#also i finally started glazing my art lmao. took me long enough
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happy to report that im sooooooooooooooooo normal ^-^ and will continue to be so
#messmer the impaler#elden ring#elden ring shadow of the erdtree#messmer#my art#also i finally started glazing my art lmao. took me long enough#thank u to that anon that told me to do so that finally got me to get my act together#ANYWYS IM SO .#ghghghghghghghhghghghghghhg#ive already got like 3 other pieces that i sketched alongside this one this trailer has FED! ME!
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Almost lost him
Pairing: James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes x Stark!reader
Synopsis: Tony’s little sister had always had feelings for one James R. Rhodes. She’s kept it a secret for years, but will everything come out after he is injured during the fight against Cap?
word count: 2.4k+
Warnings: Brief cannon violence. Angst. Mentions paralysis. Swearing. Age gap. Also I have a specific age for the character mentioned.
A/N: This has been sitting in my WIP’s for over a year because I loved it so much and I didn’t want to end it poorly lmao. I know no ones gonna read it since he isn’t a popular character, but oh well. I love this fic and I love Rhodey so that’s all that matters.
Tony and (Y/N) Stark have saved the world from terrorists once again.
“Can you believe this title?” you laugh showing Rhodey the article on your phone.
“I was there too,” he says gruffly.
“You just aren’t special enough,” you tease, sticking your tongue out like you’re five and not thirty-six.
“Not everyone’s lucky enough to be a Stark,” Tony, your annoying but lovable older brother, enters the compound’s kitchen.
Tony took you under his wing and raised you since your parents died. It was a lot for a twenty-one year old to handle, no one he knew had to take care of an eleven year old. Especially one with newly discovered powers. They weren’t much, but when emotions would get overwhelming you would have white colored beams come from your hands. This later helped Tony come up with the idea for the repulsors on his Iron Man suit, which you helped him build.
As the years passed, you got a better hold on your new found powers. The more you and Tony dug into your parents past, you started to think that your dad had either given you something when you were a baby or your mom was given something while pregnant to make you like this. Your Dad always called you special, but you never thought you were this special.
“Any progress with Steve?” you ask hopefully. You know how much Tony values his friendship with Cap, he just won’t admit it. Especially because he’s hurt.
“No,” he grunts, but tries to brush it off like he doesn’t care. You and Rhodey give each other unamused looks, clearly not believing the bullshit Tony is trying to feed you.
“I think you should try to reach out to him again, you clearly miss him Tony,” you frown at the dark haired man in front of you.
“I agree with (Y/N/N),” Rhodey speaks up from behind you. He’s closer than you remember, and you shiver as you feel the little licks of his breath on your neck as he speaks.
“You love birds can shut up now,” Tony rolls his eyes, he leaves the kitchen without anything.
Heat immediately rushes to your face and you can’t look Rhodey in the eye as you stutter out an apology for Tony’s actions. You quickly leave the kitchen before he can respond, wanting to put distance between your blushing self and the man you had been in love with for years.
--
You had hoped that the conversation in the kitchen would have convinced Tony to reach out and make amends with Steve and half of the Avengers. But things only continued to escalate, where it seemed a battle between friends was unavoidable. So that's how you ended up in Germany, with your newest recruit Spider-Man, facing off against the people you cared most about in this world.
“Rhodey!” you scream as you watch him plummet to the Earth. Time seems to slow to a near standstill and all you can do is watch, too far away from him to be able to help somehow. Your knees buckle and you hit the ground at the same time his body does. There's a scream that’s so loud it rattles the windows of the airport hanger, a scream you weren’t even aware left your own lips.
Vision tries to approach you, but you let out a sound that's between a sob and a scream as he gets closer. You’re angry, and scared, you can feel a rush of something in your veins. You ball your hands in fists, bringing them to your chest as you curl into yourself.
The sound of metal crunching together pulls you from your rocking back and forth on your knees. You see a white glow, one that you're extremely familiar with, dissipating from around two shipping containers, now crushed together where vision was hovering. If he had stayed solid, he would have been crushed. You’re shaking even more as you stare down at your hands, you had never been able to move objects before. You could have hurt somebody. You can’t dwell on it too long because Peter runs to your side, telling you that Rhodey had a heartbeat and help was on the way.
It had felt like hours since Tony, Peter, and you had landed back down in the states. Dr. Cho was working with a spine specialist and a neurosurgeon to figure out the extent of the damage. After a while, they had updated you three, telling you that Rhodey broke his spine and they were taking him into surgery. Tony had left to go fiddle with one of his suits, his coping mechanism. He left the kid with you because he didn’t want you alone.
“How did you two meet?” Peter breaks the silence.
“Hmm?” you look away from the painting in front of you for the first time since you sat in the waiting room chair, to look at the boy.
“Mr. Rhodes, how did you two meet?” he clarifies.
“That’s a long story,” your eyes glaze over as memories start to come flooding back.
“I have time,” Peter gives you a small smile, you can really see what Tony see’s in the kid. The kindness that his Aunt May has taught him is abundantly clear, you know he’s only asking for your benefit.
“He met Tony when they went to MIT together, he somehow found a way to put up with my brother's antics. I didn’t meet him until two years after Tony graduated, so I was eleven,” you let out a little laugh as you realize just how long the older man has been in your life, and in your heart. “He came to my parents funeral for support for Tony, but he became my support system. Everyone seemed to ignore me and go straight for the golden boy, but Tony became too overwhelmed quickly. He introduced me to Rhodey who was the first one, besides Tony of course, to ask me how I was. He ended up spending the entire wake and funeral with me, giving me support and effectively distracting me from my pain.”
You look over at the younger boy, who seems to be staring at you with fascination. He sees the pain on your face when you stop talking, reaching over he grabs your hand loosely. Testing the waters to see if you’ll pull away from affection like Tony has with him. You give him a thankful smile and hold his hand before continuing your story.
“He joined the military not long after that. At first I would send him care packages and letters so he didn’t feel alone when he was deployed. One day when I was writing a letter one of Tony’s flings came into the kitchen and called me a pathetic child because I was crushing on Tony’s friend after I explained what I was doing. He never got that letter, or any after that. We didn’t really talk much after that, if he came to visit Tony I’d be pleasant before locking myself in my room. I guess I was embarrassed over my school girl crush. Years passed, lots of years, before Tony went missing, James was the one that told me what happened. And in those following months he would rarely leave my side, he wanted to make sure I was okay. We were finally both adults, and we gained a real friendship.”
“That sounds like more than a friendship,” Peter sends you an innocent look. You furrow your eyebrows at him in response, Rhodey definitely doesn’t like you back. “I’m just saying, if Liz was like that with me I would be ecstatic that she liked me back.”
“He sees me as a little sister, Peter,” your heart breaking a little more knowing that you’ll never be able to be with the man you’ve loved for years. Before Peter can refute you, Rhodey’s Neurosurgeon walks into the waiting room- some guy named Dr. Strange.
“How is he?” you jump out of your seat, Peter quickly following suit, his hand falling from yours at the movement.
“He’s out of surgery Miss. Stark,” his voice coming out as cocky and full of himself, like he’s overly proud that he did this surgery. “But the recovery will be the difficult part.”
“What happened? What’s still wrong? And when can I see him?” you’re shooting out questions faster than the surgeon can answer.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you Miss. Stark, and you can’t see him until he’s out of the ICU,” the smug look is still on the surgeon's face, making you grow angrier with each word that leaves his mouth.
“Excuse me?” Peter looks between you and the surgeon with wide curious eyes.
“You aren’t family,” he states matter-of-factly. “Therefore I can’t tell you and you can’t see him.”
Your eye twitches in anger as your body starts to warm, your powers start to react to the strong emotion. You take a deep calming breath, keeping you from accidentally lashing out at the surgeon.
“I suggest you rethink that answer,” you say deathly calm, Peter stares at you in awe as you talk back to the man. “And consider who paid for all of the new state-of-the-art Stark technology and equipment you have in this hospital. Things I’m sure that you used in that surgery, that I donated to this hospital through the outreach program that I created. Technology created by both me and my brother.”
