su-bong!” you shouted his name, since you had somehow gotten separated while running. You waited until he yelled back with a what?! “Last one there, gets fucked in the ass!” you yelled out without any shame or filter and saw his facial expression turn serious at the challenge. “Let's Go!”

The whole game went by relatively quickly once you took the pill from Thanos. It was actually quite fun, you thought to yourself as you both jumped around like two crazy people with grinning faces, waving your arms around wildly. I know it's not socially acceptable to say this, but I fucking love doing drugs! It was like everything around you was happening in slow motion and all the decisions you made felt foggy, like you didn't even realize what you were doing.

You loved being this person, it felt great to forget everything and just - not think. “I have won! No, really! You crossed the line two steps after me, I saw it!” you exclaimed before Thanos could object to a single thing. “Didn't anyone else see that?” you exclaimed in disbelief as if the others weren't busy staying alive while watching several others die right before their faces. You didn't care about the looks they gave you as you waved your hand. “No, they definitely saw it. I won.”

Thanos just gave in with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I'm getting fucked in the ass which is gay, very funny.” he just mumbled to himself annoyed, and continued to avoid your gaze, but couldn't help grin again when you slapped him on the shoulder laughing. “Hey, why did we stop doing all this again?” he asked you when he couldn't remember the reason. All he knew was that he hadn't had this much fun in a long time, even though he knew that he always had a great time with you - no matter what.

You laughed. “Oh, that's because you promised me that we'd both get clean together, and then you spent the money I gave you for rehab on more drugs behind my back.“ you laughed along with him, even if Thanos frowned a little at the memory and you started to smile forcedly after remembering again how he had betrayed you. “Or what was it again? Was it something about that Youtuber you told me about…” you mumbled to yourself obliviously, feeling any sense of happiness begin to fade. You finally gave up, the details weren't that important anyway. “It doesn't really matter though, right? In any case, you used the money for something else, whatever it was. Even though you knew how hard I worked for it - hell, I didn't even eat most days to scrape it together, man.” you stated while you looked him in the face, even though he averted his gaze from you. “That's just fucked up dude.”

Exactly. You actually hated being this person. You might not remember it right now, but you would as soon as the effects of the pill wore off, which hopefully wasn't soon. You really hoped it wasn't soon, because you didn't want to be aware of anything that had happened today.

next.

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luvsupa · 7 months ago

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I WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAMMM!

summary: whatever you do, do not fuck mr.ghostface!

tags: ghostface!geto x fem!reader, naoya mention .., set in the 90s and inspired by fear street!!, smut, ōral sex (m and f receiving), knife play, slightly mask kink, humiliation kink, exhibitionism kinda, death, mentions of blood, etc, mdni

w.c: around 3.6k (sorry I got carried away …)

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR 1.6K WAAAATTTT WE GOIN UPPPPP YEASSS

+ geto in tbis fic looks just like this fanart ��‍↕️

kinktober masterlist

you lean against the register, bored out of your mind as you scribble distorted faces on your company’s notepad. working a night shift sucks—especially a closing shift. you huff as the intercom blasts the latest rock song, a weak attempt to liven up the dead atmosphere. lately, the cd shop has been busy with customers buying vinyls, posters, and movies. ugh, it was so annoying having to scan the newest movie, scream. the line was always so long it nearly wrapped around the whole building!

you glance out the glass front doors, scanning the empty, dark streets, genuinely debating whether you should close two hours early since no one is coming. your attention shifts as you hear the bell ring, indicating a customer entering.

ugh.

your smile drops when you see naoya, your annoying coworker who flirts with you in the weirdest ways. he’s always condescending and putting you down until you found out from another coworker that he’s actually attracted to you. he walks toward you, standing in front of the register as if he were a customer. you honestly forgot he was still here after he said he would take a ‘five-minute’ break an hour ago.

“you don’t get paid to draw, now do you?” he says, leaning over to grab the notebook. you let him take it, but he rips the page clean, crumpling it in his fist. gosh, you hated when he acted like the manager. “anyways, I’m clocking out! must suck having to stay for another… two hours!” he laughs, glancing at the clock above. he giggles as he walks behind the counter into the bright red font ‘employees only’ room, leaving you scoffing in annoyance. you waste time fixing the decorations on the register as every minute drags by.

ring!

your heart stops when you hear the company phone ringing. who the hell calls at this hour? you pick up the corded telephone and force yourself into a professional tone.

“thank you for calling cursed tracks, how may I help you?” you say, lazily watching over the store. there’s a long pause, and your brows furrow. is this a prank call?

“hello—”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

you burst out laughing, doubling over at the blatant prank call. there’s no way. it’s beyond cringey that you would be a victim of ghostface’s evil scheme. tears roll down your cheeks as you hang up the phone, your laughter still ringing in your ears. but then, you stumble backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone. your laughter halts as you slowly turn your head, gulping hard as your eyes drop in horror. screaming in genuine fear, you see him: ghostface, knife in hand, just like in the movies.

you stumble back into the counter, panic rising as you cry out, cornered in the booth. he drops his hand and bursts into laughter, and your brows furrow in confusion. he lifts his hand to remove the haunting mask, and embarrassment floods over you.

seriously.

“naoya, that wasn’t funny,” you snap, shoving him away as he continues to laugh uncontrollably. “you— you should’ve seen your face! I wish I recorded this— we would’ve been stars!” he wheezes, still amused as you find none of this funny. he continues to mimic your reaction, and you bite your lip to keep from lunging at him.

“stop wearing display costumes, asshole! you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you scold, turning away as he playfully bonks your head with the fake plastic knife. irritation washes over you.

“jeez, naoya— just leave already, you’re ruining my alone time,” you say coldly, clearly annoyed by his antics. you hear his footsteps retreating to the employee room, allowing you to calm down from his stupid joke.

you lean against the counter once again, watching over the store in boredom, your eyes feeling heavy as each minute passes. maybe you should really quit- you’re not getting paid enough for this. you roll your eyes at the ruckus coming from the room behind you—nayoa’s making way too much noise.

bastard, you mentally insult him.

you close your eyes to rest them, feeling exhausted from the long shift when you suddenly sense someone standing behind you. your eyes shoot open, and your heart drops again as you turn around to see nayoa in that damn ghostface costume.

“very fuckin’ funny, naoya,” you scoff, trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. he’s breathing heavily under the mask, staying still as if waiting for your reaction. you turn to yell at him, but the words choke in your throat. your eyes drop to the knife he’s gripping in his hand, and it looks too real—dripping with what looks like blood. your breathing quickens as you glance at the fake plastic knife that naoya left on the counter, your eyes twitching in disbelief.

“o-okay, naoya, you’re scaring me.”

“darling, who’s naoya?” the male voice says, distorted through the mask’s speaker. tears rush to your eyes as you see blood seeping from under the employee room door.

you step back, your back hitting the counter, trapping you just like before when nayoa scared you. the male steps closer, tears spilling down your cheeks as fear overwhelms you; you can’t call out for naoya—he’s fucking dead!

without thinking, you attempt to jump over the counter, but before you can touch the ground, you feel yourself being yanked back by strong hands. you squeal at how fast he moves, pinning you against the wall with one hand holding you in place and the other gripping the sharp, bloody knife to your throat. your eyes widen, the blade too close to your artery. if you looked up at the popcorn ceiling. you’d see the end of it—your life flashing before your eyes.

“oh pretty, you were just acting like a big girl,” geto coos, his voice soft yet terrifying. the grip on the knife loosens slightly as he pulls back his head, and your eyes remain shut, fear washing over you.

“y’r sooo fuckin’ nasty, huh,” geto comments, and your brows furrow as you stare at the creepy face behind the mask. he chuckles, and you follow his gaze down—oh fuck. you wish your body wasn’t reacting on its own! you’re grinding your hips against his knee placed between your thighs, your rhythm so subtle you didn’t even realize.

“let’s test how nasty you really get.”

those were the last words that echoed in your head as he had you behind the counter, knees grinding against the freezing floor, your jaw aching from the relentless thrusts. his thick cock slammed into your mouth with brutal force—so deep that you swore you could feel him in your chest, the bulge in your throat visible as he used you mercilessly. both of his hands gripped your head with brutal force, his long fingers tangling in your curly locks as he fucked your face like a filthy fucktoy. his groans, muffled by the infamous ghostface mask, sent shivers down your spine, the hollow black eyes staring soullessly at you as he threw his head back in ecstasy. the obscene sounds of wet gags and sloppy suction filled the store, the mess overwhelming—drool and spit spilled uncontrollably from your mouth, coating his shaft and dripping down your chin, soaking into the front of your work shirt.

your nose repeatedly slammed against his crotch, the rough patch of his pubes tickling against your skin, making you tear up even more. the strain in your jaw was unbearable, his fat cock stretching you wide, each thrust so forceful you thought your jaw might snap. but you kept your grip on his jeans, fingers digging into the fabric as your throat was pounded raw. his heavy black boot was wedged between your legs, you couldn’t stop grinding on him. each roll of your hips against his boot sent delicious friction through your core, and you were drenched, your panties soaked through your pants, sticking to your swollen folds. the slick sounds of your cunt rubbing against his boot mixed with the wet slurps coming from your mouth, each grind making you moan pathetically around his cock.

geto’s head dropped down to watch, eyes behind the hollow mask taking in the sight of you—a filthy, drooling mess on your knees with his cock buried so deep down your throat that a bulge swelled in your neck. drool poured from your lips in thick strings, and your hips moved desperately against his foot, grinding on him like you couldn’t help yourself. but he didn’t let you keep going. his movements stopped abruptly, and with a harsh yank, he pulled your head back off his cock, making you gag and cough, gasping for air. the sound of your desperate choking echoed through the store as strings of spit connected your swollen lips to his twitching tip, your eyes wide with lust and tears. the sight of you, completely ruined in your leggings, face soaked and pussy grinding against his boot, only made him harder, his cock throbbing in front of your face.

“you jus’ can’t help it, can you?” geto growls, his voice thick with cruel amusement as he grinds his boot harder into your cunt, your soaked panties doing nothing to dull the friction. the pressure sends jolts of filthy pleasure up your spine, making you cry out pathetically, your body writhing against him. his grin stretches behind the ghostface mask, those empty black eyes staring down at you, drinking in your desperation.

in a single, brutal motion, he rips you off the ground and slams you onto the counter, CDs clattering to the floor around you. your legs fly up, bent and spread wide, exposing you to him completely. his eyes rake over your body like you’re nothing more than prey. with a harsh tug, he rips your pants off, tossing them carelessly behind him. the moment his gaze lands on the soaked crotch of your panties, your clit twitches in response, your cunt clenching involuntarily, knowing what’s about to come. the fabric is practically see through now, drenched in fear and filthy arousal, and it only makes his smirk widen behind the mask.

your eyes are glossy, chest heaving as your legs stay bent up, thighs trembling with anticipation. you should be terrified, and you are—but the heat pulsing through your core is undeniable. the sight of him towering over you with that eerie mask, black eyes hollow and unfeeling, does something sick to you.

without warning, geto pulls a another knife from behind him, the blade gleaming dangerously in the store light. you gulp hard, a whimper escaping your lips as he waves it inches from your face, the cold steel sending a wave of fear coursing through you, but it only makes your cunt throb harder.

“don’t move,” he whispers darkly, dragging the tip of the knife down your neck, making your skin break out in goosebumps. the blade hovers over your chest, your nipples hardening as he traces your curves. he presses just enough to remind you of its sharpness, enough to let you know he could cut deep at any second. the threat lingers in the air, the thrill of it making your thighs tremble.

he doesn’t hesitate when he reaches your shirt. with a quick flick of his wrist, you hear the rippppp of fabric as the blade slices your work button-up clean open, exposing your bare chest. the sharpness of the knife cutting through the material like paper sends a shiver of fear and arousal down your spine.

“cheap shit,” he sneers, but the way your nipples perk in the cool air has his cock straining even harder. his hand moves lower, the tip of the blade dragging dangerously over your trembling stomach, inching closer and closer to your cunt.

you gasp when he finally reaches your panties, the cold metal resting against the swollen lips of your pussy. “y’know. . .” he trails off, voice thick with lust as he presses the flat of the blade against your clothed clit, the cold, sharp edge making you jerk involuntarily. “never had someone so . . .desperate in their final moments.”

it’s humiliating how your clit twitches at the contact, how your cunt clenches around nothing, soaked and aching for him. he notices, of course, the way your hips twitch toward the blade, and the wetness that’s already beginning to drip down your thighs.

“fuckin’ embarrassing,” he mutters, but his voice is laced with something darker—he’s getting off on this, on how soaked you are for him. the knife slides lower, grazing your inner thigh, just shy of cutting you, the scrape of the blade against your skin sending shivers through your body. you can feel your pulse in your clit, each drag of the cold steel only making you wetter, more desperate.

“this turning you on, baby?” he asks, his voice low and mocking. you can’t even respond, too lost in the filthy heat coursing through you.

with a quick flick of his wrist, the knife slices through your panties, the sharp blade cold against your slick folds. you gasp, your pussy finally exposed, clit twitching as the cool air hits your drenched core. the knife grazes your swollen lips, barely a whisper of pressure, but it’s enough to make you moan, your cunt clenching desperately.

he hums in approval, staring down at your glistening pussy, the wetness dripping from your folds, thighs trembling as you lie there helplessly. geto’s exposed cock twitches painfully at the sight, his eyes narrowing behind the mask as he drinks in how ruined you already are.

“fuckkk,” he mumbles, voice thick with lust. he lets the knife trail up, dragging it over your clit just enough to make you gasp, the cold edge sending waves of agonizing pleasure through you.

you’re fighting the urge to touch yourself, legs trembling with need, but he’s dragging it out, watching you suffer, savoring every filthy, desperate moan that spills from your lips. your cunt clenches again, dripping, aching for more, but all he does is graze the blade over your sensitive skin, keeping you on the edge, waiting for him to finally take what’s his.

without a second thought, geto rips off the ghostface mask, revealing his face in all its sinful glory. his long black hair cascades down his back, a few loose strands framing his face just right, giving him that perfect, messy look. your heart nearly stops at the sight—those silver piercings in his lower lip glint under the lights of the CD store. fuck. your breath catches as you realize just how devastatingly hot he is, a man who could ruin you in every sense of the word.

“f-fuck, mr. ghostface. . .you’re so fucking hot,” you moan, your cunt clenching involuntarily at the sight of him. he smirks, catching your reaction instantly, bringing the blade right back to your dripping cunt, but now it’s different—now you can see every twitch of that gorgeous smirk, every glint in his wicked eyes. nothing is processing in your mind at this point. you’re too far gone, body shaking as he holds all the power over you. he could do anything right now, and you’d let him.

geto leans in, inhaling deeply, letting your scent drive him mad before diving headfirst between your thighs. his lips find your cunt with no warning, devouring you like a fucking beast. his tongue plunges into your soaked hole with reckless abandon, the wet, obscene sounds echoing through the empty store. your back arches violently against the counter, the cold glass windows around the store only barrier between you and the outside world. if anyone walked by and caught sight of this—fuck, you’d be fired in an instant. but the thrill of that thought only makes the heat in your core burn hotter.

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, hands flying to tangle in his thick, soft hair, yanking him closer. he groans deep, the sound vibrating through your clit as you pull his head in tighter. mr. ghostface loves his hair being pulled—check! you think, feeling the way his body reacts to your grip, only making him devour you more ruthlessly.

his nose nudges your clit, adding to the torment as his tongue relentlessly works your insides, the metal ball of his tongue piercing sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. it’s so nasty, so fucking loud as he slurps up your juices, the slick sound echoing around the store. you can’t believe your body is making this much of a mess, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the counter beneath you. you’re losing it, completely undone by how he’s devouring you.

geto’s tongue is merciless, and just when you think it can’t get any better, he brings two thick fingers to your entrance, thrusting them in deep. the stretch makes your head spin, his digits spreading you open wide as his tongue continues to work your cunt. he groans low in his throat, the vibrations sending another wave of ecstasy through your core. the sensation of his tongue, his piercing, and his fingers all working together has you seeing stars, your walls clenching around him uncontrollably.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls against your cunt, his voice muffled but still dripping with arrogance as his fingers curl inside you, finding your sweet spot instantly. your eyes roll back, legs shaking uncontrollably as the tension in your belly coils tighter. your grip on his head tightens, forcing him further into you, needing more, more of that perfect, filthy mouth. his lips close around your swollen clit, biting at it just enough to drive you insane, while his fingers pound into you relentlessly.

you catch a glimpse of his face between your thighs, his half-lidded eyes fluttering shut as a moan slips past his pierced lips, his tongue flicking out to lick your slick from the corner of his mouth like he can’t get enough. he’s completely lost in you, ruthlessly making out with your cunt, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge, your body trembling violently as you feel your orgasm building, heat burning in your stomach, your cunt clenching around his thick fingers.

“listen to how talkative she is,” geto sneers, a wicked smirk stretching across his face. without hesitation, his free hand grabs the store’s telephone, fingers working quickly to connect it to the intercom. before you can process what he’s doing, he presses the microphone right up against your drenched, sloppy cunt.

your eyes go wide in horror as the filthy, wet sloshing of your pussy echoes through the entire store. the slick, obscene sounds of your cunt squelching and dripping around his thick fingers fill the air, amplified by the speakers. every thrust makes it squirt, the embarrassing symphony of your slick coating his fingers making your stomach drop with humiliation. you’re completely exposed, the sound of your body’s desperate reactions bouncing off the store walls, reminding you just how nasty this is.

the wet slaps, the relentless gushing of your cunt, and the squelching noises leave you utterly mortified. It’s so loud, so filthy that if anyone were to walk by, they’d hear everything—and know exactly what a mess you’re making for him. every slick, nasty sound screams your shame, broadcasting to the entire store that you’re getting off to a literal serial killer!

“look at you,” geto chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with arrogance. “so fucking nasty for me. all this for a killer? huh? you like knowing what a filthy slut you are?”

geto throws the telephone, letting it dangle by the cord, before roughly flipping you onto your stomach. your feet barely touch the ground as your chest presses into the counter- bent over, giving you a full view of the empty store. his eyes darken as he takes in your position, biting his lip at the sight of your ass wiggling back, grinding against his hard cock. you can’t help but plead, your voice breathy and desperate.

“please, mr. ghostface, you’ve been sucha tease,” you whine, turning your head to watch him as he toys with his lip piercing, eyes fixed on you like he’s weighing his options. before you can beg again, he makes his choice—sliding his fat, mushroom tip past your dripping entrance. the stretch of his tip slightly burning but- oh it felt so good. your body jerks forward with the slow, agonizing thrust, his thick crownhead teasing innn and outttt of your needy, aching walls. you cry out, wanting—no, needing—more.

desperation overtakes you, and you try to fuck yourself back onto him, but his hand comes down hard, swatting your ass. the sharp sting only makes your pussy clench harder, and you hear him tut in disbelief at how filthy you’ve become for him. “unbelievable how you’re this horny,” he sneers, gripping your hips tighter as if to hold you still.

“if you’re a virgin, just say—ahh,” you taunt- gasping loudly when his fingers wrap around the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his broad chest. his thick tip remains lodged inside your cunt, teasing you with how little he’s giving, yet how desperately you crave more.

he leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “i’d love to stay and prove your point,” he purrs, eyes flicking to the front of the store, where the bright blue and red lights of approaching police cars flash in the distance. your mind is too foggy, too consumed with lust to understand what he’s hinting at. “but baby, your little coworker—the one you never bat your pretty lashes at,” he continues, his tone darkening as his grip tightens around your neck, turning your head toward the ‘employee’s only’ door.

that’s when you see it—the large, dark puddle of blood seeping from under the door, your coworker’s lifeless body hidden from view.

“i-i don’t care, i wan’ you,” you plead, tears stinging your eyes as your walls grip his girthy tip, trying to coax more from him. geto chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. he turns your head back toward the front of the store, where the police cars are getting closer. his hand slips away from your neck, leaving you trembling as he cruelly pulls his cock from your addicting cunt, leaving you empty and desperate as he swiftly tucked it back in his pants.

tears spill from your eyes as you feel him slipping away, denying you what you need. “he’s the one that ruined our fun,” geto says, his voice soft but menacing. “and sadly…” his words trail off, and you freeze as you feel the cold tip of a sharp blade pressing against your neck. you gulp hard, heart pounding as the reality of the situation sets in.

“’m really sorry, baby, but i can’t have you snitching to the police, can i?” he whispers, and with a swift motion, the blade slices cleanly across your throat. blood trickles down in a warm line, your breath catching in your chest as your body collapses to the floor. the cold tiles beneath you feel distant as your vision blurs, the last thing you see is geto standing above you, pouting as he watches the life drain from your body.

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deebris · 11 months ago

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The Mysterious Visitor 2

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The unknown child evokes conflicting feelings in Bruce Wayne, who once again finds himself needing to deal with Talia's life problems. The girl only wanted the simple desire to see her brother again, unaware of the danger she had put herself into on her journey.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: I feel like maybe I could have developed a more emotional scene between Bruce and the reader, I also want to delve deeper into her thought process, but I hope to make up for that in the next part.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Alfred could finally check the exact time now that he was standing in front of Bruce's room, admiring for a few seconds the clock in the corridor's decoration, which showed 4:17 am. He prepared to knock on the door, but suddenly a thought crossed his mind: would it be more rational to wake Damian instead of his father? Throughout his life, he had faced unusual situations thanks to the Wayne family; hardly anything would shake him now. His concern, however, was not for himself, but for Bruce.

Talia was a persistent shadow in Bruce's past, still haunting him, and although he had tried to convince the butler many times that the only link he had with her now was because of their son, Alfred still doubted it. Their relationship had been complicated in many ways, either because of her ambiguous nature or Ra’s al Ghul's insistence on trying to persuade Bruce to join the League of Assassins, making Alfred fear that Bruce's morals might deviate because of this passion at the time.

Alfred raised his fist to knock three times and waited patiently as was his custom, but it seemed that was not enough to wake his master. He knew the door was open and knew he was allowed to enter without knocking, so just this once he used the liberty the young man had given him over the years; because in the end, Bruce Wayne was just that, a young man, and would always be seen that way by him.

Inside the room, he turned on the light, and the intense glare made him close his eyes to avoid the sting of the brightness. Approaching the bed, he sighed at the sight of Zolpidem pills left on the nightstand. This had been the only way Bruce found to stop spending sleepless nights, reluctantly since he was too stubborn and preferred to patrol in the darkness. Waking him would be a difficult task.

"Master Bruce," he called, waiting for a response, but got nothing. Alfred felt sorry for waking him, seeing how he finally seemed to be resting. "Master Bruce," he called again, this time nudging his shoulder. The pills must have been wearing off because he started to stir on the mattress.

"What’s going on, Alfred?" Bruce asked in a hoarse voice while rubbing his eyes to relieve the discomfort from the lamp. He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the headboard, blinking several times to see the butler in the corner. One of the room's curtains was open, and he saw the snow falling outside with the dark sky, showing that it was still night. "Is it Hugo Strange? Has he shown up somewhere?"

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, no, sir." Alfred paused, then licked his lips, preparing to continue and finally revealing, "There's a young lady downstairs who claims to be Master Damian’s sister." Direct, as always.

"Sister of Damian?" Bruce repeated the information, still not fully comprehending its meaning. He needed some time, just standing there absorbing the words. It seemed to be taking an eternity, but Alfred wouldn't interrupt the moment of clarity he was having.

He squinted, pushed the covers aside, and picked up the shirt he found nearby. Buttoning it up and getting out of bed, he continued, "When did this happen?"

"Just now, sir."

"Did Damian bring her here?" The question had a bitter tone but never crossed the line of respect that was drawn between them, and Alfred knew he should prepare for his interrogation. Bruce saw the alarm clock and, like the butler a few minutes ago, checked the time. "He never mentioned anything like this."

"Nor to me." Alfred suddenly extended a coat for him to take. Bruce held the fabric between his fingers, confused. "This coat is hers. There’s a map of Gotham City and a letter inside. I recommend you take a look at the addressee."

