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voxsmistress · 18 days

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Mama Didn't Raise No Bimbo - Part EIGHT!!!

HOLD onto your hats people this is a long one!!! Please let me know if you’re enjoying this guys – your comments absolutely make my day and make these sleepless nights writing this completely worth it!!

“Enjoy your shower, Y/n. We will see you after it, we have much to discuss” he crooned at you. Smirk growing when your gaze narrowed. Yanking your wrist out of his grip you stepped away. Winking as he disappeared when the elevator doors shut you released a nervous breath. Facing the other Overlord who was eyeing you up, displeased with what she was seeing she tutted at you.

“You gotta learn to step away when things go boom babe, blood is not kind to your clothes! Come on, lets get you cleaned up”, she slips her hand into yours pulling you through a living room and into a massive bathroom. Wait … she’s not gonna clean you right?

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen

Thankfully (or not depending on your view) Velvette left you alone in the shower, just popping a towel and some clothes on the side before whisking herself off out of the room but not before giving you a cheeky wink and promising next time she’ll help wash your back.

Red faced you stood in the stream of hot water – scrubbing viciously at your skin to remove the blood splatters and stains from the alabaster skin. You would enjoy the smell of the blackberry and pomegranate shower scrub you were using but you were too focused on the conversation that was going to occur as soon as you got out of this bathroom. Debating on whether you could hide in here forever, you figured probably not. Well, you could try but knowing the three Vee’s one of them would break down the door and fetch you.

Lathering up your hair with the shampoo you watch the bubbles drop down at your feet: a mixture of pinks and reds. Ick, was all that blood in your hair? You didn’t dare look at yourself in the mirror when you walked in. Scared of what you would see. It had been so long since you had last used your shriek that you nearly forgot the carnage that came with it. There should be a splash zone warning. Shampooing once more to make sure all the blood was out of it you then condition it, hoping the blood hadn’t stained your hair. That would suck!

Taking your sweet ass time in the shower you had washed every single piece of skin, hair and scrubbed all your nails and huffed. You couldn’t put off getting out any longer. If you did it would just be your lucky for one of them to pick the lock and come get you, naked or not. Wrapping the fluffy towel around your body you wipe the steam from the mirror and observe the tired look on your own face. Glad to see the makeup had thankfully come off with the scrubbing you had done in the shower you suddenly felt more naked. When you had your makeup on it was like a mask you could hide behind. No hiding now. You wrap your hair up in the small towel then dry the rest of your body off.

Let’s see what clothes Velvette had left you. Frowning at the bra and underwear you grumbled under your breath. How the fuck did she know your size? Taking the new tags off them (why would she have new ones in your size anyway?) you slide them on grudgingly, course they fit like a glove. A black short sleeved t-shirt and high waisted black cargo pants were next – fitting again perfectly but at least they weren’t revealing. Or not revealing in the sense you were showing skin, but the t-shirt clung to you as a second skin and the pants followed the curve of your waist over your hips making your hourglass figure pop. You had to give props Velvette, even her casual outfits looked cute. You wonder if you could order more of these off her? Looking around for your blood-soaked clothes and boots you realised they weren’t in the bathroom anymore. Did you miss her coming in? What the hell? Wriggling your blackened toes on the cold tile you worried your bottom lip.

Shaking your drying hair out of the towel you give it a quick brush with a spare hairbrush you found on the side, slicking it back from your face. Catching sight of yourself in the mirror you give a fierce scowl. Come on Y/n! When have you ever been afraid to face anyone? Well … apart from Alastor but that Radio Demon had a reputation for eating people!

Done with the pity party you ready to leave the bathroom, steeling yourself. Grasping the door handle you take a deep breath in and out and then leave the safety of the room. Here goes nothing.

Grateful that they had carpet instead of tiles you let your feet lead you down the hallway to the living room that Velvette had dragged you through before. Heart pounding more and more with each step you try and breathe steadily. If you faint before you even get to the living room somehow you doubt the Vee’s would ever let you forget it.

Entering the living room, you see all three of them sat down, Vox and Velvette on the sofa and Valentino on his own in a purple and gold armchair (though ‘throne’ should have been a more apt description) all on their phones and murmuring to each other every so often. It would be quite a homey docile scene if your dead heart didn’t feel like it was about to keel over. Quietly clearing your throat, you gain their attention. Vox and Velvette’s head twist sideways to look at you while Valentino peeks over his shoulder with a flirtatious smile: “Princessa finally, we thought we were going to have to come get you”.

“Sorry about that, it seemed the blood just didn’t want to get out of my hair” you chuckled, pushing back the nerves you take a few more steps into the room lion’s den. Vox motioned to another armchair that was placed in front of the TV, you would be the focus of the three. Great.

You calmly walk to the armchair, not wanting them to know how nervous you were. The cushions sunk a little as you sat down, if you weren’t facing these three you would happily sink into this chair. It had to be one of the most comfortable things you’ve ever sat on. Crossing your legs you place your hands in your lap, back straight and head turned so you could see all of them. Time to get serious.

“So?” You start, looking questioningly at Vox – who was sat in the middle – as you were sure he was the one that would lead this conversation. His responding smile was almost shark-like. And Hell, didn’t it get your motors running. Wait no. Bad Y/n FOCUS!

“So y/n, before you had to run off and wash off all that – uh – blood you were going to confess how you killed those sinners with only a small cut to show for it”. Eyebrow raising in question, if you knew he wasn’t a manipulative bastard you’d have believed that his tone was kind. Hmm. To lie or tell the truth. What to do.

“I exploded their brains causing their entire head to detonate like a watermelon” you explain with a deadpan expression. Truth it is then. Your amusement rose when they all looked at you with shocked faces. Where was a camera when you needed one.

“You … uh you what?” Allowing a small smirk on your lips you make eye contact with Vox. Yeah, not so smug now are ya.

“I raised my voice to such a high frequency that it vibrated their brains so much that they exploded, thus causing their skulls to detonate into millions of pieces – so messy but oh so effective, don’t cha think?” you thoroughly explained, keeping the eye contact with the TV Demon. Your smirk growing larger when you observed him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Good. You hoped he was thinking what would happen to him if you used your shriek. A flicker down his body told you he was enjoying whatever thought had occurred to him.

“Princessa? You are saying you killed these sinners with just your voice?” Turning your attention to the Moth Overlord, you smile prettily at him.

“Yes”. Simply put. “Didn’t Vox show you the footage?” Tilting your head as you question them. The sharp looks the two gave Vox gave you a little bit of satisfaction. Sheepishly holding his hands up as if he was innocent, he shook his head.

“I was just waiting for Y/n to give me approval to show you both”, narrowing your eyes it took everything in you to hold in the snort of amusement. When does he ever wait for anyone’s approval to share anything?

You motion with your hand for him to show them the video footage, tearing your gaze away to focus on the bookcase across the room when you see his screen flicker starting the video. You might not be able to see it but the sounds were enough to make you flinch – thankful when you started to shriek Vox muted the sound. You don’t think you’d live much longer if by rewatching the scene you accidentally explode the Vee’s brains. Though Alastor would be forever in your debt. Hmm…

At the clearing of a throat, you turn your attention back to them. Velvette looked impressed, Valentino amused and Vox … well he looked like you were a shiny new toy that he really wanted to play with.

“Well babe, I knew you had fire in you but girl!” Velvette was the first to break the silence as she laughed. Somehow that put you a bit at ease. You weren’t sure how they other two would react but amusement you could deal with.

“What? You didn’t think I was just a pretty face now did ya?” a quick wink towards her made her laugh more. Valentino joined in, smoke billowing from his cigarette.

After a few moments they settled, both their gazes shifting to Vox who was sat in the middle with his arms crossed and a mischievous smile on his screen. That can’t be good for you.

“The only thing now is, what do we do with the footage?” He asked, eyebrows quirking at you. Steeling yourself you lean your elbows on your knees. Here was the tricky bit. How to convince him to not show the footage but making it seem like it was his idea.

“I suppose that is up to you Vox, I’d ask if you could delete it but that’s your footage and your decision now” you reply simply. You weren’t going to beg. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. A flicker of surprise flashed across his screen before he narrowed his eyes at you.

“And if I decided to share it with our adoring public?” He asked, thinking he had that over you. The fact you kept your private life completely out of your social media – no one knew what you did privately which obviously did not go unnoticed with Vox. You didn’t give out where you lived, not who you were before hell and not even your favourite drink unless you personally gave that information out online, every single post, message and picture had a reasoning and motivation behind it. You built your life in hell on only showing one side of you: the sexy bimbo who had a good set of lungs for singing. A piece of eye candy. Someone people weren’t afraid of talking in front of as they didn’t think you’d remember or understand what they were saying. The release of this footage could ruin that image. If the public realised that you had power in your voice you might not get any more jobs. Demons and sinners would fear your singing. You could lose all the hard work you’ve put into lying under the radar. All that hard work slowly climbing up the ladder gaining more and more power.

But if you kept it quiet, if it wasn’t shown and the Vee’s used it as a way to get you into a deal then you would be under their wing. Under their power. And you were really tired of being in the shadow of other Overlords.

“I suppose then the public would hear my real voice – my persona and image I have put out has served me well. But, with demons and sinners knowing that it takes only one moment of hearing my shriek to drown them in their own blood that will gain me more respect, fear and power. You are probably doing me a favour actually” you muse, tapping your chin with your blackened finger. Pretending to consider the possibility of what you just said, a sadistic smile broke across your lips.

It grew when you saw Vox’s expression darken, another flicker down his body you were surprised to see something making an appearance in his trousers. Pocketing that piece of information away for later, you raise an eyebrow at him. His move. Velvette and Valentino looking between you both, giving each other a malicious grin. After a few moments he raised his phone that was in his hand. Clicking a few buttons before putting it down on the arm of the sofa. Shit. Had he sent it out to the rest of Hell?

A harsh buzzing on the coffee table in the middle of you all made you glance down. Your phone! Seeing a notification from Vox light up the screen – since when did you have his number? You grab it, clicking on the notification it comes up with the video file. Had he sent it to you?

Your gaze back up on the smirking TV Demon, arms laying on the back of the sofa he was fully relaxed: “oh don’t worry my little Songbird, you are the only person in Hell with that video now.” Confused you place your phone back on the table. Wait what? Wasn’t he going to use it to blackmail you into making a deal? He laughed as you carried on staring at him. “Did you think I was going to try and force you into a deal y/n?” Nodding at the obvious answer, he just laughed more. “No, not this time. You’ve managed to surprise me, not many have achieved that. I want to see what else you have hidden behind those lovely violet eyes of yours before I claim your soul”, his eyes darkened again while his voice deepened with static at the end. Biting your lip, you push the blush away that wanted to burst out on your cheeks. Breath y/n.

Least you knew his angle now. Nodding to him, you look to the other two who had been suspiciously quiet. “I don’t suppose you’d mind keeping this to yourselves as well, would you?” You ask them, hoping they’d agree.

Velvette smirked at you before rolling her eyes: “babes, happy to keep it quiet for now but as soon as you wanna tell people you’ve gotta let me design the outfit you are gonna wear! I’m thinking Siren – all out mankiller outfit, yea? Lemme get some designs drawn up!” She was up and out of her seat before you could even blink. Amused, you let your gaze go to the smoking Moth Overlord. His tinted glasses made it a little hard to read him. Unless he was shouting or flirting you couldn’t really tell what he was thinking. You could see why him and Vox were a couple.

After a few more puffs of his cigarette, he shrugged his shoulders with a playful grin. “My lips are sealed here, mi cariño. Knowing you have that gorgeous scream that could kill makes me think of all sorts of ideas – you’d be surprised how many have a kink where they want their partner to kill them”. Pretty sure your eyebrows have been lost in your hairline.

“Really?” the question escaped your lips before you could do anything to stop it. Leaning forwards in his chair, smoke blowing towards you his smile grew making his gold tooth flash in the light.

“Yes, my Princessa … would you like me to show you some vi”-

“-no, no that’s fine thank you!” You interrupted him, not able to hide the blush this time making his and Vox’s smile grow wickedly.

“So shy when we speak about sex, amore, you make me curious” ooh it is definitely time to go now! Chuckling nervously, you brush it off and make a show of looking around.

“Don’t suppose you guys know where my clothes and boots went do ya?” Are you changing the subject? You betcha!

Taglist: @tasha-1994 @azullynxx @reath-solia @leathesimp @klorinda @twinklethewarrior

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brittle-doughie · 1 month

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Hey, not sure if an anon ask of mine got through, so might as well repost a better rendition of what I typed now lol (so sorry if it did get through and you were already answering 😭)

You know what we need more of in these trying times? Lord/Lady Harbinger Cookie having the wrangle the other CoD.

Recently watched the Cookie of Darkness 5-14 and 7-5, and boy let me tell you…. I started imagining Harbinger coming in and seeing what was going down, with Licorice Cookie being the only one to notice them, trying to get Pomegranate and Dark Choco to stop. But of course, since they don’t, Harbinger has to go and let them know themselves, right in the middle of Pomegranate casting her spell on Dark Choco. Of course, everything between those two stops, because regardless of context, not exactly the best sight for your Master’s second banana (who ALREADY doesn’t like it when you guys fight) to show up to.

And I especially started imagining Harbinger going “Pomegranate Cookie, you of all people have no right to talk about betraying one’s home…”

That’s right, they heard it ALL.

But just as Pomegranate Cookie’s spell had begun, it was suddenly ended..confusing both Pomegranate and Dark Choco Cookie.

“Huh?”

“What? How could…?”

Licorice Cookie finally piped up.

“Guys! They’re right there!”

The faint ringing of a bell had made both Pomegranate Cookie’s and Dark Choco Cookie’s strawberry jam run COLD.

Pomegranate Cookie slowly turned to see none other then Harbinger Cookie behind her, in their hand was a bell as they gently rung it, its magic having completely overpowered Pomegranate’s.

If Pomegranate could shrink, she would’ve been the size of a mouse by now..

You had enough, these two were annoying you. It was one thing for them to argue amongst themselves, but to use magic to purposefully bring forth horrific memories to torment a cookie on the same side…that was something you would not allow….

Pomegranate Cookie’s demeanor changed, quickly becoming apologetic and shook.

“F-Forgive me, my Lord/Lady! I shall endure any reprimands you give me…”

Pomegranate Cookie…you let her know that while she is the most devoted to the darkeness, her behavior towards her fellow cookies could use some improving…

And she is NOT the cookie to be speaking about betraying one’s home, after all, she’s all too familiar with that, isn’t she?

Pomegranate Cookie could only continue to spout apologies as you turned to Dark Choco Cookie.

You ask of him to quit starting trouble on his end with his fellow cookies of darkness. Dark Enchantress’s goals cannot be reached if one cookie refuses to listen to instructions. Plant. Those. Seeds.

Dark Choco Cookie grumbled in acknowledgment before leaving.

You sighed as you left the room, with Pomegranate Cookie trailing after you.

You did make a quick comment for Licorice and Poison Mushroom to keep up the good work.

“R-really? Hehe, I won’t let you down, my Lord/Lady!”

“Harbinger Cookie..play with me after!”

Heh, you will as you took a shroom from them.

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom #pomegranate cookie x reader #dark choco cookie x reader

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muwapsturniolo · 3 months

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✯Sturniolos as Half-bloods✯

God version

warnings: mentions of drugs, and sexual escapades

goddess version

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Matt would be the son of Dionysus

Dionysus used to be the god of fertility, now being known as the god of wine, theatre, and ecstasy. Matt would eat this shit up let me tell you!! His style would deff consist of lots of red, leather, leopard print, and rings. Some of his fashion inspirations would be Freddy Mercury, Elton John, and the band Motley Crue. His father is the god of theatre, he's bound to be dramatic with his actions and style.

His cabin, number 12, would most definitely be known as the party cabin. He would throw big grand parties, each one having a theme ranging from the 70's to medieval. He would also host plays, all of them being dramatic, with dark plots. With the parties and plays, come drugs and alcohol. He has drugs of all types, weed, acid, shrooms, etc. His personal favorite is molly, the drug making him and anyone exceptionally horny. He finds that sex feels way better when he and his partner for the night are on it.

Speaking of sexual endeavors, this man is a freaky frog. The way he acts in the bedroom should be a crime! I'm talking rope, vibrators, blindfolds, ball gags, handcuffs, etc. Let's not forget, his dad is the god of fertility, BREEDING KINKKKKKK!!!!! He hates condoms due to his breeding kink, but god forbid he gets one of the girls at the camp pregnant. The only time he would let his breeding kink roam free is when he finally has sex with the girl he's had his eyes on since she arrived at the camp, the daughter of Aphrodite. He has a thing for ruining innocence.

He is known as the manwhore of the camp, most of the males hating him, but still hoping they get an invitation to his parties. The girls try to stay clear of him, knowing how he is but somehow still ending up in his bedroom. Let's get into the bedroom. It's giving Bruno Mars along with Shake & Go wig Anderson Paak. It's straight out of the 70's. It's clean and often smells like weed, wine, and cherries.

His bestfriend is Chris, the son of Hades. The two go hand in hand, partners in crime. When they first met, Matt asked Chris if he had any of his father's pomegranates so he could make wine. Chris couldn't help but laugh at the question, but Matt was being deadass. If Matt is throwing a party, Chris is right there cigarette in hand.

Dionysus's animal was a leopard and or a tiger. Matt would honor that by wearing leopard print and having tiger rugs.

I don't think Dionysus actually had children, but if he did I would imagine they had the ability to cause/cure both sexual and non-sexual madness with their words. like, imagine Matt just saying what he would do to you, and the more descriptive he got, you could basically feel him fucking you? yeah, sign me up!!