“Is there a problem here?” a man’s voice comes from behind you, he sounds irritated that someone’s making a scene. You turn around to face the man, who is wearing a badge that says medical director on it. Perfect. His eyes widen as soon as he recognizes who you are.
“Actually there is,” you frown. “My colleague, my friend. My favorite person after my brother really, he just had a pretty big surgery, but your surgeon here won’t tell me any details or let me go see him. So yes, we have a huge problem.”
“I’m so sorry Miss. Stark,” he exclaims. “Why don’t we go update you in private.”
“Did I sound like a bitch?” you frown, whispering to Peter as the two of you follow the MD and the surgeon. He nods a little with a smirk adorning his face.
“But it was awesome!” you grin at the young boy, remembering the excitement you felt when you saw Tony use his name to get what he wanted for the first time.
“He’s paralyzed,” the surgeon throws the statement around like it isn’t a big deal as soon as the four of you enter a separate room. “From the waist down. There was nothing we could do.”
Your heart and your lungs seem to stop working at the same time. Peter discreetly uses his super strength to catch you as your legs give out at the surgeon's words. Tears start to pour down your face as you realize all of the things Rhodey will never be able to again. Like never being able to help defend his country again, or chase after you when you steal the last cookie that he wanted.
You can’t help but feel guilty. If he had never met you and Tony he would be fine. He would still be able to do what he loves. He never would have been put in that situation. He’ll never be able to walk again. He won’t have the opportunity to dance at his wedding or chase his children around if he decided to have either of those.
“I know it’s a lot Miss. Stark,” the MD’s voice is muffled. “But there was nothing we could have done-”
“When can I see him?” you cut the doctor off.
“I could take you to him now,” he glares at the surgeon. “He won’t wake for at least a few more hours.”
“Peter, go call Tony and tell him the update,” you look at the young boy, he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading back to the waiting room.
The surgeon and the MD both ramble on about Rhodey’s condition but their voices sound muffled- like you’re underwater. You feel like you're suffocating in all the pain and grief you feel for the love of your life. He’s lying on the bed, oxygen tubing up his nose, at least ten wires connected to him, and the disgusting beep of his heart monitor reminds you how lucky you are that he’s still here with you.
The two men quickly leave you with Rhodey, but not before the MD promises that he’ll be under constant supervision and he’ll receive the best treatments they offer. Not that you're shocked to hear that with the scene you cause in the waiting room. You grab Rhodey’s hand, careful to avoid yanking the IV in it, pulling his hand up to your mouth to give it a feather light kiss. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stare at his still body, you were so close to losing him today.
The tears have stopped by the time Tony shows up close to an hour later, he had dropped Peter off at home before coming up to the hospital room. Your older brother looks as distressed as you feel, although he seems to be tryin to hide it more than you are.
“How is he?” his voice is quieter than you imagined, like he’s afraid any louder will make you crumble.
“Stable,” your voice is monotonous, and you refuse to tear your eye’s from Rhodey’s face as you respond to Tony. “About as good as he could be I guess.”
“How are you?” he cuts you off as you go to respond that you're fine. “And don’t bullshit me (Y/N/N), you’ve been in love with him since you were eleven. How are you feeling?”
You don’t respond, not with words at least. Instead you do crumble, letting out a quiet sob as you grip Tony’s hand that he was about to place on your shoulder. Tony runs his free hand through your hair and down your back, trying to soothe you like he used to when you would have nightmares after your parents deaths.
“We almost lost him today Tony, I almost lost him-” another sob racks through your body. “And now he’s paralyzed. He can never walk again, can never defend his Country again. And for what? A disagreement between you and Steve? We could have lost him Tony for something so fucking stupid.”
Before Tony can respond, a muffled voice breaks through the tension in the room. The voice is gravely, but one you love so dearly, it’s Rhodey’s. “(Y/N)?”
Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always
#rhodey x reader#james rhodes#war machine#war machine x reader#stark!reader#rhodey x stark!reader#war machine x stark!reader#tony stark x sister!reader#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel one shot#marvel x reader#marvel fanfiction#iron man#the avengers
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As soon as I started practicing kisses I suddenly can't help adding them now lmao something fluffy and firey for you heathens. Still sfw content tho ofc. Based on the new fanart I did recently so some of it doesn't match the art in hindsight :"D I think now its just gonna be a new tradition to write something to go along with my pieces.
They were taking one of their occasional adventures away from the Betterman Farm, where they would hunker down in the wilderness for several days at a time. For a while, Guy and Eep would forget there was an entire world that they shared with other people; their family. It was just the two of them, hunting and foraging and seeing the beauty the land itself provided.
She knew her home was the Farm now but her heart would never deny she was always meant for the untamed wild where the sun stretched on forever. She wasn't sure why Guy had lead her towards the desert as an area for camp, it was hot and unspeakably dry during the day, sweltering even. Her entire life had been the dusty desert and the canyon with that awful cave as the only escape from the heat.
As dusk fell, Guy had only grinned at her. They'd set up camp not long after the daytime sun joined the many nighttime suns in the sky. The sight of how many slept above her still was awe striking. Guy skinned a boar they'd hunted together, something Eep wanted to teach Dawn about someday. She knew as much as Guy enjoyed his safer, more pampered life with the Bettermans, he was still that adventurous nomad born and raised. He lived for the thrill his skills provided him and how all his ideas saved him from many obstacles.
Eep watched the fire flicker and sway, it was still surprising how alive looked. She leaned her hands out to toast her palms, the desert chilled now the sun set. She didn’t understand that either, how such a mercilessly hot place can become so cold.
The embers glowed in her green eyes when she felt Guy touch her wrist. Eep turned to him, seeing the fire reflecting in his dark gaze. He was beautiful, one of the most wonderful things she ever saw even after everything he'd shown her.
"I got the boar skinned, just need help putting a skewer through it," Guy said, gesturing towards the beast. They had parked themselves by an oasis, giving Guy a way to wash off the blood from his hands.
Eep had offered to do it, blood never phased her but Guy insisted she just rest. In the meantime she had bathed in the spring, the sand and sweat on her uncomfortable before settling down by the fire to wait on her mate. She hadn't wanted to admit it but she felt rather tired after the long trek. Guy had his reasons for picking this place but he could be so strange and peculiar about it in a way she never understood.
Perhaps that was why she loved him so much. There was nobody else in the world like him, even if she could only count the amount of people she knew on both hands.
Eep stood up from her crouching position. "Sure, I'm starving," she exclaimed, eying the pig carcass greedily. "Are you absolutely certain we can't just - "
"No, you are not sinking your teeth into that thing without cooking it first," Guy scolded her, it was more akin to when Ugga was telling off her children for causing mischief. "You'll get sick. I need to bring you back to Grug in one piece or I'll be in pieces."
"Fineeeee," Eep compromised with a dramatic sigh, leaning her neck back before walking over to help her mate spear the pig.
Eep with Guy’s help, well, mostly Eep but she liked making him feel useful, carried the spitted animal towards the campfire and held it over it. Guy had crafted some little makeshift contraption with wood and rope he'd packed, so they could use a pulley system to rotate the roasting boar
The two took alternating shifts.
"It's funny," Eep couldn’t help but muse suddenly, taking in the view. The fire made the golden sandstone burn a brilliant red color, reminding her of amber.
"What's funny?" Guy asked from his post by the pig, rotating it with a careful eye so it cooked evenly.
"Well…" Eep leaned her elbow on her bent knee, her chin on her hand. "We met in a desert and you asked me to marry you in one too."
Guy tried hiding his smile by turning back to cooking but Eep saw it, perceptive as always. He pretended to ignore her narrow eyed look. "Funny how fate works," he quipped and heard Eep snort in a very unadulterated fashion.
"You planned this," Eep accused him and Guy finally was forced to face the music because the boar didn't need this much turning on the spit.
"Me? Plan things? You must be mistaken," Guy quipped, his tone betraying him. His grin was wide. "Okay, you got me. Happy anniversary, or have you forgotten?"