Pulling the papers from the right pocket, Bruce noticed a map folded into many smaller parts and a letter witch was still sealed, though the corners were noticeably crumpled and marked by small fingers. Carefully analyzing the cursive handwriting, he read. "I had no idea Damian still had contact with his mother. Much less that Talia had a daughter," he said, still drowsy, staring at the name 'Talia Head,' to whom the letter was addressed and recognizing his son’s elegant handwriting. Apparently, she still used the alias surname.

"It's not surprising considering you only discovered your son after so many years." The statement could have easily been interpreted as irony, but it was acidic. "She didn’t seem sure Damian lived here; I suppose she found out because of this letter."

"You left her alone downstairs?" he ignored the previous comment.

"I left her in Master Dick's care."

Bruce stared at him for long seconds and hurried out of the room. Halfway down the stairs, he could already see some glimpses of Dick's hair over the back of the sofa, talking to someone, or rather, laughing with someone.

"Dick?" The voice quickly caught his attention, turning his face to see his father approaching. When Bruce stood in front of the fireplace, he could finally look at the child beside the boy. Dick began to say something, but Bruce couldn’t hear.

He stared at the girl, analyzing everything about her, from the way she intertwined her fingers nervously to her deer-like eyes. Her iris were shining, as if she had cried, and her swollen and bruised lips were quite noticeable. She had definitely been outside not long ago, shaking and rubbing her hands together constantly to warm herself up. She seemed too sweet, but Bruce knows that appearances can be deceiving.

His gaze passed over the pendants hanging from her bracelet, a simple detail that caught him off guard. Two crossed swords and a demonic head, he understood well what they meant; they were some of the symbols of the League of Assassins, the third was a simple "T" surrounded by a moon. He shouldn’t have been surprised, Talia was a possessive woman and he knew that the "T" was her way of marking property.

"Her name is Y/n," he heard Dick say after a long time.

You noticed how this man's eyes went dark while he watched you and couldn’t help but shrink back on the sofa. It was impossible to hold his gaze, and you began to feel ashamed of being stared at for so long.

"Y/n, this is Bruce Wayne."

"What do you want?" That came out ruder than he intended, but his aversion to the League of Assassins stirred a certain anger. The idea that this could all be a trap crossed his mind. You might be young and exude innocence, but you must have enough understanding to participate in their malicious plans.

"I just wanted to see my brother," you said with sadness in your voice, questioning yourself if this whole situation was worth it. Bruce knew the best way to confirm if this was all true would be by his son’s word, but the signs were so explicit that it might not even be necessary.

You don’t look anything like her, at least at first glance, but you wore her favorite colors and clothes so perfectly matched that no girl your age could choose yet, exactly to Talia's taste and with the appropriate youthful touch for your age. The pendants, the cut of your hair, literally everything had her touch. It was impossible for anyone to convince him otherwise.

"Go get Damian." He said, and Dick understood that the message was for him. Bruce needed to make sure you were telling the truth, or at least needed to make sure you weren’t dangerous. This could still be a League scheme or some plot by your mother.

"Can I see him?" Your voice was the loudest you had spoken that night. The excitement was clear, and it was so much that irrationally you stood up to follow Dick, but a calloused hand suddenly wrapped around your torso and stopped you, making your back hit a slightly prominent belly. You looked up and saw the old man again, his expression was not happy, and you realized it was directed at Mr. Wayne, who had an arm extended towards you but that never managed to touch you.

Like his face, his arm was tense, with visible veins and contracted tendons. You didn't know what his intentions were, but by the way the old man grabbed you to prevent him from laying hands on you, maybe he wasn't as good as he or Dick. It was a very scary sight., making you feel that this man could be dangerous. Trusting the old man, you turned to hug him, hiding as much as possible. Mr. Wayne’s aura was dark, very unfriendly, but you still saw how he recoiled with his face displaying a certain sense of regret.

Dick noticed Alfred's sudden movement behind him before he could leave the room. He glanced at their faces and for a moment considered whether it would be appropriate to turn back and mention the conversation he had with you to the butler in secret, but then his eyebrows furrowed thinking of Damian. Maybe he should confront the little demon first.

"Don’t do anything stupid, Bruce." Dick thought.

Frantically he knocked on the boy’s door. One, two, three, four times until he lost count. At no point did he hear any noise inside, so he began to turn the doorknob, only to find it was locked.

"Of course he’d lock it, that brat..."

"What are you doing?" Suddenly Tim's bedroom door behind him opened abruptly, making a sliver of light from inside illuminate the opposite wall. He was obviously irritated at being woken up but still had that tone of seriousness he carried most of the time.

"Where's his room key?" Dick completely ignored his brother's attitude.

"Forget it. I heard him sneak out to patrol again." Tim's voice sounded tired.

"And you let him?!" Dick snapped but reminded himself to contain it, remembering that Jason was sleeping in one of the rooms in that wing and that you three downstairs might hear the commotion. "Why didn’t you stop him?"

"And what good would it do? That boy is too stubborn." Tim tried to defend himself. "Besides, I have his location right here. He’ll be fine." He opened the door a bit more to show one of his computer monitors tracking the trajectory and heart signals of a green dot on the streets of Gotham City.

Dick looked both ways down the hallway before pushing Tim back into his room and closing the door.

"Hey, what's this? Why are you acting so weird?" Tim was startled by Dick's unusual behavior, feeling anxious as he watched him go to the computer to check Damian's exact location, observing the dot on the screen moving. Dick pressed a button, likely an emergency notification to get Damian to return home. Then he turned to Tim, gripping his shoulders and looking at him with intense seriousness.

"Tim, what I'm about to tell you might be a lot to take in, and I need you to try to understand as much as possible." Dick pointed a finger in his face, waiting for confirmation.

"You're scaring me like this. What the hell happened?"

"No questions and no interruptions! Understood?" Dick's tone was authoritative, stepping back only when he saw Tim nodding affirmatively.

"Why the hell is everyone awake downstairs? Did someone die or something?" Jason barged into Tim's room without ceremony, trying to make a joke, but when he saw the ghostly expressions on their faces, he quickly shut the door again, this time with him inside the room. "My God," he exclaimed in shock. "Can I join in on your little secret?" he asked ironically.

"Did you see the girl?" Dick asked Jason nervously, with a certain expectation.

"Yeah. I saw a girl with Bruce and Alfred. But they didn't see me, since I went back upstairs. The mood down there is pretty tense." Jason threw himself on the bed, making the mattress bounce and Tim frown in displeasure. "I think Alfred is going to give him a lecture afterwards."

"She's Bruce's daughter."

Jason propped himself up on his elbows, and Tim had to sit in the computer chair. His mouth formed a perfect 'O' as he struggled to believe Dick's words.

"With who this time?" Jason seemed to be reacting better than Tim to the news, even letting out a light laugh. It was a typical, caustic Jason response.

"That's not all." Dick ignored his comment. "She said she's Damian's twin."

Tim let out a short whistle, processing the idea like a complex calculation. "Tell this story from the beginning, Dick. Why did she show up now?" He finally managed to rejoin the conversation. It took a while for the shock to pass, but now he had his usual rational demeanor.

Dick rubbed his hands over his face, trying to recount the night and organize the information. "Apparently, she doesn't even know Bruce is her father. And he doesn't know about it either."

"Damian also never mentioned having a sister."

"Damn. Hiding one kid for a decade is something, but two?" Jason stared at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, a strange sensation taking over the room. But seeing the melancholic expression on Dick's face, his curiosity grew even more. "What else do you know, huh Dick?" He questioned him, sensing there was something much deeper behind this, and his brother just gave him an enigmatic look.

"She said she came here to see Damian. That she found out where he was because of a letter he wrote to Talia..." Dick suddenly froze, pulling a little box from his pocket as if it were a dangerous bomb. "While we were talking, she said a man had helped her get here. He gave her a map and asked her to deliver a present to Bruce, but she gave it to me to deliver." He handed the beige little box to the two, but it was Tim who took it.

Whatever it was, it was very well wrapped.

"Is it right to open it?" Tim asked. "I mean, it's for Bruce, isn't it?"

"I already opened it." Dick said bluntly. "I thought it might be a trap, I was careful."

"Give it here." Jason took the small box from Tim's hands. It was the same size as an engagement ring box, perfect for carrying in a pocket. He pulled the lid off and took out a card, freezing when he read it.

"What does it say?" Tim was curious, taking the card from his hands and reading it out loud:

'I sent your daughter home as a demonstration of my benevolence. Merry Christmas, Batman. Signed, H.S.’

"Holy shit," Jason exclaimed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "That bastard figured out Batman's identity."

"Even worse: he knew about her before we did." Tim added reflectively, his voice barely a whisper. "That means he knows much more than just Batman's identity. He might know other things, including our identities. He probably suspects we are also vigilantes."

"I want to hear the whole story properly." Jason's intensely serious voice broke the silence that had settled in the room, determined to fully understand the appearance of this girl and how she got involved with Hugo Strange.

Dick took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Alright, here it is. Minutes ago, Alfred and I woke up because a girl showed up at the manor claiming to be Damian's sister. She told me that she had a map of Gotham and a letter addressed to Talia from Damian. Alfred brought Bruce to her, and then I went upstairs to call Damian, but I discovered that he's out on patrol. And now we're here."

Tim interrupted, "Wait, so Damian's been in contact with Talia and didn't tell us?"

"That's what it seems like," Dick confirmed, rubbing his temples. "The girl didn't even know Bruce was her father. She mentioned that a man helped her get here and gave her a map along with a present for Bruce."

Jason leaned forward even more. "And this man was Hugo Strange."

"Not xactly, he could have sent someone else." Dick nodded. "The present was that card. Strange knows about her and about Bruce being Batman. He sent her here as some twisted gift."

Tim, processing the information, asked, "Did she say anything about why Strange would do this? What does he gain from sending her here?"

"She didn't seem to know much about Strange's intentions," Dick replied. "She just wanted to see Damian. But it’s clear that Strange knows a lot more than he's letting on. He must have some larger plan in mind."

Jason clenched his fists, his anger palpable. "So, this girl is just a pawn in his game. We need to figure out what his endgame is."

"Agreed," Dick said. "But first, we need to make sure she's safe and find out everything she knows. We also need to talk to Damian and see what tell us about all this."

Tim nodded, adding, "And we have to stay vigilant. If Strange knows this much, we can't underestimate him. He could have more moves planned."

Jason stood up, his determination evident. "We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone gets hurt."

"But what about Talia? Did she just let her daughter go out there, be deceived by a stranger, and then simply come here?" Tim pointed out. "And you, Dick? Are you going to tell Bruce?"

Suddenly, the sound of someone tapping on the window glass was heard. The three brothers turned their heads to see Damian, clad in his Robin attire, asking to come in. "Open up already, you idiots."

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Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

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muwapsturniolo · 6 months ago

Text

𝕭𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖘 🗡 Matt Sturniolo

"You're mine now doll, get to runnin' "

✘ dom matt, mask/face paint kink, knife play, blood, murder, serial killers, pussy slapping, rough sex, exhibitionism. degradation, dacryphilia, fear play, predator x play kink. IF I MISSED ANYTHING, PLZ LET ME KNOW.

ALSO! Although this is not doll!reader and I’m using it as a nickname, I’m still giving credit to my fav rose toy with big tits @bernardsbendystraws

Halloween Horror Nights.

The night where you allow yourself to be chased by fake chainsaws, scared out of your skin, explore haunted houses, and enjoy food.

Y/n however, went for a whole different reason.

It was no secret to the people who knew her that she was a horror fanatic. She watched all the scary movies, often fawning over the masked murders—Billy Loomis and Stu Macher, to be exact. She'd immerse herself, sitting in the dark with a bowl of popcorn on her lap. She'd even take it a step further and leave her front door unlocked, hoping one of her masked lovers would stroll right in.

So here she was, dressed as Alice from 'Alice in Wonderland', wandering around the big amusement park with a certain spark in her eye.

She was having the time of her life - the haunt actors getting in her face and screaming only to be met with a wide smile. They had run up to her multiple times, waving their fake knives, bats, and chainsaws in her face, hoping to scare her. However, she never screamed, she laughed and clenched her thighs, her wetness pooling in the center of her bright blue panties.

She had just finished walking through one of the haunted houses, smiling to herself as she heard the screams of the other house attendees. As she walks out through the exit, the smell of kettle corn and funnel cake hits her immediately.

Her stomach grumbles softly, and she decides it's time for her to eat. As she begins to walk towards the food area, she stops hearing the loudest screams of the night. Just as she turns around, she sees a group of teen girls running from a Haunt actor.

He was tall and lanky, dressed in black suspenders and a white button-up adorned by a tie. His face was covered in white face paint, black triangles painted over his eyes, the black paint also covering his lips - He looked like some rendition of the crow. His hair was slicked back as well, a singular curl falling in his face.

He was beautiful, nothing about him was scary - She was attracted.

Suddenly, his head turns, his eyes landing on her.

She maintains eye contact, not backing down from the impromptu staring contest. She watches as a smirk makes its way across his face, his tongue gliding over his teeth swiftly. She found herself imagining him biting her, his tongue gliding over the indentation on her skin soon after.

She's knocked out of her daydream and staring contest by a few kids bumping into her, running away from what looks like their parents. She huffs and goes to look back at the painted face, only to see he's gone. She was disappointed, hoping maybe, just maybe, he would approach her. She continued on with her task, getting in line to get food before she went on with her night. However, she couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching her.

Throughout the night, she would catch brief glimpses of him, their eyes connecting before he disappeared once more. It seemed like every corner she turned, he was there watching her, stalking her, getting closer and closer each and every single time - She loved it. She dreamed of having her own personal killer dote upon her, and even though he wasn't a real killer, she would settle for it.

Eventually, she had gotten bored of the horror night, having been in the majority of the haunted houses and seeing all of the Haunt actors. She was ready to leave, but before she left, she decided to take a picture.

She holds the phone up, fixing her hair and getting ready to smile when suddenly, the haunt actor who has been watching her this whole night, appears behind her.

He's quick to yank her closer, using her hair as an anchor to pull her back into his chest - his fake knife pressing against her throat.

She freezes, completely caught off guard by his sudden appearance, her thumb hovering over the button to capture the pictures. She feels the ridges of the blade pressing against her throat, the coldness of the metal - She doesn't question it, the only thing her mind can focus on is his warm breath fanning over her ear.

She can't help the excitement building in her core, her wetness forming at an accelerated pace. She clenches her thighs, the nameless haunt actor chuckling darkly by her indiscreet actions.

"Are you scared?" He whispers in her ear, sniffing her neck in the process. She already looked appetizing, but she smelled mouthwatering. The subtle scent of cherries wafting through his nose and making his eyes flutter shut in ecstasy.

"No-"

She wasn't lying, she wasn't scared, she had that anxious excitement building in her stomach. She knew something was going to happen tonight, and she was ready for it.

"Then go on doll, take the picture," he whispers in her ear, a slight chill running up her spine due to his raspy voice. She does as told and takes a picture, a few pictures actually.

"You've been watching me tonight." She says softly as she puts her phone down, the knife still pressed against her throat. He hums in acknowledgment, still holding onto her hair tightly. "And you did nothing to stop it." He removes the knife and turns her around, wrapping a strong hand around her throat, tilting his head to the side as he notices the chaotic gleam in her eye.

He smirks when he recognizes it, "but you liked it, didn't you? You liked the idea of a killer stalking you, hunting you down like prey?" He stares deep into her soul, his eyes never leaving hers. He trails the knife along the front of her costume, stopping right at her heart, never breaking eye contact.

"I love it actually."

His grip on her jaw tightens, his eyes darkening in a sadistic way. He allows his thumb to press against her bottom lip, slowly prodding into her mouth. Her plump and glossed lips wrapped around it, her tongue swirling against it as she kept her eyes locked on his.

He pulls his thumb out of her mouth, his whole body rushing with adrenaline.

His night is taking a turn, the original plan between him and Chris now being tweaked, all because of her. He wasn't mad about it at all, Chris might be, but he would deal with that later.

After all, Chris couldn't stay mad at a girl dressed all pretty for him.

"What's your name?"

"Y/n...What's yours?"

He ignores her question and turns her around, using his knife to point at a specific haunted house she hasn't been in yet.

"Go-" she furrows her brows, not understanding why he would tell her to go into the attraction. Before she could question him, he was gone, leaving nothing but directions and a raging ache between her legs.

She huffs in annoyance, mainly due to his disappearing act but also due to the wetness in between her thighs.

Fixing the hem of her dress, she heads over to the haunted attraction standing in the long line with other people.

Shockingly, it wasn't long before she was next to enter the attraction, showing her ID to security. It was then that she realized this was the scariest haunted house - You have to be 21 to enter due to the extremities.

It was interactive, the actors being able to touch you and terrorize you for however long until you find the exit.

She's soon let in, her legs moving slowly as she takes in the inside of the horror house. It was dark at first, no light in the small entranceway. All she could hear were the screams from the group in front of her and the mechanics of the attraction.

Eventually, she makes it to a long, dimly lit hallway. The lights were flickering and she couldn't tell if it was rigged that way or if they were truly flickering.

She turns the corner and stops - a masked person was hunched over a body, their arm coming down vigorously and violently, blood splatter landing on their white shirt. She assumed it was part of the attraction, not really thinking about it- until she recognized the body on the ground.

It was a girl from earlier, the same girl who ran up to her and complimented her costume.

Everything looked so real - the blood, the knife, even the lifeless look in the girl's eyes as she lay on the floor. Y/n didn’t realize the girl was part of the haunt crew, she wasn’t dressed up in a scary costume - but what does she know?

She hummed to herself and kept walking, not noticing the way the masked actor halted his actions and watched her, tilting their head in wonder as she proceeds without a care in the world.

She walks deeper into the house, laughing in the actors' faces as they attempt to scare her. She even laughed when a girl ran up to her, covered in blood, screaming and crying for her help.

She didn't take her seriously, why would she? It was a haunted house, these are actors.

"Please! Help me out of here, he's going to kill me!"

The emotion in her voice was so raw, it had a true tone of panic

It was so real.

"You actors get better and better every year," Y/n says as she examines the girl's costume. "Costume?! T-this isn't a costume! H-he tried to ki-" The girl stops, her eyes widening in fear as she begins to back away. Y/n rolls her eyes, "Oh, let me guess. There's someone beh-" She stops feeling something looming over her, the energy in the room turning dark as goosebumps rise along her arms.

She turns around, coming face to face with the same painted-faced individual along with the masked figure from before. She looks them up and down, both of them covered in blood. The one in the mask was drenched, the black color of his pants looking even darker with the red liquid seeping into it. He was breathing harshly, his ragged breathing echoing from behind the mask.

The masked figure grabs her, snatching her by her throat and raising his knife. Just as he goes to land his lethal blow, he's stopped by the one covered in face paint.

"She's mine, Let her go."

His voice is stern, leaving no room for debate, but the one in the mask doesn't listen. His grip tightens around her throat, the blue eyes peering down at her hardening. She knew now that this was, in fact, a life or death situation, and she couldn't help but shift slightly, her legs pressing together as she attempted to relieve the ache between her legs.

The one with the painted face smirks, walking behind the masked figure and whispering in his ear. She watches as the blue eyes behind the mask soften, his grip loosening.

He almost looked vulnerable, like he was scared of her.

"She's getting away Chris-" The moment of vulnerability is whisked away, the masked figure now known as Chris whipping his head toward the battered girl rushing off through one of the hallways.

"Go handle her, then come find me."

Chris shoves Y/n into the arms of the painted-face killer, darting down the hallway with a deranged objective. Not even a second later, she's shoved into the wall, her back hitting the plank wood harshly, her purse falling out of her hands. He presses his body against her, inhaling that cherry perfume he finds himself becoming addicted to.

"Are you going to kill me?" She asks, her heart beating wildly. He chuckles and pulls away from her neck, his eyes connecting with hers.

"Kill you? Don't tell me you're scared Dollface."

She shakes her head softly, "I'm not scared, the opposite actually." He hums and looks over her face, trying to see if she is lying. Suddenly, he pushes her off the wall, watching as she stumbles from the unsuspecting push. He uses the tip of his knife to lift her chin,

"You should be."

Her brows furrow, not understanding why she should be scared of him.

"Why should I be? "

"Because you're mine now Doll. Get to runnin'."

Her brows furrow even more, her confusion evident.

"Wha- RUN!"

She can't help but jump at the volume of his voice, her feet moving before she can even register. She takes off running, the beat of her heart ringing in her ears as she looks for a place to hide. He waits a minute or two before stalking down the hallways, whistling as he searches for her.

She finds herself hiding in one of the rooms of the haunted house, shoving herself under the bed, thankful that the prop had a long enough bed skirt. He walked down the hallway she had just run down, stopping in his tracks when he noticed an open door.

He knew this haunted house like the back of his hand - that door was never opened. He walks into the bedroom, letting his knife trail against the wall, an eerie screeching sound being heard.

"I know you're in here Doll-" He smells the air, the strain in his pants growing. "I can smell you, that sweet, sultry cherry perfume-"

She covered her mouth, hoping he wouldn't hear her breathing.

"I can smell the wetness forming between your legs, it's just as sweet as that perfume-" He looks down and notices a bit of her shoe peeking out from under the bed.

He purposely drops the knife, her heart skipping a beat when she hears it collide with the ground.

"- And you know what else I can smell?"

He bends down, reaching for the knife,

"Fear!"

He reaches under the bed and firmly grasps her calve, yanking her from under the bed. She screams loudly as she is dragged from under the bed, her body soon being thrown on top of it. He holds her hands down above her head, using his own body to hold her legs down.

"I thought you weren't scared Dollface?" He taunts, watching as she struggles to get away from him. He grabs the knife and trails it along her thigh, watching as all her movements stop.

The blade trails higher up her thigh, stopping at the hem of the dress from her costume. " You were scared and yet... You found it exciting, thrilling even." He flips her dress up, exposing her saturated panties.

He smiles at the sight, tightening his grip on the handle of the knife, "Look at that, all wet and I haven't even done anything besides scare you. But you know what they say-" He trails the tip of the knife over her clothed core before sliding it under the band.

"Fear is the best foreplay."

The blade swiftly cuts at the band of her underwear, the material falling flat against her body before he yanks it off, throwing it to the side along with the knife.

"Say it, say you like being scared." He urges, his hand getting closer and closer to her core.

"I-I like being scared...I like being hunted by you like a pray, knowing you're lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce and take me." His eyes darken at her words, his pupils dilating.

Instead of fingering her like she assumed he would do, he slaps her folds, a yelp of shock falling from her mouth only to be silenced by his lips. Their lips mesh together feverishly, the black and white paint staining her face as he continues his assault on her folds. He pulls away, watching the fat and salty tears roll down her face. He groans lowly, his cock twitching at the sight of her tears. He stops his heinous ministrations and finally looks down at her cunt - He spreads her puffy folds and watches her hole clench around nothing, begging to be filled and stretched out. His eyes dart toward her clit, watching the puffy mound pulsate under his gaze.

His mouth waters, the urge to be suffocated by her plump and plush thighs as he tastes her sweet, delectable juices strong - He'll save that for another time.

She gasps as she's flipped onto her stomach, his hands harshly gripping her waist and hiking her up, surely leaving bruises in the process. He trails his hand over the soft flesh of her ass before allowing his fingers to dip into her cunt. A whimper escapes her mouth as her eyes flutter shut, that pit in her stomach already forming and ready to burst.

The lewd squelching mixed with the screams of terror throughout the haunted house is like music to his ears - He couldn't wait any longer.

He rips his fingers away from her cunt, ignoring her pathetic cries of greediness as he quickly unbuckled his pants. He wastes no time lining himself up with her dripping cunt, slamming into her harshly.

Her back arches upward like a hissing cat, her finger clenching at the sheets as a strangled moan echoes throughout the propped bedroom. He slams her back down into the bed, her joints cracking in the process.

He fit inside her perfectly, her walls taking in his length with a warm and wet welcome.

He's relentless with his actions, his nails digging into the handles of her hips as he forces her to meet his thrusts. She feels as if she can't breathe, her mouth open and eyes rolled back as she gasps for air. Her brain is scrambled, every thought she had now jumbled and incoherent. The only thing she can think about is the immense pleasure she's feeling, all because of this nameless killer.

She fails to notice the multiple goers of the haunted house walking past the open door, watching with wide eyes as they assume the two were just actors acting- Just as she had done.