Dionysus's weapon of choice was a staff with a pinecone at the top, called a Thyrsus. I think Matt would have the same thing, but more like a cane an old-school pimp would have (thinking of Kat Williams) and it would have the head of a tiger.

His songs:

''I had a cane and a party hat, I was the king of this hologram where there's no such thing as getting out of hand" Don't threaten me with a good time- p!atd

"Hard candy dripping on me 'till my feet are wet" kiwi- harry styles

"And i crave your taste under my tongue everyday, keep the forbidden fruit coming my way." dopamine- borns

Chris would be the son of hades

Hades is the god of the underworld, defending the rights of the dead and protecting the world as well as his wife Persephone. His style would be somewhat similar to Matt's as far as color goes. Lots of black, a few white pieces, and red as well. You will always see him in a leather jacket, his feet adorned by a pair of white air forces. With his father being the god of the underworld, Chris unfortunately got his reputation. A lot of the other half-bloods steering clear of him, whispering when he walks past, not even daring to say his name. it hurt Chris at first, having his peers view him as evil, but he grew accustomed to it. Eventually saying 'fuck it' and playing into the role they made for him.

His cabin being number 13 is perfect because I would like to think he would be born on October 13th, a Friday specifically. It would be deep in the woods, the path scary-looking and eerie. The only source of light being the skull torches against the front door. The only people coming to the house were himself and his best friend Matt, the son of Dionysus. Because no one came to his cabin, Matt would use it as the storage for the copious amounts of wine and paraphernalia he keeps handy. His room is dark (duh). Silk black bedding, books strewn randomly in the room. His skateboard was always propped against the door as well as his multiple pairs of beat-up shoes. He loves music, multiple vinyls, and CDs stacked up in crates around the cabin. He had his signature black guitar right next to his bed, always ready to grab and play. He's a man of few words in this universe. He often found himself writing love songs for the girl in cabin 20, the daughter of Hecate.

Being the son of Hades, anger is unfortunately something he can't avoid. Even though he is usually quiet, all it takes is one person to set him off. One of the Zeus boys was pushing him around and he snapped, damn near killing the boy before Matt pulled him away.

As stated before, his best friend is Matt. He was the only one in the camp to speak to him. Granted he was asking for pomegranates to make wine, but he stuck with him. Matt brought him out of his shell, making sure he was the first to get an invitation to his parties and plays, encouraging his love for music, and also being there for him when his anger got out of control.

Most of Hades, children do have powers. Those powers are necromancy, shadow manipulation, the ability to manipulate the earth, and shadow fusion. Chris would have all of these, especially necromancy and shadow manipulation/fusion. He would use necromancy to fuck with the others in the camp, loving the way his peers screamed in fright. He would only use shadow fusion to spy on his crush, but he gets caught and shyly reveals himself (help I wanna write a fic on the way they meet).

Hades animal representation is a black ram, a screeching owl, and a serpent. let's not forget the three-headed dog Cerberus. Chris would have a big-ass Doberman named Orcus. That dog would hate everyone but Chris, Matt, and the daughter of Hecate.

His songs:

"It's no big surprise you turned out this way" twin-sized mattress- the front bottoms

"There's a light in the crack, that's separating your thighs, and if you wanna go to heaven you should fuck me tonight" Young god- halsey

"My church offers no absolute, she tells me worship in the bedroom" take me to church- hoizer

Nick would be the son of Hermes

Hermes was the god of trade, wealth, luck, sleep, language, thieves, and travel. His style would always consist of light blue jeans and some form of a white shirt/tank top. If he was delivering mail and or messages, he would also wear a blue jean jacket. Him being the son of Hermes is giving blonde Nick IDC idc idc!!!! He would always wear a pair of off-white Converse with wings on the side. Delivering mail can be boring, so he often wears headphones hooked up to a cassette player his best friend Chris gave him as a form of payment.

His cabin is number 11, a lucky number to most. I would imagine it to be a bit more elevated than the others. Perched on some type of high ground where the sun shines in the morning. His cabin would definitely be organized, with all the mail in a specific room in alphabetical order. All of the payments that weren't in cash were placed perfectly in the home, not a thing out of place. His bedding would be white with gold silk pillows. He loved to sleep so his bed was always unmade, blankets thrown all over the bed, even dipping onto the floor.

He often liked to cause a bit of chaos in the camp, it was his homage to his father. He would steal from the other campers, shrugging and rolling his eyes when they asked him about it. He would break into the counselor's office, picking the lock with ease to receive something of Matt's. He would do this often for the campers, but not without payment. If they weren't giving him cash, they had to pay by giving him something of theirs. The amount of jewelry he has is insane.

His best friends, despite not liking their attitudes, would be Matt and Chris. Matt had asked him to deliver invitations for a party, and Nick initially told him no after seeing the amount of invitations. He quickly changed his mind seeing the stack of cash and a gold chalice Matt offered. He and Chris became friends the day he guided Chris into the camp, much like his father guides souls to the underworld.

Most of Hermes' children have powers, those being enhanced speed, audiokensis, and Clauditiskinesis. Nick has all of these, his favorite being clauditiskinesis and audiokensis. He would use audio to listen in on everyone's conversations, it helped that he could be above them in the clouds, never being seen. That's how he figured out that one of the sons of Zeus has a crush on him.

He wouldn't have an animal in my opinion. I would imagine him to have a messenger bag that's like, never-ending lmao.

His songs:

"And i know it's no fun, when your first son gets up to no good" freaking out the neighborhood- mac demarco

"Like Peter Pan up in the sky" tongue-tied - group love

"If you could fly then you'd feel south. Up north getting cold soon." pink + white- frank ocean

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I don't think y'all get it. I'm actually foaming at the mouth writing this. plz send in requests or anything you want to read for half-blood stuniolos!!!

TAGLIST🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3 @mattslolita

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | two

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

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Sirius Black smells like winter. The deep and fruity fragrance of cranberries, pomegranate, maybe cinnamon. You aren't certain, and if he weren't currently an inch from your face, you'd ask him what it is.

"You poor thing," he murmurs, dabbing very, very gently against the bruised skin of your cheek.

"It's not–" You hiss at sudden pressure. He immediately recedes. "It's not so bad."

"I've half a mind to rag him around and take up the mantle myself."

"I'd love to see that," Remus says.

"I'd look good in the uniform, right?"

James doesn't look happy at their joking but he's been nothing less than a grovelling puppy since last night, and he breaks his silence to say, "You don't have to wear any make-up if it's going to hurt."

"Uh, yes she does. Imagine the headlines otherwise: Lost Princess Bruised Under the Imbecilic Watch of New Bodyguard," Sirius announces, sharing a not-so-private smile with Remus across the coffee table.

"It doesn't hurt," you say to James.

You're lying. Being smacked in the face with a door isn't just embarrassing, it really fucking hurts. James' biceps aren't for show, that's for sure. He'd swung open the door and you, having tripped seconds beforehand over the cord of your lamp, had been at the perfect height for it to bounce off the highest point of your cheek.

"Princess," he says now, as he'd said last night, "I'm so sorry."

You think of his hands under your arms pulling you up into a standing position, and the way he'd tilted your head back. The barking order he'd given Frank to grab something to use as an ice pack, and the warmth of the pad of his thumb as it stroked the soft line of your jaw.

"It was a freak accident." You smile, careful not to push up your cheeks lest you invite another round of shooting pains. "Please don't feel bad. It's my fault for being up in the first place, I– I couldn't sleep."

"If you want anything for it, let me know," Remus says.

"He's got, like, his own personal pain pharmacy," Sirius says. "You should take him up on it. I beg him everytime we fly for some of the strong stuff and he always says no, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"Let's not start on the co-codamols," James says.

"I have ibuprofen," Remus placates.

"I don't need anything, I promise."

Some ibuprofen would be awesome but you really don't want James to feel guilty. You want to forget it even happened, embarrassed by both your idiocy and your tears.

Getting hit in the face by a metal door handle hurts. Your reaction had been justified, but crying all over your handsome bodyguards nice hands hadn't been something you'd pictured doing. Not 12 hours after meeting him.

"You want me to do your lips?" Sirius asks.

"How do you mean?"

Sirius pulls a metal palette of lip colours out of his small make up bag and shows them to you. He circles two with a disposable brush. "These would suit you. I wasn't sure about your complexion. Now I know, I'll get you more options when we're back in Genovia."

"Oh, um…" You shake your head at him apologetically. "I don't know. You should do what you think is best."

He puts the palette away. "You don't need anything you're unsure of. You don't need any makeup at all, my love, it only enhances what's already there."

"Ten minutes," James says. "Princess, are you sure this is everything you want to take?"

He taps your suitcase with the side of his shoe. You nod.

"You can bring whatever you want. All of your things, if you like." He gestures to your bedroom. "Though we can get you anything you need, and we will, you're welcome to pack everything."

"In a day, you'll know I'm not your princess. Less stuff to carry," you say.

"You're so sure," Remus says.

He speaks quietly but not timidly, laid back in your chair with an air of relaxation you wish you could master. He has a small mass market paperback tucked into one pocket of his jacket, the yellowed pages peeking over the hem, and his hand stuffed into the other. His pose doesn't speak of any arrogance. He looks happy to be here, and it puts you at ease.

"Do I look like a princess?" you ask. You don't mean to put anyone on the spot —you aren't fishing for compliments— so you steamroll your own question. "I just find it strange. Surely I'd know. I would've known before, I mean."

"Like a princess beacon?" Sirius asks.

"No, but… I don't know. I think I'd feel it."

Remus straightens a touch, grinning. "You look like him. The Prince. You have the same nose."

Remus stands up before you can ask him to explain. James offers to take his bag and he shrugs away from his big hand with an annoyed huff.

To your surprise, James only smiles, cooing after him, "You know you love me, Moons."

"Well," Sirius says, zipping his bag closed and clasping his hands on top of it. "You can always have your things sent for once we're home."

Home for them.

Truthfully, deep down, you want to be a princess. Something in you is singing, is ringing, a string plucked, a tuner reverberating. Finally, something is happening. Your life could be more than mistakes.

You're not used to having people around and this entire process has been hard. Getting hit in the face had sucked. But, to have company? This single hour has been one of the best you've had in a really long time. Sirius is sweeter than you'd thought, sarcastic but kind-handed, and Remus' dry humour has caught you off guard enough to laugh aloud multiple times. Even James' grovelling niceties have been shamefully enjoyable. You can't remember the last time you had someone around who wanted to comfort you.

And that's exactly why you're afraid to admit what seems true. You can't be the Princess, because if you are, you get to have this for a little while longer, and that would be too good to be true.

Much, much too good.

"Alright, let's go. Sirius, you have the keys?"

Sirius swings his bag into James’ arms. “Am I driving?”

“What a stupid question.”

Another member of James’ security team meets you at your front door to help carry the bags downstairs and into the back of the SUV. James won’t allow you to help and getting inside while they’re still packing the boot feels spoiled, so you stand at the corner and feel too many eyes on you. James stands beside you, one hand hovering behind your shoulders to shield you, ridiculously, from the hedge behind, the other held aloft in level with his mouth, fingers curled around a small radio you’ve seen clipped to his shoulder. He’s enunciating clear, short instructions. He doesn’t sound as severe as you’d pictured someone in his occupation would sound.

“What’s traffic like?” he asks. The answer buzzes down the line, inaudible to you but obviously understood by James. “Alright, brilliant. We should be on schedule, then. Is the third team on call?”

You can make the next answer out. “Yep, they’re waiting. You want them at the front?”

“Please. I want everyone we have, ideally.”

“Isn’t that overkill?” Sirius shouts from the passenger seat of the car, bent over the handbrake to be heard. “All three teams? That’s twelve men. None of my sources hint at any leaks.”

“I’m being over cautious.” James smiles at you, so suddenly you smile back on instinct. “Security on call get paid either way. Might as well make them work for it.”

He ushers you into the back seat, a cushy leather bench fit for three people. It’s rented, but Sirius is quick to pop a section behind his chair for you to show you the drinks fridge.

“Oh,” you breathe, legs lit and cooled by the light and the chilled air, “cool.”

“You’ll want to drink one before James assesses that they’re poisoned.”

You wince back. “Are they poisoned?”

“Probably not, my love.”

Sirius is a mixture of flirtatious and genuine that you can’t wrap your head around. He’s awfully handsome, too, which makes it worse: he’s tanned, his curls shine, and he has the most perfect Roman nose you’ve ever seen. He’s almost as handsome as James.

“Let me be very clear,” he says gently, turned in his seat to face you, “I’m not an intelligence agent. I don’t know nearly as much as darling Jamie about security, but I have a lot of friends in high places and, as far as I’m aware, nobody outside of the British or Genovian government knows what we’re doing here. And nobody has reason to hurt you just yet.” He grins. “It’s James’ job to be paranoid, but that’s all it is.”

You waver, and his cheerful smile fades.

He lowers his voice, tone sympathetic. “I can always try one first if you’re worried.”

The driver’s door opens and James climbs in. “Try what?” he asks. He moves through a routine quickly of safety checks like a learning driver would. He rolls up the open window and turns in his seat, gaze flitting between you and Sirius suspiciously. “Everything okay?”

“I think the Princess is a little anxious about leaving the country,” Sirius says.

“Yeah?” James asks, eyes back to the windshield. He turns the key, and the car warms to life with a low roar.

“A little.” You nudge the fridge closed with your foot.

“What was that?” James asks. “Is that a fridge? Do me a favour, don’t drink any of that. I'll get you whatever you want at the airport.”

“She can’t have a bottle of water from the fancy jeep but airport drinks are fine?” Sirius laughs.

“Spike one fridge’s worth or the entire supply chain?” James asks.

“What if this assassin is inefficient?”

“Assassin?” you ask.

James glares at Sirius. "There are no assassins, Princess. He's being ridiculous." He looks to you with a smile. "You have everything?"

Your expression, a sickly grimace, has him giving pause. All fake smiles and dramatics fall away, and in its place is the genuineness you'd been met with last night.

"Hypothetically," he says, "there are assassins. In reality, there absolutely are not. You're not in any danger, alright? Sirius is the master of badly timed jokes."

"Okay," you say meekly.

James nods and you buckle in, sitting back in the comfiest car seat you've ever sat in and turning your face to the window. You look up at your flat building, and as the car starts to move, it shrinks. You drive further and further away, until you turn a corner, and your life is out of view.

—

James is worried about you. As an acquaintance, he's starting to think you're a worrying person. There isn't a whole lot of spark behind your eyes — you rival Remus for number of tired smiles.

He wonders why you hadn't packed any of your art supplies. Your room is teeming with them. Even if you're correct and you aren't the Genovian princess after all, there's still a day or more before they can actually confirm that, and factoring in travel time, you won't be home for at least a week. A week without your sketchbooks and paints and pencils.

As your bodyguard, as a bodyguard, James has always taken concern in his charge's overall health, mental and physical. You don't seem ill, but you do seem unhappy.

"Are you afraid of flying?" he asks, hoping that will explain your distance.

He stands less than half a foot from you. He'll allow you some more space just as soon as you're not in an airport.

"I'm not sure," you say.

Another peculiarity, you're a pathological liar.

Okay, that's unfair. You aren't pathological — James is an excellent judge of character, as his job requires, and he's gotten good at profiling a person's motivations. Your motivation is to become the smallest version of yourself that you can be. Any possible imposition is set aside, such as your refusal of painkillers when your cheek can't not hurt. You refuse to inconvenience others.

"Is there something I can do? To help you feel better?"

You smile awkwardly. "Is that your job?" you ask, voice lilting upward with self-consciousness.

"Kind of. You know, as soon as your paternity test is recognised, you could ask for just about anything. An assistant, as many assistants and attendants as you want. Your security will most certainly increase, especially when the Palace makes a statement."

He notes your widening eyes and backtracks. "It's not really my job, but I wouldn't mind. If you think of anything, let me know."

You hide your hands in the pockets of your hoodie. You're dressed as he advised, comfortably and nondescript.

"Do you need anything from me?" you ask.

He hides his surprise, eyes doing another lap of the semi-private waiting room he's ushered you into. He takes in business men, officials, and diplomats for the tenth time in half an hour.

"I don't need anything from you, Princess. Thank you."

"I don't want to make your job any harder than it is."

"You haven't."

"That's not true," you murmur, bruised cheek toward the floor and away from view.

"That was my fault," James says. "Not yours."

He can feel the heat of your tears running down his index finger.

"That was my mistake," he reaffirms.

You don't answer, but James knows it isn't an agreeable silence. Which is fine, he isn't trying to dominate your opinion, would never assume he had the right to police what you're feeling. He wants to reassure you more than he strictly should.

This might be harder than I thought, he thinks.

"The flight is near enough three hours. You're sure you don't want anything to take with you? If you're worried about dietary restrictions, there's a salad bar in the Mastercard lounge. I'm sure we can get someone to make you something up."

"I'm fine… Will you be hungry?"

He laughs. "You really don't understand the employee employer dynamic, do you?" he asks, not unkindly. "You don't have to worry about me."

He says it sweetly, careful to ensure you understand. He isn't telling you off. He's teasing you.

He knows he's done a good job when you lift your head.

"I don't think you can talk about employee employer dynamics," you say, eyes flitting downward to your cheek's bruise.

He chuckles, eyebrows jumping up. "Oh, nice! That was a quick one. We'll make a Genovian of you yet, they're all sarcastic."

"They? You aren't Genovian?"

"Do I look Genovian?" he asks, gesturing to his face. You splutter. "I'm messing with you. No, I'm not originally from Genovia, but my heart is hers."

"You've always lived there?"

"Since I was two."

Your expression dims. It takes James a second to connect the dots.