"As if I can forget the night I nearly dashed your brains out with a rock," she said with more fondness than any normal person should, jumping to her feet.
Guy held her hands, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against hers. "Me either, you're a hard one to forget."
"Well, I did call you back."
"You did," he agreed before pouting. "Not my smoothest pick up line though."
"So you didn't tell every girl that line? 'If you survive, call me?'" Eep quoted, exposing her teeth in a teasing smirk.
"Nope, you were the first and only," Guy assured her, winking. "It worked."
"It did," she agreed back, shaking her head with a giggle. "So…" Eep began coyly, averting her eyes towards the landscape colored black in silhouette.
"So…?" Guy urged her, knowing that Eep didn't need the coaxing but somehow it had just become their thing.
"What if I did come with you that night," Eep asked him, turning back to bat her eyelashes at him. "I think this is the perfect spot to humor the thought." She gazed around the desert, the ground hard with stone, much like the one she had followed Guy's fire that night.
"Well for one, your dad would have killed me because I didn't know he was part of the equation yet," Guy replied, both joking and serious as he said it. "This little journey would have definitely been way more interesting though if I had stolen you away from him."
"Stolen me," she echoed with a laugh though her ears burned from a mixture of the fire and thought. There had been an obvious attraction and two teenagers journeying alone, well, it didn't take a Betterman to figure it out. "You make this sound scandalous, Guy."
"It's not now though so that means when you took my hand, I'd do this." He lifted her palm to his lips, gently kissing a scar that led down to the pulse point of her wrist.
"No, you wouldn't have," Eep teased him. "You were too scared of me to try it."
"I wouldn’t," he agreed. "But this is a fantasy so anything can happen."
"Okay," she amused him, letting Guy continue his little story.
Guy seemed to realize a dark implication in this what if and since it was a fantasy, he could change that. "The world isn't ending, I'm still a nomad but you're just a stir crazy teenage girl instead."
"I am a stir crazy teenage girl," Eep corrected him, leaning up on her toes to brush his cheek with her nose. "And I'll remind you everyday, babe."
"You make telling this story harder than it needs to be," Guy lamented in mock offense, drawing her closer to eye her down. Eep just grinned innocently. "Stop putting plot holes."
Eep just giggled, feeling him turn her hand over to kiss her knuckles and each finger delicately. It was like having a butterfly touch her skin.
"Fine, then what?"
"We'd run away together," he continued, looking up at her with loving eyes. "Somehow outsmart your dad because Sandy would totally have sniffed us out in the morning."
Eep smirked, fighting off a broad smile in her amusement. "Would you have fought him?"
"I mean…" Sure, it was a fantasy but he was also just stronger, bigger and scarier than Guy was. Besides, hindsight wasn't twenty twenty and this caveman was now a second father to him. As annoying and abrasive as Grug had been in all the time Guy knew him, he also had a begrudging respect and admiration for him too. "Maybe we'd just bring him along anyway, save us the trouble."
"Is the log ride magic now?" Eep asked him with a wicked grin. "Does it fly us to Tomorrow? I'm sure it could if dad kicked it hard enough for us."
Guy scoffed, "This is my fantasy so there is no log."
"Aw, you're no fun," she sniggered, lifting his hand to press his palm into her nose fondly. "The log brought us together."
"Yeah but in this story you already came with me," Guy reminded her with a gentle tug, taking her hand back to stroke his thumbs fondly over her knuckles.
Eep tried hard not to laugh again, blushing as well under the soft look he gave her. He smiled at her and she melted like ice. It was intimate and vulnerable, more so than anything they'd done in all the time proceeding to this moment.
"Alright," she murmured, stroking his chest after laying her palm flat against his heart. She fiddled with the seashells dangling around his neck, idly stroking his throat and felt him swallow. "Then what?"
"I'd show you the world and since there's no The End… we wouldn't rush through it. You know, actually do some sight seeing. Fall slowly in love with each beautiful thing I show you but never seems to compare to you." Eep couldn’t help the giddy giggle as he called her beautiful, beaming bright like a sun ray at his compliment. Guy's eyes almost glazed over as he gave the silly romantic escapade story more thought, he chuckled. "Your dad would ruin all our little moments though, so it's kinda hard."
"So even in this little I went with you story, dad still keeps us apart?" Eep pouted.
"Every story needs conflict," Guy teased her. "Dad was going to catch up eventually, family in tow. We were taking the scenic route, it was bound to happen, Eep."
Eep rolled her eyes at him, tugging Guy down so they could sit with their backs to the fire. She leaned her weight against his side, feeling Guy rest his arm behind her back. "I hope things start getting more romantic for us, Guy."
Guy pressed a kiss to her temple, grinning. "It does. After hauling our crazy family cross country, we find the sun hidden on a mountain."
Eep remembered Guy's mountain, two tall twin peaks that extended high above the sky, swathed in clouds and extending out to a meadow after climbing the outcrop. They were supposed to ride it to Tomorrow, joining it among the many sleeping suns above. "How are we going to ride it to Tomorrow if I'm your Tomorrow?"
"I'm retconning stuff, stop spoiling the story," Guy scolded her, just resting his head on hers, taking in her smokey wild scent. "I realize this sooner, because the sun isn't really attainable. We go after it but it just gets farther and farther away." He extended his hand out in a reaching gesture. This meant Guy was really getting into the story.
"Are you sad for awhile?" Eep inquired, absently hugging his bicep now that Guy no longer held her hands.
"For a bit," he admitted. "I mean, my parents said to follow the sun but you really can't but…" Guy paused and gazed fondly at his wife tucked into his side, body warm, familiar and supple.
"But…?"
"I found you, light led me to you. I realize this and tell you I love you after this little journey." Guy nuzzled her cheek with a blissful little sigh. "Also then we find the Bettermans and live happily ever after in their treehouse with the punch monkeys."
Eep poked him in the chest, not really the reaction he was expecting after that happy ending. "You can't just skip an entire chapter like that and tack 'the end!'"
Guy took her hand in both of his, cupping it tender in-between his palms. "It works when your dad tells stories," he joked.
"Well, that was before you started telling better stories," Eep exclaimed with a childish huff that was so her it made Guy muffle a laugh into her shoulder.
"Did you tell Grug that?"
"You know how dad is," she replied a bit more sheepishly this time. "Least everybody doesn't die at the end anymore."
"They don't," he agreed, gazing at her fondly once again. "He's getting better though, I like happy endings."
"I like happy endings. I like you," Eep added, cuddling herself cozy as a cat under his arm and against his chest. She listened to his heartbeat, soothed by the gentle thump.
Guy stroked her back, gentle as he rested his chin above her head. "Only like?" He murmured.
"Maybe if you don't rush your endings then I'll say something else," she told him, Guy feeling her lips as she spoke against his heart.
Guy hugged her, adjusting his position so he could tug his wife onto his lap. She immediately curled up there, warm and safe as he draped his arms around her like a cocoon. "What if there is no ending yet? I like leaving our story open ended, Eep."
He suddenly found himself on his back and he gave a soft oof in surprise. Eep leaned over him, hands braced above his head as she looked down at him. The firelight made her already bright red hair even more so, blazing like the sun with the dark shadows making her eyes and face seem more intense.
"Then… I guess I can accept that," she relented after several moments, a smile crossing her face. She pressed her forehead against his, nose touching his.
Guy's eyes fluttered closed, knowing the intimate implications of the gesture amongst her people. He felt her breath fan his face before something soft touched his lips.
Immediately he wrapped his arms around her, letting his palms gently stroke the strong muscles of her back as they flexed beneath them. He'd never tired of her, beautiful and feral as she was. There was a soft gasp against his lips and he gave a quiet little growl, pressing up to mold his body with hers.
He found his words despite wanting to just keep kissing her. The moment was too right to neglect however. It took a few long moments of trading kiss after kiss that Guy had an idea to put his lips to good use in a way he wouldn't need to stop. Trailing a few heated kisses down the soft slope of her neck, he mumbled, "Eep?"