She also fails to notice the pair of eyes hidden behind a mask watching from the closet, his gaze stuck on her scrunched face.

"Fuck- Look at you, taking a killer's dick like a whore." She moans loudly in response to his degrading words, her whole body shaking with euphoria. Her slick was trailing down her inner thigh, coating his dick and glistening under the yellow lights.

He props his foot on the bed, allowing him to reach even deeper. He hits that spot hidden deep in between her gummy walls - That "Final Girl" scream tumbling from her lips.

Her body lurches forward, attempting to escape his brutal assault on her body.

He growls and grabs a handful of her hair, shoving her face into the mattress. "Stop fucking running and take it! You wanted this, you wanted to be fucked by a killer!"

He feels her walls fluttering around him, sucking him in deeper despite her attempts to get away. He can tell she's close, her muffled sobs and wails only getting louder with each and every thrust.

His own orgasm was approaching quickly, but he refused to cum without seeing her face - Much like when he goes in for the kill.

He had to see his victims' faces, the light leaving their eyes doing nothing but bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

He pulls out of her aching cunt and flips her over, giving her no time to adjust before he slips right back in, resuming his relentless pace.

Her arms lay limp by her head, her whole body weak as she takes everything he gives her.

He wraps a single hand around her throat, using his other hand to swirl figure 8's against her clit. Her whole body begins to shake, choked gasps and broken pleas filling the air.

"P-Ple-" He tightens his grip against her throat, her hands flying towards his wrist and clawing at it.

"Go on Doll- Shit- Let go."

Her body thrashes around violently, a horrific scream echoing throughout the haunted house, the guests flinching as they rush through with their friends.

He lets go himself, groaning loudly as he paints her walls, claiming her as his.

He heaves as he pulls out of her, a small 'pop' being heard. He tucks himself back in his pants, sniffling softly as he watches her tremble on the bed.

He gives her a few seconds before he grabs his gloves and knife, "I suggest you make your way out, doll. Don't want you to get caught in the crossfire." She continues to lay on the bed, struggling to even sit up or listen to what he's saying.

He chuckles at her fucked out expression and crawls over her, grasping her jaw gently. Her eyes are glossed over, blown out as she looks up at him.

"Look at you, fucked out and dumb." He grabs her arms and pulls her up, holding her close as her knees buckle. He smirks as he looks down at her, enjoying how spent she looks.

"You're so pretty like this," he caresses her face gently, wiping a mascara streak off her face before pushing her harshly towards the door.

She stumbles, leaning against the wall for support. "Go on Doll, I'll see you soon," She says nothing as she stumbles out of the faux bedroom, a mix of his cum and her juices trailing down her leg.

She doesn't even remember making it out of the haunted house, nor does she remember making it home. All she knows is that she woke up still dressed in her costume, traces of dirt and blood in the satin material.

She went about her day, quietly getting herself together and trying to come to terms with what happened the previous night. She thought it was all a dream, there was no way that actually happened...Right?

With a huff she walks into her living room and collapses onto the couch, her body still feeling sore from the night she was still trying to understand. She sits in the dark, aimlessly flipping through channels on the TV before the news catches her attention.

"- Here, reporting live from the grounds of Halloween horror nights in Los Angeles, California. It has been reported that as the team was cleaning up after their week of festivities to celebrate Halloween, they found more than ten bodies in the main attraction. I've heard from some of the workers that they have counted up to twenty bodies scattered through the biggest haunted house -still counting. They don't have any suspects so far, nor do they have any camera footage."

She fucked a serial killer.

She knows it's horrible, clenching her thighs as that ache returns between her legs. People actually died, and here she was, thinking about the way his rough hands felt on her body, ravishing her.

She shudders softly at the memory, blinking profusely before switching the channel. She turns on an old rerun of some random show, watching it for a short period of time, when suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She gets this odd feeling, almost unsettling but comforting at the same time.

It's almost like she's being watched

Her eyes dart around the living room, addressing the space as she tries to figure out the source of this feeling. She comes up empty-handed, but her eyes land on her front door.

She stares at the white door, her eye drifting down towards the unlocked knob, hoping that someone would walk through.

Matt watches as the girl stumbles out of the room, his eyes full of never-ending hunger. He knew after this, she was his. There was no way he was letting her go so easily.

His attention was soon drawn to a small shuffling sound coming from the closet. He smirks and walks over, his footsteps sounding like thunder due to his boots. He opens the closet doors and comes face to face with Chris, his mask still covering his face as he looks down shyly.

Matt says nothing as he looks him up and down, his eyes noticing a small wet spot near the younger boy's crotch. Matt smirks, his voice now taunting,

"You liked watching? You always did."

Chris whimpers softly, craning his neck downward in submission toward his older brother.

Matt chuckles and goes to poke fun at him, but stops when Chris slowly holds up the purse. It was tan and woven to look like a basket, the details intricate.

"What is that?''

Chris haphazardly goes through the small basket-like purse, rummaging for a few seconds before pulling out a wallet. He drops the purse and opens up the wallet, pulling out an ID, and holds it out to Matt. Matt eyes the plastic before snatching it out of his hand and looking down at it.

It was her ID.

He looks back at Chris who is already looking at him with hopeful eyes. Matt harshly pats him on the back, his way of showing thanks and affection.

"Good job...Lets finish up here, and then we'll talk about you having your turn with Dollface."

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #smut #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt girl #matt sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x you

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blackcat-star · 26 days ago

Note

Can you try making Ghostface!Sung Jinwoo x reader? 🥺🥲💓

Behind The Mask.

Ghostface!Jinwoo x Reader.

______________________

A cold breeze entered from the half-open window and its frosty air pierced the space making it feel like the cold was in your body. The cold breeze found its way through an open window while you tried to ignore it because the horror show kept your attention despite gripping the remote on your sofa’s armrest.

You no longer flinched when strange noises reached your window because you had learned to accept them through experience. The regular noise became more disquieting tonight. A chilling feeling built up inside you as you experienced discomfort with your chest. The feeling that unknown watchers watched everything you did made you nervous because they were waiting for you to make a mistake.

You looked at the wall clock which showed the late hour.

Normal daily activities continued but an intense pressure built up inside you. The film soundtrack failed to prevent your awareness of something unexplainable inside you.

A nearby phone began ringing loudly which surprised you suddenly.

The phone screen showed a phone number without a matching contact entry.

You managed to hide your nervousness by taking a deep breath. Spam phone calls repeatedly bother us and this call clearly falls under that category. A bad sensation spreads across your chest although you try to ignore it.

You hold the phone up with a small shake in your hand. "Hello?" Each word you utter shows your tiredness while you try to conceal your concern.

Silence.

The line went quiet with only faint air intake audible at the receiver end. One moment later the voice started speaking but sounded different enough that you could not identify it.

"What's your favorite horror movie?" A voice spoke and the unknown responder made a cold laugh. The laughter felt frozen and creepy as it inspected your answers.

Your body halted breathing while intense panic gripped you.

"Who are you?" After struggling to control your thoughts you repeated the question. Your line of inquiry turned out to be more intricate than you initially imagined.

His voice affected your breathingactivity. His voice acted like a deadly toxin that reduced your self-esteem when he looked at you.

Silence again.

The voice spoke again after a short pause but without asking anything anymore. "Your biggest fan. You have only me as your fan because I know you better than anyone else."

Those words offered no comfort. They were threatening, words that made you feel trapped. The feeling of unease in your heart increased exponentially.

"Do you enjoy scary movies?" He repeated his question with a chilling tone as if he already knew your reaction before you could speak.

The world goes quiet as you hear your own breath and a cold laugh from beyond.

His voice felt both far away and close by at once to create a disturbing sensation that made you scared.

You hung up. Your hands were shaking slightly. But the chill wasn’t from the weather, it was from the feeling of being watched - persistent, heavy.

You had never turned on the lights as much as you did that night.

___________

For the past three weeks, your town has been gripped by fear. Murder after murder has been reported - gruesome deaths, multiple stab wounds, bodies twisted as if the killer were performing a sick dance. The police have dubbed him Ghostface - because of his haunting white mask and tattered black robe.

You never thought he would look at you. Until you realize: each victim has something in common - they went to your school, they knew you. They sat next to you in class. They invited you to parties. They sent you love messages.

And you - the only point of contact.

You start living in fear. Triple lock your doors, change your phone number, even buy a knife for protection. But it's not enough. Because you always feel eyes watching you - from the dark window, from the alleyway when you walk home, from the crowd where no one is standing.

He does not break in or destroy the door to enter. No one entered the house without permission and the perpetrator did not leave any clues behind. Every day he puts a black rose on the balcony with careful precision. He sends a terrifying message.

"You look stunning when you are afraid."

______________

Then one night - you see him.

Not in your dreams. For real.

He stands in the middle of the living room. In the dim light of the nightlight, the white mask cracks slightly on the left cheek, the expression forever frozen in a twisted pain. The black cloak touches the ground, each tattered fringe fluttering slightly in the wind - as if the darkness itself must avoid him.

You scream and run. But he is as quick as a shadow. A cold hand covers your mouth from behind, pulling you to the floor.

"Shh… don't scream. I'm not here to kill you." His voice whispers in your ear, sickly warm.

You struggled, but he only tightened his grip. You could smell the blood on him - iron, fishy, and burnt. But what made you choke wasn't the hand, but the gaze behind the mask.

"Jinwoo…?" You blurted out unconsciously. Your breathing was ragged.

He paused. A silence as if time had frozen. Then a soft laugh broke out, cold, venomous, but unable to hide his amusement.

"Still recognize my voice? How cute."

Sung Jinwoo. The person who used to be your classmate - quiet, almost invisible. The person who used to be weak, always bullied. The person you used to care about.

You remembered the rainy afternoons when you lent Jinwoo an umbrella. The way he blushed when he received the lunch box you gave him. And now, that person was lying on top of you, dressed as a serial killer, whispering.

"No one understands me like you. No one cares about me but you. So, I eliminated all of them."

"You're crazy..." You said, tears falling, not from fear, but from numb pity. The quiet student from before was now covered in blood.

"Yeah, maybe," Jinwoo whispered, taking off his mask, revealing a face that was unreally beautiful, cold as a statue. "But my love is real. You're the only thing that keeps me sane in this rotten world."

You wanted to hate him. But those eyes were still Jinwoo - a broken Jinwoo.

That night, you didn't die.

Jinwoo placed you back on the sofa, wrapped you carefully in a blanket, as if everything just happened was just a nightmare. But the knife was still on the table, the blade stained with fresh blood - the clearest proof that he wasn't a hallucination.

"I'll be back," Jinwoo said as he left the house. "And when you're ready, you'll understand. No one loves you more than me, Y/n."

From then on, you no longer saw black flowers every morning.

Instead, there were drawings - sketches of you sleeping, reading, crying. Placed neatly on the table. Each line was gentle, meticulous to the point of pain. As if he was carving you into his mind - so that no one could take you away from him.

You lived. But no longer free. Every step was watched. Every person who came near you disappeared.

At that moment, you understood, Jinwoo would be the shadow that haunted your life.

Forever.

______________________

I don't really watch the movie 'cause horror is not my cup of tea.

I hope you like this..

It's funny that I wrote this while listening to Levitating =))

#sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #jinwoo #solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x you #sung jinwoo x y/n #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo sung

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targaryenimagines · 2 years ago

Text

My Khaleesi

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,586

Summary: Daenerys claims more than the Iron Throne on the day she takes King’s Landing.

Warning(s): Smut and G!P Daenerys.

Notes: Wasn’t sure if you wanted Dark!Dany (in a sense) or not, but decided to just do it that way for this one shot! If you’d like another one with a non dark Dany, I’ll be more than happy to do that. Also, this is definitely the most graphic smut I’ve written… I apologize if it’s bad.

Series Masterlist

Ash still falls from the sky like distorted flecks of snow— rubble shifts under foot as you make your way through the courtyard of the Red Keep. You didn’t have to turn your head far to see the destruction that had been wrought across King’s Landing, a destruction that had come at the hands of the woman you love the most in this world.

Fire and blood had come to Westeros, you think, side-stepping a charred corpse. And penance seemed to have been paid in full.

The sights, along with the smells, that assault you the farther you trek into the once great city aren’t something that sits well with you, nor does the knowledge that Westeros had pushed Daenerys, your Dany, to this point. That all of her grief: Viserion, Jorah, Rhaegal, and Missandei, along with all of her men that she lost in the North, had forced her spirit into shattering so completely.

I don’t want to be Queen of the Ashes…

A saying that had constantly been thrown towards Daenerys, that had been used as a means to control her, keep her in line, and what better way to do that then remind her of her father’s legacy, a tale that’s haunted her ever since she discovered it, and had been continually repeated until Daenerys spouted it out as if she was simply talking about the weather. Her drive, the passion that had carried her through Essos, slowly being driven out of her the longer she spent in the toxic landscape that is Westeros; forever surrounded by the tales of her ancestors, by the fear and hatred that the people she saved showed her, at the clear refusal to ever accept her as anything more than a Targaryen Whore.

Rounding the corner of yet another hallway, you pause just outside of the throne room, or what you believe to be anyway, and think over everything that had transpired. Think of the darkness that had seemed to have only grown in intensity since the Night King had been dealt with. Would Daenerys, after all of this, still wish to see you? Would you still have a place by her side?

Only one way to find out…

With a deep intake of breath, you step fully into the debilitated area that had once been a source of great pride— at the head of it all being the almost legendary throne itself, a mass of melted together swords, and standing before it?

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

At the sound of your approaching footsteps, Daenerys turns from her perusal of the throne, and a warm smile quirks her lips at your nearing form.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” she murmurs, adoration clear within violet eyes. Slim arms wrapping around your middle the moment your close enough for her to grab. A single gloved finger gently tracing down the expanse of your cheek, rubbing away the hints of ash that still remained. “I’m glad to see you unharmed. I don’t know what I would have done if that hadn’t been the case.”

You lean into the hand still resting on your cheek, a happy smile of your own making an appearance. “Burn down the rest of Westeros?” A dark look flashes through violet eyes, your joke suddenly taking on an all too serious light that you desperately wanted to veer away from. Bumping into her slightly, you disentangle from slim arms, warmed by the smallest bit of hesitance she had at letting you go, you step closer to the throne. “This is it? The Iron Throne?”

Daenerys settles next to you. “It is.” She touches the arm of it with an almost reverent air. “After all these years, all the trials and tribulations that I went through, I’m finally here. A Targaryen is finally the holder of the Iron Throne once more. I’ve brought honor back to my family.”

“You’ve honored them for years already, Dany. You simply being alive is honor by itself.” You angle your head, not surprised at all to see that she had already been looking at you. “This just exemplifies you into the ranks of Aegon.”

Violet eyes gleam with an almost childlike wonder, the hand closest to you touching your cheek with the same reverence she had shown the throne. “Aegon had his wives, he had his queens.” She steps away from you, taking her rightful seat on the throne. “Something that I’ll be in need of moving forward.”

Your head dips. “Anything I can help you with?”

Daenerys chuckles lightly, the sound rumbling from deep within her chest like one of Drogon’s roars. “There is, Y/N.” Gesturing for you to come closer, a command that you listen to without question, she gently maneuvers you into a kneeling position before her, slender fingers tangling themselves within the strands of your hair. “Say yes.”

“Your Grace?”

“Say yes to marrying me, to becoming my wife and queen.” Her holds tightens, forcing your head to tilt back. “Say yes to becoming mine and I’ll make sure everything you could ever want becomes yours.”

A small smile twists your lips upward. “Everything that I could ever want already is.”

At the words a small growl escapes Daenerys, her head dipping downward to press a heated kiss to your lips, maintaining that you’re kept in place by the iron-clad hold she still has on your hair. And, like with everything else, Daenerys didn’t hesitate in conquering what is hers, tongue barely brushing over your bottom lip before she plunders into your mouth, taking you for everything you have. The taste of you, the submission in which you’re showing her, along with the location no doubt, makes Daenerys almost frantic in her need for you.

Barely pulling away, giving you both a moment to breathe, before she’s claiming your lips once more— it’s wet, filthy in a way that makes your mind fog over in lust, and you can’t quite get enough air into your lungs through your nose, something that constantly ensures her scent is all that you’re surrounded by, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Wouldn’t want to be in any other position than where you are now; kneeling in front of your Khaleesi, her pleasure becoming yours.

Finally, with a ragged breath, Daenerys fully pulls away from you, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you both, before she shifts too far back and it snaps in half. Violet eyes, blown nearly black in lust, pin you in place as Daenerys slowly undoes the buckle of her pants, and jerks it down, the actions clear on what she expected from you. And, without preamble, or any sort of prompting, you help Daenerys with removing them, gently taking off her boots, before pulling her tight-fitting pants off her slim legs. The sight that greets you once you look up almost causing your mouth to dry up completely.

Daenerys Targaryen sat in all of her glory, bare from the waist down, her thick member jutting out from the apex of her thighs. The look in her eyes, in the darkness that lurks just out of reach, tells you all that you need to know, how your Khaleesi wished for you to service her next. Something you didn’t have a problem with doing, damn the consequences of potentially being caught in the wide open throne room.

Taking her into your hands, feeling her warmth, and the way that she twitches ever-so-slightly at your touch, is a heady sort of power that you’re never going to get used to.

Taking her into your mouth, jaw stretched wide to accommodate her girth, feeling the way she arches into the wetness it provides, hands tightening even further into your hair, the wonderful concoction of pain and pleasure, fuels you more than anything ever could.

Bobbing up and down, taking her deeper and deeper into your throat, listening to the breathy sighs she lets loose whenever she completely bottoms out, is a drug you never want to get off of. Her flavor— musky with just the barest hint of sweetness and something spicy— spreads across your tastebuds, your tongue lovingly swirling around the tip of her cock, taking in as much of her as you possibly could.

“Iksā doing sīr sȳz syt nyke.” The Valyrian praise escapes her in a low snarl, hands now guiding you in the exact way she wanted, your own simply being braced on her thighs as you let her use you. “Issare iā sȳz riña syt nyke. Ñuha sȳz riña.”

All you can do is moan in response, mouth completely stuffed full of her, but the vibrations makes her tense even further, another snarl rumbling from deep within her. You know that she’s close, can tell by the way her thighs were beginning to tremble underneath your touch, and the quickening of her thrusts, and your head moves even faster because of it— wanting nothing more than to feel her release down your throat, for your tongue to be coated by her cum.

“Issi ao jāre naejot gūrogon ziry mirre? Gūrogon everything bona nyke tepagon ao?” Daenerys groans out the question, clearly fighting with herself to not succumb just yet to the pleasure of her release. Peering up, you’re instantly met with darkened violet eyes, a rosy hue predominant across fair cheeks. Clearly waiting for a response, all you can do is gurgle around the cock currently in your throat, hoping that your eyes gave her all the answers she needed, which, by the tightening of her hands, absolutely did. “Sȳz riña.”

Within the next moment, jets of Daenerys cum shoots out, going straight into your stomach as you desperately swallow to make sure you don’t lose any of it. The feeling of warmth as her seed settles deep within you is one you’ve long since grown familiar with, but the possessive heat in her eyes as she watches you swallow it all down is definitely new. A reaction that causes your own arousal to come to the forefront of your mind finally, wetness clearly coating your thighs, waiting for your Khaleesi’s touch.

Daenerys pulls her cock from your mouth a moment later— the still hard length shimmering with the combination of leftover cum and saliva— allowing for you to take a deep lungful of air at last. Remnants of her still on your tongue.

Her thumb brushes across your bottom lip, briefly pushing into your mouth for you to suck on, before she retracts her hand and tugs you up onto her lap. Slim arms bracing your lower half perfectly against herself, settling her own body more fully on the Iron Throne.

“You did so good for me,” she murmurs, trailing slender fingers down your thighs. Nowhere near where you needed her the most though. “Do you want to continue?”

You nod. “More than anything, Khaleesi.“

Daenerys hums at the old title, hands gripping your hips in a hold that you know would leave bruises, lips ghosting across your jawline and down your neck.

“You’re mine, right?” Teeth nips into the sensitive flesh beneath your pulse point. “No one else can have you this way, fuck you the way that I can, or hear the beautiful noises you make when you fall apart.”

“Only you, Dany,” you whisper, nuzzling your nose against hers. “It’ll only ever be you. I’m yours completely.”

There isn’t need for more words after that, Daenerys simply hikes your dress higher up your waist, tearing your small-clothes away completely, before rubbing her hardened member against the wetness that has collected between your legs, a deep groan escaping her at the feeling of your clear want for her.

Within the next heartbeat, she’s buried to the hilt within you, a sharp keen being ripped from your chest at the feeling of complete fullness, the delicious stretch as your body tries to acclimate to the feeling of her, and begins to rut roughly into you. Hands slide from their place on your waist to settle on your hips, guiding you up and down as you begin to bounce in response to her thrusts.

A breathy moan falls from your lips, arms wrapped tightly around Daenerys neck, tugging her closer to you, continuing to ride her in complete abandon, wet slapping noise, intercepted by occasional grunts and moans, filled the air, echoing out across the empty throne room. A part of you thinks that you might even be able to be heard down below, the ripped open wall next to the throne offering an excellent siphon to the noises, but then Daenerys twists her hips in just the right way and everything, that doesn’t have to do with the mind numbing pleasure she gives you, vanishes from you mind in an instant.

Nails make crescent moons in the soft flesh of your hips, bruises no doubt already forming on your lower abdomen from how hard Daenerys was thrusting up into you, but the knowledge that your Khaleesi is marking you in such a way, that she’s lost parts of her control because of you, makes you not care in the slightest— you were hers, completely and irreversibly. Her pleasure was your own.

With another strangled gasp, your head falls to her chest, still clad in her formal garb, the metal cool against the heated expanse of your forehead, no longer being able to keep yourself upright. You could feel your climax approaching— coming faster and faster as Daenerys brushed against the spot within you every time she pulled out. Your core clenching around her desperately, trying to keep her within you, milk her for all that she’s worth, and the tight constriction causes a strangled sound of her own to resonate from your Khaleesi.

Feet planted firmly into the floor, she begins to piston fully into you, your body arching into her, allowing her to move you as she saw fit, clearly chasing her second release and your own.

“I’m going to mark you in a way that no one ever has.” Feverish violet eyes meet your own, strands of silvery-gold hair sticking to her heated cheeks, torn from their intricate braids, as her grip on you tightens more. “You’re going to bear my children, you’re going to continue on the Targaryen name. Would you like that?”

You moan. “Yes.”

The thought of carrying her children, of continuing on the Targaryen Legacy, filled you with a sense of purpose, a sense of warmth.

Pushing your head further into her chest, you plead. “Do it, Khaleesi. Claim me.”

With a ragged snarl, Daenerys’s hips stutter and before you know it jets of warmth fill you up, going straight to your womb. The feeling triggers your own release, a broken moan leaving you as you milk Daenerys for everything she has, everything that she’d be willing to offer. Harshly panting, Daenerys settles back onto the throne, hands gently running down your spine, holding you as closely as she possibly still could, still buried inside of you.

“Thank you,” she whispers, nuzzling you before she presses a kiss to your damp temple.

You sigh, content in her arms. “Always.”

Pressing another kiss to your head, Daenerys angles your face in order for you to look at her, the open look of adoration on her face one that’d only ever be reserved for you and her son.

“My beautiful love, my lovely wife.” She drops a chaste kiss to your lips, her hips beginning to move once more. “My eternal queen.”

“My Khaleesi.”

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys #got imagine #got imagines #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #house of the dragon

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elryuse · 4 months ago

Text

Hierarchy

Pt 6 : Our Complex Feelings

For My Other Hierarchy Story, Please Kindly Check Over Here. Hope You Liked It.

The days after that night blurred together, each one passing in a haze of uncertainty and fear. I tried to distance myself from So-hyun’s influence, but it was impossible. Everywhere I went, she was there, her presence looming over me like a dark cloud.

I hadn’t spoken to Wonyoung since the night of the party, but her face haunted me. The hurt in her eyes, the way she looked at me as if I had betrayed her, it gnawed at me. I didn’t want to be a part of whatever twisted game So-hyun was playing, but every time I tried to pull away, So-hyun’s grip tightened.