"There are plenty of people living in Genovia who aren't native. Remus is Welsh, can you tell? His accent hasn't quite survived it."

"You've met before? You all seem familiar."

"We went to the same boarding school. Well, we actually shared a room. We-" He feels heat crest at his unprofessional phrasing. "We're best mates."

"And you all get to be together," you say softly.

"Yeah, we do. We're lucky. Before this, Remus was working as a royal tutor for the young elites, and Sirius was trying to micromanage Julianna. That's your cousin."

"The Princess' cousin," you correct.

"You brought us back together," he says. "You'll have to forgive me for hoping you are who they say you are."

"Lily never really explained, how I- I mean, why they think it's me."

"Well," he says, stepping closer to you still, and lowering his voice, "my assumption is that, because the Prince's passing was a freak accident, they hadn't really planned for any other successors yet."

"Well, what were they going to do? He'd pass on eventually."

"I believe there were hopes he'd marry a Duchess."

"And have a legitimate child."

"Yes. You are, to the majority, a secret. The Prince would have been seventeen at the time of your conception, which is a royal scandal if I've ever heard one."

"Seventeen?" you ask.

"Lily didn't tell you any of this?"

"Honestly, uh, she might have. I wasn't-" You clear your throat mildly. "Wasn't really listening? I had a pretty bad migraine at the time, and I was tired, you know?"

"You were overwhelmed at finding out you're apprincess."

"That I might be a princess."

"Sure. When they told me I might be Prince of Italy, I had the same reaction."

You wrinkle your nose at him, the most forceful thing you've done in his presence. He laughs a storm, only tamping it down when he remembers he's a professional.

Soon, the boys return from their airport traipsing. Remus makes a quiet comment on James' happy smile, and he pretends to zip his lips closed when they both spot Sirius' curious glances. James moves your entourage to a small aircraft, not private but almost, and you board into first class seats, two per each side of the aisle and partitioned by a sheet of frosted plexi-glass.

You and James sit together.

He doesn't subject you to conversation. He's technically working, and so while he relaxes into his seat and stretches out his tired legs, he doesn't cut vigilance.

You look around in awe for some time. Eyes widened just slightly, lips parted, you sit up and sneak glances at everything you can. James knocks on the partition gently.

"You want the fan? The heater?"

"The fan," you say, and he supposes you do look a bit warm at the collar. "Please."

He doesn't bother saying of course, or no worries, or no problem. He's a problem solver. If you're going to be under his watch, he's going to make it as easy on you as he can. That means letting you be thankful without shrugging it off.

Your eyes close quickly. Your eyelashes flutter imperceptibly in the overhead fans slow breeze, and your lips part as you fall into sleep. Last night's disruption had been hard on you no doubt. He stands quietly and eases sideways down the aisle to check on Remus and Sirius inconspicuously.

"Anything for me to read?" he asks Remus.

Remus knows exactly what James is up to. If he appreciates or abhors the extra attention is anyone's guess, until he digs through the bag at his feet and pulls out one of his Russian philosophy novels with a smirk. "This or the newspaper."

James takes the worn paperback with a wry look of defeat and reaches over and across to Sirius head of curls, tugging one cruelly.

Sirius looks up, but is only irritable when he notices that it had been James, and not his seatmate.

"What?" Sirius demands.

"Do you need anything?"

"No. Quit mothering. And maybe get some rest?"

"I can't."

"You most certainly can. Swap out with Frank, or Mickey or someone."

James swaps out with Mickey. Mickelson, please keep an eye on the entryway. Yes boss. He returns, finding you aren't as asleep as he'd thought. You look at him through lashes. You've gone soft, in little regard for your appearance, and he's glad for it. Watching you is like watching a spring stretched tall, and now you've finally snapped into yourself and deflated.

"You alright?" he murmurs.

You nod, and he sits, and when he doesn't get up you fall asleep again, like you'd been waiting for him to get back. You sleep for hours, through turbulence, Sirius' roaring laughter, Remus' answering chuckles, and the flight attendant who scolds them. James wishes he could do the same, reading a mind-numbing forty pages of Russian literature densely translated and sipping on a glass of coke, the ache of an oncoming pressure headache pinching behind his eyes.

The hubbub doesn't wake you. The plane lands, you sleep on.

James whispers your name, quiet, speaking louder when you fail to rouse. Finally, he gives in and squeezes your shoulder. Heat radiates through the thick fabric of your hoodie. You hair is frizzy where it's rubbed against the seat behind you.

You wake with a raspy cough. "James?"

"We're here, Princess, in Genovia."

"That was," —you yawn, turning to hide your face so he can't see— "fast."

You look like you might fall asleep again. His heart does this awful little flip. He ignores it.

"It was hours. You've slept the whole time– A good thing, huh?" He bends down until you're face to face, an amicable gap between you as he squints at your bruise. He's close enough to share your breath. "Bruise is getting worse. Remus will give you painkillers, and I'm gonna get you an ice pack as soon as we're off the plane."

He squeezes your shoulder again. "Up. Come on."

You nod and rub your eyes, stretching in your seat. He averts his gaze and stands as tall as he can, shoulders hunched to avoid clipping his head. Remus has made no efforts to move yet and Sirius is in the aisle, pulling their bags into his arms.

"Are you alright, Moony?" James asks.

Remus has gone ashen.

"He has a migraine."

"Can you see okay?" James asks.

Remus gets blurry, occluded vision when he gets these sudden migraines. He winces, hand over his eyes, and says, "Not really. Can I have your sunglasses?"

"Yeah," James says, holding in the, of course you can, I'd genuinely die for you, that he wants to add.

He slides his rucksack off of his shoulder and takes his sunglasses from the front pocket. He taps them into Remus' hand.

"You'll have to touch up the Princess' bruise for me," Sirius says.

James coughs. "What?"

"It's easy–"

"I'll take Remus," James says.

"You can both go do your jobs, I'll be fine," Remus mutters, flinching at an invisible, biting pain.

"No," they both deny.

Remus doubles over.

"All you have to do is stipple it," Sirius whispers fervently.

"Sirius, I don't know what stippling is."

"Dots of makeup. She knows what shade we chose. Here, take my bag. There's a clean brush."

Sirius smiles at James. Remus hasn't always let them take care of him. His disabilities have often made him the subject of disdain, pity, and misguided attention he has never, ever wanted, and he'd mistaken their friendship for lots of things at first. Nowadays, he accepts the help that he needs, help that his friend's are happy to give, and disregards their smothering overkill otherwise. That being said, Remus has always found it easier to accept help from Sirius than James. They all know it and none of them bother saying why that is aloud.

Flying nearly but not quite privately means they can get off the plane whenever they're ready (within reason), and so James ushers you back into your seat where you'd been standing tentatively in the aisle and presents the little make up bag. He kneels in front of you.

"I'll get the painkillers," he says, remembering his earlier promise, "Sirius is preoccupied, so. You're stuck with me on touch ups."

"Is it bad?"

"No. Does it feel bad?"

Your slow response is telling. "No," you lie, "it's not that bad." You point at one of the colours through the clear case. "I think it was that one."

"Thank you," he says, murmurs, opening the case. There's a brush tucked inside, and he picks it up clumsily.

"Does he have a mirror?" you ask. "I can do it myself, if you want."

"If he does, he didn't give it to me. I promise not to mess you up too badly, Princess."

James presses the brush into your chosen colour and pats. The concealer is harder than he'd thought it would be, tough under the brush. It all looks silly in his hands.

"Lean your head back for me," he says softly.

You tip your chin up. Your eyes close as he begins.

He's too careful. The colour doesn't want to transfer. "Sorry," he murmurs, applying pressure. You wince but say nothing to stop him. "Tell me if it hurts too much."

"It's only a bruise."

"You're allowed to be hurt. And you should be more angry with me."

"It was an accident."

"It was my mistake." He watches the bruise disappear under concealer, but the colour doesn't quite match your skin. He tries his best to blend out the edges. "A professional mistake, which means you're more than allowed to be annoyed."

"I'm starting to think you want me to be mad," you say. You're trying not to move, and so each word is half a whisper.

"I do. I want you to be furious. It's ten times harder to keep someone safe when they have no self-preservation."

He gives up on the brush and uses his pinky, his cleanest finger, to smudge out the blocky colour he's left behind. Your skin is scorching under his touch.

"So if I'm angry with you, that makes your job easier?"

He hums. "Mh-hmm. Much easier."

You hold your breath as he finishes up, a gentle patting motion as he was instructed.

"How some girls do this every day," he mutters.

"It gets easier."

"Yeah?" He drags his pinky down your cheek without thinking. "Hopefully this is my last time. It looks fine. Maybe don't stop in direct sunlight."

He collects all of his things and pulls the makeup bag into his chest, easing his way out into the aisle again. You follow. Everyone else has left, except for a pearly-smiled flight attendant, who's smile grows impossibly wider as they approach.

"Everything okay today folks?" he asks. "How was your flight?"

James offers thank-yous and guides you down the length of the plane to the exit. You're quiet from the plane to the steps, his hand ghosting your shoulder, to the tarmac, where your security entourage awaits. Including James there are eight bodyguards. Two stick close, five form a mock perimeter around you.

"Unfortunately, you might draw attention from the protection detail alone. It's up to you, Princess, but I can hide your face."

"Is that… dramatic?"

"It's completely up to you. I don't think it's dramatic. Just depends on how comfortable you are with your face potentially being used somewhere."

"Can I– Maybe I'll stay close," you say, pulling your hood up.

"Yeah. Tell me if you're uncomfortable."

He takes you by the elbow and you walk. There aren't any paparazzi waiting outside, and James thinks maybe the news of your arrival has escaped them, and you won't be exposed to the madness that is paps with a story like this one, until he sees Sirius and Remus waiting at the glass doors into the airport.

"Can't we go around?" Sirius asks.

"They have to check our passports, idiot," Remus says, with little malice.

"You can fucking see them, mate," he says to James.

James motions for you to stand where you are and crosses the gap to get a better look. Mickey takes his place by your side.

"Fuck," he hisses, "what the fuck is that? Who fucking leaked?"

"Should I be worried?" he hears you ask quietly.

"Mickelson, give the Princess your sunglasses."

"So yes, then," you say.

James props open the door with his foot. "Princess, you're going first. They'll expect you in the middle. Hopefully that'll minimise what they can get." He holds out his arm.

You slot perfectly underneath it.

"Ready?" he asks.

You don't look very ready. You nibble your lip and nod anyhow, tucking your face into his front. James walks you forward, into a storm of white flashes and shouting, the precipice of your new life.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 please consider reblogging if you did, I'd love to know what you thought and what you want to see in the next one! and a happy new year !!!!

#james potter fic #james potter #marauders era #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #the marauders

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3d-wifey · 9 months

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And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s.

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally.

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done.

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five.

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—"

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—"

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left.

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife.

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue.

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit.

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face.

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails.

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on.

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away.

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you.

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress.

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down.

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills?

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?”

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose.

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that."

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet.

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least."

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth.

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation.

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech.

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe.

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you.

But Snow could find your mom.

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead.

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

#the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #catching fire #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #and they'd find us in a week

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static-symphony-fm · 1 month

Text

you are in love (true love)

now playing: you are in love (taylor's version)

pairing: magnus chase x fem! reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: 5 people who knew magnus was in love with you before you did + 1 sword

an: FIRST FANFIC LETS FUCKING GOOOOO this took so long to write! I love how I accidentally made it blue themed even though that's magnus's least favorite colour 😭 its ok we all know he's canonically a 1989 girly

fun fact i actually took the first picture! i shit you not I was on a road trip with my family READING MAGNUS CHASE and I look up and see THAT SIGN and i SCRAMBLED to take a picture

content/ warnings: 5+1 things, background blitzstone bcs c'mon they're basically canon, shitty writing, kissing ooo spooky, magnus being a simp, there actually isn't a whole lot of reader in this x reader fic, minor allusions to sex stuff, a lot of swearing, weird use of perspective, i was trying to go for third person limited but magnus is the one it's limited to not reader? but reader is referred to using second person? sorry if it's confusing.

1. samirah al-abbas

if someone had told magnus a year ago that in a couple month’s time, meeting for coffee weekly with one of his best friends and not getting kicked out of the overpriced coffee shop was going to be the most normal thing in his life, he wouldn’t have believed them. probably would have flipped them off, too, and stole their wallet as he walked away. but he’d like to think that he was a changed man, seeing as he was, in fact, in a hipster café in boston, trying not to make fun of all the fancy menu options. like, seriously? who orders a dragon fruit, pomegranate, and kale smoothie?

he realized he’d been thinking for too long and returned his attention to samirah, sitting across from him and discussing wedding plans for her upcoming marriage to amir as she sipped her latte. he noticed the way her eyes seemed to get brighter, and her entire body language conveyed how excited she was as she talked about him. magnus had a fleeting thought about how good it must feel to love someone so unconditionally like that, and have them love you back just as much.

as if reading his mind, samirah finished her sentence and studied him, tilting her head as she seemed lost in thought, peering at him like he was a calculus problem she couldn’t quite figure out.

after a few seconds, magnus broke the silence.

“alright, it’s getting weird. why’re you looking at me like that?”

samirah snapped out of it, focusing on what he was saying.

“nothing, just… do you think you’ll ever get married?”

jeez, that was a loaded question. magnus narrowly avoided choking on his black coffee, swallowing and burning his throat before answering.

“sam, i’m dead.”

“so? people get married in valhalla all the time. i have been to a very disproportionate amount of weddings in the two years i worked there.”

“yeah? how many of those end in divorce?”

samirah took a long drink of her coffee, swallowing it slowly as she responded.

“forever is a very long time, and no relationship is perfect, but wouldn’t it be better to have someone to spend that time with?”

“…i guess.” magnus accepted, lost in thought. truthfully, samirah was right, like always. if circumstances were different, if he hadn’t died at sixteen, he could imagine himself getting married. settling down. living in a cabin in the forest with two kids.

a thought came into his mind, entirely of its own accord, of doing all of that with you. your laugh, your soft hair, the way your lips curled up and your eyes widened when you smile. you’d probably be a great mom.

whoa, what the hell? he should definitely not be thinking about getting married to his friend, what the fuck? that is not normal.

he pushed the weird thought out of his mind as best he could, gulping his coffee and focusing on the burning in his throat and not what he was just thinking. samirah had gone back to talking about amir, and magnus was not going to think about marrying you any longer.

2. alex fierro

after nearly getting his head cut off by alex’s garrote for the third time that day, magnus needed a break. alex had decided that magnus needed to learn to fight without the help of jack, and it wasn't going too well for him. he collapsed on the bench next to alex, chugging half a bottle of water before even taking a breath. alex rolled her eyes.

“it’s not that hard, you just aren’t fast enough.”

magnus managed to control himself and not say a snarky comment back, but it was a close call. instead, he ignored her, staring straight ahead and not engaging. unfortunately, you were in his direct line of sight, sparring with mallory only a few metres away. alex picked up on this quickly, nudging his side.

“you like watching y/n fight, huh?” she teased, smirking. damn, why did she have to be so perceptive?

“what? no. shut up.” magnus replied quickly, trying to hide his blush. “i mean… she’s a good fighter. not like i like her or anything like that.”

“mhm. suuuure you don’t.” alex replied, definitely not believing him. fuck.

“i’m telling the truth!” magnus protested. god, how was arguing with alex harder than physically fighting her?

“yeah. did you see her necklace today? pretty, right?”

“she’s not even wearing a neck- fuck.” magnus said instantly, before catching himself.

“go to hell.” he swore, glaring at alex, who was grinning at him in a way that reminded him a little too much of her mother.

“you first.”

3 + 4. blitzen & hearthstone

“magnus? magnus?”

a pale hand reached in front of magnus face, waving and then snapping its fingers, bringing him back to reality. he blinked and looked around at hearth and blitz, sitting across from him in the dining room of the chase space. hearth took his hand back to sign finally, raising his eyebrows sarcastically.

“your head’s way up in the clouds, kid.” blitz remarked, drumming his short, well manicured fingernails on the table, his silver engagement ring glinting. he was right. magnus definitely was pretty out of it lately.

probably thinking about y/n, hearth signed. jeez, why did every conversation he had have to be about you? and no, he most certainly was not thinking about you and your pretty eyes and your delicate hands and the way your ass looked in those jeans you were wearing yesterday… jesus fucking christ, he needed to stop.

he buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly, then raised his head back up so hearth could read his lips, hoping that his blush wasn’t as visible as it felt.

“i am not thinking about her.” he lied through his teeth.

“there’s nothing wrong with having a crush, you know.”

ugh, why did they have to act so much like his dads?

“i don’t have a crush!”

“kid, you’re a terrible liar. everyone can see the way you stare at that girl. now remember, if you’re doing anything intimate, you gotta use protection…”

that’s it. magnus couldn’t stand up from the table fast enough

“nope! this conversation is ending right now. good talk!”

5. annabeth chase

magnus and annabeth had been walking around new york for the past three hours, trying to make up for the ten years spent apart. annabeth had shown him her favorite library, and pointed out a bunch of cool architecture in nearby buildings, with a promise to show him and his friends camp half-blood in the summer.

they were currently taking a break, stopping for lunch at a falafel place that wasn’t quite as good as fadlan’s, but it was still falafel. magnus was enjoying listening to annabeth talk about her architecture projects– she was taking online classes to prepare for the higher level of new rome university’s program.

magnus loved listening to her talk about things he didn’t understand. as a child he’d always thought she was a genius, the way she always solved puzzles and math problems easily. ten years later, that theory still held up, hearing her go on about a bunch of terms he didn’t understand.

“sorry, i’m probably boring you to tears. you wanna talk about something else?”

annabeth offered.