She hummed, "Mhm?" It was hardly the most direct of words but he took it.
"You lit a fire in me when we met," Guy confessed though he knew it was obvious at this point. It was no secret despite the circumstances of their relationship's beginning, he'd been infatuated and found her cute. Scary habits despite that, of course. "And you were in my every thought since then, I really was hoping you'd call me, Eep."
"I really wanted to go with you," she said, pushing him away to graze a palm down his bicep, tracing a stripe fondly before finding his hand to lace their fingers together. Her touch singed him more than the embers behind him did from where he lay. "I just…"
"You came with me eventually though," he reminded her though found he needed to remind himself to focus when she lifted his hand to her lips to kiss his longer fingers. He closed his eyes, sighing. "You gave me something even better than any Tomorrow I thought I'd find out there."
"Even if you were a stupid boy?" She teased him through the haze, bracing her weight against his again. She still sometimes made fun of him for that but in the moment he hardly cared, caging her in his arms.
"Yes," he grunted, Guy would agree to anything she said right now so long as she kept touching him like this.
Their lips met again but she suddenly paused, her roaming hands no longer roaming. He huffed against her lips, confused and a bit frustrated that she stopped.
"Guy?" Eep murmured against his lips breathily.
"Mhm?" It wasn't an intelligible response but having Eep so close to him like this always rendered him a useless fool.
"Do you smell something burning?" Eep drew away, ignoring Guy's protesting whine as their lips no longer brushed.
"Just my love for you," he told her, sitting up with what he hoped was a winning smile.
Eep flared her nostrils at the smell and eyes widening looked past Guy towards their camp fire, having completely forgotten about the cooking boar during their recent activities.
"Guy, the boar is on fire," she exclaimed.
Guy in an instant scrambled to his feet to try salvaging their dinner. "Oh crap!" He ran for a waterskin and a blanket but to Eep it was probably a fruitless endeavor.
She was never much of a picky eater anyway. Sometimes some burning did a meal good, she thought, touching her lips with a grin.
#thecroods#croods#the croods#the croods a new age#the croods 2 a new age#the croods 2#croods 2#thecroods2#croods2#dreamworks#A Tomorrow of Our Own#croods fanfiction#the croods fanfiction#fanfiction#my writing#my fanfiction#eepxguy#guyxeep#eep x guy#guy x eep#geep
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Moth to Flame
Chapter 11
Reader x OT7
► Vampire!AU
Smut/Porn With Some Plot
Warnings: Denied/Ruined Orgasms, Restraints, Vibrator, Tit-Fucking, Slight Male Receiving Oral...?, Abuse/Manipulation of Power, Crooked Power Dynamics, Slight Choking, Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Slight Bloodplay?, Degredation, Somewhat Dubious Consent/Hypnosis, Possessiveness, Vampires (Biting, Blood-Sucking, Reference to Death), Language
Words: 8.2K
↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry…
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the muse touched me inappropriately with this one, alright lads i apologize in advance lmao
The apartment is…
Unextraordinary.
You aren’t sure what you’re expecting as you’re lead up the stairs, through the plain, industrial doorframe and into the entrance hallway. But it isn’t what you��re met with. Somewhat cluttered with odd paraphernalia and boxes, but clean, and entirely unimpressive. The ceilings are low, the light fixtures scarce, and the floor is scuffed in places. You think to Jin’s house and it’s jarring, the difference between the two.
The boys file in ahead of you, Yoongi disappearing into the first door to your immediate left without raising his eyes from the floor. There’s a brief glance of the dark interior and mechanical lights before he shuts it behind himself. Hoseok and Namjoon both continue into the main area—a combination kitchen and living room—wherein Hoseok drifts towards the worn couch taking up the majority of the space. He drapes himself over it, resuming his hazed, relaxed stare into space.
“Don’t sit there too long,” Namjoon warns, tossing the keys into a bowl on the counter with a clink. They almost slide out and he moves to catch them, but the irregular sides convince the set back into the middle just as his fingers stretch out. It looks like someone’s art project, glazed weird colors and somewhat misshapen. It’s been broken, and then carefully glued back together, judged by the lines crisscrossing over the surface, the chipped edge. “You’ll get the couch moldly.”
Hoseok hums.
“So,” Namjoon continues, and you look to him as he addresses you. “This is it. Home sweet home.”
“It’s…” You start, hesitant, unsure of how to phrase what you’re thinking in a way that doesn’t sound...mean?
“It’s not Jin’s carnival house, but the rent is definitely cheaper,” His eyebrows raise with a dismissive look as he shirks his jacket and throws it at a nearby bar char.
“Carnival house?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t Jin’s house like…a mansion?”
Namjoon grins, his eyes squishing when his cheeks push upwards. Is there a joke you’re not getting?
“It’s an abandoned theme park hotel.”
“…what?”
“You really thought we could afford a mansion?”
“I—I didn’t really…think about it.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. We bought it ages ago. The park is condemned, but the hotel is fine. It never got big so the price on it wasn’t too bad after a couple lifetimes of saving up. Plus, you know. Abandoned. It was perfect for us.” His smile fades. He blinks, turning away quickly and busying himself with taking his shoes off. “When it was all of us.” He adds, quiet.
“You and Jin have history, right?” You jump on the chance to ask directly, “I keep hearing about it, bits and pieces. What—”
“So let me give you the tour,” Namjoon interrupts. He doesn’t look you in the eyes as he straightens, gesturing for you to follow him under the arch leading to the right. You decide you won’t push the matter, not when he has that kind of expression furrowing his brow. He’s not even the fun kind of upset.
The fun kind? What? You roll your eyes briefly, away from him so he doesn’t notice, banishing even just the beginning thought of whatever the ‘fun kind of upset’ is.
“Bathroom’s through here, all the way on the end.” He strides down the hallway and opens it as you trail after him. Just a regular bathroom, maybe half the size of the ones at Jin’s, toilet, sink, shower. There’s an odd kind of relief that you feel at noting that the shower is not, in fact, big enough to hold more than one person.
“And this is the other room.” He continues, leaning back out of the bathroom and opening the door to its left so that you can peer in. After a beat, he walks inside, arms wide as if showcasing it. The first thing that strikes you is that it doesn’t look fully moved into. Boxes, just like in the living room, shoved under the desk, set precariously on top of the nightstand. The bed covers are rumpled, but hastily pulled up in a semblance of order. And the second thing you notice is that there, on the overflowing bookshelf, you immediately spot a familiar face. A ceramic frog statue. He’s wearing a hat and brandishing a fishing pole. His painted eyes are slightly crossed.
“There’s only two bedrooms?” You ask after a moment, looking away from the strange creature. “For all three of you?”
Namjoon shrugs, reaching to scratch at the back of his neck, lips pursing. “We don’t usually sleep at the same times, so we kind of all have an agreement. We all need space sometimes, but we usually use the other room for that. It’s got a computer.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“We make do.”
You make a sympathetic noise. Something sparks in you, something more understanding than you expected. Like dorm rooms. It reminds you of your dorm room at university. It always felt so crowded, and the privacy was…
Namjoon steps forward and your half-memory dissolves in on itself as he doesn’t stop moving, crowding you against the wall. You try to be indignant that he’d wreck another of your rare returning memories but the look he gives you makes you hesitate.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks. His eyes are completely unreadable, but his tone strikes below your belt and you have to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.
“I can check my schedule,” you squeak. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help.
“Cute.” He doesn’t look amused. “I’d like to talk to you about the way you talked to me in the car earlier.”
“I don’t think I’d like to talk about that right now.”
“Somewhere better to be?” His voice is so low.
“Anywhere?” You offer, shrinking at the embers in his expression.
“You disrespected me. In front of my coven.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You shouldn’t have asked it.”
Momentarily, the spell breaks, from the sheer audacity of him and your knee-jerk reaction that rises to spill from behind your teeth. You frown, shifting back so that you can look at him properly, the back of your head resting against the wall.
“That’s really fucking unfair.”