I sat in the sleek, dimly lit room of So-hyun’s penthouse, my hands trembling around the glass of wine she had handed me. The taste was sharp, the alcohol doing little to calm the storm raging inside me. So-hyun sat across from me, watching me with that calculating gaze, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"You know, Y/n," she began, her voice smooth like honey but laced with something darker, "you’ve been a very good little pawn. But now… it’s time for you to fully understand the game."

I frowned, not sure where she was going with this. My throat felt dry, the words caught in my chest. "What do you mean?"

She leaned forward, her fingers tracing the edge of her wine glass. "I’ve been watching Wonyoung, you know. She’s weak, vulnerable, and yet… so full of potential. She could have been a powerful player, someone I could use to my advantage. But the thing is, she’s standing in my way. She’s always been in my way. And now, I need her to feel pain. I need her to suffer. And you, Y/n, are going to help me make that happen."

My heart skipped a beat, panic rising in my chest. "I—what? No. I can’t do that."

So-hyun’s smile grew wider, more dangerous. "You don’t have a choice, darling. You’re already too deep in this. And I’m not going to let you go so easily. You will help me torment her. You will help me break her down, piece by piece, until she’s begging for mercy."

I shook my head, my chest tightening. "I won’t do it. I won’t hurt her."

So-hyun’s eyes darkened, and the air in the room grew colder. "You misunderstand, Y/n. This isn’t about you liking it or not. This is about survival. You can either help me, or I’ll make your life a living hell. You’ll watch as everything you’ve worked for crumbles, and you’ll watch as Wonyoung suffers, knowing that you could have stopped it. You’ll regret it."

I wanted to stand up, to walk out, to escape this nightmare, but her voice held me in place, like a trap I couldn’t escape.

"Think about it, Y/n," she continued, her voice low and threatening. "If you help me, you’ll be rewarded. You’ll be a part of something much bigger than yourself. And Wonyoung?" She paused, a cruel smile playing at her lips. "She’ll never know what hit her. She’ll lose everything. Her power, her dignity, her friends… all gone. But you? You’ll rise to the top. You’ll have everything you ever wanted. All you need to do is follow my lead."

I wanted to scream, to fight back, but my body betrayed me. I could feel the weight of her words, the promise of power dangling before me like a forbidden fruit. Could I really do this? Could I destroy Wonyoung just to survive in So-hyun’s world?

"Why Wonyoung?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

So-hyun’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. "Because she’s everything I want to be, but I’ll never let her have it. She’s pure, innocent, and the world adores her. But the moment she steps out of line, she’s mine to destroy. And you’re going to help me tear her apart."

A sickening feeling settled in my stomach. I didn’t know what to do.

"Do we have a deal, Y/n?" So-hyun asked, her tone turning sharp, commanding. "Because if you want to survive in my world, you’ll learn that loyalty isn’t given freely. It’s earned through blood and pain. And if you’re not willing to pay the price, well… you’ll regret it."

I looked at her, at the cold, calculating gleam in her eyes. I had no choice.

"Yes," I whispered, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. "I’ll do it."

So-hyun’s smile returned, victorious, as if she had just won some great battle. She stood up, walking around the room with a grace that was almost predatory. "Good. I knew you’d come around. Now… let’s start planning how we’re going to break Wonyoung."

The next day felt like a shift in the very air around me. As soon as I stepped onto campus, I could sense it. The whispers, the glances, the way people looked at me differently. The rumors had already started circulating. So-hyun had a way of making everything feel like a show, and I was now part of her spectacle.

She had her arm around my shoulder, her fingers lightly brushing against my skin as she laughed too loudly, her voice echoing through the halls. Her hand slid down to rest on my waist as we walked, making sure everyone knew we were together. The stares were unmistakable—those cold, judgmental eyes from people who once passed me by without a second thought.

I tried to focus on the normal routine, but it felt like everything had been flipped upside down. As we passed by my usual classroom, I turned to So-hyun, confusion written across my face.

"This… this is my class," I said, pointing toward the door.

So-hyun didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. She just laughed, a low, knowing chuckle that made me feel even more out of place.

"You’re not in that class anymore, Y/n," she replied sweetly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You’re with the big leagues now."

Before I could ask anything else, So-hyun pulled me down a different hallway, one I’d never seen before. The walls were lined with velvet curtains, the atmosphere changing from sterile and mundane to opulent and exclusive. My heart raced as we passed a few students who glanced at us with curiosity, their expressions a mix of surprise and envy.

So-hyun led me through a heavy wooden door, and what lay beyond it made me feel like I had just stepped into a world far beyond anything I’d ever known. The room was breathtaking—luxuriously furnished with plush velvet chairs and intricate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. On the tables were plates of food so extravagant it looked like something from a five-star restaurant. The soft scent of gourmet meals and fine wine lingered in the air.

I didn’t even know how to react as I stood frozen, looking around. It felt wrong, like I didn’t belong. But So-hyun was already walking toward one of the tables, pulling out a seat for me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Sit," she ordered, her tone playful but insistent.

I sat down slowly, still unsure of what exactly was going on. My eyes scanned the room, trying to make sense of it all. And then, I saw them. Wonyoung, Jimin, and Winter. The three of them were seated at another table, deep in conversation, but their eyes flickered to the front of the room occasionally. Wonyoung, in particular, looked so at ease, so natural in this space, and yet there was something in her gaze—a hint of unease. It was like she could sense the shift, like she knew something was different.

They were still in the middle of a discussion, something about their history class. They were all intently focused on the teacher, who was speaking about the Vietnam War with great passion, but the moment their eyes landed on me, I felt a chill. They didn’t say anything at first, but the silence was deafening.

Wonyoung’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she turned her attention back to the teacher. Jimin and Winter exchanged looks, their expressions filled with curiosity, but also concern. I could feel the tension, even from across the room.

So-hyun noticed me staring at them, and her lips curled into a sly smile. She leaned over, her voice a whisper in my ear.

"They’re watching you, Y/n," she murmured, "and they’re not going to understand what’s happening. Not yet, anyway. But soon, they’ll know. You’ve stepped into my world now."

I turned to face So-hyun, my mind spinning. The guilt I had been trying to push aside came rushing back, but it was quickly drowned out by the allure of the power So-hyun wielded. I had a choice now. I could ignore Wonyoung, pretend everything was fine, or I could become part of So-hyun’s twisted game, a game that was starting to feel impossible to escape.

The teacher’s voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts, and I looked back to see Wonyoung still paying attention, her focus unwavering. But I couldn’t help but notice the way she occasionally glanced at me, like she was waiting for me to say something. Anything.

So-hyun watched me with a knowing look, her fingers drumming lightly on the edge of her glass. She leaned in again, her voice soft and cold.

"Don’t worry, Y/n," she whispered, "you’ll see how easy it is to make them bend to our will. To make them beg for our approval."

I could feel the walls closing in, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending this was all okay. But there was no turning back now. I had made my choice. And So-hyun wasn’t going to let me forget it.

As the history lesson continued, I tried my best to focus on the teacher’s words, but every time I tried to pay attention, So-hyun’s presence seemed to draw me back into her orbit. She was close—too close. Her fingers brushed against mine, her knee subtly pressing against my leg under the table. I could feel her warmth, her soft breath against my ear as she whispered sweet little nothings, making me feel like I was the center of her world.

"Are you listening, Y/n?" So-hyun cooed, her voice sweet but laced with an underlying hint of possessiveness. She nudged me again, her body practically leaning into mine as if marking me as her territory. Her attention was all-consuming, and as she snuggled closer, I couldn't help but notice the eyes of the entire class shifting toward us.

The room felt suffocating. Every whisper, every glance, seemed magnified. I could feel the eyes of my classmates boring into me, some intrigued, others confused, but all unmistakably aware of the scene So-hyun was creating. The classroom became our stage, and So-hyun was the actress, pulling me into her performance whether I wanted to be part of it or not.

But the most noticeable reaction came from Wonyoung. She was seated just across from us, trying to focus on the lesson, her fingers absently twirling her pen, but I could see the way her eyes kept flicking toward us. It was subtle at first, but the more So-hyun pressed herself against me, the more it became impossible for Wonyoung to look away. Her gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a tight line.

So-hyun noticed this too, her smile curling into something sly as she leaned even closer to me. Her arm wrapped around my shoulder, and she let out a soft giggle, as if to say, I know exactly what I’m doing. She kept her voice just loud enough for Wonyoung to hear.

"Isn’t it nice, Y/n? Being with someone who truly cares about you?" So-hyun said, her tone saccharine sweet. She placed a kiss lightly on my cheek, making sure everyone saw it. The class seemed to freeze for a moment, and I could feel the weight of their gazes on us.

Wonyoung’s hand trembled slightly as she set her pen down. She glanced at So-hyun and me one more time before clearing her throat and standing up abruptly. Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she excused herself from the room.

"I… I’m not feeling well," Wonyoung muttered, her voice strained. "I’ll be back later."

With that, she turned and quickly walked out of the room, her steps quick and purposeful. I watched her go, my heart twisting uncomfortably in my chest, but So-hyun didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. In fact, she smiled even wider as she watched Wonyoung leave, as if she had just won a victory.

"You see, Y/n?" So-hyun whispered, her lips still pressed to my ear, "She can’t stand seeing us like this. She knows she’s losing you."

I swallowed hard, trying to process everything. I wasn’t sure if I should feel guilty, or angry, or something else entirely. The guilt of what was happening to Wonyoung, the way So-hyun was manipulating everything around me, was starting to gnaw at my conscience. But every time I tried to pull away, So-hyun would only draw me closer, her grip tightening around me.

The teacher continued speaking, but the words felt distant now, like background noise in the growing tension. I didn’t know where this was all heading, but I couldn’t help but wonder if there was even a way back to the way things used to be.

I pushed open the bathroom door, stepping out of the classroom and making my way toward the nearest restroom. My thoughts were in turmoil, the events of the day weighing heavily on me. I needed a moment of solitude—just a break from the chaos that had been building all around me, especially with So-hyun’s constant attention and Wonyoung’s absence.

As I walked through the hallway, I noticed Ryujin standing with a small group of her friends. The moment our eyes met, she quickly broke eye contact, focusing on the conversation in front of her. I could feel the tension between us, the invisible wall that had been there ever since that night—the truth-or-dare game, and the way I hadn’t kissed her. It was still there, a reminder of what had never happened, and what I couldn’t undo.

I could sense the bitterness in her avoidance, the unspoken resentment that lingered in the air. She probably still hated me for it, for not following through when I had the chance.

With a sigh, I continued my walk and eventually reached the bathroom. The relief I felt as I stepped inside was brief, but welcomed. It was just a few minutes of peace, away from everything and everyone. But as I finished and was about to head back, I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.

A soft sobbing, followed by words that echoed through the stillness of the girls' restroom. The voice sounded familiar, and as I strained to listen, I felt my heart skip a beat.

"Siball… That damned whore should just die… and what's with that guy… He kissed me… and yet… why… why do I fucking love him… what's wrong with me?"

The words were laced with anguish, raw emotion spilling out in the midst of the pain. I recognized the voice immediately.

It was Wonyoung.

A wave of confusion and guilt washed over me as I stood frozen in place. Wonyoung's words were a punch to the gut. She was hurt, more deeply than I had realized. And it seemed like she was struggling with something more—something she couldn't even understand herself.

I wanted to walk in, to comfort her, but the fear of making things worse held me back. I couldn't help her if I didn't know what to say, what to do.

But the more I stood there, the more I realized just how tangled everything had become. So-hyun's manipulations, Wonyoung's pain, my own confusion—it was all leading me down a path I wasn’t sure I wanted to walk.

I stayed where I was, my mind racing, unsure of the right choice.

I took a deep breath as I stepped back into the classroom, my mind still clouded with the emotional weight of what I had just overheard. I tried to shake off the thoughts of Wonyoung's sobs, but they clung to me, refusing to let go.

When I walked in, Sohyun immediately noticed me. She seemed to light up as her eyes locked onto mine. It was as if the brief separation had made her miss me even more, and without hesitation, she pulled me down into the seat next to her.

Her hand brushed against mine, and she leaned in close, her voice dripping with concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her expression soft but insistent. "You were gone for a while. Did something happen?"

Her words were gentle, but there was an edge of possessiveness beneath her tone. Sohyun had a way of making everything feel like it revolved around us—her and me. But in that moment, I couldn’t fully focus on her, not when my mind was consumed by the conversation I had just overheard in the restroom.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. The last thing I wanted was to burden her with my thoughts. She already had her own agenda, her own plans, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to dive into everything that had happened with Wonyoung.

But Sohyun wasn’t one to let me off the hook so easily. She studied my face closely, her eyes narrowing slightly as she read the unease in my expression.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice no longer as playful but filled with something more serious, “Tell me. You know you can tell me anything, right? What's bothering you?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, torn between giving her the truth and protecting myself from whatever she might do with it. I couldn’t ignore the weight of the words I had heard Wonyoung speak, the raw emotion in her voice. But I also knew that Sohyun wouldn’t take kindly to anything that might bring Wonyoung into the picture.

Sohyun placed a hand on mine, her fingers lightly brushing across my skin, anchoring me to the present. “Whatever it is,” she said with a smile, though there was an intensity in her eyes that made it clear she wanted me to share, “I’m here for you.”

I looked into her eyes, feeling the familiar tug of her presence. The connection we had was undeniable, but the complexity of everything else weighed on me. Would telling Sohyun about Wonyoung’s words bring us closer, or would it pull me further into a web I couldn’t escape?

With a deep breath, I decided to share just a little, to test the waters. “I… overheard something,” I started slowly, my voice quieter than usual. “Wonyoung… she’s going through something. I don’t know what, but she sounded… really upset.”

Sohyun's expression shifted subtly, her eyes narrowing for just a moment, though she didn’t let go of my hand. “Wonyoung, huh?” she said with a slight edge to her voice. “She’s been a problem for a while now, hasn’t she?”

I didn’t know how to respond. Sohyun was always so confident, but I could sense a possessive streak in her, one that didn’t take kindly to anyone—especially Wonyoung—getting in the way.

But she seemed to soften again, her tone turning gentle as she leaned in closer. “Whatever it is, don’t let her get to you. You’ve got me now,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the class around us. “You don’t need anyone else.”

The words hung in the air, and I felt the weight of her affection pressing down on me. I wanted to believe her, to let go of everything else and just focus on the person in front of me, but something deep down told me that this wasn’t going to be as simple as Sohyun made it seem. There were too many tangled emotions, too many unsaid words.

But for now, I just nodded, squeezing her hand in return. "Yeah," I said softly, trying to convince myself more than anyone else. "I’m fine."

The bell rang, signaling the end of the history class, and as the students started gathering their things and chatting amongst themselves, Sohyun immediately grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the VIP room. Her energy was contagious, and as much as I was still processing everything from the restroom, I couldn't help but follow her.

Once we entered the room, Sohyun’s face lit up even more as she spotted her friend, Gaeul, sitting at one of the plush couches. The two girls immediately embraced each other in a tight hug, exchanging playful banter about their day, laughing, and filling the room with a sense of familiarity and warmth. The way they interacted, as if they’d known each other forever, was almost effortless, and for a moment, I felt like an outsider, just standing at the edge of their little world.

But Gaeul didn’t seem to share the same warmth when her gaze landed on me. Her smile faltered slightly, and her eyes narrowed as she looked me up and down, taking in my presence as if she hadn't expected me to be there. The air in the room shifted, a coldness creeping into her otherwise friendly demeanor. I could feel the tension rising, though I wasn’t sure exactly why.

Sohyun seemed to notice the shift too. She immediately turned to face me, her hand still gripping mine, as if trying to reassure me. "This is my friend, Gaeul," she said, her voice bright and carefree. "She’s been with me since forever."

I gave a polite smile and offered my hand to Gaeul, trying to keep things cordial. "Nice to meet you, Gaeul," I said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

But before I could even finish my sentence, Gaeul's eyes narrowed further, and she tilted her head slightly as if sizing me up. Her voice was sharp, and the air in the room became heavier with her question.

"What is he doing here?" she asked, her tone carrying an edge that was impossible to ignore.

Sohyun, still holding onto my hand, looked at Gaeul with a playful but slightly defensive smile. "What do you mean, Gaeul? He’s with me. Isn't that obvious?" she said, her tone teasing but firm, almost like a warning.

Gaeul’s expression didn’t soften. In fact, she seemed more guarded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she looked at me, clearly unimpressed. "I didn’t ask what you think," she shot back, her eyes never leaving mine. "I’m asking why he’s here. What does he want?"

The question hit me harder than I expected. I wasn’t used to being questioned so directly, especially by someone I didn’t even know. It felt like I was being scrutinized, as if I had done something wrong by simply being in the room.

Sohyun looked between Gaeul and me, a flicker of something crossing her face—was it irritation or something more? "Gaeul, come on, don’t be like that," she said, her voice suddenly quieter, though it still held a hint of authority. "He’s fine."

But Gaeul didn’t back down. She uncrossed her arms, her gaze still sharp. "Fine?" she repeated, almost mockingly. "You really trust him that much? You’re just letting him in like this, after everything that’s happened? You don’t think that’s… dangerous?"

Her words hit me like a blow. Dangerous? I didn’t know what she was referring to exactly, but it felt like a challenge. I wanted to defend myself, to say something that would make her see that I wasn’t just some pawn in whatever game they were playing, but I didn’t know how to respond.

Sohyun’s grip on my hand tightened slightly, and I could sense the shift in her mood. "Gaeul," she said, her voice now low and firm, a warning in her tone. "I’ve got this. Just trust me."

Gaeul didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence between us was thick, and I could feel the tension rising. Finally, she let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh and uncrossed her arms. "Fine," she muttered, her eyes still skeptical. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you."

I exhaled slowly, not sure what I had just walked into. Gaeul clearly didn’t like me, and I couldn’t tell if this was just some strange dynamic between her and Sohyun or something more. It seemed like there was a lot beneath the surface I didn’t understand yet.

Sohyun’s smile returned, albeit a bit strained. "See? Everything’s fine," she said to me, though her gaze was still lingering on Gaeul, as if waiting for her to say something else. "Now, sit down, relax. Gaeul and I are just catching up."

As I made my way to a seat, I couldn’t help but feel like I was entering a deeper, more complicated situation than I had anticipated. Gaeul’s warning, her distrust, it all felt like something I wasn’t prepared for.

But at that moment, Sohyun was there beside me, and for better or worse, I couldn’t ignore the pull she had over me. Whatever was happening here, I would have to figure it out soon. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I might not have a choice.

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clarkeyhill · 3 months ago

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Interests | ChrisMD

Fluff

The room was bathed in the soft, flickering glow of the TV screen as the opening notes of The Lord of the Rings soundtrack played. The familiar orchestral swell filled the space, creating an almost magical atmosphere. I was curled up in Chris’ lap, his arms loosely wrapped around my waist, his fingers occasionally tracing gentle patterns against my skin beneath the thick blanket draped over both of us.

“This,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, “is cinema at its peak.” There was a quiet reverence in his voice, like he was sharing something sacred with me.

I smiled, my head resting against his chest, feeling the deep rumble of his voice as he continued. “Every shot, every line of dialogue, every piece of music—it’s all intentional. It’s all… perfect.”

I tilted my head to look up at him, catching the way his eyes glowed with excitement as he spoke. He was utterly in his element, lost in the world of Middle-earth before the journey had even truly begun.

I hummed softly, shifting in his lap to get more comfortable. “I love how you talk about this movie like it’s a religion.”

Chris chuckled, tightening his arms around me playfully. “It is a religion. I mean, look at this opening sequence. You have Galadriel’s narration, setting the stage with this haunting, beautiful music. Ugh, it gives me chills every time.”

I smiled against his shirt, listening as he continued. He went on about the deep lore behind the forging of the Rings of Power, how Sauron’s rise to power was meticulously adapted from Tolkien’s writing, how even the smallest details—like the way the Elvish script glowed on the One Ring—had been carefully designed to stay true to the source material.

The longer he talked, the more animated he became. His hands moved subtly as he gestured, his fingers sometimes brushing against my arm or my thigh in the process. His voice carried this infectious passion, his words spilling out with the kind of excitement that made it impossible not to be drawn in.

“You see that shot?” he pointed at the screen as the scene shifted to the battle against Sauron. “That’s one of the best practical effects ever done in film. They used forced perspective, scale doubles, and digital compositing just to make it look seamless.”

I didn’t even have to say anything—just being there, listening, was enough to make him keep going.

As the night went on, I barely moved from my spot in his lap. Occasionally, he would absentmindedly stroke my back, his fingers trailing slow, soothing patterns against my skin. Every so often, he’d shift slightly, adjusting the blanket around us or pressing a small, affectionate kiss to my temple before returning to his excited rambling.

And I just sat there, listening.

It wasn’t just the movie that made this night special. It was him. The way he felt so comfortable letting this side of himself show. The way he didn’t hesitate to nerd out around me, to get lost in something he loved without fear of judgment.

“You know,” I finally murmured, my voice soft as I nuzzled against his neck, “I think my favorite part of this movie night is just listening to you talk.”

Chris paused for a moment, his arms tightening around me in a gentle squeeze. “Yeah?” His voice was quieter now, almost shy.

“Yeah,” I whispered, pressing a small kiss to his collarbone. “I love seeing you like this.”

His response was just a warm chuckle, followed by a kiss pressed into my hair. “You’re kinda perfect, you know that?”

I only smiled, sinking further into his embrace, the sound of his voice blending with the epic soundtrack of Middle-earth as the night went on.

🫶🏻

@themdera

#george clarkey #youtube #george clarke #british youtubers #arthur hill #chrismd

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aventurineswife · 4 months ago

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platonic aventurine meeting teen/younger reader whos also an avgin who somehow survived

The Last of Us

Summary: Aventurine, the last surviving member of the Avgins, encounters you, a person with strikingly familiar eyes, in a crowded city. The encounter stirs up memories of his past, leading him to wonder how someone else from his people could be alive. Despite his carefully controlled demeanor, he is intrigued by your survival and offers a gift as a gesture of connection. The encounter leaves both of you contemplating the nature of your shared history and future.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Avgin!Teen!Reader, Slow burn, Survival, Intrigue, Psychological tension.

Warnings: Potential for darker themes (survival, manipulation, past trauma), Subtle emotional manipulation, Complex relationship dynamics(?).

Aventurine leaned against the cool marble of the courtyard, the noise of the city behind him almost lost to his thoughts. His fingers, ringed with gold, drummed lightly on the surface of his watch, and his eyes scanned the crowd with practiced ease.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

He had survived it all—betrayal, the fall of his people, and the cruel hand of fate. He was the last of the Avgins, a survivor by sheer luck, and yet, there you were.

A teenager, no older than sixteen, with the same striking eyes that haunted his past. A gaze that mirrored his own.

Aventurine's heart, normally calm in the face of danger, stuttered for a moment. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you from across the street. You didn't notice him yet, and he made no move to call attention to himself. No, he needed to understand.

Why do you have those eyes?

His lips parted in a thoughtful smile, though it never reached his eyes. How could this be? He, who had thought himself the sole survivor of the Avgins, had now stumbled upon another. But if you were alive… how?

He pushed himself away from the marble wall and moved a few steps forward. His presence was commanding, yet deliberate. The closer he drew, the faster his pulse ran; a feeling of anticipation ran through his veins. He didn't know whether he was more intrigued or unsettled, but he had to know. Had to hear the story that could change everything for him.

"Hello, my friend," he said smoothly, his voice a mix of warmth and curiosity as he stepped into your line of sight. "It seems fate has brought us together."

You looked up, surprised at first, but something in his eyes made you pause. There was no fear behind that gaze; there was only calculation, the kind of look that belonged to someone who had seen the world's cruelty and yet still found a way to push it into being manipulated to their advantage.

His gaze softened slightly as he took another step closer, hands casually slipping into his pockets, but his eyes—those unnervingly captivating eyes—never left you.

“I must admit,” he continued, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of something deeper, “I didn’t expect to see another Avgin. Not after all these years.”

His words hung in the air, an invitation to speak, or remain silent.

You paused, and it was clear that a thousand thoughts had rushed through your mind. You shifted uncomfortably, but there was something about his presence, something almost magnetic, that kept you rooted in place.