“no, it’s fine… i really don’t have a lot going on.” magnus replied, smiling politely.

“come on. there’s gotta be something interesting.” an idea seemed to come to annabeth.

“you have a crush on anybody?”

magnus swallowed.

“no.”

but he was too slow. those steel gray eyes that matched his own were locked on him like a hawk, or maybe an owl.

“yes, you do. come on. spill!”

magnus stayed silent. he was not telling his cousin about his crushes, but those metallic eyes stayed locked on him. he eventually gave up. annabeth could be scary when she wanted to be.

“fine. fine. her name’s y/n…”

+1. jack

it was movie night at the chase space. was magnus ever gonna stop calling it that? no. it was cool. shut up. the credits were rolling on some disney movie that alex had insisted on, and everyone else was slowly but surely making their way to their rooms, yawning as they said their good nights. you had been sitting next to magnus on the couch the whole time, and suffice it to say that he had had some trouble concentrating on the film.

it was just you and him, you in your nirvana t-shirt and gray sweat shorts, and in that moment, he decided to tell you.

you got up to leave, waving at him, and in a feat of bravery so incredible it would be studied by historians for centuries to come, magnus managed to work up the nerve to speak up.

“hey, uh, can i talk to you for a sec?”

“sure? what’s up?” you asked as you sat back down.

jesus, what had he gotten himself into? it’s ok, magnus, you got this. you beat loki in a flyting. you can talk to a pretty girl.

“uh, i was just thinking… i just…” off to a great start, aren’t we? fuck off, voice in his head. he can do this. he took a deep breath.

“i really like you. you're gorgeous and funny and so insanely smart. i’m an atheist but i’m praying to god you feel the same way. will you be my girlfriend?”

you bit your lip, breaking eye contact as you looked off into the distance. fuck. you were gonna say no and then he was never gonna be able to talk to you again and he was gonna have to change his name and move to canada…

“can i kiss you?”

what.

there were a million things magnus expected you to say, but that was none of them. he managed to stutter out a simple “please…” and then you leaned forward and your lips were on his and magnus chase died.

this felt more like the end of his life than being knocked off a burning bridge and drowning did. his heart was beating a million times a second, and he seemed to have forgotten how breathing worked. your lips were softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

he managed to reciprocate a little, mostly acting on instinct, and all he could think about was how astronomically better this was than jackie molotov in the seventh grade.

what was he supposed to do with his hands? he was pretty sure that keeping them at his side was the wrong answer, so he moved one to your waist and the other one to the back of your neck, tangling it gently in your soft hair as his lips moved against yours.

gods, he could have stayed like that until ragnarök, but his stupid sword had to ruin the moment. jack started buzzing on his neck sleepily, seeming to have been woken up ungraciously. he hoped that you couldn’t feel it, but that was pretty unlikely, considering how close you were to him. jeez, he was blushing more and more every time he thought about that.

eventually, you pulled away, smiling a little.

“good night, magnus.”

he nodded, unable to form words, and managed to stand up and walk back to his room, wide eyed, operating on autopilot. he walked into his room and immediately collapsed backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling without blinking, completely still. not a thought passed through his mind for at least ten minutes, till he finally was able to reach up and pull jack’s pendant off of his necklace.

“dude, what happened to blades before babes!?!”

#magnus chase x reader #d.j. robin's corner! 💐🎧🎙📻#magnus chase #percy jackson #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #percy jackson x reader

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desolatespring · 1 year

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head empty, just thinking about trying to play a rigged drinking game with yan chrollo so he’ll get drunk and you can escape but it backfires completely

Mont la Salle

Ooh I love this idea! I’ve only written one other yandere work before so bear with me on this one 😭

CW: blood/light gore, mentions of alcohol, implied kidnapping, religious imagery, implied female reader, and Chrollo being Chrollo

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

You sit on the steps leading up to the altar, the torn carpet doing nothing to shield you from the cold and rotting wood beneath.

“I offered you a seat next to me.” Chrollo remarks when he sees you shiver once again. Leering over your shoulder you see him sprawled on the priests celebrant chair behind you. His legs extended outwards before him. He seems almost pleasantly surprised when you stand up and walk towards him, his posture straightening in response.

“I’ll make a deal with you.” Short, sweet, and to the point was the best way you’ve found to communicate with Chrollo. The less you said the less he had to pick apart and dissect. “If you can make yourself useful and pick a lock for me, I will sit with you.”

Chrollo tilts his head in thought, most likely trying to figure out if unlocking anything will offer you a means of escape. When he finds no way of it aiding you he stands up. “Lead the way.”

He follows you to the church’s ambry; two full bottles of garnet tinted sacramental wine sat collecting dust behind the locked door. Chrollo shakes his head with a curt laugh. “You bribe me so you can steal altar wine. Have I corrupted you, dear?”

You cross your arms over your chest and purse your lips. “Are you opening it or not?” Another tactic you’ve found useful when asking for something of Chrollo is to be blunt. He’s less likely to tease you when you’ve been forthcoming, and you suspect, he’s intrigued by your boldness. Not many people are willing to try and push their limits with him.

Chrollo presses his hand lightly against your temple as he plucks a bobby-pin from your hair. He straightens the pin and makes quick work of picking the lock. Once opened he grabs a bottle of wine and brings it back to the altar. His eyes skirt across the label and he seems satisfied with his findings. He fishes a small blade from his pocket, the sharpened piece of silver pops the cork out with ease.

Chrollo places his right hand on the small of your back and ushers you towards his chair. Sitting down with the now opened, aged bottle of wine in hand, Chrollo deftly pulls you onto his lap. Clearly taking full advantage of your agreed upon seating arrangement. You’re unable to hide your grimace when the hand on your back snakes around and finds its home on your waist.

“I hope you like pomegranate and plum, my love.” The wine sounds almost as sickeningly sweet as the pet name. As the bottle reaches Chrollo’s lips you can’t help but piece together some noteworthy information.

There’s enough wine here to get him at least a little buzzed no matter how high his tolerance is, there’s no other troupe members around, and you aren’t currently confined with any restraints. If you’re going to make a break for it this may be your only chance.

You’re so deep in thought it takes you a moment to notice him passing you the bottle. You look up and see the deep cherry red it’s staining his lips. If any other personality were attached to the man before you, you might’ve been tempted to lick it off. The porcelain skin, grey pouty eyes, and shaggy black hair were enough to pull you in when you’d first met.

Now you’re stuck forcing a smile before taking a few small sips. Only drink enough to feel confident in your plan.

As the first bottle slowly empties, the vast majority of it going to Chrollo, you feel his fingertips creep along the fishnets under your shorts, gently tugging and slipping under them when he pleases. He always gets so handsy after a few drinks. You will yourself not to push his hand away, as it’ll only reveal how little you’ve had to drink if you start resisting him now.

When the second bottle is opened you take a few more sips, slightly bigger this time. Being so close to him you realize you underestimated how much you’d need to drink to build any semblance of courage.

When Chrollo’s eyelids droop the slightest amount and the touches on your thigh become less coordinated, now fueled with more hunger than passion, you excuse yourself to the restroom. You’re painfully aware he’ll only allow himself to get so inebriated in front of you, never wanting to lose his self control. This is the closest to an opportunity you’ll ever receive.

You climb from off his lap, and begin heading for the narrow staircase that leads to the bathroom, making sure to give your most convincing stumble along the way. Once the door to the stairwell shuts behind you, you drop the act and move quickly to the bathroom while still keeping your footfalls and breathing as soft as possible.

Now inside you shut the door. Clicking both the dead bolt and knob lock into place. You immediately head for the window which is just above eye level. To your relief the glass has already been shattered presumably due to the weather or past vandals, leaving only the screen intact. Picking up the largest shard of glass you can find, you hastily cut a hole in the screen before grabbing onto the windowsill and hoisting yourself up.

The sharp glass stings as it cuts into your palms but you ignore the pain to the best of your ability, knowing you only have so much time to act. Your arms shake as you pull yourself up and through the window. Cool mossy pavement offers your burning hands enough relief for you to pull the rest of your body through, careful not to cut yourself any further.

Once you’ve crawled out you stand up on the concrete, pausing just long enough to retrieve the glass shard from earlier and give the briefest look around to ensure Chrollo isn’t already outside and waiting for you. Feeling as if the coast is clear you begin running at a full sprint towards the woods, thinking it’ll hide you the best. You occasionally stumble over your own two feet as they refuse to move as fast as you’d like.

As you break through the tree line the first tendrils of hope begin to seep into you. There’s no way he can see you with the branches shrouding your figure.

Your right leg comes forward to jump over a fallen log and your hope vanishes just as quickly as it came. You gasp as your back hits the hard forest floor, leaves doing nothing to cushion your blow. By the time your lungs are ready to take in air again Chrollo’s already hoisting you off the ground and tossing you over his shoulder.

The speed at which everything unfolded leaves your neck stiff and your head reeling. It isn’t until you go to stab at him with the glass you realize you dropped it in your fall. With the last bit of fight you have left in you, you punch and thrash in Chrollo’s grasp, clawing at anything you fingers come in contact with.

Chrollo remains silent as he carries you effortlessly back towards the church despite all your frantic thrashing. By the time he gets you inside the cuts on your palms have reopened and your finger nails are chipped and bleeding from the strength you were using to scratch at him.

Chrollo less than gracefully pulls you off of his shoulder, gripping both your wrists in one of his hands, the other opening the door to the confessional booth before shutting himself in it with you. He places you on the bench, effectively holding you in place before leaning closer to you. “Now why don’t you start by telling me exactly what you had planned? And don’t forget to ask for my forgiveness.”

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #chrollo imagine #chrollo hcs #chrollo

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starlitmark · 3 months

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Summary: You knew you were summoning one demon… you weren’t expecting two…. It just means there’s twice the fun now. Pairing: Demon!Juyeon x fem Witch!reader x Demon!Eric Tropes: supernatural/magic au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, rituals, non-human Juyeon and Eric, word “little” used in the direction of the reader Smut Warnings: dirty talk, biting, pet names, marking, oral sex (f &m receive), unprotected sex, creampies, cum play, multiple rounds Word Count: 1,803 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ Nightwalker by Ten

You knew damn well what you were doing. You’re the village’s resident witch. Every potion, spell, ritual, you know it. That being said, as much as you could destroy the people who live in this village with you, you choose to do good and be the healer as well. Sometimes, though, having a little fun with your practice is the best part. You’re currently in your small cottage on the edge of the village with different plants, stones, and runes around the room. You methodically move things and speak both out loud and in your mind. You kneel on the ground and throw your head back as you move your upper body in a dance-like motion, eating a few pomegranate seeds every few moments. You chant a few phrases each time you eat the seeds.

It might not be the easiest way to get railed by someone, but who’s going to stop you from summoning a demon? You know they’ll at least do you right and make sure you cum hard. Just as you reach for more seeds, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist. You keep your eyes closed for a moment but feel your heart rate spike with anticipation.

“You called, little witch?”

His voice is low and smooth, everything you want to hear right now. You look down at your pomegranate-stained fingers and see his hand wrapped around your wrist. He has claws protruding from the space where fingernails should be. They taper into sharp tips. They’re pressed against your skin, not enough to break your skin, but enough to leave indentations. His charcoal-colored claws and fingertips fade into his skin tone. His arm is veiny with toned muscles. Finally, your eyes find his. They’re an unnatural electric blue. A smirk grows on his face. You can see a sharp fang barely peeking out from beneath his upper lip.

“Hmm, little witch? Did you call for me?”

Your mouth is suddenly very dry, “Maybe I did.”

“Maybe? You hear that, Eric? It’s only a maybe. Guess we’ll just head back-”

“No!” You nearly shout, “No, I did. I summoned you.”

It’s only then that you process the second demon in the room. You had only meant to summon one, but you don’t see any issues with having a second to make you see stars. He has similarly colored claws and fingertips. His eyes are a fierce bright green, though. The second demon, who you assume to be called Eric, has pale blond hair with a cut you can almost compare to that of a wolf’s mane. The long, wavy hair falls forward in his face, only making his eyes more piercing through the curtain of hair. Eric tangles his claws through your hair, the sharp ends scratching at your scalp slightly. He grips your hair tightly, forcing your head back further so your eyes are forced to be locked on his.

“You want to have some fun, little witch?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, “Show me how you demons have fun.”

“Juyeon, you hear that?”

“Mm,” The blue-eyed demon hums, “Her little heart is beating so fast. You’re either terrified or excited beyond words, little witch.”

The first demon, who is still holding your wrist, releases it to drag his claw up your arm and wrap his long, pretty fingers around your exposed throat. The tips of his claws dig into your skin in a way that makes your eyes roll back. With your eyes now shut most of the way, you can’t see the look either demon is giving you. One of them wraps an arm around your waist. Another hand starts to tug at the laces of your corset. Juyeon’s hand tightens around your throat again, and you feel someone, you assume Eric, claim your lips in a heated kiss. One of his fangs grazes against your lip, making you gasp lightly.

“As pretty as this dress is, you’re far too dressed for our liking,” Eric growls against your lips.

The awkward angle doesn’t allow you to nod, especially with his hands still tangled in your hair. Juyeon finally releases your throat, yet you still feel the phantom touch of his claws and hand against your skin. You hear the tearing of fabric followed by the feeling of claws dragging against your thighs. Eric finally releases your hair and lets you breathe for a moment. The moment doesn’t last long. You make eye contact with Juyeon and see the lust swirling in his blue eyes. He lunges forward, forcing his way between your legs, and practically devours your lips in a harsh kiss.

Eric busies himself, tearing the rest of the fabric from your body. Soon enough, you’re entirely bare. Both men barely had clothes on to start, but they also stripped the rest of their clothing off. They have you lying out across the runes and circles you had chalked into the floor, completely spread out for them. Eric starts marking up your neck with bruises and bites while Juyeon trails his claws up and down your inner thighs again.

“Please,” you gasp when Eric bites down on a sensitive area of your skin.

“Please, what, little witch?” Eric muses against your neck, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

Juyeon is now lining kisses just out of reach of where you want him. You look at Eric’s green eyes and see how his pupils nearly engulf the entirety of the fluorescent color. He smirks before sucking another mark into your skin. You tangle a hand in Eric’s long hair as his kisses and bites trail lower and finally wander across the expanse of your chest. He toys with your nipples, one with his tongue and fangs, the other with his hand. A sharp breath sounds through the room as you feel his sharp claw flick your nipple. The sensation of the sharp claw against your sensitive skin makes a gush of arousal escape your needy hole.

“You’re fucking soaked, little witch. Those pomegranates really did a number on you, huh?” Juyeon teases gently, kissing your clit before moving back to your thighs and the skin just above your pussy.

You shake your head, letting out a shaky breath, “Y-you did, fuck! E-eric, please!”

“Wouldn’t it be more fun to leave him there while I take care of your leaking pussy?”

You hear Eric growl before moving his kisses back up your throat to reclaim your lips. A loud moan rips from your throat as you feel Juyeon’s tongue finally lick a wide stripe up your pussy then suck your clit between his lips. You grind down against his face while gripping on Eric’s hair. Each one of your sounds is swallowed by him. Even as Juyeon tongue fucks you through your supernova of an orgasm, neither of them gives you a break.

Eric wraps one of his clawed hands around yours and guides it to trail down his body before resting it on his cock. You instantly wrap your hand around him and know he wants your mouth around him. You turn your head and guide his tip into your mouth. The green-eyed demon groans and forces your head down on his cock fully. You choke around him, small tears springing at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut. Juyeon chuckles before you feel his bunt cock head against your entrance.

“I guess we best fuck our little witch stupid.” Juyeon muses before pushing into you.

Eric matches his tone, “She’s already so far gone just from your tongue and me fucking her mouth.”

You attempt to make some sort of noise in response, but it’s garbled with Eric’s cock still far down your throat. He pulls your head off of him fully, and you look at him with a debauched expression. Another string of moans falls from your lips as Juyeon starts to thrust into you at a rough pace.

“Whatcha think, little witch?” Eric hums, “Let us lay our claim on you?” “P- fuck– please, wanna be your cumdump, please!”

Juyeon pushes a harsh thrust into you before responding, “You heard our little witch, Eric. Let’s show her just how dumb we can fuck her.”

You find yourself tossed into at least three different positions. Juyeon cums deep inside you, only to switch places with Eric. Then on your knees, you sloppily suck Juyeon’s cock while Eric fucks the other demon’s cum back into you. It’s filthy, it’s wrong, and you fucking love it. You have bruises and bites all over your body from the harsh wooden floorboards and the attention of both men on your body.

You’re so fucked out you hardly process the sun rising outside your cottage. It’s not until Eric hisses out a curse and cums across your back. Juyeon groans, cumming all over your face, some of it landing in your hair and across your collarbones.

“Sun’s rising, little witch.” Juyeon sighs, “That’s our cue to go.”

You whine, “Do you need to?”

Eric laughs lightly, “What, you wanna hang off our cocks for the rest of your living days?”

“And dead days if I can.” You smile with a challenging glance.

Juyeon wipes a bit of cum away from your lip and kisses you lightly.

“If you really want, we’ll come back nightly.” He offers, “We have our own duties to attend to in our world.”

You pout, “Every night? Promise?”

“Promise,” Eric confirms, rubbing comforting circles into your hip, “For now, you should go down to the river and wash up. You look a right mess, little witch.”

Juyeon kisses your hair, “See you after sunset, little witch.”

As if on cue, a knock comes to your door. It’s likely one of the villagers looking for a remedy tea for the sickness that’s been cycling recently. You turn to look for your two demons to see they’re nowhere around. You sigh sadly before finding a dressing gown and a heavy fur house coat to toss over your body until you can make your way to the river later. On your way to your front door, you wipe your face and hair as best you can. Opening the door, you see one of the women of the village.