Satisfaction claims your chest when it’s his turn to balk, his face turning incredulous, lips parting, brows raising. His head cocks, as if to consider his reply, and you take the respite to continue.
“You can’t tell me I’m a slut one minute and then beg your comrade not to brainwash me the next. It’s not fucking fair. You can’t have it both ways.”
“You have a real mouth on you when you’re awake.”
You surge forward, pressing a triumphant finger into his chest and ignoring how muscular the swell of it is. “You see? There you go again. ‘When I’m awake’.”
“I’m not going to give you a lot of warnings.”
“Answer my question.”
Namjoon stares down at you. You stare up. Finally, he blinks, wrapping one large hand around your knuckles and pulling your finger off of him.
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s bullshit, Namjoon.”
“I’m not wrong,” he continues to argue, but he’s still holding your hand by your side, distracted. “Haze can’t put you in danger—“
“That is also bullshit—“
“—That you don’t ask for. I notice you didn’t tell anyone to stop in the diner. I gave you plenty of opportunity to.”
You hesitate, and he reclaims the space you took when you stepped forward, crowding you again.
“You didn’t tell Hoseok to stop in the car. You didn’t run away from Jin’s.”
“I…I was hazed—“ You’re faltering and he picks up on it way too quickly.
“Right as you almost jumped out his window.”
You search his eyes, looking for your out. Your argument. You don’t find it. It’s hard to keep tabs on it when he’s staring at you like that, the surface of your skin prickling with phantom touches, wish fulfillment and dark desires stirring inside you. His expression clouds back over, head craning so that you can feel his breath on your cheek, hear his rumble in your ear.
“So you hesitated.”
“…I’m not—“
“And I’m not judging. I like sluts.”
“…f-fuck you.”
His hand snatches your chin and forces it up, daring you to meet his gaze again. A humorless smirk is growing at the corners of his mouth as he regards you dismissively and it sends dangerous thrills skittering down your frame.
“Only if you begged.”
Fuck him. Fuck him. But his teeth peeking out from behind his plush lips has part of you thinking of kisses and bites—god, especially bites. Your throat has gone dry. His fingers at your chin, so close to the mark he made on your neck, what feels like so long ago. It’s so easy to be mad at him, to be angry with his excuses and rhetoric, his fucking high horse, but the way he watches you tremble with rage is just that little bit off from calculating.
He’s getting off on this. And it sucks that you are too.
You rip your hand away from him, pressing forward with a sudden rush of adrenaline, shoving at his chest. He barely moves, only staggering back briefly, but it’s enough for you to turn on your heel and rush for the door. One step, all of your weight behind it, mind reeling, making a beeline for the hallway. Your thoughts spin dizzingly, fingers reaching for the handle, rush down through the door, you can make it. You can make it.
You know that you won’t.
Iron circling around your waist, your momentum carrying you into the warmth, the unyielding muscle of his arm, effortlessly swinging you around, and your feet leave the ground entirely, the world tilting, soft mattress and blankets cushioning your less-than-graceful fall, legs akimbo, tangled in the hoodie, world darkening when he blocks out the light above you, and you screech, smothered by soft skin, heat, lips pressing into yours bruisingly. Your fingers scrabble for his hair, coiling in the damp strands, wrapping it around your knuckles, tugging rough when his tongue licks into the cavern of your mouth, smothering you, filling you with his scent and his taste.
His kiss is nothing like Yoongi’s. There’s no tenderness, not soft touches. It almost hurts, the way he drags his teeth against you, sucks harshly, pushes you down into the cushion. He’s pinning you, to command your movements to a halt even as you squirm, raking down the front of his own hoodie to knead at your breast, pinch and tug mercilessly. He ruts against you like an animal in heat. And as he growls, you’re hissing, snarling, rutting back, biting and roiling with him, impatient and angry and hot.
He breaks for breath first, with a groan deep in his chest, dragging his tongue across your bruised lips as you pant.
“Are you hazed right now?” he growls through his teeth, calloused palm slipping to your neck. He squeezes, sharp, and when you gasp throatily, he eases off but only just. “Hmm? Are you hazed right now?” he repeats, low, grinding his crotch against your center. The hoodie rides up over your thighs, and the rough fabric chafes against your pussy as you buck away from the sensation. “You’re so fucking wet, think I didn’t notice? Tell me again.”
“I’m not a slut,” you spit.
He laughs, and you could tear it out of his throat. “Good girl.”
“Would it even matter if I told you to stop? Would you?” you bite, wrapping one leg around his midsection to pull him closer, and you don’t know now if the dark patch forming on his jeans is you or him.
“Is that what you want?” Namjoon nips at your lip a little too hard, pulling it with him, and it makes you arch. “You want me to stop?”
“No.” You answer a little too quickly, tugging at his shirt, desperate to pull it off him, but he doesn’t comply and only hovers, nosing into your neck as he thrusts against you. You settle for clawing up his sides under the fabric of his shirt, feeling at the muscle there, trailing up his ribs.
“What do you want, then? Hmm?”
A huff leaves you, turning into a whimper when he bites teasingly at your jaw.
“You want my fingers again?” Long, searching digits trace the bottom of the hoodie, pushing it up and away from your lower half entirely, and you can feel them ghosting against your belly, resting to hold your hips to the bed. You have to swallow down by force the plea that nearly escapes you.
“My tongue? You want me to lick you up?” Hot wetness, licking a stripe to your clavicle, dipping inside the hollow of your throat, swirling. You shudder, trying to shove him closer, but he resists with a deft movement.
“My cock?” It drips from his mouth so heavily, so thick with promise. His hips move to punctuate his words, digging into your pelvis, and you can feel him. He’s so hard, and the outline of his member snatches the air out of your lungs. “You want me to stuff your greedy cunt full of my cum?”
He chuckles again and it’s breathless, as if taking him by surprise. “You’re so greedy.” He leans back to better survey your flushed face.
“Yes.” You hiss, through gritted teeth.
“Yes what.”
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I want your cock. I want your fingers and your tongue. I want everything you can give me because I’m greedy. Please, sir.” You growl. The storm building in your head, in your cunt, is so loud you can’t think but for the pounding of your heart, the absent clenching around nothing. You need him to touch you, kiss you, bite you.
He barks another laugh, nose scrunching, shoulders quaking.
“Better. I like it. But,” he tsks and cocks his head, heavily lidded eyes casting over you. “No. No, you don’t deserve it yet.”
You whine, hips bucking up underneath him, brows pulling together with pure frustration. He pushes you back down, sliding ontop of you again, crushing the air out of your chest, chasing your lips so that when he speaks again you can taste his breath, can feel his plush mouth brushing yours.
“You have to earn my cock, baby. Are you ready to do that? Are you ready to be good for me?”
Briefly, you almost go back to swearing at him. But you break easily when his hips shift, humping, dragging his obvious erection against your drenched core with a delicious mixture of too much and not enough, insistent, smooth.
“Yes,” you chatter. “Yes, fuck, please, just—“
Namjoon smirks toothily. Flicks his eyebrow up and suddenly sits back up, crawling off of you. The light hanging from the ceiling, past him, blinds you momentarily and you shield your eyes with a grimace. The bed creaks and shifts as his weight moves, and finally springs back when it’s just you left on it. But he’s not gone for too long.
You’re still blinking away the harshness from your eyelids when you feel a warm, calloused palm collecting your wrist. Metal. Cold, unmalleable, setting in place with a click. He lets go, and your hand hangs above your head, pulled short by the bite of the metal. Blearily, confused, you tug at it curiously as he takes your other hand.
Handcuffs.
Click.
Adrenaline shoots through your chest and you’re struggling upwards, but it’s no use, the son of a bitch has handcuffed you to the headboard and no matter how violently you twist, grasping the chain, kick out and bounce on the mattress, there’s no give and you remain stuck in place, your hands suspended above you.
“N-Namjoon, wait, wai—what, fuck, pl—you—“ you’re babbling, incoherent, flailing. But the slick between your thighs only grows with the thought that now, now you don’t have any choice but to obey him. Like hazing, but completely, painfully, awake. Warmth grows in your belly and fills your limbs with electricity.