"Aventurine," he added, as if that would somehow make you at ease. "You can call me that. It's not often that someone else comes along with a similar history."

There was no urgency in his tone, no need to pry. It was simply curiosity. But underneath that, there was something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“I... I don’t know what to say.” You looked away for a moment, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve, nervously avoiding his gaze.

"Nothing," he said promptly, his mouth twisting upwards at the corners. "You don't have to say anything, not yet. I'm simply intrigued by your survival. You remind me of someone."

He softened his eyes with the barest trace of nostalgia, before he covered it with a practiced smile. "I won't lie—I'm fascinated. But it's not just about the past. It's about what happens next."

He caught your eyes for a short period; between you, there was some weird sense of understanding, that somehow, he was speaking to himself and not to you. The same loneliness that had driven you both to survive. No pity, though—but in a way, unspoken: You won't be lonely again.

And maybe that was the most shocking of all. A connection, however brief, formed out of sheer chance. And in that moment, the world seemed a little smaller, a little less cold.

Aventurine stepped back, raising his hand in a dramatic, almost theatrical gesture, before pulling out a small, velvet pouch from his coat. He held it out to you, his smile never wavering, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something more serious.

"Take it," he said, his voice laced with sincerity. "Something small to remind you that you're not alone in this. Not anymore."

You stared at the pouch, weighing his gesture, before you took it, reluctantly. He beamed with pleasure at your hesitation—he knew you would.

"Consider it a gift," he continued, his voice softening. "And maybe... consider it the beginning of a partnership. You see, I believe we could help each other. The world is full of chaos, but perhaps there's a way to navigate it. Together."

He turned his back to you, his form looming against the backdrop of the city, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already planned your next move.

“I’ll be around,” he called over his shoulder, that knowing smile still evident in his voice. “I’ll be waiting, my friend.”

But perhaps, just this once, you would gamble with him.

As you watched him walk away, a strange sense of camaraderie lingered in the air. You didn’t know what to make of him yet, but one thing was certain—Aventurine was right. Fate had brought you together, and now it seemed it would keep you entwined in his complex game, whether you liked it or not.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #teen!reader #slow burn #intrigue #survival #psychological tension #potential for darker themes #subtle emotional manipulation #complex relationship dynamic

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cece693 · 8 days ago

Text

I just like Hannibal crying...is that weird?? Like, there's just something beautifully poetic about this monstrous man who is still able to feel and show those emotions, in the face of something that does move him. Anyway, I just wanted to write something with a sad Hannibal and couldn't help myself. Be prepared, it's long and sad.

EVEN DEATH CANNOT SEPARATE US

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader tags: sad ending, both characters are dead, you actually have a terminal illness, it's not specific though, use your imagination, hannibal dies because he can't fathom to continue living without you, I like how this turned out, mention of afterlife

The Baltimore townhouse is hushed in the late-winter dusk, firelight peeling slow amber across mahogany paneling and half-empty bookcases. It smells of eucalyptus and polished leather and, faint beneath it all, the sterile sweetness of the morphine drip that follows you now like a last, reluctant valet.

You sit in one of the Hepplewhite wing-backs, quilt tucked around your shoulders. Every motion has become deliberate: you fold your hands, you breathe, you listen to the crackle of cedar. Hannibal kneels at your feet to adjust the quilt as though it were ceremonial—perhaps it is. He smooths the fabric over your knee, tracing the bones beneath, catalogue-careful, a man committing sacred anatomy to memory.

“You should save that strength,” you murmur; your voice is frayed silk.

“So should you,” he counters, but the words lack their usual lattice of irony. When he looks up, his eyes are almost fever-bright. He is not wearing a suit tonight—only a dark cashmere sweater whose sleeves bunch at the elbows—and the small untidiness feels indecent, a bare throat in church.

A strand of silver hair has fallen forward. You lift a trembling hand to tuck it behind his ear. “I’m not afraid, Hannibal.”

“I know.” His fingers circle your wrist to steady you; the gentleness burns. “Neither am I.”

You could tell him he’s lying, but you don’t. Fear is too small a word for what lives behind his composure. He is a creature accustomed to eternity—cultivating it in cellars, plating it in crystal bowls—yet here you sit, proof that time can still spoil the very finest cut. That discovery terrifies him more than death ever could.

“Come here,” you say.

He rises, settles on the ottoman so your knees bracket his ribs. Your pulse drums weakly under his palm. The fire pops and a coal collapses—soft thunder, like applause heard from behind velvet curtains. Hannibal’s gaze drifts to the hearth; when he speaks again his voice is hoarse, low:

“Does it hurt?”

“It already does. Not in ways morphine can touch.” You give a rueful smile. “But that’s all right. Hurt means I’m still here with you.”

A muscle leaps in his jaw. “And when you are not?”

“Then the hurt is yours.” You skim his cheek with your thumb, feel the heat of unshed tears there—Hannibal Lecter, whose eyes have witnessed rivers of blood without once watering, and yet for you... The first tear breaks, slow as syrup. It charts a shining course along the fine line of his nose and drops to your quilt. Another follows. He doesn’t wipe them away; he lets them fall the way one allows candles to gutter after guests depart—a sign that the evening, at last, is over.

You try to memorize the sight: the tremor in his lower lip, the wet lashes, the velvet darkness of his irises. You realize you are smiling. “Beautiful,” you whisper.

He bows his head until his brow meets the back of your hand. “This is unbecoming.”

“It’s the most becoming thing I’ve ever seen you do.” Your lungs tighten; you rest, catching breath. Hannibal’s tears soak your skin, warm, startling. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Live. Live like you always do—gloriously, shamelessly. Don’t pickle yourself in grief. I wouldn’t stand for that.”

He lifts his head. “You would haunt me?”

“Relentlessly.”

A ghost of a smile touches his mouth, and you see the man you met years ago—the impeccable host with jokes folded between syllables like origami knives. Now the knife is turned inward. “Very well,” he says. “I will live. But I will not love.”

“You will,” you assure him, “because loving me taught you how. Even if you hate it, the lesson’s learned.” Your eyes sting; vision doubles. “And I’ll go knowing I moved an immovable heart.”

Silence settles, thick and reverent. Hannibal slips from the ottoman to the rug, drawing your hand to his lips. He doesn’t kiss it. Instead, he rests it over his own heart, as though he means to press it through flesh, through bone, lock it there before the beat stops beneath your ribs.

The townhouse remains hushed after the last ember fails, but something enormous and wordless ripples in its bones—a tectonic shift in the house’s cruel, curated stillness. Hannibal does not rise. He feels the thin weight of you cooling in his arms and discovers, with surgical clarity, that grief is a blade he cannot grip by the handle; it cuts no matter how delicately he holds it.

It is obscene, almost comical, that the Chesapeake Ripper should finally understand loss in so ordinary a fashion. All the elaborately posed corpses, all the aria-sweet deaths he has orchestrated, and here—when confronted with a passing as gentle as candle-smoke—he is undone.

Sadness was always a flavor he served to others. Now it coats the back of his own throat like ash. It has no elegance, no aesthetic potential; it is simply weight. It drags his ribs inward until every breath rasps. The house feels too voluminous, every hallway an echo chamber of absence. His monster’s brain chases solutions—taxonomies, distractions, new hungers to hunt—but they dangle uselessly, gutted of savor.

Hours slide apart from one another like pages warping in rain. He studies your face as rigor settles, committing each micro-contour to the cathedral of his memory. Then, slowly, he begins the rites:

He braids your fingers with his and speaks to you in unhurried Lithuanian lullabies remembered from childhood.

He wipes the last tears from your cheeks, then allows more of his own to fall and replace them—an unbroken exchange, grief for grief, salt for salt.

He refuses a physician, a coroner, any intrusion. Instead, he dresses you in the midnight-blue silk you once wore to the opera, fastens the pearl buttons with hands that suddenly shake, kisses each knuckle when the tremor threatens to snap a thread.

At dawn he carries you to the music room. Mahogany shutters filter new light across the Bösendorfer. He props your body against his chest, one arm beneath your shoulders, the other coaxing a final nocturne from the keys. The notes drag like chains—dense, deliberate—and in them Hannibal folds everything he cannot articulate: rage at his own helpless biology, reverence for your courage, the terrible privilege of watching fearlessness turn cold in his embrace.

By twilight he understands: living was your last command, but obedience has never been his native tongue. To remain here, breathing, is to endure a famine no feast can sate. The concept of years—a month, even a day—spinning forward without your pulse beside his is intolerable, a mathematical obscenity he refuses to solve.

“I will not outlast you,” he murmurs against your temple, voice raw as scraped violin strings. “I gave you my fullness—my darkness, my devotion. What remains is only residue.”

He imagines the simple choreography of a final dinner: crystal decanters reflecting candle-flame, the bouquet of a forty-year Barolo softening the air. There would be music—perhaps that very nocturne, recorded and looping, a hush between phrases like a held breath. And then—quiet, clinical—he will follow your path, matching your heartbeat’s last count with a dose measured to the milligram. An ending of his own composition, stitched neatly to the end of yours.

Before he executes the coda, he wraps you in a shroud of black cashmere and lowers you into the crypt beneath the townhouse, a space he once reserved for rarer vintages. Now, it becomes a sanctuary of two. He seals the room, presses his palm to the cool door, and speaks—not an operatic benediction, but a single, naked sentence that tastes of iron and farewell:

“Wait for me.”

And he knows you will.

When midnight returns, Hannibal ascends the spiral stairs, the house sighing underfoot like an old instrument retired from concert halls. In the dining room, he lights three candles—one for the life you lived, one for the life he spent beside you, and one for the small span that will soon join them.

The monster, at last, is no more afraid of death than you were, for death is only the corridor back to your side. Every other appetite pales. Every instinct of preservation folds, effortlessly, into hunger for reunion.

104 notes · View notes

lizardboiii · 10 days ago

Text

ALTERNATE ENDING

꒰ ft. Portgas D. Ace x reader

꒰ synopsis: if you see another person who looks identical to you, run away and hide. Portgas D. Ace is dead - that’s a fact. so how are you seeing those familiar obsidian eyes pierce through your window?

there’s not enough room for the two of us.

│cw: 18+, NSFW, f!reader, body horrorish, semi non-con, song fic if you squint, 100% ooc

│wc: 2.4k

│notes: short whip to start my writing up again, based off mandela catalogue (no relation to the original work just love the concept of alternates), lowkey not my best but we ball

│AO3 Link!

The business of hunting Alternates wasn’t for the weak. It was for the depraved. Those with an inkling for danger and a penchant for death. How else could one desire to right the wrong of original sin?

~Emotions, what are you doin’?~

You didn’t fear death. No, you embraced it - because you knew somebody had to get the job done. Somebody had to get their hands a little bloody. Somebody had to give the ultimate sacrifice.

You just never thought it wouldn't be you.

~Oh, don’t you know, don’t you know you’ll be my ruin?~

So, when “Fire Fist” Ace’s vivre card began to smolder and shrivel in the palm of your hand, you couldn't stop the sob that rocked your body to its core. You folded into yourself on your kitchen floor. Dirty fingernails scratching at porcelain tiles.

~You’ve got me crying, crying again~

A solo mission was always risky - but never for Ace. He always came back home. He always came back to you.

~When will you let this heartache end?~

・❥・

The funeral was beautiful.

Ornate floral arrangements of soft oranges and vibrant reds lined the path of the chapel. Their soft petals swayed gently from a light draft.

~Why does my heart go on beating?~

The large stained glass windows filtered in glowing rays of sunlight. Each beam seemed to have a mind of their own. They casted perfect pillars of light on old photographs and worn out memorabilia, highlighting the existence of a soul that no longer roamed your mortal world.

~Why do these eyes of mine cry?~

The priest spoke gently, offering comfort to friends and family. But it was all white noise to you.

~Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?~

You couldn't take your eyes off the mahogany casket in the center of the sanctuary. The largest stained glass windows surrounded it on all sides, illuminating the sleek wood.

It would have been picturesque if your dead husband wasn't inside of it.

~It ended when you said goodbye.~

・❥・

He haunted your dreams.

You could always see him out of the corner of your eye, standing silently just beyond view. He waited eerily still for your acknowledgement. Patiently baiting you to turn.

And you used too.

You’d snap your neck so fast in his direction you were sure you’d screw it off. Just maybe, if you were quick enough, you could get a proper glance. See those kind eyes that had left you so abruptly. Remember that large cheesy smile that used to greet you every morning.

But you never did.

He vanished within the depths of your mind at the slightest movement. It frustrated you. Made you angry, resentful, violent even.

How could he do this to you? He disappeared so easily, leaving you behind to suffer alone in your hellscape of a world.

He said he would protect you.

He said he would never leave you.

He said he loved you.

You stopped looking for the figure shrouded in shadows. However, that didn't stop the way he continued to creep into the folds of your brain.

It didn't matter if you refused to look his way anymore, he found new ways to torment you. His laughter seemingly echoed throughout your dreams. His voice whispered softly in your ear around every turn.

“I love you.”

You refused to sleep anymore.

You took on busy work just to keep your mind preoccupied. Scared that you’d close your eyes for a little too long if you allowed your hands to slow.

You bleached the tub till your nose bled.

~You are here and so am I~

Mopped the floors three times before starting up again.

~Maybe millions of people go by~

Scrubbed every plate-

~But they all disappear from view~

The porcelain ware in your hands slipped from your grip and shattered violently inside of your kitchen sink. Soapy bubbles splattered against your apron, seeping into the frilly fabric.

You couldn't move. Couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe.

Deep obsidian eyes pierced through the pitch black of the night. Their eerie glow manifesting right behind the glass of the small window above the sink.

…Ace?

~And I only have eyes for you~

The shriek that left your lips tore through your house with a lingering echo. You flung yourself away from the window, knocking down the small radio from the edge of the counter. The electronic box sputtered out a few more staticky notes before dying off.

Ace - no - that thing only grinned wider at your antics. It raised its first to the window, knocking softly.

“I’m home, Spitfire.”

Your stomach churned at the nickname.

This wasn't real.

This wasn’t happening.

Because you could never accept the fact that something outside of your window was wearing Ace’s skin.

・❥・

You had a lot of regrets in life.

You regret buying that shitty semi-automatic pistol.

Getting involved with alternates.

Letting Ace take his last solo mission.

Being born.

But most importantly…

You regret hiding in the closet.

You watched as a brawny hand slid between the crack of the door and its frame, sliding the wooden door open slowly. But instead of watching in horror, you could only stare at the hand in disbelief.

Every line, every vein, every scar…was the same. Alternates were often imperfect imitations. A cheap knock off. But something in the pit of your stomach told you this one was different.

This one…

Jaw-length curly black hair glistened brightly in the moonlight. A few thin strands stuck to pale skin dusted with childish freckles. Your eyes drifted down from unruly hair to the upper left bicep. In black ink, "ASCE" was tattooed vertically.

Was perfect.

Only at the sound of your gun firing did you realize you had it pointed at the alternate. The bullet whizzed past its head, taking a few pieces of hair with it.

The figure stood still for a moment. Its unusually kind eyes soaked in your form before it lifted a thick thumb to its cheek, swiping off the line of blood.

“Uh oh! Bad decision, Spitfire.”

You only managed to fire one more time before the hulk of an alternate tackled you deeper into the closet. Grunting, you fought against the humanoid. However, its bulky hands easily subdued your wrists before it kicked the gun through the open door.

You cursed and thrashed savagely in its hold, “You piece of shit! Wearing my husband's face like a coward!”

“Now, now…” The alternate continued to push you underneath it, pinning your hands above your head while a large knee wedged itself in between your legs. “Is that anyway to talk to your husband?”

You snarled, “You’re not my husband.”

It feigned sadness, its eyebrows pulled taught, “How could you say that, Spitfire? You don’t recognize me?”

Recognize? How could you not. Everything about it was exactly the same as Ace. From the baritone of its voice to the way its rough hands held you tightly - it was all Ace.

“You sick demon,” You slammed your legs into its chest and hips attempting to gain any sort of leverage. “You defile his image with your mere existence!”

The grip on your wrists tightened, shooting a searing pain up your arms. You bit your lip to suppress the scream on the tip of your tongue. Your soft cry was met with a sinister chuckle.

“Shouldn't you be a little more grateful?” The alternate leaned into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, “I did everything I could to get back to you.”

Suddenly, sharp canines bit into the side of your neck. You grunted at action, clenching your eyes tightly shut. Yet, closing your eyes only seemed to make your predicament worse. You could feel the alternate lapping up the blood on your neck before it nipped its way up to your ear.

“Spitfire.”

You shuddered at its voice in your ear, husky and low. Then, it grabbed your cheeks in its grip harshly, forcing you to finally look at it. To peer into the endless voids it used as irises.

“I sold my soul for you.”

Your voice caught in your throat. You could only stare in horror at the face of your dead husband.

“...No.” You could feel your throat tighten, “You're lying.”

Sweet round eyes watched your face morph and shift between terror and sorrow. You clenched your pinned hands into fists, “My husband - my Ace - would never give up his humanity.”

Ace smiled softly, unmistakable dimples appearing on both sides of his mouth, “I’d give up anything to be with you.”

The lump in your throat pushed its way up, forcing a distraught sob from your mouth. You trembled in Ace’s hold. Shaking your head, you refused to accept the thing on top of you was really your husband.

Hot tears pooled in your waterline, “I don’t believe you.”

Ace cupped your cheek, swiping away a loose tear, “It's okay, Spitfire. I don’t need you to.”

You had little time to react before Ace switched his grip on you. Throwing your legs on top of his shoulders, Ace continued to pin your wrists with one hand.

With a toothy grin he slid the side of his face down the inside of your bare thigh, settling above your clothed womanhood. Eyes hooded, he met your panicked gaze with reverence.

“You're mine regardless.”

Frantically, you struggled against his hold, suddenly very aware that the dress you wore left little to the imagination in your current position. Ace only laughed at your slow realization.

Using his free hand to grab the fat of your hip, he kneaded at the tense muscle, “I missed having you beneath me.”

Your face burned at his words. Kicking your legs wildly, you tried to dissuade him from lowering his face any further, “Let me go!”

Ace merely snatched your left ankle in his grip, pulling you closer - holding you tighter. “The gates of hell couldn't keep me from you.” Blackened eyes pinned you to your spot, “Do you really think a little kick will?”

Growling, you refused to give up. Your right leg was still free. If you could just manage a kick to his head-

Your head flung back with a gasp as Ace abruptly swiped his tongue across your thin undergarments. The movement was slow and methodical. He took his time savoring the feeling of your soft lips beneath the cotton barrier.

You couldn't stop the involuntary shiver that ran down your spine. Back arched and toes curled, you could only hyperfocus on the pink appendage between your legs.

Ace smirked at your reaction, “Looks like you missed being beneath me too.”

His words felt like a knife to your heart. Ashamed, you tried to hide your face within the crook of your elbow, “No!”

Ace ignored your plea with a chuckle, preferring to bury his face into your cunt. You mewled as his nose dragged across your folds. The cartilage caressing your most intimate parts.

As soon as his nose uplifted his tongue descended, planting a tantalizing lick against your slit. Your hips lifted on their own, grinding against Ace’s mouth. You could feel him grin against you. His plump lips kissing your outer labia.

“So needy,” His hand traced down from ankle to inner thigh before trailing down to your cunt.

His thick fingers easily spread you open underneath your panties. Their rough pads brushing against your aching heat. You whined at the attention. His familiar touch was beginning to be too hard to ignore.

Peaking out of your elbow, you snuck a glance at the ravenette between your legs. Once you did, your mouth went dry. Ace’s eyes bore into your own like a mad man. Pupils blown, he watched your every move, savoring each little reaction.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him.

Enjoying your attention, he kept his eyes fixed on you as he began to suck against your clothed clit. A strangled moan left your lips at the sight. You knew you weren't supposed to want this, but the longer he swirled his tongue against you - the more you wanted him to rip off your soaked panties and taste the real thing.

As if he heard your prayer, Ace pulled the messy fabric aside and exposed your cunt to cool air, “You taste just like I remember,” He licked his thumb, “Sweet.”

You bit your lip as he dove back into you. His plush lips kissed your folds as his tongue flicked up against your clit, shooting sparks of pleasure down your spine. You lost your senses as he devoured you. Whining like a whore, all you wanted was to touch him back.

“Ace, please.”

His movements stopped abruptly. Black eyes caged your own with so much desire you weren't sure if he even heard what you said.

You mumbled lowly, “...wanna touch.”

Ace grinned ear to ear, nuzzling against your cunt, “You wanna touch me, baby?”

You swallowed thickly, “Can I?”

Ace answered by removing his hand from your wrists, freeing your arms. However, his newly freed hand only served to help him consume you further. Placing both hands on your hips, Ace pinned your cunt to his mouth, refusing to let up his abuse.

You gasped at the action, clawing at the floor, “Wait!”

Ace laughed boyishly, “I knew you’d come around, Spitfire.”

He didn't wait for a response before he inserted his tongue into your weeping slit. The soft flesh stroked your inner walls. Slow and steady, he fucked you open with his mouth as you spasmed in his hold.

You could feel the cord in your stomach building. Just a little more and you’d reach the peak you were after. Reaching up, you clutched soft black hair in your fists, pushing him down against your cunt.

Ace groaned against your folds. The vibrations sending waves of pleasure down your legs. You could feel your high approaching, a scorching heat bubbling within your stomach.

With one last swipe to your clit, your hips shuddered violently. You tugged on Ace’s hair pinning him in place. His mouth never letting up as you rode your orgasim through.

You sighed softly as your core untightened and your hands loosened. Breathed heavily, you released Ace exhausted and spent.

Finally, it was over. A chuckle above you made you tense.

“You really think this is over, Spitfire?”

Ace loomed above you. His hand trailed down his exposed chest, settling on top of the large bulge straining against his pants.

“I need my fill now.”

・❥・

#one piece #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #one piece fanfic #one piece smut

139 notes · View notes

fadedncity · 2 years ago

Text

safety net

wc: 4.6k

pairing: jeno x fem!reader

cw: smut, bsf!jeno, friends to lovers, non idol au, haunted attractions, reader has coulrophobia (a fear of clowns), use of fake blood, (soft)dom!jeno, teasing, pet names, multiple orgasms, choking, manhandling, spanking, fingering, praise kink, oral sex (receiving/giving), protected sex, aftercare…pretty sure that’s it

song inspo: safety net by ariana grande feat. ty dolla sign

You could hear the screams coming from inside as you and your friends moved up in the line. You nervously bounced on the balls of your feet, glancing at every person passing, keeping an eye out for the horror actors who were going around jump-scaring patrons.

Jeno noticed you become more anxious, unable to stop fidgeting.

"You're not too thrilled about this, are you?" he asks.

"What would make you say that?" you furrow your brows, clearly unaware of it written all over you.

"You seem a little on edge."

"What? No, I'm fine-" You turn to find the presence you felt creeping up behind you. You're face to face with a clown mask and almost jump out of your skin, letting out a small shriek.

But hearing Haechan's laugh, your fear quickly turns into anger as the boy pulls the mask away.

"Donghyeok, I swear I'm gonna fucking-" You lunged at him, only to be stopped by two strong arms.

"We don't need you laying him out here in the park before we even get to the door," Jeno says.

You grumbled, "Fine, but if he's missing from the headcount after this you know what happened," you glared at the Gemini, flipping him off as he stuck his tongue out at you.

"You know we don't have to do this you know, you and I can get off the line now." Jeno offers you one last out as the line continues to grow behind you.

"I know. I'll be fine. I just hate clowns," you peer over Jeno's shoulder at the actor in the clown costume standing across the lot, scaring other passersby in the park.

"I won't let anything happen to you, alright? I promise." Jeno says reassuringly.

"Thank you, Jen," you smile at him.

Your friends were the next group in line to enter the attraction. The big glaring neon letters in bright red, reading Hollow's Horror above the entrance, followed by a disclaimer of what could happen once you're inside.

"So you gonna make a move tonight?" Minjeong whispers.

"What?" you ask.

"You and Jeno," she nods to the boy ahead of you, talking to Jaemin.

"Me and Jeno are just friends."

"Yeah, okay," Minjeong sarcastically nodded, "'I won't let anything happen to you. I promise.'" She mimicked Jeno's voice, and you elbow her.