“Good mor- Oh my! Did you come down with a new illness, miss? Were you attacked in the night?” She worries.

Your neck, you forgot how aggressive your demons were with their marks.

You shake your head, “No, I’m fine. Just some rituals and remedies I was making overnight.”

She didn’t need to know what rituals you were doing or what exactly you were remedying. You have to fight a smirk from growing on your face. Just get through the day. Get through the day, and then you can get yet another release from your handsome demons.

Networks: @deoboyznet @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

#juyeon smut #eric smut #deoboyznet #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #joongfryefff24 #the boyz fanfic #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #juyeon fanfic #juyeon x reader #eric fanfic #eric x reader

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 8 months

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Pomegranate Lips Ch 7: Healing Takes Time ~Sub!Larissa Weems xFem Fallen Angel!Reader

Link to Ch 1, Ch 6

Mommy… Masterlist

Requests & Prompt-List

Warning: death, slow recovery after death, angst, poisoning, little fluff, anxiety, implied anxiety, love confessions, etc.

Enjoy (;

You then picked up the blonde and ran to the infirmary. You ran like your life depended on it. Her life depended on it. And you cared more about hers right now than about yours… As you dropped the headmistress on a cot, you finally felt her spirit return. You let out a chocked sob of relief.

You could sense her again. But she was still far from alright…

~~~

You stayed by Larissa’s side constantly. As she sat there unconscious.

The nurse had said it was a miracle that her pulse was still present with the amount of poison in her body. You and frantically asked if she would be alright, and the nurse had said she wasn’t sure, but that she would do everything in her power to heal her.

You slept at the side of the woman’s bed, or on the chair next to her bed. But all your sleep was restless and light… The only thing that calmed you was holding your hand in hers and feeling her heart beat, feeling her spirit.

~~~

Weeks past… But you wouldn’t leave her side. Luckily, it was summer, and the students and most of the staff had gone.

The nurse caring for Larissa tried to get you to eat and drink, but you were stubborn. Your focus laid on one thing: The blonde laying unconscious in front of you.

“I’m so sorry, Larissa…” you whispered, rubbing her hand lightly with your own.

“I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I avoided you, I’m sorry I didn’t explain…” you choked out, “Truth is… I like you. I Really like you. But I’m a coward. I’m afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable… Afraid of commitment… I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you…” you whispered with tears in your eyes.

Suddenly you felt a light tightness against your hand. You looked up in awe and pure happiness towards Larissa’s face. Her head swiveled slowly to your side and she smiled lightly.

“I’m right here…” she croaked.

The tears flooded down your face. But they were happy. Pure happiness.

“I love you, Larissa” you breathed out, “I can’t wait to not tell you any longer…”

Larissa’s eyes welled up with tears as well, and she nodded.

“Love you… too…” she whispered in a hoarse voice.

Larissa winced in pain. Suddenly it hit you even harder.

She’s awake.

“Hello? Nurse…!” You cried out in a strangled voice, “Larissa’s awake!!”

Larissa’s nurse came running in and quickly took over. She moved you aside as she began asking the blonde questions and giving her some more pain meds. But Larissa never let go of your hand. No, she held on tightly.

~~~

As soon as Larissa was healthy enough to be released, she was up and at it again. And you were there, by her side, helping her along the way.

But the tall blonde had changed since her death experience. Most days were quiet. Silent. Only filled with hums and nods.

At first, you questioned if she wanted your help… But Larissa had taken your hand and led you to her quarters. She wasn’t ready for any intamacy, but she held onto you as much as she could. You helped her dress and undress. You helped her with her work, preparing for the new school year.

You waited until she was ready to talk.

The summer months went by, and day by day, Larissa got better.

~~~

You awoke in your lovers bed, only to find it was empty. You two still remained very limited on physical touch, as Larissa couldn’t handle much more than a hand hold.

You got up and got dressed, having moved some of your clothes to her quarters. You searched her quarters for Larissa, and you finally found her, sitting at her desk, working. You knocked lightly at the connecting door before entering.

“Good Morning” you hummed. Larissa smiled lightly at the sound of your voice and she nodded.

“Morning…” she whispered.

You walked over to her desk, placing your hands on the desk and looking up across at the tall blonde. You spotted a cup of half drunken coffee, which by the looks of the coffee lines, suggested it was her third or fourth cup.

“Couldn’t sleep…?” You softly suggested.Larissa nodded lightly, keeping her eyes on her laptop.

“What are you working on…?” You gently asked.

“Teacher Preparation Week. We only have this weekend, before Teacher Move In Day…” she mumbled, her eyes moving frantically on the screen.

You sighed lightly. You could tell something was bothering her. You reached forward and leaned the laptop closed two thirds of the way. Larissa’s eyes fluttered up to you.

“Wanna talk about it…?” The blonde bit her lip and sighed.

The question you’d been wanting to ask, the question she’d been wanting to share…

She closed her laptop and stood up, moving to gab your hand and guide you to the lovers couch near the fireplace. You sat next to her, holding her hands with yours in reassurance. Her eyes were still frantic and her breathing got shallower.

“I’ve… I have wanted to tell you… for so long…” Larissa confessed in a whisper.

Your head quirked to the side and you smiled, lovingly and comfortingly.

“It’s alright. I will always wait and be here for you.” You gently spoke.

“Thank you…” The woman breathed out.

A few minutes of silence went by. The only sound being shallow breaths.

“Deep breaths for me, ‘Rissa please” you asked.

‘Rissa. It had simply slipped out…

Larissa quirked a light smile and began practicing her deep breathing.

“I like ‘Rissa…” she whispered with a blush.

Now it was your turn to blush.

“I do too” you whispered back.

Larissa nodded and gulped. You looked at the blonde with care and anticipation, waiting until she was ready to talk.

“I saw”

“You saw…?” You asked, slightly confused.

“I saw you save me… I saw you…” Larissa anxiously breathed out.