He’s pressing your legs back down to the bed, scooting forward to pin you again, his hand travelling to your hair, petting it away from your face, caressing your jaw, your neck, as he shushes you playfully.
“Shh, baby,” he coos. You hazard a glance up at him, chest heaving, but he looks so incredibly pleased with himself that arousal shoots straight to your cunt at the absent, hungry smile curving his lips. “Shh. You want to be good, right?”
“I’ll be good, I—Namjoon, you don’t have to do this.”
“I believe you, baby. You’re gonna be so good for me. But you have to be quiet.”
“I—“
“We don’t want to wake Hobi up, do we? And Yoongi…” He flicks a conspiratorial glance at the door, licks his lips nervously. “It’s probably not a good idea to scream for Yoongi. Right? We can agree on that.”
“I-it, this, this is dangerous, Namjoon,” you try to reason, halfway convinced yourself, but the attempted direness in your gaze is only met with a steady, predatory stare. “You know this is dangerous. I-I can’t even defend myself like this.”
“Apparently, you can’t defend yourself anyways,” he interrupts, brows raising. “That’s what you keep telling me.”
“N—“ Fingertips travelling from your face downwards, past the hoodie, finally, finally, find themselves between your thighs and you lose your train of thought as you feel them slip through your folds.
Namjoon huffs thoughtfully, blinking, looking back to you with his eyes hooded just as he circles your clit. “Fuck, you’re flooded. No wonder you’re so desperate.”
You can’t think of anything but the stroke of his fingers, the way he parts your lips, the drag against your electrified clit, your hips itching to follow him, but he doesn’t let you, forcing you to lay and take whatever he gives you. Seemingly content to rub and caress, as if only to familiarize himself with your most intimate parts. You’re gasping like a fish out of water, pulling absently at your wrists in time with the pleasure that shudders through you every time he so much as twitches his fingertips.
“Here’s what I’ll do for you. You’ll behave yourself, right? And if you’re good, I’ll forgive you. Good girls get what they want. Everyone wins.”
“P-please,” you’re begging with every other breath that leaves you but he only shushes you again, quiet.
“Greedy, greedy girl,” he pulls the words through his teeth. “I told you to stay away from Jin’s boys, didn’t I?”
“N-Namjoon—“
“Didn’t I?”
“Yes…”
“And you fucked all of them anyways. All of them.”
“I…” Your eyes threaten to roll back, but that stubborn streak alights in you once more and even as you clasp your thighs together, trying to trap his hand there, you’re talking back, petulant. “I was hazed.”
“That again.” Despite your best efforts, he yanks his hand out from between your legs, expression stormy. “Are you hazed now?”
Fuck, you wish.
“No,” you seethe.
“Would you fuck them now?”
You don’t answer fast enough, and he grabs your chin again, pressing your lips into a pout. He watches, mesmerized, brow furrowed, as he forces one, two of his fingers past your lips and flat against your tongue. You taste your own arousal and shiver around him.
“Would you fuck them now?” he repeats, slow.
Your cunt leaks, leaving you sticky and cold where it’s drying, too wet and too wanting where it’s still hot. Your wrists already have begun to ache. The mark at your chest flares at the thought of taking their fangs again, your throat aches with the memory of Taehyung sliding down it. How perfectly Jungkook and Jimin fucked into you. You whine, strung out by this game he’s playing, but nod. You would. God, you would.
Namjoon grunts. “Yeah. I know you would.” He releases your face, trailing an embarrassingly long line of spittle that stretches and breaks into nothing. He leans over to the side, and you hear the pull of a wooden drawer. When he comes back up, he has a small device with him. It’s unremarkable, smooth and long as his hand, but for the bright pink color. His hand disappears back between your legs and you jolt at the unfamiliar sensation of the object rubbing against the insides of your thighs, circling over your pussy lips, slipping between them to stroke down past your clit.
You hear a click, and suddenly it springs to life and you have to bite your lips hard to stop the moan that escapes you when you feel it jittering against your clit.
“We’ll borrow this,” he continues as he traces your labia with the vibrator, sending shockwaves up your spine with every nerve he nudges, “I bet Yoongi won’t mind too much.”
When he slips it down, it sheathes easily, too easily, inside of you, and your back arches at the subtle pulse that resonates in your wetness. You keen, and he hurriedly claps a hand over your mouth to cut off the worst of it.
“Have to do something about that…” he mumbles. You hear him digging around in a drawer again, but you’re bucking, thrusting towards the vibrations teasing your pussy from the inside, enough to tickle and arouse but not enough to take you to the edge. Your eyes water, and even muffled, you’re whining with every breath you take, unable to stop. His hand slides from your mouth, replaced with something soft. You look down in confusion as he pushes cotton past your teeth, encouraging your jaw open just enough to keep your noise low, muffled by the fabric.
“It’s clean,” He assures you quickly. “Can you breathe?”
Breathe…? You can’t think. The thrumming from the vibrator fills you up, snakes out through your veins and reverberates in your limbs, taking you so close and leaving you there at the mercy of something that doesn’t, can’t care how much you need, how much you want. Your hips rock, trying to soothe the feeling, trying to gain some traction, some relief, but all it does it nudge it against the crevices inside you, presses it from one overstimulated area to another.
A sharp slap lands directly on your clit and you scream at the cruel pleasure that shatters through you, garbled by the fabric locked in your jaw, arching and thrashing.
“I asked you a question,” Namjoon pulls your attention back to him, and you can only whimper, going limp, staring at his form through the tears blurring your vision. “Can you breathe?”
You whine, but nod jerkily.
“Good.”
The vibrator moves, pulled smoothly outwards and you twitch, relieved it’s being removed, disappointed it’s being removed, but it fucks back into you, slowly presses harder, deeper. You moan around your gag, jolting at the hand that forces your hip down again, stops you from roiling and curling as he slips it out and back in again, each time angling it against your clit as it comes and pressing it as far in as you can take it, the vibrations curling around the base of your spine.
“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, thick, barely heard above your stifled cries. “You’re making such a mess. These sheets are going to smell like greedy pussy forever now. Stained. No amount of washing will clean that off.”
Your eyes roll back, hands clenching, ears full of the sound of your wet cunt, the low buzzing of the toy, your own mewling. You can’t move but for twitching your extremities, toes curling, occasionally jerking away, but held in place.
The toy sinks in again, gliding in as deep as you’ll allow, jiggles firmly as if to make sure it won’t slip out, and stays there, pulsating against your walls. The hand at your hip leaves, returning at your hairline. You meet Namjoon’s eyes, blinking through the tears gathering in yours, and it hurts, it hurts, the expression he’s wearing now as he strokes your temple.
Quiet adoration, almost. Proud. Kind and warm. You hate it. You hate it. You wish he would kiss you. You wish he would fuck you. Sink his fucking teeth into your skin. You drool around fabric and arch towards him, keening. He watches you and his smile grows.
“You wanna cum, baby?” he mumbles.
You nod fervently, body trying to press to him.
He leans up to brush his lips against your forehead in the gentlest of kisses. After a beat, he cranes away, and you almost cry in disappointment as he backs up and slides off the bed. You watch him stand, pulling at your restraints helplessly and whining, rolling at the vibrator that still thrums inside you.
“Then go ahead,” he says gently, and you sob. “I’ll be back.”
He reaches for you again, and you’re pressing your head into his hand like a deprived animal, nuzzling into his palm, trying to encourage him closer.
“Be good for me,” he adds, quiet. “If you’re good for me, I’ll forgive you. Okay?”
You catch an eyeful of his crotch when he bends to gift you another kiss at the top of your head. He’s rock hard, straining, hand at his side absently rubbing down his front, striving for relief. You don’t understand. You don’t understand. Why doesn’t he just fuck you? You need it, you want it, you’ll be good, you’re so good, you want it inside you, you need his cock, not this unfeeling toy that teases and shakes. Your blubbering is completely unintelligible, mutilated by saliva and cotton.