"Hey, Johnny, you sure no one's ever died inside this thing?" Renjun asks the seasonal employee.

"Few people have passed out or accidentally injured themselves running and tripping over something, so the EMTs are on standby," Johnny answers. "All I'll say is the more scared you are, the more they're likely to go after you," he says, looking your way like he's talking to you directly. "But no, no one has died. Yet," Johnny says with a wicked grin as the doors open and your group is ushered inside.

"Yet?? Did he just say yet?" Ningning questions as Jimin drags her along inside.

You all stood in the dimly lit room, listening to Ten as he went over the rules and guidelines of the attraction. Minjeong unsubtly nudged you in Jeno's direction, causing you to stumble into him, and you shoot her a death glare over your shoulder.

"You ready?" Jeno asks you.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you sigh, following everyone else into the haunted house.

. . .

"How'd I even get talked into this? Everyone else could be dead for all we know."

"You know damn well everyone's fine. We just got separated." Jeno says, continuing to lead the way, "Look, Chenle's still on live with Jisung and Ningning," he shows his phone, and you see Chenle hysterically laughing as the three of them are chased through a corn maze by an actor with a chainsaw.

"Of course he is, he loves this shit," you shake your head, peering around the corner on the lookout for another scarer.

"Come on, we're almost out," Jeno nodded in the direction of another doorway.

"How are you sure?"

"Yangyang's been raving about this thing since Hendery went last year. He's watched all the vlogs and read all the reviews. He practically has his own blueprint of this place, and I'm pretty sure the funhouse is one of the last."

The first three letters were scratched out and replaced with others to spell out Bloodhouse instead, and you glare at Jeno.

"Oh come on, you gotta be shitting me," you protest, hearing the circus-themed music grow louder.

"You can do this, I have faith in you," Jeno holds out his hand, "And I'll be with you the entire time."

You let out a displeased sigh as you take Jeno's hand and follow him into the hall of mirrors.

"Just try to relax and stay calm. If they smell your fear they'll come for you," Jeno whispers dramatically.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Maybe. But if it didn't, you know I still got you," Jeno reassuringly squeezed your hand.

You let Jeno take the lead, holding his hand firmly as he guided you through the maze of electronic attractions, jumping out at the both of you as you passed them by.

Jeno was seemingly moving fast through the poorly lit room, wanting to get you out as soon as possible. But the next corner you turn, you find two actors dressed as killer clowns shuffling around, awaiting their next victims.

Jeno feels your body tense up as you lock eyes with one of them.

"Stay calm," he says as both clowns stalk toward you.

"I can't," you say, your breathing becoming heavy.

"Okay, so we run," he says.

Still holding hands, the maniacal laughter follows you both down a narrow hallway, where you feel hands grab at you both through the railings. But just as you both escape the hands grabbing at you, the sprinklers above your heads go off, spraying you and Jeno in fake blood.

Still processing all the red you're seeing, neither of you has the chance to react as another clown jumps out at you, yelling, "Give Lucky a big smile!"

You instantly grab Jeno, screaming bloody murder as a bright flash goes off. The actor shoved the Polaroid into Jeno's hands as the evil laughter grew louder and louder, more actors swarming you both. With his arms around you, Jeno takes you the rest of the way out of the haunted walk-through.

Complimentary towels were offered to you and Jeno as you exited the attraction with I Survived the Night at Hollow's Horror embroidered into the fabric.

Still, in a bit of shock, it takes a second for you to register that it's over, and you're now back in the crowd of the theme park.

"Oh thank god, we're done," you practically collapse into Jeno's arms, "I couldn't take anymore of that."

"You okay?"

"Might have nightmares for a few days, but I'll live," you wipe your face clean of the fake blood.

"Well guess what, you did it. I'm proud of you," Jeno says, causing warmth to bloom in your chest.

"Holy shit, what the hell happened to you guys?" a familiar voice grabs both of your attention.

You and Jeno find most of your friends crowded outside, waiting for you and the few others still inside.

"They definitely got the bloodhouse," Jaemin said.

Haechan erupted into laughter, "Of course you did out of all people."

"You know Haechan just cause you made it through the haunted house doesn't guarantee you'll make it through the rest of the night." you started, but Jeno immediately put himself between you both.

"We survived!" Chenle yells triumphantly.

He runs toward your group with Jisung and Ningning not too far behind, all three of them wrapped up in their own complementary towels.

"Why are you guys wet?" Jimin asks.

"We ended up in the shark tank," Jisung says, chittering his teeth.

"Shark tank!? And this thing is legal??" Aeri asks.

"They definitely weren't real sharks," Yangyang says.

"You sure about that? Cause the teeth on that thing looked pretty real," Ningning said, hugging the towel tighter around herself.

"Who cares? We're definitely coming back next year." Chenle declares.

"Yeah, we'll see about that."

. . .

"You didn't have to drive me home. I could've gone with Jimin," you say once on the front steps of your house.

"I know I didn't have to," Jeno shrugs, "But I wanted to."

"Well, thank you. Not just the ride but everything tonight. I don't know if I would've survived without you," you say lightheartedly.

"I promised you I wouldn't let anything happen to you, didn't I?"

You laugh, "Goodnight, Jeno."

"Goodnight," he says.

But neither of you move, your hand resting on the doorknob, wordlessly staring at Jeno.

"Everything okay?" Jeno asks.

"Yeah," you nod.

"Cause this is the part where you take out your keys and unlock the door so I know you've made it inside safely before I leave," he says, "Unless you don't want me to leave-" you cut him off with your lips on his.

Jeno's hands reach for your waist and pull you closer. You curl your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Your hands find his hair, raking your fingers through the stiff strands dried with food dye and corn syrup.

"Do you wanna come in?" you ask.

"Do you want me to come in?" he retorts.

"You could at least come inside to wash up. It's the least I can offer."

. . .

The steam left from your shower poured out of the bathroom the second you opened the door and stepped into your bedroom, now wearing clean clothes.

"Whatcha looking at?" you ask, rubbing the last of your moisturizer into your hands.

You find Jeno on your bed, redressed in new clothes; a shirt, and some sweatpants he left at your place a while ago. You climb onto your bed, sit beside him, and see the Polaroid picture Jeno's looking at in his hands.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this," you take the picture as Jeno hands it to you.

"This is officially my favorite picture."

"Why? I look crazy!" you point to the terrified expression the photographer caught while you were mid-scream.

"I kinda think it's cute, I mean look at us. You're clinging onto me for dear life. I thought I was gonna lose my arm," Jeno jokes.

"Alright, you know what, I've had enough of you," you playfully roll your eyes, ready to stand and walk away. But Jeno doesn't give you the chance to get too far, grabbing your waist and pulling you back down into his lap.

"Well, that's too bad, because I definitely haven't gotten enough of you," he rubs his hands over your thighs as you lean closer.

You smile against Jeno's lips, cupping his face as you kiss him. Jeno rests his hand on your lower back, pressing firmly against your spine. You comb your fingers through his damp hair and swipe your tongue along the seam of his lips. As your tongues clash, Jeno's hands cup your ass, subtly directing you to roll your hips into his allowing you to feel the bulge in his pants.

"Wait-" Jeno stops kissing you.

"Oh my god, did I completely miss read this?" you drop your hands from his face.

"No, no," Jeno quickly clarifies, taking your hands in his, "It's just I don't want you to think I just wanna sleep with you."

"Oh."

"I mean, no, trust me I do—god knows how bad I want to. But I wanna be clear that I like you, y/n. Like really like you. And I need you to know that I'm not just using you—"

"Hey," you cut off his rambling, "I know you're not like that," you stroke his cheek, and Jeno sheepishly smiles, "So you like me, huh? Like really like me?" you teasingly smirk, resting your arms over his shoulders.

"You really think I would've just let Haechan drag me out tonight if you weren't gonna be there. You know I don't really care for that type of stuff. But for you…" he trails off.

"It's funny you say that, because I was pretty adamant about not going until Aeri told me you were."

"Sounds like we're pretty perfect for each other," Jeno says with a laugh.

"I mean it's not like nothing good came out of this," you smile, kissing his lips.

"No, lie there."

You softly nibble down on his bottom lip, making him quietly groan. You feel his fingers dig into your hips, lightly scratching his nails down your exposed thighs, causing you to gasp against his lips. Jeno takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He tastes the remaining fruity flavor of the gummies you were chewing on in the car on your lips.

Your hips drag against Jeno's, and you feel his cock through your shorts.

Jeno pulls you flush against his body and begins softly pressing kisses down the side of your neck, making you moan and arch into his touch.

"Jen," you call his name.

"Yeah, princess?" you almost moan as the pet name rolls off his tongue.

"I need you."

"I'm right here, baby. Can't think to be anywhere else right now. I'm all yours."

Jeno switches places with you, laying you down on the bed, your lips still attached.

"Gonna let me have a taste of you, angel?"

"Please," you nod.

Jeno admired you as you lay beneath him. "Just tell me if it's too much, you wanna stop, or even if you just need a break, okay?"

You nod, just hoping he'd touch you already.

"I'm gonna need words, pretty."

"Okay," you reassuringly nod again.

Jeno softly kisses your lips, and you feel his hand roam your body, kneading every place he can reach except where you want him most.

"You're so beautiful, princess," Jeno smirks, slipping his hands under your shirt and palming your breasts. You mewl into his touch as he started lifting your shirt. "So, so pretty," he hums, eyeing your perky nipples before he lowers himself and takes one into his mouth.

With his tongue swirling around your areola, Jeno had his hand occupied with your other nipple, rolling and tweaking it between his fingers.

Curling your fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, you moan and arch your back into his mouth. You squirm beneath his body, the ache between your legs growing even stronger.

"Patience, baby," Jeno pulls away from you, "I like taking my time," he runs his hands up your thighs, softly squeezing your flesh.

"You know I'm not known for my patience," you say.

"Guess you better learn quickly then."

One of his fingers lightly trailed up your inner thigh. He took his finger and traced your clothed slit with a feather-light touch. You tried to raise your hips against his hand. But he pins your hips to the bed.

Jeno tsks, shaking his head. "You want something, angel, you gotta ask for it."

"Touch me," you breathe out.

"I am, aren't I?"

"You know what I mean," you say, irritation evident in your tone.

"No, I'm not sure. You want me to touch you here?" Jeno asks, rubbing your clit through your shorts.

"Yes," you buck your hips into his hand.

"Yes, what?"

"Please, Jeno," you frustratedly fist the sheets.

"Come on, sweetheart. I wanna hear you say it," his tone is soft as he applies more pressure to your clit.

"Fuck. Just fucking touch my pussy, Jen, please," you beg.

"Atta girl," he praised. "Wasn't so hard just using your words, now was it." he smiled as he removed your shorts along with your underwear.

"Fuck off-" your words are choked up by a moan as Jeno's fingers sink inside you.

"What was that?" Jeno asks, but you can't respond other than with another moan, "That's what I thought."

Jeno scissors his two fingers against your soft walls. The muscles in his arms flex every time he pumps his digits in and out of you.

"Feels good, huh, baby?" he watches your face twist up in pleasure as he curls his fingers.

"Yes."

He plants a few kisses on your face, "You want more?"

"Please, Jen, I need more. It feels so good,"

"That's it, princess. Taking my fingers like such a good girl."

"Don't stop. Please-" The stretch of Jeno's three fingers made it harder to think. Jeno watched his fingers disappear inside you, reappearing with a layer of slick coating them.

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. I've got you," Jeno talks you through it.

You weren't watching him, but you felt the bed shift.

"Oh my god!" you cry.

The most beautiful sound Jeno's ever heard came from your lips as he took your clit into his mouth. He directed one of your legs over his shoulder as he buried his face deeper between your legs.

"Come on, sweetness, say my name. Tell me who's making you feel so good."

"Jeno~"

He purred before dropping his head back down. Jeno wrapped his arms under your thighs, spreading your legs further apart. You writhed and thrashed in his hold, attempting to grind your hips against his mouth, but his strength never let up. Jeno's strong arms held you right where he wanted you. He lapped at your folds, using his fingers to part your lips, revealing your leaking hole, clenching around nothing.

Jeno hummed before delving back in. His eyes fluttered shut as he wiggled his tongue inside of you.

"Jen—fuck. I'm gonna-"

"Cum? You wanna cum for me?" he slipped his fingers back into your pussy.

"Yes, please, Jeno! I wanna cum for you," you whine.

You grab Jeno's wrist, rolling your hips against his hand as he curls his fingers just right, hitting that spongy spot inside you.

"Please-" you gasp.

Jeno kissed your thigh. "Cum," he practically growled.

Jeno sucked on your clit as your noises got louder. His fingers curled against your soft, gummy walls, and the obscene squelching of your juices mixing with his saliva filled your ears.

Your back arched off the bed, your fingers pulling at the roots of Jeno's hair. Your legs fought against his strength, threatening to close around his head.

"Jeno—ah!"

You quietly whimper when his fingers easily slip out of you. Your eyes blinked in and out of focus as Jeno licked his fingers clean with a delighted hum. He checks on you, softly cradling your face.

"Look at me," Jeno says, "Are you alright?"

"Mhm," you nod, "You know it's been a minute since someone else has made me cum. That hard, especially."

"Which is why I was more than happy to do for you, baby," He kisses your lips, "I don't know if I would've been able to handle hearing about another one of your pathetic hookups," he mumbled.

You raise your brows and kiss your teeth, "You're one to talk. I'd rather have brunch with Pennywise than hear one more story about someone else's mind blowing orgasm from your supposed magic tongue."

"Are you saying my magic tongue didn't just give you a mind blowing orgasm?" Jeno raises an eyebrow.

"Shut up," you cross your arms over your chest.

"Aww, don't get like that, angel," Jeno uncrosses your arms. "Would it make you feel better to know I've never been that close to cumming untouched. Just from eating you out," he says, motioning toward the prominent outline in his shorts, and you notice the darkened spot of precum staining the material.

"How close?" you ask, sitting up with a smile threatening to spread on your face.

"Very close."

"Yeah?" you place your hand in his lap and start palming him over his clothes. "At least let me return the favor, you've been so good to me, Jen, let me make you feel good too," you gently trace the outline of his cock, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

He gave you a nod, and you pulled his cock out of his pants, grasping his length in his hand. Jeno hisses as you slowly jerk your wrist, teasing his tip with your thumb. Wasting no more time, you took his cock into your mouth, welcoming the weight of him on your tongue. You hummed around him, letting the salty precum coat your tastebuds.

You look up at him through your lashes, seeing him intently watching your ministrations. You lick a long stripe along the underside of his cock, his eyes refusing to leave your face, and they threaten to shut.

Spit dribbled out of your mouth onto his cock, assisting your hand in pumping the base. You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, softly sucking the angry red tip.

"Holy shit," Jeno groaned. The hand resting on your head gently grasped your hair, lightly tugging your head back. "I'm gonna fucking spoil you," he said, pulling you in for a kiss.

You collapse back onto your bed to watch as Jeno grabs the back of his shirt, tearing it over his head, and you can't stop the moan coming out of your mouth seeing his adonis-like figure above you.

Jeno smiles, his ego definitively inflated a bit as he kicks off his sweats along with his boxers. Hooking his arms under your thighs, Jeno pulls you away from the head of the bed and back toward him.

As Jeno looked at you, the most unholy thoughts ran rampant through his mind.

"God, I love seeing you like this," he kissed your chest, "All I wanna do is ruin you," he darkly smiled.

"Please do," you grin before he sinks two fingers into your pussy.

Your eyes roll back, feeling his fingers wiggle against your soft walls.

"Such a needy little thing you are," Jeno said as he added another finger.

"Just for you," you moan.

You let out a small whine in protest when Jeno removes his fingers, using your juices on his hand to pump his cock.

"Get on your hands and knees for me?" Jeno's question comes out more like a gentle order, and you roll over onto your stomach, raising your hips into the air.

While you reposition yourself, having familiarized himself with your room, Jeno reaches into your nightstand, retrieving a condom for himself.

"This is definitely a view I can get used to," Jeno runs his hand down your spine before harshly bringing his hand down on your right asscheek, making you moan.

"Come on, Jen," you mewl, pushing your hips back into his as he rolls the condom onto his length.

"So impatient," he tsked, "Can't even properly admire you, baby," he smacked the other side of your ass.

"Jeno!"

His laugh melted into a deep groan as he slid his cock into you.

"Oh my god," your eyes roll back, and your jaw clenches.

"Yeah?"

"You feel so fucking deep. Feels so good,"

"Pussy feels so goddamn good around me. It's like you're perfectly meant to take my cock, princess."

Jeno pulled both of your arms behind your back, holding your wrists with only one of his hands, using them to pull you back onto his cock repeatedly. You whined shamelessly into the sheets as Jeno continued to fuck you into the mattress.

You know right here and now isn't the ideal time for this thought to occur to you, but knowing Jeno's heard about every aspect of your sex life, and has remembered things you've mindlessly mentioned being into in passing, only causes you to lose any sort of composure you had left. You hold onto his wrist, moaning carelessly, your pussy choking Jeno's cock as it moves rhythmically in and out of your soaking cunt.

Jeno's movements started to pick up, and the harsh sound of his hips slamming into yours filled your ears beyond your own cries and whimpers.

"Jen, please I'm-"

"Yeah, come on, baby, give it to me," he rasped in your ear, "Cum for me."

You could feel Jeno's cock twitching inside your pulsating pussy. Jeno quickly pulled out of you before he also came, flaring his nostrils and clenching his jaw when he denied himself from cumming just yet.

Pressing kisses up your spine, Jeno asks, "Think you got one more for me?" slipping his middle finger into your overstimulated cunt.

A moan squeals out of your lips, and you nod. With ease, Jeno rolls you back over, pulling your legs apart to settle between them.

"Such a needy little cock slut. You already love the way I fill you up, don't you?" he asks, running the tip of his cock up your slit.

"Love it so much." you nod eagerly.

Your eyes roll back as Jeno bottoms out once more.

"If only you could see yourself, princess," Jeno softly wraps his hand around your throat, "All fucked out and taking all of me like a good girl." Between Jeno's fingers lightly squeezing the sides of your neck and his words, your head was spinning.

The intense pleasure came over you, you couldn't piece together words anymore. Jeno smiled, hearing your incoherent babbling.

"J-Jeno..oh my god, ple-ease!" you cried.

You blinked your glossy eyes up at Jeno as he slowed down but deepened his strokes. You smiled, feeling how deep he was inside you, and you could feel your body teetering the edges of your third orgasm of the night.

"Dumb little princess," he crooned, "Have I already fucked you stupid, baby?"

Flustered by his words, you laugh, "Yes, yes, yes, Jen! please don't stop," you arch your back.

"That's my pretty girl," Jeno deeply rolled his hips into yours. "Let me know how good I'm making you feel."

"It's so good, it's so go-ood, Jeno, m'gonna cum," you whine.

"Go ahead and soak my cock, angel," he grunted.

Red streaks decorate Jeno's arm as your nails dig into his skin, another earth-shattering orgasm slamming into you.

"Th-thank you—fuck—thank you," you cried, tears of pleasure pricking at your eyes. You could hear how heavy Jeno's breathing has become and know he's not too far behind you.

"Mhm, such a good girl," Jeno's voice drops a few octaves as his hips stutter, filling the latex with his cum.

Your legs were trembling as they fell against Jeno's. He gently caressed your face, waiting for you to come back down to him.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Much more than," you smile.

"Happy to hear. Just give me a minute." Jeno says, softly kissing your lips before slipping out of your pussy, disposing of the condom, and pulling his sweatpants back on as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Jeno quickly returned with a wet cloth to wipe away the stickiness clinging to your skin.

Once he was done, you sat up and let Jeno pull you into his arms. The usual annoyance of your clammy skin sticking to his hadn't bothered you much as you just wanted to be in his arms.

"What're you thinking about?" Jeno's voice breaks the silence.

"Hm?" you snap out of your thoughts.

"You're quiet. I can tell there's a lot going through your mind right now."

"A lot of things pertaining you, yes."

"I meant what I said earlier. I really do like you."

"I know…I kinda really like you too."

You swear his eyes sparkled as a smile broke out on his face, "You have no idea how much it means to hear that. I was too afraid I would've messed something up between us."

"And I thought I was the only one here who faces their fears tonight," you say before planting a kiss on his lips.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you need I can get for you?" he asks.

"I'm all good right here." You wrap your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his, "This is all I need."

a/n: this was especially for the five of you that had already seen this last week when I accidentally posted 😭😭 thank you for reading!! feedback is appreciated <33

edit: i can’t believe i let all of y’all read this with this many typos and shit 😭 i swear i wasn’t done editing but this was the second time it accidentally posted from my drafts and i just said fuck it 🚶🏽‍♀️

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feyascorner · 1 year ago

Text

9 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh, love.”

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink.

Has he always looked at you like this?

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. officially in act 2 so there's like a few weeks of a timeskip!!!! finally getting to that blurry line between hatred and...wtv they are

also praying the tags work this time

“Wake up,” you whisper. “Wake up, Astarion.”

His body shakes as you pull him closer to your chest, ignoring how cold his skin feels against yours. There’s nothing out here except the two of you and the blissful gaze of the moon glimmering against all the other stars in the sky. Here, it’s as if nothing else exists.

Yet, the nightmares continue to haunt him.

“Cazador, he’ll come for us. He’ll come for you. He’ll make me watch as you die and laugh at my agony before he tosses me into that damned prison again for another year. Maybe even more,” he rasps. “Gods, you were so–there was so much blood—your blood—and all I could smell was–”

You shush him, running your hand through white curls. The sensation seems to calm him just the slightest. “He’s not here. I’m alive, and so are you. See?”

Gently, you raise his palm to where your heart rests and wait patiently for him to come back to you again. He melts into the steady thumping of your heart, shoulders slowly relaxing. It takes some time, but eventually, his panting slows, and he slumps into your touch. When you pull him close again, he shakes his head.

“I’ll kill him for what he’s done to me and what he could do to you.”

You answer him by intertwining your fingers with his own. In response, he tightens his arms around your waist.

“I’m going to love watching him scream.”

Crashing onto the ground does little for your already trembling knees.

“Again.”

Weeks have passed since your last uncomfortable encounter with Astarion, and you’d much prefer to keep it that way. And while things have mostly smoothed over with your companions, the obvious issue of the spawn remains a concern, though the murders have decreased significantly in passing times. You’re grateful there aren’t as many bodies, but it also makes you wonder what’s preventing them from killing as many as they did. Fear it, even.

Lae’zel’s wooden sword wipes you off your feet again, and you land face-first into the grass. Embarrassment floods your cheeks despite there being nobody else in the park.

“You’ve gotten rusty, istik.”

Clambering onto your knees, you grip your own sword to stabilize yourself. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s gotten significantly better?”

“Flattery won’t save you on a battlefield, bard.”

“‘Was-bard,’” you correct her, using the sword to bounce back onto your heels. “And I think it’s saved us more than a few times. Remember that time I persuaded Yurgir to kill all his friends before we killed him?”

“A silver tongue has no use if the enemy is deaf,” she lunges at you, and you barely manage to stumble out of the way.

You hiss. “Why the hell would I be fighting a deaf enemy? And can you please warn me before you try to stab me?”

“There are no warnings in a real battle.”

“We’re not in real battle!”

She ignores you and lunges once more without warning.

You land on your ass again and again until you’re sure there’s a nasty bruise on half of your legs. There’s not enough time to register the soreness spreading to your knees, however, because by the time you’re up, she’s already coming at you again. It’s hopeless, you think, blocking another attack. Just as you’re about to give up and admit defeat, you see an opportunity in her stance. Seemingly laid back with how miserably you’re failing, you take it as a weakness and practically pounce at the opportunity to launch at her in return for your own bruises.

By some miracle, it lands.

She doesn’t fall as pathetically as you did, but she stumbles.

“Have you lost your touch, Lae’zel?”

You whip your head around to the voice where Shadowheart is under the shade of a tree, a letter gripped in her fingers. She paces closer to you and your opponent, raising a brow at the state you’re in. “Was it really necessary to beat them so harshly?”

“It worked, didn’t it? They managed to hit me,” Lae’zel scoffs, a hint of pride in her tone.

“Well, as wonderful of a time it is to watch you fight one another like beasts,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes, lifting the letter. “Tav and I need to get new clothes tailored, it seems.”