“Oh.”

~~~

Chapter 8 in the works ~What Larissa saw and more… 😉

Larissa Weems Masterlist

Pomegranate Lips Tag List: @bimad @gwensfreak @mysticaljauregui28 @gwendolinechristiesnumberonegirl @weemssapphic @ladyzmilf002 @larissalover333 @shyladyfan @milfstefani @dumbasslesbi @philip-15 @1-800-milfdilf @lvinhs @imreadyforgwen @wierdpersonononelikes @principal-weems09 @xx-state-of-mind-xx @sapphicobsesssion @constantanxiety @thoroughly--confused @walkethisway @gaydonutdino @justcallmelittleone @yourfavoriteweirdo19 @larissaweemsgf @enchantressb @magicalprofessorpastacash @ness029 @bxtrfly @keepcalmandlistentoit @dopenightmaretyphoon @a-queen-and-her-throne @wifeymaterialsstuff @simpformommy @willowshadenox @smutuniversesblog @thesamesweetie @sequoirius @fyrecatz @larissaweemsisqueenofw @theonefairygodmother

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kiiwiigii · 9 months

Text

The Red-Eyed Boy pt. iii

Pt. One | Two | Outtake

Alec x Swan!Fem!Reader

Summary: Alec returns and shows you how sorry he is. *wink, wink*

Warnings:

Smidge of angst

Smidge of bondage

Straight up smut

Word Count: 3,130

A/N: Today I learned that suck at writing smut, but please enjoy anyways. As with all my Alec fics, he is aged up. Also, I am fucking obsessed with this gif.

Tags: @rosedpetal, @lack-lust-3r, @badass-daisy-22

Alice and Bella eyed me warily from their spot on the kitchen table as I padded around the kitchen. It was my turn for dinner tonight and I was working on a new recipe.

"Please stop looking at me like that. I'm not about to keel over dead and I'm definitely not about to poison Bella right before she gets married."

I grinned when Bella scrunched up her nose in annoyance.

"You're not gonna die because you're tied to Edward through a piece of paper, Bells."

"Says you." She grumbled.

"Have you heard from him?" Alice asked softly.

"No." I pursed my lips.

It had been nearly two weeks, and I hadn't heard a damn thing from Alec. I had called and texted only to be ignored and left on read. I knew he'd be mad, but for the love of God, he was taking this too far. I just wanted to strangle him. I had spent the first week moping before trying to shake myself out of it. I refused to let myself fall into the state that Bella had after Edward left.

Although it was really hard not to. I still had my moments, usually in the evenings when I was alone.

I paused in the middle of chopping an onion, looking over my shoulder at Alice. Her visions were the only thing I could really count on right now, unless I had a vision of my own. Unfortunately, sleep had been avoiding me, and when I did sleep nothing came to me.

She shook her head sadly, indicating that she hadn't seen anything. Yet. However, she also hadn't seen anything different from her previous visions, so nothing had really changed, and that gave me hope.

"So, Y/N, we have your first dress fitting tomorrow." Alice, thankfully, changed the subject.

"Ooh yay! Do I get to see Bella's dress?"

Bella groaned before plonking her head onto the table. She was so easy to tease.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't want to marry me." Edward entered the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket.

I smiled watching them all together, happy to watch the little scene from afar. Eventually I had to turn back around, doing my best to hum a tune in my head, both to distract myself from the situation with Alec and so Edward wouldn't pick up on my depressing thoughts. This should be a happy time.

Somehow, I don't think I was fooling anyone.

It was official. I hated weddings and anything to do with them. I was almost positive that had I not been in a house full of vampires, Rosalie would have stuck a few pins in me on purpose.

It was dark by the time I finally arrived home, and all I really wanted to do was shower and pass out on my bed. Keeping up a relatively happy façade almost 24/7 was exhausting.

The house was dark, and I suddenly remembered that dad was out on one of his camping trips with a friend. Well, at least I would have the house to myself, and I could be as depressed as I wanted.

I went straight to my room to gather some pajamas and a towel. I almost felt too tired to even shower, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to make sure I do some basic self-care. Throwing my bag onto the bed, I began to strip.

"You should keep your window locked."

I jumped and let out a scream, quickly covering myself, dress already hanging half off.

It was Alec, propped up on my bed, another book in hand. How had I not seen him?? I even threw my bag in his direction.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I wheezed at him, trying my best to get my racing heart back under control.

"Not particularly." His eyes roamed over me, from head to toe, his eyes lingering on my neck, where my pomegranate seed necklace hung. And then the dangling straps of my dress. "You look beautiful, tesoro."

I blinked rapidly, trying my best to figure out what the hell was happening. I hadn't heard from Alec in nearly a month and here he was, just sitting here. In my room. On my bed. As if nothing had ever happened.

"Where have you been? Why have you been ignoring me?"

He simply eyed me before closing the book with a thump.

"I was extremely… angry. There was a while where I did not really have control of myself. I even scared Jane." He admitted. "I didn't want to take it out on you. Or for you to see that side of me."

I glared at him.

"So, you just disappear without a word? Didn't bother telling me that you were okay and that you just needed space? You're aware that I've had visions of you since I was like, six years old, right? I've seen you angry."

"Not like this, you haven't." He said quietly.

"Do you know what I thought? I thought you had left me. Despite whatever Alice's visions tell her, I know that they can change at the drop of a hat. I was just sitting here waiting, praying that you wouldn't change your mind."

Fuck, here come the tears.

He was next to me in a heartbeat, hands cupping my face. I tried to back away, but he kept his grip firm.

"I would never leave you, Y/N." He said softly, wiping the tears away. "Ever. I have never been good at relationships. I have always kept myself at arm's length, but you, you are different. And when I saw you on that field, after the battle, I had never been so scared and angry in my life."

He paused for a minute, searching. "Had I lost you, I would have burned the world down."

My breath hitched in surprise, and I could feel my heart skip a beat. He kissed me then, and I allowed it, wrapping my arms around his neck as he reached for my waist. His kiss was soft and controlled, while mine was bordering on desperation.

"Don't you ever do that to me again." He whispered against my lips, a warning.

Why did that turn me on and piss me off at the same time?

"I'm sorry, what was that? Because it sure didn't sound like an apology, Alec."

He pulled me flush against him, nipping at my collarbone in reproach. I hissed in pain, but he quickly soothed it over with his tongue.

"Then let me show you how sorry I am." He whispered.

He pulled me in for a heated kiss and I couldn't help but gasp. Alec took the opportunity to dip his tongue into my mouth again, and the moan that worked its way up my throat had him growling possessively.

I could already feel my nipples tightening and the wet heat between my legs.

I grabbed him by the collar to pull him closer. He gladly obliged and before long, he had me pressed into the bed, right underneath him, his lips giving slow languid kisses anywhere he could reach.

"Alec." My voice was caught in my throat.

Goddammit. He hadn't even gotten me out of my clothes before he had me begging. Hell, he had barely even touched me.

And I was supposed to be mad at him, dammit!

He paused, lips at the swell of my breast. Finally, he lifted himself up so he could look me in the eye, searching my face.

"Do you trust me?"

I nodded my head furiously.

"I need to hear you say it, Y/N."

"I trust you."

I was practically panting.

Alec produced a long strip of gauzy fabric and slowly tied my hands together, gauging my reaction, before putting them above my head.

"Did you come prepared with that?" I gaped at him.

"No. I took it from your bag." He smirked.

My bag? Since when did he have the time to go through my bag? I looked at my tied wrists again, trying to wrack my brain as to why I had a long ass strip of-

'Oh my god.'

It was the sash to my bridesmaid's dress. I know I hadn't put it in there. The last time I had seen it- Alice. She fucking knew. She had to. She had a vision and didn't even tell me. Granted, if this was a part of her vision, I would be highly embarrassed to hear her explain exactly what she saw.

"Now." Alec put my hands above my head again, and then trailed his own hands down my arms to my collarbone, thumbing over the mark he had placed on it earlier. "Your hands stay put above your head until I say otherwise. If they do not, I stop. No matter what I am in the middle of." He warned, pausing to make sure that I understood. "Are you okay with this? If not, we can stop."

I shook my head back and forth frantically.

"Y/N, I need you need to say it out loud."

"Yes." I breathed.

"Good. If you become uncomfortable at any point you are to tell me."

"Yes sir." It was out of my mouth before I even realized it and I blushed furiously.

"Are you sure you're a virgin?" He teased.

"Why don't you find out for yourself?" I teased back, a little breathless.

Alec's brows raised before he smirked, leaning in closer, mouth right next to my cheek.

"I think I am going to enjoy this very much." His hands began to make their way past my collar bone to cup my breasts through the fabric of my dress, his thumbs flicking slowly back and forth over my nipples.

My back arched in a gasp, and he let out a hum, pleased with my reaction. Soon I felt more and more skin being exposed to the cool night air, his cold lips and tongue following right behind it, licking and nipping his way until, aside from my bra, I was fully exposed from the waist up. I blushed as he sat back, admiring the view.

"You are truly beautiful, mio cara." He breathed.

His cold hands caressed every inch of exposed skin, purposely avoiding the spots that I wanted him to touch the most. I pouted up at him and he swiped a thumb across my lip.

"I must admit Y/N, I like seeing you like this. And I think you like it too."

Slowly, I gave his thumb a long lick before sucking it into mouth. His eyes darkened even further, and I could practically feel the rumble of possessiveness in his chest.

"Careful, amore." His voice was now husky and strained.

I released his thumb, edging my teeth along the sides and cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought you were supposed to be apologizing."

His eyes were now pitch black.

"I think you forget who's in control here."

I let out a squeak as he moved aside and ripped my dress the rest of the way down, leaving me in just my bra and panties. He settled himself between my legs, to nip and kiss his way along the inside of my thighs.

I sucked in a sharp breath when he placed a kiss right over my covered mound, and then nuzzled into it. My hands jerked and he looked up at me, remaining still.

"Hands, amore." He chided.

I immediately put them back in place, wriggling my hips in anticipation. Finally, he slid my panties down, revealing my inner most self, glistening and wet just for him.

"Perfect."

It was the only thing I heard before his mouth was on me and my back arched off the bed yet again.

Keeping perfect eye contact with me, he gave me long slow licks, delving into me with his tongue. And then he found my clit. I couldn't help it, I cried out, my hands immediately coming down to lace themselves through his hair.

This wasn't an apology; this was fucking torture.

He paused with a growl.

"Hands, amore."

"But- but-"

He lifted himself up slightly, a warning look in his dark eyes. "Hands."

"Alec." I whined, wriggling my hips again and trying push him back down. "Please."

"You know the rules, principessa."

"Did you just call me princess?"

He just smirked. "You're learning. Now, hands. If I have to tell you again, I will tie you to the bed."

'You just may have to do that.' I thought.

He watched me for a moment more before slowly lowering himself back down, wrapping his arms around my thighs to keep my hips level. He began his slow assault on me yet again and I did my absolute best to keep my arms above my head. It was working so far... barely.

Before long I could feel a warm heat beginning to build low in my stomach.

"Oh god, please don't stop." I chanted. "Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop."

I wasn't entirely sure what was happening, all I knew what that it felt good, and he absolutely had to keep going. Otherwise, I was sure I was going to die right then and there.

And then the bastard stopped.

"Alec." I let out a low whine.

He crawled back up to me, placing a kiss on my lips and I groaned at the taste of my arousal on him.

"No cumming just yet, amore." He swept his tongue along my lips. "The only cumming you will be doing is on my cock."

I almost choked. "Have- have you always been this dirty?"

"You have no idea." He bit my earlobe and I squirmed at his words. “And this is only just the beginning.”

"Well, it looks like won't be doing much of anything, since you're still dressed."

"That can easily be remedied."

My eyes widened as he slipped off his shirt. I had always known he was muscular but there was a big difference between feeling it and seeing it. Next came his pants and underwear, and I’m pretty sure my brain stopped working.

How was that going to fit??

"Like what you see?”

I simply nodded my head, my mind still trying to process the situation I was in... and the fact that his cock was rather... large.

He leaned over and began untying my hands. I raised a brow at him.

"I want you clinging to me when you cum."

Oh fuck.

My hands immediately went to explore his naked chest when he caught my hand and kissed my fingertips.

"Are you still okay?"

"Alec, I swear to God if you don't fuck me-"

He cut me off, crushing his lips to mine and I suddenly felt him nudging at my entrance. He sat back briefly, rubbing himself in my juices, preparing.

"Eyes on me, amore."

I swiftly looked back up at him. I don't think I could have taken my eyes off him in that moment.

Finally, finally, I felt him enter me ever so slowly. I let out a hiss of pain, my hands clutching desperately at the sheets, and he stopped, letting me adjust for a minute, all the while never breaking eye contact. This, this was something else. I had never felt so full.

"Fuck, you're tight."

I let out a whimper.

"It's okay, mio cara." He kissed away the tears from my face, I hadn't even realized that I was crying. "I'm going to move now."

And boy did he move. It took a few thrusts before the pain subsided and then I felt as if I was flying. He kept his thrusts steady and deep, his hands roaming my sides before cupping my breasts and placing gently kisses along the edges. And then proceeded to close his mouth on one of my nipples through the lace.

"Alec."

He didn't reply, deciding to suck harder and scrape against the sensitive buds with his teeth instead. If he kept this up, I wasn't going to last long, and I think he knew it. He sat up again, but this time he angled my hips up and I was suddenly seeing stars. He was hitting my sweet spot now and I couldn't contain my moans any longer. I could feel it building, and building, and building.

"Don't you dare stop." I panted.

"Eyes on me, darling." He ordered, grabbing my face, and making me look him in the eyes. "I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you come on my cock."

Oh, God. He was speaking to me in Italian, and I didn't have the slightest clue as to what he was saying, but it was hot.

"Alec, please. Make me cum. I want to come."

"Fuck, so tight for me." He thrust harder and I could feel the walls of my pussy starting to tighten up. "I want to see you come undone around me."

"A-Alec!"

He forced me to look up at him again as I came hard, legs wrapping around his waist as he nearly collapsed on top of me. If I was seeing stars before, now I was suddenly seeing a whole fucking galaxy.

"Fuck." He kissed me deeply as I felt him spasming inside me, cool liquid coating the walls of my pussy.

He hovered like that for a long moment, his kisses turning into soft, languid ones, his hands roaming in even softer caresses. Finally, he pulled out of me, and let his eyes wonder over me. I'm sure I looked a mess, but he seemed to like what he saw, judging by the smirk on his face.

"Come, amore. Let's get you cleaned up."

"I don't think I can walk." I closed my eyes, doing my best to breathe and not die from great sex.

"I can definitely help you there."

I nearly yelped as he lifted me from the bed bridal style.

"Is this your way of saying you want shower sex?" I wriggled my eyebrows at him.

"I had not really thought of it, but if you insist."

I laughed and snuggled into his chest.

He paused a moment, really looking me over now. "I am truly sorry, Y/N. For everything."

I placed a hand on his cheek. "Apology accepted."

NEXT - (Outtake)

{Masterlist}

Translation (Done via Google): Tesoro: Darling/Treasure Mio Cara: My darling. Principessa: Princess

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#alec volturi x reader #alec volturi #volturi #twilight #fanfic #reader insert

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

Note

Hey hope you're doing well, I love your Greek mythology work!

I am not well (because I have exams) but I am missing my Greek mythology works so I shall spare some thoughts:

Platonic yanderes Hades and Persephone who had kidnapped reader and the forced her to eat pomegranates and drink ambrosia, eagerly waiting to find out what powers their "child" will have, wonderi g if you'll be a god of something like your new parents, only to be pleasantly surprised when you turn out to be a diety of yandere relationships. Not only that, but you also have the power of "attracting yanderes" which means you now have a lot of unwanted admirers, much to your parents displeasure. Now, Hades and Persephone have to deal with not only having to stop you from running away/putting yourself in danger but also ward off any of these deranged yanderes who will defy death and even the gods themselves to get to you.

Romantic yandere Hercules sneaking into Olympus to meet reader, who'd been forbidden by Hera and Demeter (her protective mamas) to not see the himbo ever again, even hiring your diety siblings like Dionysius, Ares, Hermes, etc to keep an eye on you. But himbo yandere Hercules is an unstoppable force and he'll keep on knocking your siblings out until he gets to you, only to pout and apologise when you scold him for hurting your siblings, but you're scolding him from lap with his arms around you, so... a win is a win. He'll let you give him an earful for the rest of eternity if you're by his side (and pregnant with baby number 22🥰)

Platonic yanderes Perseus and Medusa having to cope with not breaking down every five minutes after Medusa had plucked out her daughter's eyes for the second time and now reader had turned non verbal. Even though Perseus had taken reader to Olympus so that Apollo could heal her in his infirmary, she still refuses to talk to them. And it's just a thousand times more painful when grandpa Poseidon visits you and you beg him to take you away from them. It hurts because you'd rather live with the one man who Medusa hates more than anything in the world. Its now up to Perseus to stop the tears of the two most important people in his life.

Romantic yandere Ares returning from battle, all bloodied and tired and he just wants to go to his room and cuddle up to his captive darling who he'd chained to his bed, only to see you running from his castle. Ares just watches you for a few minutes before sighing and tackling you to the ground. "I was hoping for a nice evening today, but I guess not-" "LET ME GO, YOU PERVERT-!" "SILENCE! YOU WILL NOT INETERUPT ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" He yelled at you, glaring at you until you were shaking like a kicked puppy. "Now, since you tried to escape and didn't even make it that far, you will now get up and run around the palace grounds." You looked at him confused. "W-what?" Ares pushed the hair away from your face. "You're gonna run laps. It's to train you. If you're gonna run, you're gonna have to put some effort in. No darling of mine will do a half ass job, even in escaping. So, up you go." He pulled you up before giving your butt a smack. "Run, now."You begin running, confused. "Oh and princess?" You looked behind. "Just for motivation, I'm gonna chase you. And everytime I catch you, I'm gonna do that thinh Ive been wanting to do in bed. But I'll do it right here, in the ground, where anyone can watch." He grinned evilly, watching you run with new vigour.

#yandere hades #yandere perseus #yandere persephone #yandere ares #yandere hercules #yandere greek gods #yandere greek goddesses #yandere greek mythology

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tojiscumdumpster · 4 months

Text

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ PART ONE - TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ summary page

✧ content warnings unaliving of major character.

“Any last words?”

Within the next few minutes, I’ll be dead. I knew this the moment I saw that blue-eyed freak reappear after when I thought I killed him. Fucking sorcerers and their cursed technique bullshit. Maybe I was too confident thinking I would win the second time. I doubted myself at first, but then I calmed down… No .

I was just too confident.

A world like this wasn’t meant for a monkey like me. I was born into a fucked up family that treated me like shit because I didn’t have any cursed technique. The scar on my lip reminds me of it every day. I got over it, though. I accepted this was my faith. I served my purpose and it was time for me to go.

Still, I can’t help but wish I made it out alive. That I had a little bit more time.

“Nah,” I replied, vaguely.

How am I supposed to answer some cliché question like that?

Any last words?

Why would I tell him that?

Tell him about the thoughts and images that’s in my head.

Tell him that I had a wife who actually saw some good in me. Good enough to get pregnant and raise a kid together. Tch, me? Toji Fushiguro? A husband and father? I never thought I would live to see the day. And of course, it didn’t last long.

My wife died because of an incurable sickness. I never felt pain before. Not when I’m standing here with half my body blown off. Not when my family tortured me. But the day she died, I felt pain. I didn’t cry. I just felt empty. Felt like I had no reason to be decent anymore. How was I supposed to raise a kid by myself?

She told me I was going to be okay.

I wasn’t okay.

I’m a fucked a person.

A fucked up father.

I was never meant to carry responsibility because it never lasts long. Good things don’t last long. Death will always be endgame. So I went on with my life. I left my kid to fend for himself. Even Kong tried helping me take care of him, which was a waste on his part.

There was no point.

I was never made to be a fucking dad. Me selling my son to my family is better than what I could’ve done for him. It wouldn’t make any difference if I was or was not in his life because I would never be good enough to be a father. . . A person . . . But I met. . . Her .

In my final moments, I think of my late wife, my son, and her.

Y/N.

Another person who managed to see the impurity I have in me as pure.

What I had with Y/N was accidental. Not in a bad way, but we met on a whim. I met her at a bar a few months after my wife died. She was just so…vibrant. Special. Y/N puts words in my vocabulary I thought I kept reserved for my late wife.

Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Sexy. Deep brown skin, and a bed of coils on her head that smelled like honey and pomegranate. Curves of a siren but a face of a goddess. I wanted her to lose herself in me…

It seems like I lost myself in her.

A one night stand turned into every night. Sex turned into conversations, and conversations turned into…

Feelings.

A sick motherfucker like me who killed a teenager for money, almost killed one who fucking did reversed cursed technique to come back to life, and left another badly beaten, has feelings. For another woman who isn’t my dead wife.

The shit I got myself into with Y/N, having unspoken feelings for a woman I’m never going to see again, and she is a part of my last dying memories.

I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to this fucking sunlight beaming in my face every time I sleep here. Y/N says light helps you through the day, so being met with it first thing in the moment will give you the energy that you need.

Whatever that means.

However, I would be lying if I said I don’t feel calm right now, especially after last night.

We had an argument like we’re a couple. We’re not. I don’t know what exactly is going on between me and Y/N, but I know I’m selfish enough to claim her as mine without actually having a title. I made it very clear that I would kill anyone that she tries to move on with, and I have every intention of keeping that promise.