He only chuckles. He straightens, casts a long, long look over your prone body, pulling his plush bottom lip through his teeth. He turns. You whine. He goes to the door, opens it, and walks through it quickly, as if he can’t afford to hesitate.
You’re alone.
The buzzing is so loud, you can feel it, taste it on the back of your tongue, your pussy so fucking wet and untouched in the ways you need, aching, teased to the brink and unallowed over the edge. You huff, whine, cry, arch and tug at your handcuffs, but nothing offers you any relief. Your legs kick out, bouncing on the bed, but you can’t even coax the vibrator out of you, only managing to jostle it from one side to another.
You writhe, panting, chest heaving, but it’s no use. Pleasure creeps up through your body, coiling in your gut, fizzling out in your limbs, setting your fingers and toes on fire, coaxing you to curl, but the release never comes even as you keen and moan and cry, fat tears of overstimulation oozing out from the corners of your eyes.
You don’t know how long you twitch and buck, sweating against the damp sheets, pressing your thighs together, rattling your chains, moaning and shrieking past the cotton, coming to the edge of pleasure only to feel it slip back away with a pang of disappointment. Your arms ache. Your jaw aches. You cunt aches and blazes, and all you can think of is kisses and teeth and bites and cock. Hands across your tits, the way Jin felt inside of you, the way Taehyung stroked his own cock, Jimin shuddering under your hands, Jungkook pounding you into the mattress. Yoongi’s lips against your core, Hoseok’s member between your fingers, his voice at your ear.
A shape moves at the edge of the room and you look up, startled, hope and desire flooding your chest. You try to blink away your tears, but your vision is so blurry, it’s so hard to see, is it Namjoon? Is he back? You twist invitingly, humming, too drunk on the sudden euphoria, the hope, that washes over you, to realize you didn’t even notice the door opening. The light from the hallway siphons out with a click as he door closes again, and you blink again, sharply, able to make out your companion as he turns around. Your stomach plummets into your pussy.
It isn’t Namjoon. It’s Hoseok. And the way he looks over you, appraises your every twitch, deftly unbuttons his jeans, tells you that the haze is gone. He smirks, wide, trailing two fingers over the outline of his dick, your eyes snapping to follow the movement, hunger flaring between your legs and up through your throat. You moan, desperate.
“Hello,” he greets lowly. “You look busy.”
He skirts around the bed, crawls onto it, and all thoughts of self-preservation have fled your mind because you’re trying to push towards him as he slides over, watching you bounce with amused hunger coiling about his lips. He licks his teeth, his grin widening even more, pushing his eyes into crescents. His hand at your flank has your back bowing with the warmth, the rush of heat that answers inside you.
“I told him you could take it,” he cackles, hushed. “Look at you.”
Fingers trail from your hip to your pussy lips, flicking through the arousal that flows freely, rubbing it against your inner thighs and bumping your clit to watch you jump, exhausted but wired.
“Yoongi’s vibrator,” he hums. “He’ll want that back.”
Your stare burns holes in his underwear as he slips his hand inside, pulling his dick out and stroking once, twice, lazy. Even with his fluid motions, you can tell he’s more excited than he lets on, his catching breath and purpled head giving him away.
“He’ll want it back,” he repeats, shuffling closer. Fire bursts in your belly and you rattle at your chains, huffing through the fabric. “But I bet he’d appreciate it more if you didn’t clean it first.”
He giggles again at your expression when he scoots again, pulling his pants off and then his underwear, tossing both over the edge of the bed.
“I won’t stay for long,” he says. “I’m being bad. Naughty Hobi. I knew you were gonna be in here. I thought you could help me with this.” he punctuates his offer with a slick-sounding tug at his cock, visibly pleased at the craving in your eyes. “I’ll help you, too. We can help each other.” He licks at his lips again. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Your neck cracks from disuse when you nod fiercely, whining through your nose.
“I’m gonna take the sock out of your mouth,” he adds. “But you have to stay quiet. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Hobi?”
You nod again, looking at him beseechingly.
The fabric between your teeth is tugged, once, twice, and finally your jaw relinquishes it from your mouth, and you can feel how soaked, heavy, with saliva it is as he takes it away and places it somewhere behind your line of sight. Your jaw hurts when it’s finally allowed to resume its proper place but it’s nothing compared to the way your cunt flares, your legs opening shamelessly to coax him between them, trying to rub the inside of your knee against the outside of his, pelvis rolling up, hands clenching and unclenching.
“Please, please, please,” you croak, hoarse, words sticking in your throat from how roughly you’re trying to get them out. “Please, fuck me, please touch me, please—“
“Shh,” he interrupts, sliding closer, so his hot breath ghosts over your chest, over the hoodie hiding your painfully hard tits, curving his palm around his cock and continuing to pump, but you can’t help the whine that crawls out of you.
“—please, Hobi, please fuck me, I can’t—“ You try to adopt his nickname, but his free hand snakes out and coils long fingers around your throat, choking off your pleas. Your eyes roll as he starves your oxygen from your lungs, but his thumb is brushing the bitemark at your neck and it’s getting you closer than you’ve been with just the vibrator, you can almost feel it as it throbs under his touch, and even though he’s taken your ability to speak, you beg him soundlessly to continue as your orgasm threatens to finally, finally overtake you, legs going into spasm. Your entire body feels fuzzy, shaky, rushing up from your toes and cresting over the top of your head. Your vision starts to darken around the edges, but you’re so close, so close—
And he lets go, hand dislodging violently to clasp around your mouth to muffle the disappointed cries and choking noises pulled from your chest.
“I told you to be quiet,” he hums low, harsh. His smile has disappeared. “Are you going to listen or do I need to leave?”
You shake your head, trying fiercely to repress the hiccupping coughs until they subside, slowly.
“You want me to fuck you?” he says after a quiet beat, the playful tone sneaking back into his voice.
“Please,” you murmur as if in prayer, hushed, cracked and strained. “Please, it hurts.”
Hoseok’s grin returns.
“Your tits are so pretty,” he crows, and his hand ghosting over your breasts almost forces you to shriek again, your legs trembling as the vibrator continues its cruel torture inside you. “I’d love to see my cock between them.”
You sob. “No, no, please, H-Hobi, please, I can’t—“
“Let me fuck your pretty tits, pretty girl,” he interrupts, heavy. “Let me slide between those perfect little tits, and I’ll think about stuffing your cunt.” He sidles up again and you huff a disappointed whine when he officially moves past your legs, straddling your waist. His legs, thin but strong, radiate heat, and when he flicks his dick against the top of your ribs, it leaves a trail of precum that oozes from his tip to the hoodie, leaving a dark patch.
Finally, you nod.
“Yeah?” he coos, shifting to grab the edges of the fabric, shuffling it upwards to reveal your chest to him. You shiver at the cold air, but he’s already brushing his warm hands over them appraisingly, slipping his hard cock in the valley between the mounds, hissing at the softness of your skin. “Yeah?” he repeats, low.
“Yes,” you whimper, “Yes, please, yeah.”
“Mm, yeah.” His cock slides against you, eased by the way he leaks all over your skin. He gathers a tit in each hand, pushing them to the center, so he can properly fuck between them, his head briefly throwing back with a sinful groan. “Yeah, just like that.”
You bend your neck to lick at his tip when it emerges, hungry, desperate, and he grunts in appreciation, shifting his pelvis to encourage you to lave at more of his velvety head over the bunched up sweater. The bitterness of his precum lays thick on your tongue but you can’t get enough of it.
“Fuck, just like that,” he chuckles, “Yeah, just like that, fuck that’s so filthy. Such a filthy little girl. You like that?”
You whine in the affirmative, trying to quell the itching in your arms to pull him closer, the neediness in your legs that wishes you could feel the supple motion of his thrusts inside you, but he said he would, he said he would, and you try to keep that in your hopes even as the vibrator brings you again to the precipice and fizzles out in your limbs.