Lae’zel snatches the letter before you can take a look, her eyes scanning over the words before shooting to you. “A celebration?”

“A ball, more like,” the cleric steals the sheet right back, handing it to you. “In our honor, of course, for defeating the elder brain. About time we received something in return.”

You only briefly glance at the words printed on the letter. “This is too much.”

Both heads turn to you inquisitively. “I thought you’d be ecstatic for something like this. I recall you always used to sing about the songs people would make about your adventures.”

“That was ages ago,” you sigh, but Lae’zel doesn’t seem much happier either.

“They choose to celebrate while the city’s citizens are being picked off like prey by spawn? No wonder its inhabitants have turned out so puny,” she glances at you while she speaks. You contemplate rolling your eyes, though you’d rather not get knocked on your ass again.

“You and Gale can go tomorrow. I made reservations at the tailor for all of us, but Figaro says he can only take two a day,” Shadowheart tells Lae’zel. “You wouldn’t mind if I took your punching bag for a few hours, would you?”

“Tchk. I have the wizard as another target if need be.”

She tosses her braid over her shoulder as she nods. “Great. Let’s hurry then.”

They don’t give you much room to protest in the matter, already having made up their minds—not that you were going to object in the first place. You’re honored, really, that the city finds you impressive enough to throw a celebration in your honor, and you know your companions are more than deserving of it, too. But it’s as Lae’zel said.

There’s another battle brewing under the city, in its shadows, and in plain sight, yet you can’t do anything about it. It’s not like the elder brain. Killing the brain itself was enough to rid of the mind flayers, but in this case, killing one spawn only leads to hunting 7000 more. Most of which are being lied to by Astarion’s siblings.

You shake your head to rid of the thoughts. No. You deserve this. You went through hell and back with that bloody parasite in your head, so hells be damned if you can have one bloody night to yourself. One that doesn’t consist of consistently worrying about whether another body will drop dead while you sleep blissfully in the walls of your own home. You need this after all you’ve been through.

Still…

The silence as you walk alongside Shadowheart makes you cringe.

It’s not like she’s angry at you, nor are you at her. You understand her reactions toward Astarion, and you like to think that she does too. But with how things ended with him last time, your interactions with the cleric have grown increasingly curt, with short conversations baring down to the bare necessities. You’ve tried to speak with her, but each time the two of you are alone, the guilt gnaws away at your stomach—your confidence along with it.

This time, you swear. This time you’ll apologize.

“Shadowhea-”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

You blink. Twice.

She doesn’t look at you, continuing to stride through the city streets. “It was unfair of me to blow up at you for letting Astarion feed. It wasn’t my choice, and I know that. I was only…”

You wait for her to continue, increasing the speed of your footsteps to catch up.

“...It was a selfish reason,” she mutters. “I did not want to lose you to him again. I’ve seen you the last time he hurt you, and you were practically a stranger to all of us. Even with defeating the elder brain, you didn’t seem happy in the slightest. He ruined so much that I—-I instinctively tried to make a decision that I have no control over.”

“It won’t happen again. Lying, I mean,” you blurt immediately. “I’ve learned, as hard as it might be to believe. I don’t want to drift from you again, either. I’m just sorry it took so long to bring this up.”

“I’m in no place to complain. It took weeks for me to understand how in the hells your thought process seems to work…And how you manage to make such bad decisions that somehow have a knack for working out,” she purses her lips. “I still don’t understand. Not completely. But I do also trust you know what you’re doing.”

You don’t know what you’re doing, but you think it’s better to avoid telling her that.

She smiles, and you already feel lighter. “It’s a miracle I’m alive, to be honest.”

“It really is. Trust me, I’d know,” she snorts in return.

“I do have quite the skilled healer at my side, which helps.”

Shadowheart stops in front of Figaro’s store, glancing back at you. You hadn’t even realized the two of you had walked this far, but she shrugs with a smug grin as she pushes through the door.

“Whatever would you do without me?”

You’ve searched the Blushing Mermaid at least a dozen times over now, in case you missed any of Dalyria’s things that might aid you in your search for the other siblings. Despite the tavern owners blocking the entrance, a simple mage hand or two was enough to pry open the wooden boards nailed to the basement door. It’s been nearly three times now that you’ve come up empty-handed, but what harm could a fourth try do? Sure, you’ve scrummaged her desk seven times alone, but perhaps you might have missed a drawer or two…

The stillness of the night is disturbed as you lift the hatch leading to the basement, waving away the dust that flies into your face. You pocket Dalyria’s journal and begin your descent downward. The humidity hits your cheeks, and you sigh, swallowing your distaste for the crumbling lair to resume your investigation without any distractions. You expect another endless night of useless rummaging through the Hag’s old things and some of Dalyria’s own belongings, but doing nothing would weigh too heavily on your conscious.

Just as you enter the actual lair, you find that you are not alone.

A blond man stands on the other side, his back turned to you as he searches the desk you’ve already looked over multiple times.

Petras.

Sure, you’ve been searching for him for quite a while now, but for him to just waltz into you like this? You’re not sure if you’re insanely lucky or simply unlucky for not having stumbled into him until now. He remains unaware of your presence, and you take the opportunity to reach for your knife, willing your footsteps to feel lighter to avoid detection. Another skill a certain rogue taught you at a certain point, but never mind that.

The floorboard creaks under your weight.

Dammit. You’ve never been as good as he was.

He whips around, immediately on the defense. But as soon as he spots you, his shoulder relaxes, a scowl falling as he blinks. “Oh. You.”

Embarrassment burns in your cheeks, feeling like a child who’s been caught stealing an extra sweet from the cookie jar. Still, you straighten your back, shifting so he can’t see the knife clenched in your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering when I’d see Astarion’s pet again,” he ignores your question, stepping away from the desk toward you. It makes your body tense. “You’ve been up to quite a lot since the last time we spoke, haven’t you? I hear you nearly captured my sister.”

“I’m not his pet,” you snap, more harshly than you intended. He raises a brow.

“Fine. His blood bank.”

Your sharp glare is enough to send him your sentiments.

“Not a very willing blood bank, I see.”

“What are you doing here, Petras?” you finally snap.

He ignores you again, and this time, you contemplate chucking the knife at his head. “How’s my brother doing? Horrible, I hope.”

“He’s fine,” you retort through gritted teeth. It’s the nicest thing you can conjure up at the moment. “We would be doing better if you weren’t making a bloodbath of the city.”

“You nearly killed my sister as well.”

“Your sister is the one that attacked us after she said she was going to kidnap Astarion like he’s some sort of object. What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, I can’t blame you. She’s always been stubborn,” he shrugs. “But I am disappointed you chose to take my brother’s side after all he’s done to you. I would pity you, really, if you hadn’t gone and killed almost four of us already.”

“You can’t blame me for self-defense.”

Petras frowns. “Tell me, why didn’t you take our deal?”

“What?”

He paces a few steps toward you, standing at the platform of the lair while you stare up at him in bewilderment. “We’ve been watching you for an extended period of time now. We offered you everything you could possibly gain from a deal like this one, and you still rejected it. You’d get rid of us and keep the city safe. All the while, you’d never have to see my brother again. Dalyria says it barely seemed to phase you. I want to know why.”

“It’s—” you trip over your own tongue. You don’t even know why you feel obligated to answer him. “It just felt right at the time.”

“What kind of half-baked answer is that?”

“I answered your question, didn't I? Now answer mine.”

Petras furrows his brows, glancing at Dalyria’s desk behind him. “I take it you know what we plan to do?”

You purse your lips, and it’s enough of an answer for him.

“I wanted to take Astarion by force, personally. But Leon and Dalyria…they’ve grown considerably soft after Cazador left,” he rolls his eyes at the thought, crossing his arms. “...A shame. That kind of fragility won’t get them anywhere in this world. Those fools are destined to die or to live at the bottom of the barrel, forever feeding on city rats.”

The way he speaks of his siblings makes your stomach churn.

“You’re a bigger fool if you think I’m going to let you go through with the ascension,” you hiss. “You’ll kill all those spawns. They’ve put their trust in you to lead them, and you’re lying straight to their faces as if their lives aren’t worth the crap on your shoes–”

“And how did things turn out the last time you tried to stop the ascension?”

This makes your throat go dry.

“Take this as our last warning, bard. Or else we’ll come and take him ourselves.”

“He’s your brother,” you blurt in exasperation, waving your hand in disbelief. “You can’t possibly want to kill him, even if he’s an asshole from time to time! Cazador is gone. You’re free! There’s nothing else to run away from!”

You don’t know why you’re defending him.

But it pours out of your chest, and you already know trying to choke it back up won’t reverse what’s already been said.

With your words seemingly going in one ear and out the other, Petras clenches his fist at his side and glowers down at you with a sharp inhale. Despite his attempts to appear composed, you can see the vein bulging from his forehead, threatening to burst if you push him any longer. “He stopped being my brother the second he tried to ascend.”

“Still—”

“He attempted to kill the rest of us for the sake of his own wellbeing. What makes him any different than Cazador himself?” he argues. “Cazador always took a special interest in Astarion. I see now that it’s because they’re so similar. In life or in death.”

For some strange reason, this makes your blood burn.

You can hear Astarion’s gasps as his master’s nightmarish toll awoke you both on those starry nights when the parasite still swam in your heads. How cold he’d felt in your arms, rasping into your chest as you calmed him. White curls brushed against your hand as you pulled him close. You’ve never wished to the gods for much, but in that moment, you begged them to let him forget. To give you something—anything—to soothe the trembling of his hands.

Astarion could have been like Cazador. He’d come dangerously close to becoming the very monster that tortured him for centuries, but he hadn’t. Whether it was voluntary or not, it doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, he isn’t Cazador. And you plan to keep it that way as long as your fingers can still clutch your blade.

“I was planning on paying you a visit,” Petras says, catching your attention once more as he slips out a scroll from his sleeve. “Though I suppose you’ve made this easier on the both of us…especially if you die here.”

You take a step toward him, heels digging into the ground. “If you think I’ll just—”

“If you’ll only get in my way, then I have no problem with watching you perish.”

With a shout, the scroll glows a lime green, and a long groan echoes from the bodies scattered throughout the room.

Shit.

The spawn adjusts his hood back around his head, sparing you a pitiful stare. “You’ve chosen your side, and it's the one that's destined to lose. Good luck, bard…I hope your death isn’t as painful as it could have been at Astarion’s hands.”

And just as the undead begins to crawl toward you with an agonizing screech, he puffs up into a cloud of red smoke and vanishes.

You need a bath. Terribly.

Barely scraping out with your life, you can’t say you’re a pleasing person to look at with the dirt and blood smeared across your body. The sleeve of your shirt is torn open, and while a few healing potions have done the trick to heal most of your injuries, the more minor splits and cuts remain an insistent reminder of the war you’ve just declared with the vampire spawns.

Well, they’re the ones who declared it, but the point stands.

You manage to wash out a lot of the blood by the time you return home, praying your disheveled state can’t be seen with the effort you’ve put in to look presentable. Your worries are put to rest, however, when you realize just how late it’s gotten into the night, as all your companions remain blissfully asleep as you limp into the house, barely able to stand upright.

Everything is a blur. How you managed to fight off a dozen undead is a mystery to you, but it’s not unwelcome. At least there’s nobody here to scold you.

But even that, you realize, is a false sense of security when you sense him from the stairs. You’ve learned not to anticipate any creak in the floorboard when he’s the one pacing on them. Rather, you’ve learned to expect a concerning bloodthirsty presence and two eyes boring into the back of your head as if you’ve grown another head. It eventually becomes easy to sense his aura even from across the living room.

You hope the darkness conceals the bruises on your body. “What do you want?”

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, and it’s not a question. “I could smell it from upstairs.”

A scoff. “What are you? A dog?”

Astarion doesn’t bother responding to your snide comment, coming closer. You can finally see his expression in a daze as he approaches your vicinity. He’s present, but not really, as his focus shifts from you to your hand to your face again repeatedly as if he’s unsure what he’s even doing here.

You’d recognize his mannerisms anywhere.

“Are you drunk?”

“I recall you saying you were visiting the tavern.”

“I was at the tavern.”

He barks a laugh. “My dear, you can tell as many pretty lies to the others but not to me. I can see right through your little game like an open book.”

Curse him.

“I asked you a question first,” you opt to change the subject, remaining firm. “How much did you drink?”

“I didn’t break any rules, as far as I’m aware,” his words slur messily as he leans against the wall, a pink hue spread across his cheeks. “I just drank…a tiny bit more than usual.”

He’s most undoubtedly tipsy, at the very least.

Astarion pushes himself off the wall and toward you, where he squints down at you with what you assume to be some variation of curiosity. His eyes do not hold the usual hostility they usually do, somewhat clouded in a mist of relaxation that’s dangerously close to overflowing. You inch backward.

“Your turn,” he breathes. “Why are you bleeding?”

While you were out risking your life, the bastard must’ve been having the time of his life if the unsteadiness of his steps is any indication. You bite the inside of your cheek bitterly.

“I met Petras just now…more like ambushed, actually,” you respond, pacing the kitchen to wipe off the dirt staining your elbows. You pour yourself a glass of water, but the second it touches your lips, you flinch, the split on your lip still too new to be challenged. So, instead, you set the glass down, eyeing the way he mindlessly stares at you without a thought running through his mind.

Still, he’s giddier than usual, snorting at the state you’re in. “You couldn’t have possibly lost to my brother. He has muscle but barely any wit.”

You remain silent, and his smile grows wider. “Oh! You really let the bastard get away. Well, isn’t this a surprise! Excuse my error; perhaps you aren’t as invincible as I pegged you to be.”

“He caught me off guard.” Hot discomfort courses through your veins.

“Pish posh,” he waves you off, teetering in your direction. “It’s no good if you refuse to admit defeat, my dear. It’ll come back to bite you in the behind later.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes, unmoving from your spot beside the counter as he scrummages around the cabinets for nothing other than the very substance that’s reduced him to this pitiful state. Ironic, you know, considering the tavern had practically been your home only a few months prior. “How did you even get drunk? There isn’t nearly enough blood here for that.”

His face brightens when he finds what he’s been searching for. He uncorks the glass bottle and inhales the stench of blood. While it makes you scrunch your nose, he sighs dreamily, shoulder going slack. “Gale accompanied my hunt again, and I managed to find not one but two bloody bears. One of which was oh so gratefully already wounded. You can be smart when you want to be; I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”

You don’t want to imagine it, actually.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you pluck the bottle from his hands, and his expression immediately falls. He almost looks like a kicked puppy. It makes your chest swell with pride.

“Why? Would you rather I drink from you?” he tries to reach for it, but you step out of the way. “As enticing as that sounds, I’ve already had my fill of exotic blood for tonight. All I need is the dessert to top off the feast I’ve had, and I’ll be satiated for at least a few days.”

You glare at him. “You’re already drunk, you don’t need anymore.”

“But I want more,” he slurs again, and you attempt to move the bottle behind your back, but his hand is already expecting this maneuver. With embarrassing ease, the bottle slips into his grasp, and he takes a long sip of blood while forgetting how you remain caged against the counter, arms blocking any sort of exit you can take to slip away.

You can count his eyelashes from this distance.

He lifts his hand to wipe at his mouth, and much to your relief, you manage to escape the suffocating feeling of being surrounded by him. His scent, his voice, just everything. You close your fists, itching to retreat into the comforts of your own bedroom rather than continue to watch his focus zone in and out until narrowing down on you. “Are you done?”

“Mm, it’s sweet, but not sweet enough. It’s not quite a dessert, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t even like sweet things,” you scoff. You don’t know why you remember this. You shouldn’t remember this. It’s not even your concern anymore.

He stares at you. “I make exceptions.”

Unwillingly to figure out the implications of his words (and whether or not it comes off as a threat), you run a hand through your hair and sigh. “Petras seems hell-bent on kidnapping you.”

“Let him try. The poor fool wouldn’t stand a chance against any of us, much less all of us simultaneously. At least it’ll make for quite a show.”

“And let him kill more people in the process?”

Astarion tilts his head, albeit only slightly. He lacks the usual polish of his charm. “Ah, we couldn’t dare allow a few unlucky souls to perish. It’s not like the inevitable fate of death is waiting for them anyway.”

Sarcasm dripping from his tongue, you decide he’s not nearly sober enough to talk about this. He’s barely keeping himself upright with his arms perched on either side of the counter. He’s close enough that the scent of blood muddles all of your other senses. The softness in his eyes makes you squirm, and the small voice in your head that is your intuition screams for you to get away before…well, you’re not sure what, but it’s what it’s telling you.

“Go to bed,” you order him, though it sounds more like a plea. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“The night’s only begun, though.”

The answer spews out immediately. “I miss to see where that’s my problem.”

Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh to me, love.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the nickname catches you off guard. It’s one he hasn’t called you since…everything. One that you’ve learned to bury into whatever corner you can find in your memories, hoping never to see them again. For a split moment, you can feel your resolve falter. Still, you refuse to show him what a simple word does to you and steel your will to leave this for a proper time when you’re both not nearly delirious. One from blood and the other from a battle.

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink.

Has he always looked at you like this?

He’s not just drunk, you reason. He’s completely wasted.

“Astarion,” you lean away. “You’re drunk.”

He ignores your warnings with a click of his tongue. “My mind is clearer than it's ever been after I got that damn parasite out of my head.”

His delirious expression says otherwise.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh irritably. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want none of it. I’m tired, so just leave me be, will you? Get out of my way.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You’re the one blocking me from leaving!” you fume, pointing at his arm.

“That’s not what I mean. You’re…” he sighs, dropping his head wearily. “…you’re no different than that parasite, come to think of it.”

Appalled, you just gawk at him, jaw agape. “Please tell me I did not just hear you say that.”

He laughs, throwing his head back as he straightens his back. His arms fall back to his side, providing you just enough space to squeeze out of the way, but you find yourself staring up at him as he recollects himself. “It’s rather frustrating. I suppose, at the very least, unlike that worm, you’re a pretty thing to look at.”

What in the hells is going on?

First, he calls you a parasite and then proceeds to flatter you barely two seconds later, having nothing but hazy blurs in that thick skull of his. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you again next. In fact, you think it’s probably best to retreat now when you can—even if he’s gazing down at you as if he expects an answer to his previous statement.

You should leave.

Your legs remain rooted in place.

You should definitely leave.

“Call me that again, and I’ll install bars on your windows,” you grumble, only half meaning it. Mainly because it would be a hassle to build. “Just go, Astarion. I don’t want to speak with you.”

“Convince me.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

“Convince me that you don’t want me here,” he says firmly. “Then I’ll leave.”

Gods, has he lost it?

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever not? I may deceive you, but I always take you seriously. You must know this.”

Barely stopping yourself from punching that smug smile off his face, your brows furrow. And with gritted teeth, you hiss. “Well, for one, you stink of blood.”

“What a pleasant fragrance indeed.”

“Two,” you continue. “You’re barely standing on both feet, which tells me you aren’t in any position to discuss what I want to right now—which, by the way, is your own damn brother.”

He hums.

“Three, you’re an asshole.”

“Very convincing, darling.”

“So I’ve heard,” you snap, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to say more?”

Astarion steps closer, making your shoulders tense. “Tell me more about how I’m an asshole.”

The blood he drank must contain some sort of drug, surely.

“You leave bottles all over the living room,” you begin, and slowly, the words begin to spill out as if they’ve been waiting to be thrown at him for a while now. “You don’t help clean at all. You make jokes only you find funny. You fight with Shadowheart all the time, and it makes everyone uncomfortable. You walk around at three in the morning and scare the crap out of me just because I wanted some water.”

He nods. “Go on.”

“You’re always sneaking out, even though we tell you not to. You don’t even tell us where you’re going and then get surprised when Lae’zel wants to execute you again! You come home at bizarre times, and the hallway smells like blood all the time, and—and—-” You’re rambling now, you realize, but you’re too exhausted to give a rat’s ass about it. So instead, you push a finger into his chest pointedly, scowling. “---you’re just not pleasant to be around. You’re the biggest asshole I’ve met, and trust me when I’ve met a lot of assholes. I’d rather all of them than you.”

Astarion’s lashes flutter as his gaze flits across your face. “Is that so?”

With narrowed eyes, your fists tighten. “Hells, I don’t even know why I’m here with you because I should’ve been at the tavern sleeping with some other random bastard by now if your damn brother didn’t-”

Suddenly, the breath in your lungs is knocked out as the back of your hips bumps against the counter, knocking over your glass of water.

Before you can discern whatever emotions are being evoked by his lack of awareness, the already minimal distance between the two of you closes as he smashes his lips against yours. It’s harsh. Fueled by hatred, it’s by no means a pleasant show of affection. It burns, sending sparks throughout your entire body as you sink into his touch, feeling the full force of the smallest of movements; he seems dangerously close to what you might describe as desperate.

Unable to fully process what’s happening, you only stand there, stock still.

Your eyes might fall out of its sockets with how wide they are.

He’s kissing you.

Astarion is kissing you.

And instinctively, your body, if for a split moment, kisses back.

What. The. Fuck.

Thankfully, you’re quick to realize what’s happening, and you abruptly shove him away, stumbling in the process. It seems he’s sobered up on his end because he appears just as shocked as you are, the blood staining his pretty lips being the only proof that the kiss did indeed happen. He blinks rapidly, first trying to take in your expression. You don’t think you’ve seen him this lost in ages. But that's not your concern right now.

He starts. “Darling, I–”

Your fist punches into his stomach, and he reels.

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orcasoul · 1 month ago

Text

The Lesser of Two Evils

Summery: You and Marcus clear the air. You get your first experience of the Gladitorial Games.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, allusions to smut (just lusting and dirty thoughts), enemies(ish) to lovers, slow burn, protective Marcus Acacius.

Word Count: 4, 449

Chapter 8 Games and Intrigues

The silence in the carriage ride home was crushing but even more so was the ache in Marcus' chest. Since arriving in Rome he'd got to enjoy watching you grow more and more confident in yourself. It was slow but steady, but in just one night, in just one conversation with a clod who should have kept his mouth shut, all the progress you'd made seemed to have deminished. Even now in his bed chamber Marcus can't shake the haunting image of your vacant expression as he assisted you down from the carriage. He can blame Geta all he wants (and he does) but he also blames himself. He doesn't regret telling the emperors, it would have been a mistake not to, but he should have told you, he should have been honest with you.

In trying to protect you he'd inadvertently hurt you, and worse, betrayed your trust in him. 'I trusted you and you went behind my back'. Guilt settles in his stomach like a lead weight as your choked voice echoes in his mind. Maybe he'd underestimated just how complicated integrating is going to be for you. He finds himself pacing his room, every attempt to settle for the night just making him more restless and anxious. He has to make this right.

*****

"Can I ask you something?" you say to Cassia as you watch her loosen the ribbons in your hair and brush through the locks gently in the mirror of your bed chamber. "Of course, Alia. You can ask me anything?" Her warm smile gave you some comfort to continue. "Are you Roman?" Cassia looked into the mirror at that point and you fear you may have overstepped. Not wanting to cause offense you quickly add, "Oh, I hope that wasn't inappropriate. It's just your accent differs slightly." Cassia continues brushing your hair. "There's no offense. I'm half Roman, half Brittanic. My father was a very important senator and my mother belonged to him."

"Oh..." you deflated, "I'm sorry." "No, it wasn't like that," Cassia shook her head and a wistful smile curved her lips. "They actually loved each other very much, but couldn't be together officially. He was very good to me, doted on me behind closed doors." Her smile suddenly dropped. "He uh... had to marry, and his wife was a horrible woman. But as long as he was around we were safe." "What happened? how did you end up here?" you asked, slightly uncomfortably. "Just before my father died he freed us both. He knew we wouldn't be safe in his Domus with his wife." Cassia's shoulders slumped and she sighed. "I just wish we could have been there for his passing, but as soon as we were freed his wife sent us away and he was too weak to stop her."

Your stomach hollowed out, knowing all too well the pain of losing your parents. "I'm so sorry," you sighed. "Thank you," Cassia replied softly. "A couple of years ago my mother became ill and we had to leave the workhouse. I was very fortunate to have secured my position here-" "So you earn a wage?" your brows raised in surprise. "I do. After she died I... I just couldn't live in our rented room anymore, it was too painful so I negotiated a lower wage for food and lodging here." "And are you happy here?" "Very," she smiled, "The General is kind." The corner of your mouth rose in a fond smile. "Yes, he is. Can I ask....? Do people ever look down on you, for not being fully Roman?"