And I know she’s probably getting sick of this complicated situation we have.

I fuck her, we talk, and when I felt like it was getting too real, I leave for weeks then return when I think I have my feelings under control.

But see that’s the thing, no matter how long or far away I am from Y/N, I’ll never have what I feel for her under control.

What I feel is indescribable. She makes me feel like I have a choice to be better. To do better, and when I’m around her, I think that I want to.

I sound like a fucking sap. Toji Fushiguro, the Zen’in fuck up, having feelings all because of her. Love is foreign to me. Never thought I would come close to experiencing it again, but Y/N helps me find the meaning.

And even if I never said those words to her before, I feel it.

I feel it when I wake up in her bed, laying in the sheets that carry her lingering scent. Vanilla. Almonds. A hint of jasmine with sweet berries.

I feel it when I walk into the kitchen to see her cooking breakfast while wearing my shirt.

Fuck, she’s so goddamn sexy and beautiful. Morning wood is getting harder by the second.

My arms find Y/N’s waist to wrap around and pull into my erection so she can feel what she does to me.

“‘Morning, sweets,” I grumble, kissing the sweet spot behind her ear. She relaxes into my arms, but still manages to cook.

“I see you’re finally up… and here,” she says with a soft smile on her face.

“We are up.” We, meaning my cock and I. “And I am here. I told you I was staying the night. Thought I was lying?”

“No, I thought something might’ve come up. You know—with your sorcerer killing business.”

I hum. “Not today, but I do have something to handle in a couple of days.” Soon I need to take down the fake bounty I put out for the Star Plasma Vessel to make my move.

Y/N’s body tenses, shoulders becoming rigid and putting distance between us due to me telling her that I’m leaving soon. She turns off the stove, puts down the cooking spoon and turns to look at me. I know she’s mad at me. More so, disappointed. I just can’t help but think how fucking gorgeous she is, especially in the morning.

“You’re leaving already?” she asks. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, Toji. Where are you going now?”

“I’m not going anywhere far. I’ll be in Tokyo. It’s a quick job, then I’ll come back to you.”

Y/N purses those full pretty lips and crosses her arms over her chest, causing the swell of her breasts to be seen.

Now isn’t the time to have horny thoughts about her, but fuck.

“Whatever. Breakfast is ready. You can grab a plate.” Y/N turns to walk away from me. “I’m going to start getting ready for work.”

“Hey,” I say, grabbing her wrist to pull her back into my arms. This time, enclosing her tightly so she doesn’t leave until I let her. “I said I’m coming back to you. Didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and you always fucking say that. Don’t you? What makes this time different?”

“Because I-” Before those words escaped my mouth, I looked away.

The stare of Y/N’s round chestnut-colored eyes weigh on me while she waits for me to speak.

It’s quiet. Early morning, all that is heard is the birds chirping, making the silence between me and Y/N even fucking louder. We’re like this for about thirty-seconds until she realizes my unfinished words.

Her face softens. “You… what?”

“Y/N…” I sigh. “It’s not easy for me. These fucking words. These emotions. They’re all jumbled in my head. I just-”

“When you come back.” She interrupts, however, I don’t understand what she’s saying, so she continues. “Promise me, whatever you were going to say to me, promise that you’ll say it when you come back.”

“Sweets-”

“Just promise.” Her voice slightly breaks, eyes already glossing from the near tears.

I look at Y/N and see peace. Hope. Maybe’s and what ifs. Again, feelings that are foreign to me. Feelings I should be incapable of feeling. Shit, I fucking hate this… Then again, I don’t.

She doesn’t deserve the half-assessed bullshit I’ve been giving her. The inconsistency, and lack of commitment.

And I don’t deserve anything she gives me. Her time. Honestly. Empathy. Hell, not even the sex. But she gives it to me because she sees some shit in me that I don’t.

Maybe… maybe I should try again…

Just for her.

“I promise.”

Some promise that fucking was.

I told Y/N I’ll be back later on tonight. Told her to get pretty so I can take her out to dinner. Unless I magically gain reverse cursed technique, I think my time on this earth and with Y/N has come to an end.

I should’ve never made that damn promise. Not because I didn’t think I couldn’t keep it. But because she’s holding onto something that’s never going to happen.

That smile. Her scent. The peace she gave me… all of it was temporary. I knew a fuck up like me didn’t have any true purpose in this world. Today is the day I atone to my sins.

I’m surrounded by grey, black, and white, where the only ounce of color I felt in years, is when I was with Y/N.

I’ll never see her again, so the least I could do is this.

After I told this little Gojo fuck about my kid, I attempted one more request.

“Actually, if you could go to these brown apartments in Shibuya outside of Ebisu Station,” —I cough up blood— “there are the only ones with that color, fourth floor, fifth door to your left. Tell her… Tell her I’m not coming.”

He looks at me with confusion.

It was worth a try.

“If you won’t, then what-”

“Okay,” he answers, flatly.

I’m sorry, Y/N.

I’m so sorry I broke our promise.

Again.

Fuck, why does my heart feel like this? It feels… broken.

NEXT CHAPTER

#jjk x black reader #anime x black!reader #toji x black reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #toji angst #jjk angst

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brittle-doughie · 3 months

Note

I’ve noticed that there’s a severe lack of Wind Archer Cookie content on this blog, so here’s my pitch.

Y/N Cookie in the ‘Hidden Truth of the City’ story, trying to deal with Night Raven trying to kill Churro and The Cookiemals and trying to take them to Sugar Swan knows where-

“Y/N Cookie blocked the arrow!”

That was TOO close of a call. You had drew your blade at the nick of time to deflect a shadowed arrow aimed the Cookiemals, looking over at the culprit…

Wind Archer Cookie, or what you had now decidedly to call him in your head, the Night Raven..

“Darkness shall rule all…even to the most pure…”

Was it…so your suspicions were true then. You told the Cookiemals and Churro Cookie to go, you’ll hold off Wind Archer Cookie.

“No! Y/N Cookie, get behind me. My gauntlet will ward off all evil!”

“We’re not going leave you, Y/N Cookie!”

You had to tell them that you weren’t in any immediate danger, Wind Archer Cookie was here to bring darkness to this place, but he was also here for you.

“Join the Darkness, pure one…please do not deny the Darkness…”

“They will not go to you!”

The Night Raven shot many arrows, you and Churro doing your best to avoid or deflect them all.

It was getting too dangerous for you to handle when an arrow managed to hit the weapon out of your hand, winding you a bit.

“Embrace the Darkness with me…”

You yelled out for him to let you go when he suddenly flew right at you, hugging you tight and trying to fly off with you!

He retreated back when both the Cookiemals and Churro Cookie came to your rescue! You gave them your thanks…

“Right?! We’re awesome!”

Hehe, yeah. They were pretty awesome.

“Give me strength, Great Tree…”

“The scarlet poison gives me strength!”

Churro Cookie brought you right back to the direness of the situation, you tried looking around to give you an idea. Something!

He said scarlet poison…wait a minute, the throne! The pomegranate seeds! You called out the seeds on the throne to Churro Cookie! Wind Archer and those seeds might be connected!

“Come to me, pure one…”

“Great Wind…what has transpired with you? If the Sacred One is not responsible for spreading the pomegranate, that means you too are innocent…”

“I will cleanse the Darkness from within you!”

“The throne! Darkness must be purged from these grounds!”

Churro Cookie and his gauntlets started to glow once more, Wind Archer drew his bow and got to close range with Churro. You rushed in to help after getting your weapon, and the Cookiemals seemed to have had the same idea!

“Great Tree, hear my prayer…May your Millennial light shine within me!”

“The pomegranate seeds are melting away!”

Buttershell Fox was right, and the shadows were even going away from Wind Archer too!

Wind Archer got on his hands and knees, the darkness leaving him as he returned to normal…

“Wind Archer Cookie! Are you okay?”

“You…? The Cookiemals?”

“Your memory is back! We missed you!”

Wind Archer Cookie…

Wind Archer tensed up at hearing you calling his name, an expression of shock when he spots you there with the Cookiemals.

“Y-Y/N Cookie! I…ugh!”

You hurried to Wind Archer as he tried to go to you, but winced in pain at making a sudden move! You told him to take it easy!

“Y/N Cookie…please forgive me. The influence of the Darkness, it was too strong…”

Wind Archer Cookie…

He faced you as you say his name again, before you gave him a playful look.

He was such a silly cookie, hehe!

He was completely taken aback by your lighthearted answer, but..he couldn’t help but softly laugh himself. Then the Cookiemals joined in on the laughing.

Churro Cookie looked on at the display, unable to stop the slight smile on his face. You still carried your chipper attitude even after having to fight the Great Wind just a minute ago…

He’s starting to see what the Great Wind and the Great Tree were talking about you…

Your soul…may very well be the brightest he’s ever seen…

———————————————————————

“Pffft! Ha! I told you so. I’d knew you’d fail!”

“Fail? My plan to lure and corrupt Wind Archer Cookie succeeded”

“But wasn’t there another plan you had? Hm?”

“Those meddling Cookiemals and Churro Cookie, were it not for them…”

“Face it! I’m going to be the one to get Y/N Cookie first! I have my Licorice Servants to help me carry out MY plan!”

“I will not allow those foolish ragdolls anywhere near them..”

“H-Hey! They’re not rag toys?! I’m just waiting for the perfect moment to make Y/N Cookie mine! Dark Enchantress Cookie will be over the moon and I’ll get first dibs!”

“Hmph! Matters with Y/N Cookie are assigned to me anyway. You’re welcome to try. The next phase of the plan is imminen, we must inform the Master at once!”

“Not if I inform her first!”

Pomegranate Cookie only looked on in annoyance as Licorice Cookie hurried away.

She looked behind her through the trees, seeing you laughing, enjoying yourself as you hung out with the cookies in the village.

She sighed…longingly as she pulled out her mirror and reflected it towards you, a faint glow emanating all around you.

“One day…you will join the Darkness, Y/N Cookie. When you do, I will be the first to welcome you with my embrace…”

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #crob x you #crob x reader #wind archer cookie x reader #churro cookie x reader #cookiemals #pomegranate cookie x reader #licorice cookie x reader

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newkatzkafe2023 · 4 months

Note

@lara-legomonkiekid

Can I have part 2 Y/N pregnant?

Reminder this is the genderbend version😯

(Lmk Wukong) This was a very eventful pregnancy. It seems like her antics Amplify Since the Two of you found out about your cub. First of all, there is a wire. Her belly was so big was because there's not one not two But three of them in there. And it seems like They are already active just like their mama. And not only that they make the monkey queen wanna eat everything. Her food your food mk's food You name it I mean you can't really Blame her because she's literally eating for other people but it's still quite Out of control. Happiest day of your life was when the triplets Your are two sons and daughter were finally born and they We're noisy cherpee and they get Into everything. Overall, they were healthy, very little beans. Who you love very much and you secretly glad for the monkey. Queen's flirty clingy ass and you love her as well.

(NR Wukong) Holy sh*t if you think she was clingy before you ain't seen nothing yet. Since the beginning Of her pregnancy, she demanded With you at all times whether it be. to the corner store to the men's bathroom which got you kicked out of the mall once. She's was on you like white on rice. And if you try to go somewhere without her. She'll throw a big ass tantrum and i'm gonna shoot look like Are jerk especially when it happens in public. So you kept her inside with you for the remainder of the pregnancy. I say and that's when her water broke. When the cob was born, it was a cute little girl, but she chirped a lot. Neither of you would understand why. Wukong Has tried multiple methods But she just won't let up that's when you decided to give It'll try and the little girl was suddenly silent. You guys's daughter stop chirping and crying immediately the second she was in your arms. Now that explains why the monkey Queen had craved you so much. Because now you have to deal with another clingy girl in your life. At least this one is cute.

(HIB Wukong) The pregnancy was fairly okay to be honest. It's just that she threw up a lot. And I mean a lot there was barely anything. She would be able to keep down. It seems like the Cub was already a picky eater. It seems to only accept pomegranates, peaches and Sesame balls you Yourself would eat. Interesting enough the cub came out a week early a cute little boy. He was fairly small but it seemed like it didn't stop them from trying to do big kid things. You both have to keep an eye on him a lot. But he was the greatest gift you've both received and you hope maybe you can convince her to give another one.

(Mk Reborn Wukong) This woman is a pain in your ass. Hers mood swings were out of control and that is really saying something. She always blames you for her condition. But she clings on to your arm. So hard blood is getting caught off from there. And where's the vault? Yeah, I'm worst of all. She won't eat food unless it's yours it's like she's making you mad on purpose. But it seems like this is making her a little more emotional because she vents and cries to you about all of the issues. In her life and her insecurities about her relationship with you. With shocks you to the max but you know better than to say anything. Finally, it was time for the cup to be born and that was like the worst 12 hours of your life. She was screaming playing menu for doing this to her. But she's the one who wanted to fight you. She's the one who wants to know what position you fire in. And she wouldn't give up stop by one broken hand later You too had a little girl. She was just as feisty and war driven as her mama. And it seems like she got some of her possessive traits too. One time Your daughter climbed on to your shoulder and hissed at her mother for Sitting way too close to you. And of course, her mom took that as a challenge and hissed the right back. Great now you have two hissing girls back to square one for you. But deep down you wouldn't have it any other way

(Netflix Wukong) You guys are so freaking excited about your future family. You always make sure She was happy comfortable and safe. You mostly took up her job as protecting the villages from stray demons and you make quick work of them. So you can get back to your monkey queen especially when she's hungry. This pregnancy helps her open up to a lot more because she voices her worries about being a capable mama. But you always dispel those dark thoughts by telling her know that she would be amazing and she's got you to help her too. This always Makes her feel better and it was about time too. The club was ready to both were granted too little boys. They were rowdy loud and all over the place. But you both love them very much. But it's up to you to keep the queen from spoiling her two princes

Feel Free to Reblog

#monkey king netflix #monkey king reborn #monkey king x reader #nezha reborn #lmk monkey king #monkey king hero is back #Genderbend #Fatherhood #Motherhood #Pregnancy #Old Married couples

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theredofoctober · 9 months

Text

TWO TIME- BILLY BUTCHER X READER FIC

Crossposted from AO3

Synopsis: Reader is a double agent, struggling with the guilt of informing on the Boys' movements to Homelander. Butcher gets suspicious, and corners Reader in the office to get to the bottom of his feelings...

Reader's gender is not specified

TW: noncon/dubcon, threat, idk Billy is his own warning

Story after the cut, keep reading

It's dark when you return to base, the night swallowing the city like a pothole as you edge furtively through the front door, hoping to pass through it unseen.

You hate coming here. The precarious balance of risk, an asp-coil of danger; you loathe every aspect of your employment, yet you are bound to it through your need to do what's right. Through your loyalty to each member of the operation, who consider you one of them, now.

Even him.

Billy Butcher's rough voice lunges out of the the gloom like a jumping spider, all grinding catankerous gravel.

"What bloody time do you call this?"

He's been waiting for you for hours, must have been, broiling in a stew of his own temper.

"Uh, I don't think it's that late, sir," you stammer. "It's only 9.30..."

"Cunt o'clock, is what it is."

The boss watches you remove your coat, his every motion electric with distrust. One eye squints, a swollen pomegranate ripened by some stranger's fist, and there is blood under the black scruff of beard along his jawline. It scares you how often Butcher seeks out an uneven fight, a masochist, for all his posturing ego.

From across the room you smell him: the musk of sweat, stale cologne, the fug of beer. Rancid.

"You were due in at seven," Butcher gripes. "Been snuggling up to your pet Supe Homelander all night, have you?"

Primly, you hang up your hat and scarf on the wall hooks, each layer seeming to unearth a new vulnerability.

"Yes, I've been spending time with him," you say. "On your orders, sir."

You hate that Butcher holds this over you, the jig you're forced to dance between him and the tyrannical leader of the Seven. By day, you're the Homelander's latest fling, gleaning intel and private dirt from every interaction. By night, you belong to the Boys, although not entirely, nor could you ever be when the most powerful man in the world scents, on your skin, wherever you go, and who with.

Homelander lets you come here. He seems to thoroughly enjoy whatever game it is he's playing with these lesser beings, their fumbling attempts to end his monstrous reign.

If Butcher ever knew of this particular truth you suspect that you'd be dead. A traitor's end, luridly bloody in the manner of all things pertaining to this man and his hard justice.

"Sometimes I think you stretch my orders to the bloody limit," Butcher complains.

He can't let go of his resentment; more prodding comes, like devilish clockwork, quick, and cutting, and predictable.

"Sleepovers with Supertwat weren't on the fucking schedule. I'm starting to think you like the bastard."

"No," you murmur, placatingly. "Of course not. How could I? He's horrible."

Still, you don't meet the boss's eye as you hand him the folder you've been carrying under one arm, only linger, fidgeting, as he rifles through your painstakingly typed-out notes.

Of the rest of the team only two others are present: the Female, Kimiko, hunching low over a desk, and Frenchie, who watches you with an unhappy empathy, his arms wrapped tightly around his thin knees. They both look tired, strung out, as keen to leave as you are.

"At least Starlight had an excuse to fratsernise with Homelander," sneers Butcher, warming to his theme. "I don't like all this extracurricular you're putting in, alright?"

Tiring of the conversation, you mumble, timidly, "If Homelander asks me to stay late with him, then I have to do it. He gets so agitated; at any second he could hurt me, kill me. If he gets suspicious—"

"Always an excuse, eh, Two-Time?"

At this you physically flinch.

"Please don't call me that."

"Everyone gets a name here, treacle," says Butcher, grinning widely, proud to have struck a nerve. "Cheer up; least I haven't called you a cunt."

"Not yet," Frenchie mutters, and the boss looks up sharply.

"Got something to say, have you?"

The smaller man turns up the collar of his jacket and shrinks away into it.

"Nothing, nothing, mon ami."

Kimiko glances up from the table and signs quickly at Frenchie. You only know a smattering of the language, but one particular phrase you do understand, and tighten your lips against a laugh. You can't afford to rankle Butcher any further, who is clearly looking to start a fight with everyone, anyone, and no one in particular.

Attempting to placate him, you say, "Butcher, please. I think I'm starting to gain Homelander's trust. He tells me things about his feelings. He's very insecure. If we use that, we have a way in. To take him down."

Butcher merely grumbles under his breath, engrossed in your notes again. There is more to his mood than suspicion: a seething, reluctant jealousy, threatened by your proximity to Homelander, with whom he shares a vicious rivalry. Neither man can stand to have his authority shaken, but at times you almost fear Butcher more for his sheer lack of limitations.

Sensing the ugliness of his mood, you persist with your attempts to soothe him, aware, as you do so, of how low your self-respect has sunk.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't back on time," you rasp. "I'll do better. I didn't mean to undermine you, sir."

"Should fucking hope not."

Butcher's mood recedes slightly, and in the corner of your eye you see Frenchie shaking his head. He knows how to grovel better than anyone; you've heard it whispered that he's knelt to many men and women, and taken pleasure in it, as well as suffering.

Has Frenchie ever been on his knees for Butcher in this way?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. The thin line of Frenchie's mouth suggests that even he disapproves of your weakness.

Ashamed, you twist away, glancing longingly at your coat again.

"I... I should go," you falter. "Everything I got out of Homelander today is in that file. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

"Stay right there," says Butcher, sharply. "You and me are gonna have a private natter, one to one."

You blood runs like Arctic water, and you sense Frenchie's tension, Kimiko's mutinous stare.

"Is something wrong, sir?" you ask, quietly.

Butcher shrugs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips.

"You tell me," he says. "If you're as squeaky clean as you claim to be then you've got nothing to worry about, have you, love?"

He claps his rough hands together, and you almost jump out of your skin.

"Come on, then. Let's get it over with."

You scamper at his heels, your gut churning with nerves.

Butcher swaggers into a seldom used office and sits behind the desk, swinging his boots up onto its surface.

"Shut the door," he says. "Don't want them two lovebirds earwigging."

With quivering hands you obey, your eyes cast downwards, anywhere away from him.

"Got any idea what you're doing here?" asks Butcher, straight to business.

You shake your head with a perhaps telling quickness.

"No, I don't, sir."

Butcher groans softly.

"Fucking listen to ya. Like butter wouldn't melt. Makes a difference from the usual cuntery I have to put up with."

You don't reply, only shift from foot to foot like a student pulled up before the headteacher.

"Here's the thing," says Butcher. "I think there's a lot more to you than meets the eye. By which I mean to say, I reckon that you're a fucking liar."

Fear makes rigid every tendon in your body, and you shrink into yourself, your gaze still fixed on the floor, picking out every speck of dust and groove in the boards.

"I— I haven't lied about anything," you murmur, tremulously.

But as Butcher's mouth twists upwards like the grimace of a Halloween mask you regret the words, a stupid falsehood.

"Your report's lacking in some serious detail," Butcher announces. "You haven't said one piddly word about what Homelander has to say about me, and believe me, I know he's said something. Thinks about me like a school girl who's been sent a Valentines' card, the creepy fucker."

"He... he hasn't mentioned you to me lately," you say, clinging to bland denial. "We're close, but there's still a lot of stuff he won't talk about. This is what I was trying to tell you, I need more time—"

"Nah."

Butcher brings his boots down from the desk and leans towards you, his head at a predatory angle.

"You're hiding something."

Your mouth clicks dryly, robbed of its saliva.

"Sir, I—"

"'Sir' my left bollock. Wanna guess how I know there's something up?"

He's been following you, or some unknown party has ratted you out, or else Homelander himself has stopped by to gloat, and make you look the fool.

Perspiration gathers at the back of your neck, and you don't dare reach up to wipe it away.

Butcher says, "I can tell there's something wrong 'cause you can never look me in the fucking eye."

You glance up, unable to shield your surprise.

"Oh. That— that isn't because of Homelander. It's— I—"

Your voice is small, a humiliating wisp.

You can't look at him because you're afraid of him, and would be even if you were not guilty.