Cassia pressed her lips into a thin line, a pensive expression clouding her features as she continued unweaving the ribbons in your hair. "There will always be people who look for any reason to put you down." "Yeah..." you mumble wearily. "I take it tonight didn't go to well?" A humourless laugh blew through your nose. "I'm not sure they'll ever fully accept me here." "Oh, Alia," Cassia soothed, "it's still early days and this was your first public appearance. You must give it time. Everyone in this Domus already likes you and I'm sure the more people get to know you, the more they'll warm up to you." Tears tingle behind your eyes as Cassia's kind words comfort you in a way you didn't even know you needed.

She continues, "I know this all seems strange to you now but you're not the first foreigner to settle here and you certainly won't be the last. I have every confidence you'll find your place here." A lump forms in your throat but you force your voice past it, "Thank you, Cassia. You and the General are the only people who treat me as a human being. I'm so glad to have met you." Cassia meets your eyes in the mirror, smiling warmly. "I'm happy you're here, Alia." A pleasant atmosphere of camaraderie filled the bed chamber and for the first time tonight you can feel the tension ebbing away. Cassia seems like more of a friend to you than a servant, and heaven knows you could certainly do with more friends.

Once your hair had been thoroughly brushed, Cassia helped you into your nightgown and turned down the bed for you. You wished each other a goodnight and she left the room. After a very stressful evening the silence is a welcome respite, giving you the chance to gather your thoughts. You know it's not possible to decline the emperors' invites without it reflecting badly on yourself and Marcus, and even though you feel utterly betrayed by him, a part of you can't help but feel a sense of loyalty to him, especially after everything he has done for you. So, you'll 'grin and bare it' for his sake and at the same time you'll show everyone, one way or another, that you have what it takes to thrive in this city and, as Cassia says, you will find your place here.

*****

It's been less than an hour since arriving home and Marcus is still strung as tightly as a bow. No matter how much he tries, he just can't unwind. Every second this remains unresolved he feels like he's crawling out of his skin. He was going to wait until morning but he can't ignore the inexplicable need to see you, to make amends and see the smile he has grown so fond of grace your cheeks once more; the very smile he smothered in his attempt to shield you. No, this can't wait until morning. He has to explain himself now.

*****

Sinking into the plushness of your mattress, your fingers absentmindedly twirl the edge of the sheets while you stare at the patterns on the ceiling, heavy eyed but sleep eludes you as your thoughts relive the past evening. Could you have done anything different? Something to make you less... you. Were you too harsh with Marcus? Maybe you should have given him the chance to explain. But you were angry and had every right to be, so why do you feel like you've been unreasonable? You groan as regret and confusion wage war with each other, bringing the heels of your hands to press against your eyes. A light tap at your door snaps you out of your mind. Strange, why would Cassia or Flavia come here this late? Opening the door, you're met with earthy brown eyes, holding a depth of remorse that momentarily leaves you breathless.

"Hi," Marcus began, his voice low and soft. "Can we talk?" Your heart softens as he stands before you, big pleading eyes weakening your anger. You offer him a small smile and nod, stepping aside while opening the door to allow him in. Your stomach is in knots as you close the door and turn to face him, the air thick with tension. This is the first time he's ever been in your bed chamber. It feels intimate, too intimate. The amber glow of the brazier's flames bring to your attention the warm tones of his skin, contrasting against the salt and pepper shades of his curls and stubble, while the shadows highlight the curve of his jaw and nose. The man is beautiful, there's no denying that anymore. But you also can't deny the awkwardness that has been lingering between you both since your argument. Unsure of what to say or even do right now, you hold onto your upper arm, nervously stroking up and down for a distraction.

"Please sit..." Marcus gestured to the Lectus. Ever the gentleman, he allowed you to take a seat before sitting next to you, so close his scent of sandalwood with a hint of honey flooded your senses. It's very... him and it seems to be having a calming effect on you. "I want to apologise for earlier," Marcus began, clasping his hands together between his knees, "For what Geta said and for breaking your trust. It was not my intention." Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you nod, and sigh, "Thank you, Marcus." Fidgeting with your fingers in your lap, you force yourself to meet his gaze. "I just... I don't understand why you felt the need to tell them." Marcus gave you a resigned smile. "It would have been worse for us if I didn't. They wanted to know everything about you and if I had lied or omitted anything it would look suspicious on both our accounts. And they would have found out soon enough. I didn't want to give them any reason to distrust you."

Hearing Marcus explain everything brings it all into perspective, well almost. There's just one niggling thing that doesn't make sense. "Okay..." you exhale lowly, "but why didn't you tell me? If you had warned me beforehand I would have been more prepared to discuss... that. The way he grinned at me..." your voice is tight now, just like the grip on your nightgown. Marcus sighed, watching you take your frustrations out on your clothing. His fingers twitch in his lap, hand suddenly feeling too empty. He longs to reach out, to take your hands in his and smooth out the tension from your knuckles. But he's fears if he holds you now, he'll never let go.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wanted to protect you. I thought the less you knew, the less you'd have to worry about, you've had enough to deal with..." His expression turns dark. "And I honestly didn't think that idiot boy," he spat those last two words out, "would have brought it up." Oh... oh, now you feel bad. It all makes sense now; he was just tying to do right by you as he always has done and you'd jumped to conclusions and believed the worst about him. Shame settles over you like a weighted blanket. "I failed you tonight," Marcus mumbled, his voice full of remorse, "And for that I apologise." You're a bit taken aback by that. "What do you mean you let me down?" you ask, blinking in confusion. "I promised you everything would be okay but it wasn't and it's my fault-" "No," you interrupt quickly to which he raised his eyebrows. "You didn't fail me at all. You did your best, you always have for me."

As if on instinct your hand reaches for his and holds on firmly. "I should be the one apologising. I should have given you the chance to explain instead of letting my anger get the better of me. I understand now why you had to tell them, but please promise me one thing...?" "Anything," Marcus declared, squeezing your hand gently. "Don't keep things from me again. If something involves me, no matter how serious it may be, promise me you'll tell me." Marcus' large eyes search your own, his frown lines softening before nodding. "I promise," he whispers solemnly. Then you smile at him, the first genuine smile you've given him since your falling out. "Could we just put this behind us now?" you ask hopefully. "Of course, I'd like nothing more." Marcus regarded you with tenderness and just like that all of the anxious strain in the air melted away, leaving a comforting peace in it's wake.

The silence in the room is now one of companionable ease. Marcus looked down at your interlaced fingers, then back up at you. He now looks uncertain, like he's holding something back he dare not speak of and for a split second his eyes drop to your lips. The air suddenly shifts, charged with electricity. It sends flutters throughout your belly as you hold his soft gaze, waiting, hoping for him to speak. Only when he does, it's not what you were anticipating. "I should let you get some rest," Marcus uttered softly, releasing your hand. Your heart sinks when he stands, the physical distance between you leaving an ache behind. "It's the first day of the games tomorrow and you'll want to be well rested. Goodnight, Alia." Hiding your disappointment behind a small smile, you reply, "Goodnight Marcus."

Once the door had closed you breathed a sigh of relief, your mind and body easing as if a physical weight hand been taken off of you. It was all a misunderstanding. He didn't go behind your back. You feel a little disappointed in yourself now for ever believing he would. You were wrong about him and you couldn't be more grateful for that. And while you do feel relieved to have cleared the air, you can't ignore the flicker of curiosity in the back of your mind. What was it he wanted to say? You can still see the image of Marcus' rich earthen eyes; eyes that, in that moment shone with not only uncertainty but softness and vaulnerability. Clearly there's more to Marcus Acacius than just a decorated War General, more than just his presentation of honour and propiety, and you long to discover what that is. You want to know all there is about him. Maybe, hopefully, one day he'll trust you enough with the deepest parts of himself.

*****

When Marcus got back to his room, he strode out onto the balcony, the night air a welcome relief from the heat burning under his skin. The ghost of your soft hand on his still lingers but it was the look you gave him that caused his heart to stutter and he almost forgot to breathe; forgiveness, trust and tenderness, a blessing from you he's not sure he deserves, not after failing to protect you tonight. When he thinks back to how the emperors humiliated you, how those around you snickered, he wishes he could turn back time and unleash hell on them all. Fury bubbles in his veins the longer he dwells on it. For them to treat you - you, who have done nothing wrong, caused no offense and just wanted to fit in - so cruelly is beyond endurable for him.

And after all that, and finding out from Geta that he'd told them your business and the resulting hurt that had caused - for you to walk back in there and pretend nothing had happened... well, he's simply in awe of you. Marcus has always sensed a quiet strength under your surface, but he didn't realise you were this strong. He's never met a woman like you in all his life; couragous, steadfast, kind hearted and... beautiful. He's always seen it, he'd have to be blind to not see your natural beauty every day and it shone no brighter than moments ago in your bed chamber as you gazed at him softness and dare he say it... longing? In that moment, with your hands joined he wanted nothing more than to engulf you in his arms and feel the softness of your plush lips against his own, to hold you against his chest and swallow the moans he imagines he could pull from you.

Fuck! Just these mental images alone are enough to fill his cock with blood, his erection now tenting his tunic as he tries his best to rid himself of such thoughts. You're his guest, you're under his protection. It would be wrong to want you, like he would be taking advantage. Marcus rubs his hand over his stubbly jaw, releasing a long sigh. The cool breeze is doing nothing to help him now. He walks over to his bed and crashes down onto his back, an arm slung across his eyes. He will not give in to what his treacherous mind craves right now. How would he be able to look at you again if he did that? Instead he focuses on the war, the anger he harbours for the emperors, the upcoming games, anything to distract himself from you. This is going to be a long night.

Thousands upon thousands of excited voices rise into the atmosphere as the trumpets blast, announcing the opening of the games. The emperors address the crowd but but you barely pay any attention as your brain struggles to accept the spectacle before you. The Collesseum is impressive enough from the outside but nothing cold have prepared you for what was inside. Sixty thousand people! That's the amount this miracle of architecture can hold, according to Marcus. It's as if the whole world has moved into one massive dwelling; one of heavily gated archways and endless rows of seats, reaching up and back. Long sheets stretch out across the top of the building on large wooden beams, blocking out the worst of the suns' heat.

The section you are currently residing in, the Cubiculum (imperial box), screams of wealth and station with it's golden chairs, steady supply of wine and delicacies and rich tapestries draping over the balcony. Why you are permitted here you have no idea. Marcus must have arranged it somehow, securing you a seat next to his. Many important people surround you, including Julia, sitting regally to the right of her sons. Once the emperors had finished their speech and taken their seats the trumpets sounded again and the crowd roared as the announcer introduced the warriors, who made their grand entrance on several thundering chariots, waving to the cheers of the mob. They bring their chariots to a stop in front of Geta and Caracalla, and with reverent bows bellow, "We who are about to die, salute you." They take up their starting positions and the fight begins.

it's more brutal than you'd expected. You don't know what's worse; the blood seeping into the dust or the bloodlust of the crowd. The gorier the death, the wilder they become. Being in the Cubiculum gives you a perfect view of the arena. In the commotion, three chariots lay on their sides, the drivers and co-riders battling it out on foot with their opponents, while five more chariots charge through the fray, cutting men down. One of the men throws a spear at a driver, impaling him thought the chest, causing the chariot to overturn, throwing both him and his co-rider. A bloodcurdling scream rings out as the chariot flips and lands on the skull of the co-rider, crushing it into mulch. Your hand flies to your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut, turning your head away from the gruesome sight, bile rising up your throat.

In the corner of his eye. Marcus can see you trying to hide your repulsion behind a shaking hand, the other one gripping tightly onto your Palla. Placing his hand over yours, he leans in close to your ear. "Are you okay?" he whispers, giving your hand a light squeeze. "Mhm..." you force a small smile as you will stomach to settle. "Just wasn't expecting... that." Marcus nods, bringing his hand back to his lap. "I suppose it can be a bit much for someone unfamiliar with this type of entertainment, but you'll get used to it." You nod in agreement but deep down you don't think you could ever get used to this. Looking around, hoping no one saw your reaction, it's then you notice Julia watching you and you're sure you saw her mouth curve at one corner before turning her attention back to the games. The carnage continues, man after man falling to the glee of the spectators, until only one chariot remains.

The surviving men raise their arms to the boisterous crowd and bow to the emperors while the announcer addresses the audiance Throughout this whole display you'd been suppressing the urge to vomit while the emperors clapped and shrieked like hyped up children. Marcus remained mostly silent through it all. He's seen enough blood spilled and lives wasted to last two lifetimes. Before he'd been tainted by the cursed sights of slaughter on the battlefield he'd enjoyed these spectacles as much as the next person, but decades of witnessing and causing death and suffering weighs heavily on him and he could definitely do without seeing anymore death during his leisure time.

And he'd noticed how the colour had drained from your face when you'd turned towards him. If he could work his will neither of you would be here today. Alas, duty calls even when he's not on campaigne, and now said duty requires his presence at every social event, lest he insult Caracalla. When the announcer had finished speaking, Marcus turned to you. "So, what did you think?" He can see just from a quick observation you look a little green around the gills. "It was um... difficult to watch if I'm honest," you answer truthfully. "Difficult?" Geta's incredulous scoff caught yours and Marcus' attention, from where he now stands, leaning against his throne and regarding you with a smirk. "You haven't seen anything yet. You'd do well to prepare yourself for tomorrow, this was just a warm up."

Geta comes to stand beside Marcus, still wearing that smug expression. "You'll have to toughen her up, Acacius," he slaps Marcus on the back. Marcus gives a forced smile along with a neutral tone, "She's just new to the games, Your Majesty, I'm sure she'll come to enjoy them soon enough." It irks you that they are speaking about you as if you weren't even here. You know, with Marcus it comes from a good place (and you appreciate that) but you also realise that if anyone is to take you seriously you have to begin speaking for yourself, even if it makes your stomach roil with anxiety. "Actually, I'm very much looking forward to the rest of the games, Your Majesty," you add to the conversation with a saccharine smile. "I'm eager to embrace everything Rome has to offer." "Is that so?" Geta eyes you, thoughtfully.

Marcus watches the interaction between you both, unsure of where this conversation is going or if he should intervene. "That's good to know," Geta remarks, casually, but a slight narrowing of his eyes doesn't go unnoticed by Marcus. It's as if he's accepting a silent challenge, one he's intrigued by. It makes Marcus nervous. "I'm curious..." Geta continued, "What exactly did Germania have to 'offer?'" It's obvious he's trying to belittle you, wanting you to feel inadequate by comparing your life in Germania to your life in Rome. Well, if he expects you to defend your old life and the ways of your people he can go fuck himself. You owe them nothing and you refuse to play his games. He won't get a rise out of you. "Very little compared to all this, Highness," you answer coolly, as if it doesn't bother you to admit it.

You have to fight to suppress the smirk behind your words as you inwardly revel in the satisfaction of seeing Geta's smug face drop slightly. You'd just taken away any and all ammunition he had at his disposal and he knows you know it. Geta looks between you and Marcus, who now seems completely at ease compared to moments ago. You can feel the quiet satisfaction rolling off him. Geta gives you both a tight smile. "General, Alia," he nods and walks away, his face hardening as he leaves. Marcus stands and turns to fully face you, his mouth quirking up in one corner and eyes shinning with pride. "Well played. He underestimated you." Heat rises to your cheeks with Marcus' praise, a self satisfied grin creeping up but before you can reply, Julia appears beside you both, her sickly sweet tone like cold water to the warmth spreading through your chest.

"Did you enjoy the games?" she asked you both. "Very much, My Lady," Marcus smiled, nodding his head. You also bow. Julia places her hand on marcus' arm, leaning her whole body closer to him. A jolt of irritation flashes through you at the sight of her brazen behaviour, a part of you wanting to rip her jewellery laden hand off of Marcus so badly. "It's wonderful to have you back, Acacius," she begins stroking up and down his arm slowly. "Would you like to dine with me this afternoon, both of you?" she adds while smiling at you, hanging off of Marcus' arm as if she belongs there. Doesn't it bother him?! Or does he actually welcome it? The thought he might want her subtle advances make your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. Spending time with her now is the last thing you want.

Thankfully, Marcus speaks before you have to. "That's very kind of you, Julia, but I'm afraid that won't be possible today." Relief washes over you as Marcus politely declines her offer, her mask of affablility cracking ever so slightly as he continues, "I'm giving Alia a tour of the city this afternoon." "Really?!" Your head whips back to Marcus, the excitement in your voice palpable. You're finally going to get to explore Rome! "Yes..." Marcus titters fondly at your enthusiasm. "I realised that you've been here for a little over a week now and I still haven't shown you around your new home." Marcus turned his head to Julia, "You're more than welcome to join us."

"Thank you, but I have other engagements later this afternoon," Julia replied with a tight lipped smile, dropping her hand. Even Marcus has noticed the subtle shift in her tone, judging by the look of confusion on his face. "But I will call upon you soon, my friend." Her charming smile is back in place along with her claw - hand - on Marcus' arm. "Good day to you both," she gives his arm a gentle squeeze and glances your way. "Good day, My Lady" "Good day, Julia," you and Marcus say at the same time as she leaves to join her sons.

Series Masterlist Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than the others. I have a lot more written but realised it wouldn't make sense to end the chapter halfway through the next scene, so I ended it here. Thank you to everyone who's been following Marcus' and Alia's story, we're getting close to sexy times now, I promise 😉

@bbyanarchist @myownwholewildworldwhole @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29 @abbyanarchist @suzyface @missadangel @evyiione @longlivekingminnn @heramj @javiismyhsbnd @kxthxrinx0310 @inept-the-magnificent @liciafonseca @marrowfrog00 @moompie @anoverwhelmingdin

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darlingdreadwrites · 6 months ago

Text

Baby You're a Haunted House

THIS IS A SECOND PART OF AN AU. IF THIS IS THE FIRST POST YOU SEE, I SUGGEST YOU CLICK ON THIS (“MAIN STORY”) TO READ THE FIRST PART OF THIS AU!!

pairing: Ticci Toby x GN!Reader

summary: After arriving at Mr. Mann’s Manor of Frights, you decide to go through a “haunted experience.”

contains: scare actor toby, easily scared reader, handholding, mini date

warnings: swearing, claustrophobic descriptions, if there’s any other warnings pls tell me (I was trying to keep this as light as I can)

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

“I want to go to one of the scary rooms,” you say, swallowing down any fear you might have.

Your friends cheer, one of them grabs your hand to drag you through the crowds of people and to the mansion quicker. You can’t help but stare in awe at the monstrosity of a house before you. You expected it to be like a normal haunted house, with maybe a few themed rooms, but this was almost overwhelming. And the sheer number of people going in and out made you feel bad for whoever had to clean this all up after.

Walking in through the entrance, you notice lines of people waiting to enter different hallways and rooms. Most of the experiences were kept on the first floor, with only some of them leading upstairs briefly. There were signs that pointed to which line led where, and much to your dismay, your friends had already picked one. They laugh and squeal as they walk over to the east wing of the manor. This one had a shorter line, and no wonder. The “Twisted Maze,” as it was called, was a haunted experience with low ceilings and tight halls.

The entryway was dimly lit, with candelabras flickering casting eerie shadows. The screams from the guests before you echoed out. You almost backed out right there if it wasn’t for your friends pushing you through. You walked slowly through the mirror-lined hallway, whipping your head this way and that, bracing yourself for any scares. The unnerving, low music caused your skin to crawl, and your breath quicken. You let out a sigh, seeing that it seemed to just be a maze of mirrors. You’re relieved to only be seeing distorted and cracked reflections

You jump when, in one of the mirrors, a shadowy figure appears behind you.

“It’s a projection,” one of your friends laughs behind you. You manage a shaky laugh and continue walking.

The path twists and turns into unpredictable patterns as you delve deeper into the house. It becomes harder to see as thick fog blankets the floor, obscuring your view of your feet. Paintings of dark, endless corridors line the walls, designed to disorient the direction that could lead to an exit. As you move forward, you hear shuffling noises and muffled whispers. Your pulse spikes, and you pray that those noises are pre-recorded.

But your prayers aren’t answer and, from behind you, you hear a low growl. You turn around, your eyes are wide as you take in one of the actors. He just stands behind a false crack in the wall. He seems to be some kind of Victorian ghost, with a ghostly pale complexion and a butler’s uniform. You quickly walk past him, only to meet a young girl who shrieks at you. Squealing, you try to rush past her. You can hear her giggling when she successfully gets one of your friends to scream. You nearly bolt out of the experience as bursts of compressed air and animatronics jump out at you, each one sending you into brief fits of panic.

You paw at the hanging vines that cover the doorway to the next path, which is darker than the ones before. A singular lamp illuminates the end of the hallway and your heart swells when you see an exit sign just under it. With a newfound sense of bravery, you quickly walk to the end. Unfortunately, you didn’t consider the small door at the end of the hallway. And just when you thought you had gotten used to the scares, a gloved hand reaches out of the hidden room.

You think your heart can’t take another scream, and you look away, reach behind you to grab your friend’s hand, and start dragging them to the exit. You hear a gasp, probably from your friend, and dash past the remaining props. A skeleton rattles and seems to be reaching out, and you swerve past it, rounding another corner. You’re way too focused on holding the hand you’re clutching to fully register what’s happening.

You emerge from the maze into the crisp night air outside of the mansion. Letting out a content sigh, you begin to turn around to apologize to your friend, only to be met with a complete stranger wearing a Hannibal Lecter-style muzzle. You both pause, and you look down to see that you have an iron grip on his hand. You yank it back when he leans in to shout at you, only to break out into a fit of giggles.

“I’m so, so, so sorry,” you begin to apologize, even if you feel like kicking him. “I thought you were my friend.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Psshhh, don’t wor-worry ‘bout it.”

“No, I like, dragged you out of your spot. I should’ve looked, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I sssaid don’t worry,” he smiles, tilting his head. “I’m Toby. What-what’s your… name?”

You tell him, your face is still heated from embarrassment.

“If you-if you feel so bad, why duh-don’t you buy me cheesy nachos? To mmmake it up to me?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but your lips curl into a smile. “Don’t you have to work?”

“Nah-nah, you… kidnapped me just in tuh-time,” he teases just as your friends start to walk out.

You hesitate, glancing at your friends. They’re doing exactly what you thought they would do – blowing kissy faces. You grab Toby’s arm before he could turn around to witness their immaturity.

“Where are the cheesy nachos?’

“Yuh-you’re handsy,” he replies, a playful look on his face.

“Shut up and walk.”

You and Toby head over to the food booths near the manor, immediately surrounded by the smell of fried food. He talked a lot, mostly about his favorite reactions when he scared people. You listened intently, finding his voice was weirdly attractive. You blushed when he told you that yours was his favorite reaction. He orders a size big enough for the both of you and you’re about to say something when he interrupts you.

“I get-get free fffood,” the words are muffled by the chips he stuffed in his mouth.

You realize that you must have been hypnotized by his voice or something because you hadn’t realized he pulled his mask down. Your gaze lingers on his cheek, looking at a large adhesive bandage covering some kind of wound. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you quickly look away, focusing your attention on the cheesy nachos piled high in a greasy mountain between you.

“Why’d you want me to buy you them?” You joke, but Toby could tell you were flustered.

He lets out a small laugh. “S’more fun-fun that way, is-isn’t it?”

You click your tongue, picking up a chip that wasn’t soggy already from the cheese. Toby’s mouth quirks into a grin as he leans closer, his tone becoming dramatic.

“What, you… didn’t wuh-wanna come with me?” He pouts and bats his eyelashes. “You practically-practically dragged me hhhere.”

“Oh my god, literally shut up,” you groan, flicking a small corner of a corn chip at him. Toby dodges it, and the sound of his laughter causes a flutter through your chest,

Both of you find a quiet spot at the edge of the festival, though you can still hear the distant sounds of music and laughter. Toby continues to tell you stories about past festivals, snacking on his nachos. Eventually, you’re talking in hushed voices, laughter mingling together as you both lean a bit closer.

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