A new emotion blooms in Butcher's black eyes, something cruel, and clever, and gleeful. It boils your core with a nervous anticipation of what he may do to you, what you've long imagined him doing, in the sweating darkness of your bedroom, in the night.

"What was that, darlin'?" asks Butcher "You went a bit quiet there."

He stands up from the desk and prowls towards you, and you realise, with a start, how tall he is, his stature—draped in clashing shirt and black overcoat—of the the kind that might engulf you with a mere embrace.

You feel small, so very small, exhilarated, and afraid.

"Oi," says Butcher. "Look at me."

With effort you raise your eyes to his. He seems to like what he sees there, for some of his aggression narrows away, or else morphs into a more playful version of itself.

"Butcher," you almost-whisper, and he lists over you, holding your stare for so long that you wish you'd thought to drop the report and run.

"Nervy little thing, ain'tcha?" he says, mockingly. "Scared shitless. Think I'm gonna hurt you?"

You nod, incapable of speech.

"Aww," says Butcher, and pats your cheek mockingly. "Don't be stupid. You ain't a Supe; I got no reason to smack you about unless you give me one."

A current of anticipation sparks through you, and you nod again, swallowing a filmy clot of spit.

"That's the ticket," Butcher growls, and tilts back your head with a coarse gentleness, admiring your mouth, your throat, your body under the many layers of clothes.

It's cold in New York, and you've dressed for it, although you suspect that this measure won't last long.

"I wanna see you prove that you're my soldier," says Butcher, slyly. "Dedicated to the bloody cause."

You dither, feeling stupid and clumsy and eager, at pains not to make a greater fool of yourself.

"I... do you want me to..."

Your eyes dart about madly, resting, finally, at the buckle of Butcher's belt, thinking of Homelander, the usual manner of settling his temper.

Butcher notices the path of your gaze, and revels in it.

"Go on," he urges. "Don't be shy."

He's grinning ear to ear, observing your flustered glances and desperate want to please him. When you reach out shaking fingers to the front of his trousers and touch his groin you find it hard, and wonder how long it's been so.

"Fucking hell," Butcher breathes.

He watches you with remarkable restraint as you undo his belt buckle and zipper, releasing his rigid heat into your palm. Guilt thrums in a sickly undercurrent as you work your hand along him, thinking how quickly Butcher would turn if he knew all the nastiness Homelander has spilled into your ear about him. All the admiration, the hatred, and the love.

Butcher jerks your face upright again, giving you a little shake of warning.

"If I wanted to stare at the back of your head I'd fuck you over the desk. Keep looking at me, love."

With your fist still around his cock Butcher kisses you, forcefully, but not without a certain affection. It takes you aback, having assumed, through his relentless taunting, that he despises you.

Now you're not so sure.

"Get on your knees, Two-Time" Butcher says, softly, and although you wince at the moniker you lower yourself down with murmured assent.

"Yes, sir."

"Sir," Butcher repeats, and laughs. "Where did that even come from, eh?"

Still, you can tell he loves the submission in your voice, the fumbling quickness with which you scramble down onto the floor to take him. He's big, suffocating you with his girth as he rocks into your throat, one large hand coming to the back of your head to force you, struggling, against him.

You pull back, gasping a whooping breath.

"Please, Butcher..."

"Too rough for you, darlin'?"

You think he'll shove you back down again, but he pets your hair coarsely and leers.

"Look at them fucking puppy eyes. Can't say no to that, can I? There you go, then. Do the work yourself."

He releases you, allowing you to take his arousal at your own pace. You lap at his shaft, feeling stupid and unskilled and still so wanting of his praise. Yet you don't even need him to speak: every grunt and mutter and clash of his teeth feeds you with the knowing that he adores every second of the attention.

"Been thinking about doing this for months," he rasps. "I could have been fucking you all over the place, and I waited this long..."

Butcher tugs himself free of your throat on a stream of glittering drool and leers as you wait wordlessly for his command.

"I'm gonna fuck you silly," he says, "and when I'm finished you'll thank me for such a lovely time."

Then he barks, abruptly, "Oi! Where are you going?"

This added as you scramble up, towards the door, caught in a sudden crisis of conscience and common sense.

"We— we can't do this," you stammer. "I can't. Homelander—"

"He can go fuck himself," snaps Butcher. "You're mine, not his. He can fight me for you."

"He—"

"You gonna keep arguing with me, sunshine?"

You stand, one hand pressed to your slick mouth in horror of what you've allowed to go so far. All too easy to envision Homelander boiling your core to acid with a bolt of his stare, breaking your skull as simply as shattering a tea cup.

Butcher clearly reads these thoughts in your expression, for he says, in a slightly gentler tone, "He won't hurt you, alright? I won't let him. Trust the boss."

Unconvinced, you only dither, and the softness in Butcher skids away.

"You want this," he grinds out, "or you would've buggered off out of here already. Wouldn't ya?"

You hold your silence, shaking so violently that you catch a fragment of your tongue between your teeth and taste the salt tang of blood. In some sideways fashion Butcher is giving you the opportunity to flee, and yet you remain, shackled by your coward's yearning to appease him.

A shuddering breath escapes you, and Butcher twitches his head irritably.

"Say somethin', will you?" he grumbles.

His length is a stone in his fist, and you sense that he holds himself back from you only to preserve some unspoken rule, waiting for permission with the trembling violence of an attack dog, which, with a word, might be called down.

"I—" you start, and cough, your voice so thin that there is no substance to it.

Moistening your lips, you try again.

"I, uh, I want to follow orders, sir."

Butcher looks at you sideways, and you feel want roll off him with the heaviness of a dream.

"Well, it's your lucky day, darlin', 'cause I've got one for you. See that cabinet over there? I want you stood, facing it, your hands on the doors. No moving about, no noise; don't want them nosy cunts in the other room asking questions."

Nodding, you cross the room and stand as you've been asked, shuddering gently as Butcher steps up behind you, his hot breath upon your neck. You know, both of you, that this is a very bad decision, and proves nothing but that each of you are prey to individual weakness.

Butcher is so still that you wonder if it is he, now, that's changing his mind, but then one vast hand pushes at your back, thrusting you flat against against the cabinet with a tinny jingle.

"Get your fucking legs apart," he growls, and you almost slip in your rush to acquiesce. "That's it. Nice and wide."

His fingers rip at your clothes with a black bear's savagery, baring your skin to him, the space between your thighs he's thought about, before now, in derisive and idle lust. Again he pauses, only to thrust two broad fingers into your mouth. You dare not think of the likelihood of them being unclean.

"Get 'em wet for me," says Butcher, and presses his knuckles to your tongue until they come away dripping with spittle.

You hear him snarl a coarse breath as he blunts his fingers inside you, as taken up by your plaintive moans as with your tightness. His hardness is like a switchblade against your thigh, and you remember, acutely, that you fear this man as much as you desire him. He knows it; you feel the smugness of it in his rough kisses on your neck and mouth as he ruts against you.

One palm cups the back of your skull, flattening your cheek to the filing cabinet as, in a ragged motion, he enters your yearning heat. He's so big that you cry out, the wounded whimper of a trapped coyote.

"Keep it down, I said," Butcher reminds you, but you hear the grin in his voice, endure, through his rough strokes, the madness of his appetite.

And you— you're afloat in pleasure and submission, inebriated with it, like some God of drink and sex. Every curse and demand from Butcher lures another butterfly of sensation through you, and in the thicket of feeling you forget Homelander, forget that the man fucking you now is bad, and exploiting you for what you've so feebly offered up to him.

You've wanted, achingly, the freedom of being controlled, the pathetic thrill of degradation. The coarseness of it all is cheap, and filthy, and necessary.

Butcher twists you about so that your back is against the cabinet, your legs a knot about his waist. He juts his face close to yours, and with a start of terror you realise that you're looking him in the eye, unable to escape their directness.

"Tell me who fucking owns you," says Butcher, and his possession coils about you like a strangling weed. "Say it."

He still thrusts within you, but slowly, brutally, until you have to ball your fists to prevent yourself from grasping him for support.

"Start talking. Who do you fucking belong to?"

"You!" you blurt out, at last. "You, not him, not Homelander—"

Butcher's mouth crushes yours in a grappling kiss, and there is a desperation in it as well as conceit. The pitiful nature of it somehow only strengthens your arousal, and as his strokes resume their previous force you slip into a quick and stunning ecstasy.

Butcher's eyes glaze, and you think, again, of some stupid, brutish animal, spirit of athirst, wild and thoughtless. He comes so hard that, in a slip of teeth, he bites your lip, and that slip of authority awakens, in you, an endless wonder.

"Shit," mutters Butcher.

He lets you down from him almost gently, then turns away, scrubbing your blood from his chin. Suddenly he is all shifting agitation, but if he regrets what he's done then he does not show it, smoothing away his inner thoughts with bluster.

"Glad we could clear the air, Two-Time. You get yourself cleaned up, then go home and write up that report the way you should have done the first time. I want it back here tomorrow. No pissing about."

Stuffing yourself back into your clothes you make conversation with the floor again.

"No, sir. I mean, yes, I'll do that. Of course."

You touch your lip gingerly, and Butcher has enough reluctant grace to acknowledge it.

"Better put something on that, love. Don't wanna spoil that pretty little face."

The compliment—a mockery, but a compliment, still—flowers a dim flush across your features. Butcher reaches up to pinch your cheek playfully as he saunters past you on his way to the door, his thumb grazing your warmth.

"Night, then."

It's only when Butcher is gone and you're standing alone, loose-limbed and quaking with exertion, that you think of Homelander again.

Fuck. What is he going to do to you when he finds out what you've done?

#billy Butcher #ao3 writer #thenightsibling #dark fic #dark!fic #tw noncon #dubcon #dubious consent #cw dubious consent #billy butcher x reader #the boys fic #homelander

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wittlesissyb4by · 4 months

Text

The White Rabbit - Chapter 1: Persephone

Finding a needle in a haystack. A diamond in the rough. A four-leaf clover. A unicorn. Waldo.

Whatever idiom or cliche you’d like to use, none of them can accurately portray how difficult it is to find a good, competent online dominatrix.

Let me rephrase.

It is damn near impossible to find an online domme that doesn’t want to drain you of every cent in your bank account, and if you do? It’s a bot…that also wants to drain you of every cent in your bank account.

That didn’t stop me from trying, though.

I traipsed every site I could think of. Fetlife, Reddit, Twitter, 4chan. Begging, pleading for someone to “use this sissy in any way you see fit.” I commented “wish this was me” under every single Tumblr post about sissies getting humiliated in hopes that it would somehow yield a strong, dominant, willing woman to my inbox. I even put an ad on Craigslist.

In all my attempts, the only thing I got was creepy messages from dudes, and bots. LOTS of bots.

The only thing I’d had even moderate success on was Kik. I wouldn’t even call it success, really. More like a handful of messages every now and then from girls interested in seeing me in panties. My cock would be so hard, the g-string I was wearing looked more like a slingshot. But things rarely took off from there.

They either wanted too little from me, outrighted ghosted me, or wanted too much from me.

I know, I sound hypocritical. What do I mean, ‘too much’? Right? Turns out, I’m not willing to spoon feed myself my own shit for someone else’s amusement. Everyone has their limits.

But then, just when I’d abandoned all hope, along came Persephone.

“Hello,” her first message said, what everyone said when they first messaged. Could anything be more boring and uninspiring to a conversation?

But she wasn’t done.

“I found your *adorable* blog on Tumblr and just had to message you.”

Okay, so it’s a bot. Or a findom. One of the two. But usually phishers will have a stereotypical profile picture of some bimbo or a MILF that they ripped from the internet. Persephone’s, however, was a hand drawn image of, well, Persephone. Or at least what I thought was Persephone, I hadn’t really brushed up on my Greek Mythology. Or was it Norse Mythology? Whatever it was, the picture was of a bronze-skinned woman with leaves and flowers going through her auburn hair. She was clutching skulls in her left hand, and eating what looked like a pomegranate in the other.

“Just tell me how much your tribute is.” I shot back coldly.

It took several seconds for her to reply. Usually bots had an automated response that would give their list of demands (in poorly written english) as well as a price tag.

“Tribute? What’s a tribute?” she eventually said. “I just want to see you in panties.”

I was skeptical, but let’s be honest, any submissive sissy would already be intrigued by the prospect at this point.

I quickly found my lacy pair of pink ones, my favorite.

“Cute!” she replied after I sent her a picture of the panties just beneath my shirt. “But now take the rest of your clothes off so that you’re only wearing those.”

Again, I still had my reservations, but that didn’t stop me. I positioned my phone on the dresser. Trying to get just the right angle and distance to show off my body, without showing my face. I definitely didn’t trust whatever this was enough to put even a modicum of my identity out there.

I wasn’t in great shape by any means, but I wasn’t overweight either. ‘Flabby’ would probably describe it best. It occurred to me just then that I should start going to the gym. It took me several attempts to get a shot I was happy with. I quickly uploaded it to the chat and hit send. A part of me was worried that if I didn’t go fast enough, I would end up losing her.

“You’re such a pretty sissy!” She replied shortly after. It was oddly comforting. I felt validated. “Do you have anything in black?

This was really happening, not only was someone showing interest in me, but they haven’t even asked for money yet.

I got out my black g-string. In my angst to get it on I pulled up a little too far and flossed my crack a bit. It singed from the friction, but I ignored it. Tucking my erection into the waistband so it was held upwards.

“Hahaha! That one makes you look super slutty! And look how happy your clitty is! What other colors do you have?”

I spent the next half an hour going through the various pairs of panties I’d accrued over the years, modeling each and every one of them for her. Persephone was just the right amount of encouraging, dominating, and wicked.

“Your tushy looks great in that one.”

“I bet I could make your cheeks that same shade of red.”

“Wiggle that butt and tell me you’re a sissy slut!”

My body was shaking. No, more like shivering. It had to be because I was naked and cold. Or was it? There was an icy chill flowing through my veins. A pressing weight from the intensity of the thrill. Like when you ride a roller coaster. You know you’re probably safe, but that doesn’t stop you from getting paranoid, panicky, and excited all at the same time. I could feel my heart thumping through my chest.

“Are you ready to wet your panties?” She eventually asked.

There it was. For some reason things always had to escalate into toilet stuff. I know beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to getting dominated, but I really wish I wasn’t so picky.

“I’d rather not piss myself 😔” I told her.

I hoped she’d understand, I hoped she’d be lenient, I hoped I didn’t scare her away.

It took a long time for her to respond, or maybe it just felt like it did. But eventually my phone pinged.

“Not piss yourself, silly. I was asking if you wanted to wet them with cummies. Even though it looks like you’re already halfway there with your pre-leakies 😏”

My face flushed in embarrassment even though she wasn’t even there. It was just words, but it still had an effect on me. How could someone without a face and a voice still make me feel so small? It was intoxicating.

“Touch your itty bitty clitty for me, sissy.”

She was so poignant, so forward without sounding demanding, like I was comforted but under her thumb all at the same time.

I reached into my panties. I’d be lying if I said it was the first time since we started chatting. My cock had been screaming to be touched since the first or second message. I obliged it several times while being careful not to go too far. I didn’t want this scene to end. But now I had permission.

I reached into my panties and wrapped my hand around my cock. It wasn’t the biggest, maybe 4 and a half inches, 5 on a good day. Right now it felt like I was pushing 6. I had to stop because I was getting too excited. I sent her the video, doing my best not to touch myself again and cum too soon.

“I’m sorry…” she said after I sent her a 30 second video of me slowly stroking. I was confused, until she said “is that how someone in panties is supposed to be touching themselves??”

Ok. I was still confused.

“How should I do it, Miss?”

“Call me Goddess.” She replied. “And you should do it like most girls do when they play with themselves: one finger, on the sensitive part of your clitty. Do NOT stroke.”

I flushed again. This was so humiliating, but I was achingly erect. I propped my clit—err—cock up into my waistband again. It was enough for the head to stick up just above it. I dipped my finger into my mouth and wet it with saliva to lubricate it. Not that I needed to. As soon as I touched the frenulum at the bottom part of my penis, I noticed it was covered with precum.

I aimed my phone at myself, seeing how pathetic I looked on the screen as I started swirling my finger back and forth along the tiny, sensitive line.

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I heard a pitiful, high-pitched sigh escape my lips. It wasn’t a lot of stimulation, but apparently I didn’t need much. I felt the urge to cum again.

I had to stop myself. I didn’t want to go yet. I wanted to stay in this headspace forever. I scanned through the video real fast to make sure I didn’t accidentally show my face, then hit send.

“God you’re so fucking pathetic! Lol. Such a horny sissy! I can hear you making little girly moans! But I want them to be louder. I want you moaning like a fucking whore while you beg me to let you cum in your sissy panties!”

I didn’t have to embellish much, just had to stop suppressing the sounds I wanted to make, and bring them up an octave so they were a higher pitch.

“You’re doing so good, baby girl!” She teased after I sent her another 30 seconds of me moaning and whimpering. Normally I would be a bit put off by being called a baby, but nothing could stop me now.

“Please let me cum, Goddess! Please!” I squeaked. I had two fingers rubbing my clitty as I anxiously awaited her reply.

“You can cum. But I want you repeating ‘I'm a sissy making stickies in my panties’ the whole time. And I want to see your face while you do it.”

I gulped. My cock retreated a bit at that last sentence. I hardly knew this girl. I couldn’t even be sure she was a girl. And what would she do with a video like that? What I'm doing is far from illegal, but it’s still not something I would like being spread around.

“Do I have to show my face?” I asked.

“Yes.” She replied, “but only if you’re comfortable… and only if you want to cum 😉”

‘Only if you’re comfortable.’ For some reason, that made me feel better, like she had my best interest at heart, but still maintained a firm grip on my psyche.

I did want to cum. Probably more than ever. But I didn’t want to put my face out there. I never had before, was this the time to start?

Yes. The horny devil on my shoulder told me instantly. I didn’t even hear the angel, no idea where that guy was right now.

I sighed as I opened my camera again. Pulling my arm back a little further than normal so as to allow my face to join the rest of my splayed out body on the floor. My cheeks were a bright red, whether from embarrassment or being more horny than I've probably ever been in my life, I couldn’t be sure.

“I’m a sissy making stickies in my panties” I said as I fingered my clitty. It was weird saying something out loud, basically to yourself, in an empty apartment.

“I’m a sissy making stickies in my panties!” I had to close my eyes because I didn’t want to see how pathetic I looked on the screen. Unfortunately, there was no way for me to stop myself from hearing it.

“I’m a s-sissy,” my legs were shaking, I could feel the pressure building like a volcano about to erupt, “m-making st-stickies in my…my…PANTIES!!”

I practically shouted the last word as my clit erupted into the soft, silky material. It just kept going. Spurt after hot, sticky spurt of jizz into my red panties. They were now a darker shade of crimson as the wetness spread through them. It was probably one of the biggest loads I’ve ever made, but the fabric itself was terrible at absorbing any excess. It was all sloshy and gushy inside, and the creamy load made its way all the way down the thin line to my taint and crack.

My libido evaporated and was replaced by a bit of shame. But even with my post-nut clarity, I was blinded by the power Persephone held over me. I wanted to impress her. I wanted to please her.

“Thank you for letting me make cummies in my panties, Goddess” I said before hitting stop on the video.

If there was ever a time to go back on my word about showing my face, it would be now. I didn’t have to send it. I could just move right on and she would never be the wiser. She would probably forget about me and move on to some other sissy to play with.

But that realization hit with a pang of jealousy. I wanted to be the one she played with. I wanted to be the one she called a slut and even a ‘baby girl’.

Women like this didn’t come around often, or like…ever. I didn’t want to lose my chance with her.

The angel on my shoulder finally appeared. “You just met her an hour ago.” it said, “you actually haven’t even met her yet. Who knows what she could do? Who knows if she’s even a ‘she’?”

Valid points, all of them. But even without my horniness intact, the devil was winning.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he said. “Opportunities like this don’t come often. If you let her get away, you’ll be kicking yourself.”

After several seconds of deliberation, I made my decision:

I hit send.

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

It was the waiting game that was torture. The message indicated that it had been read. She was probably watching it now. But after several minutes, the length of the video had passed. If she was watching it, she had to have finished by now. What was she doing?

Then the screen changed. Persephone is typing…

“Good job, sissy slut! You sure made quite the mess! Now it’s time for me to upload it everywhere and send it to all your friends!”

Fuck!

God damn it!

Oh god oh god oh god…

How could I be so stupid??

I knew. I knew she would do this! I should have fucking listened to myself. That little inkling of doubt and reason. The one you realize was there only after you fuck something up.

What will my friends think when they see me gushing into panties? What will my Mom think??

My phone pinged again.

“Just kidding!” it read, “Oh how I WISH I could have seen your face!! 😂”

The gravity was turned off in the building. All the crushing weight had been lifted. I didn’t even know what to say, I was just happy I could breathe again.

“You got me…haha 😅”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I made you do something *else* in your panties too 😉”

I didn’t exactly know what she meant by that. But I didn’t question it. I was just happy to have her still talking to me.

“Well I’m off to bed, sissy. And in case you haven’t guessed: You will be sleeping in your gushy panties all night. Sweet dreams!”

To be continued…

I just released Chapter 5 of this story over on Subscribestar. Things are starting to pick up if you'd like to continue reading!

#white rabbit #the white rabbit

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