His pace quickens, his breath coming harsher, pressing your tits closer, harder, fucking into them smoothly, sharply, quick and intent.
“Fuck, yeah, fuck, yes,” he encourages sloppily, hair hanging over his face when his neck bends, but you can still make out the flash of teeth as he bears them in a grin and grunts, rutting against you.
His breath catches, his hips stutter, and suddenly he stills, cock pulsing, and paints your chest in warmth, white spurts draining, leaking from the tip. He curses quietly, drawn-out and feral. You shift, uncomfortable, as the mess oozes off your chest, leaks into the sheets beneath you, his pants and the steady hum of the vibrator the only sounds in the entire world.
“Ahh, such nice tits,” he grunts appreciatively, tweaking your nipple and you jump towards it, twitching. “Clean it off for me, pretty girl.”
Obediently, you lick at as much of him as you can reach in your awkward position, slurping, twisting your tongue around his softening cock, tasting the salt of his cum. Satisfied with your work, he lifts his hips off you and swings his leg around, dismounting from the bed swiftly.
His hand disappears around you as he bends and your hips rise in reflex, but he retrieves the sock from behind your line of sight and you cry out in dismay.
“Y-you said,” you whine, struggling, but it’s of no use, he raises his knee to pin you down in the center of your chest and even as you thrash your head side to side, he’s collecting your face between his fingers, pressing the spit-soaked fabric back to your mouth. “You—mmph”
“I said I’d think about it,” he interrupts, chuckling deeply. He sits back to inspect the mess he’s made of you, eyebrows raising, devilish smirk growing. Your shoulders tremble as you shake in earnest, disappointment claiming your throat and pushing fresh tears from your eyes.
“And I did.”
He casts another approving look down your breasts, raising his knee. He shuffles, pulling up his underwear, tugging his pants back on. You slump. You’re defeated, sore, aching, and pathetically upset. And still the vibrator shakes cruelly inside you, keeping you wet and wanting.
Fingers curl around your jaw and angle it to face him. Hoseok pouts mockingly as you stare.
“Don’t cry, pretty thing,” he soothes, “I’ll fuck you for real later.” He rubs his thumb over your lower lip, gaze turning mildly thoughtful. “I’ll fuck you real good later.”
He pauses. His grin returns in full force, baring his teeth and he shakes your face playfully, raising his brows comically.
“Cheer up!” He croons in a childish voice.
He pats your cheek before straightening. He turns to the door and opens it just enough to poke his head around—looking to the left, then right before finally stepping through and closing it quietly, stealthily, behind himself.
Again, you’re left in the room all alone. You can’t believe you believed him. Hurt wells inside of you and escapes in the form of tears, knotting in your throat. You try again, futilely, to rub your thighs together, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. You sob.
You were almost there. Fuck him, but he almost had you, when he was pressing on your windpipe. You would’ve let him wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until you passed out so long as he kept the pressure on that scab that made you see stars. The bitemarks. You blink.
When Hoseok choked you, that was what almost did it. It was the bitemarks.
You grab the chains, adrenaline flooding your limbs at the fevered thought of forcing your own release, mind overrun with the need to orgasm, the need to finally reach that peak. Your legs are jelly, scrambled, impossible to maneuver, but somehow you manage to flip over, wincing at the sticky, wet mess on the sheets beneath you as you shift.
But now that you’re belly-down, you can pull yourself up just that little bit, the fresh wound on your chest grazing against the hem of the hoodie. You almost shriek in triumph at the pleasure that washes through you, commands your legs to convulse. It’s hard going. It’s awkward, and Hoseok’s cum is drying on your chest, into the fabric, but you manage to get into a strange, humping, swaying rhythm, rocking against the mark. Every time you press it, you feel another surge of endorphins, you remember the way they fucked you, made everything good and bright and perfect. You’re whimpering and cursing around your gag, but it’s working, fuck, it’s working, and you’re climbing those familiar heights, mounting with every twitch and every burst, singularly-minded. You’re panting, and there’s a flood of drool escaping your mouth but you can’t care, you don’t care, your eyes are rolling back and you’re approaching heaven.
Hands suddenly appearing, gripping your ankles, and you scream in shock, fury, as they rip you upwards, flip you back over, tearing you back from the edge, and you’re trying to kick out, thrashing and writhing with renewed energy until it suddenly subsides and you’re left to arch pitifully before sinking down with another huff, swallowing down what you can of the desire to cry, though tears still slink out at the fading, abused feeling in your cunt. You look up at whoever still has his wide palms against your ankles.
Namjoon stares back at you, wide-eyed, slack-jawed. The light from above bathes his outline in gold, and you find yourself missing the paintings at Jin’s. He casts disbelieving looks down your body as your chest heaves with labored breath and you twitch.
“H-holy shit,” he breathes. “Fuck, baby.”
Gently, slowly, he parts your ankles, scalding a path with his eyes up your legs to where the vibrator hums inside your wetness, a trickle of arousal flowing steadily down your thigh. He moves to slide his hand up there, still watching in amazement, and you don’t even have the energy to jump away from him. There’s a ‘click’ and the vibrator is finally, finally stilled, and you’re crying anew, unsure if you’re disappointed or relieved. He withdraws it inch by inch from you, agape at the amount of arousal that coats its silicone surface.
“Oh fuck, baby,” he says again, his voice catching in his throat. “Oh, my god.”
He sets the toy down on the sheets, reaching forward again to slide the sock out of your mouth, tender, careful, watching as you gulp down steadying breaths and rework your jaw. Before you can speak, he’s rushed forward, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you passionately. You welcome it, sinking into his warmth, closing your eyes, taking comfort in the familiar taste of his tongue as it sweeps your mouth. He’s moving as he kisses you, shuffling and you hear the vague clink of metal. There’s a click above you and suddenly your wrists are released from their imprisonment, dropped onto the mattress heavily, like a marionette with its strings cut. You cry out into the kiss, and he takes the respite to curve his hand through your hair, cradling the back of your head. He pecks at your lips, the sides of your mouth, reverent and attentive.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he groans, his voice rough. “You’re so fucking wet, god. I am going to kill Hoseok, but, you, you did so good. You did so good, baby.”
He pulls back slightly to look over your face, puffy and bruised from crying and kissing, but the way he beams adoringly at you would have you thinking that you were the most beautiful person in the world. “You did so good,” he repeats, “How many times did you cum while I was gone, baby? Hmm? Did you have fun?”
“Hated it,” you wail, sniffling, between the kisses he begins raining down on you again. “Hated it, I-I couldn’t, didn’t cum, please, please.”
“Not at all?” He leans away with a confused look, but you’re already trying to move your sore wrists to his shoulders, shuddering and shaking, weakly pulling him closer.
“I-I have to cum, please, fuck, please,” you’re babbling again and he shushes you, expression turning concerned, but still excited, pleased at your change of heart.
“O-Okay, okay, shh, it’s alright. It’s alright.”
He’s shucking his pants and you’re breathless, grabbing for him, but he’s already, awkwardly, shuffling out of his bottoms. He pushes you down gently, and you let him, sinking into the sullied sheets with a relieved sob, parting wobbly knees to encourage him between your legs.
“Please,” you whisper again.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Namjoon’s lips find yours again, and you can feel his length hot against your core. “I’ve got you.”
You sag against him, too tired to do much more than wait, the muscles in your belly contracting painfully in anticipation. It’s obvious that he’s trying to sink into you slow, let you adjust, but you’re so wet and needy that you swallow him whole without so much as a stutter, your hips thrusting towards him as he slides forward. He fills you so good, so well, his cock taking every inch of you that the vibrator couldn’t, soothing the desire there with the heat and hardness of his member, swelling to stretch your walls around him.
“F—shit,” he swears under his breath, catching in his throat when you buck against him. You thread your fingers into his hair, clutching at his shoulders, humping upwards to take more of his cock into yourself.
He fucks back into you hesitantly, but quickly loses his composure at how sopping you are around him, how eagerly you welcome him inside, how you pant and grunt like a creature born of pure lust, and it only takes a few thrusts before he’s pistoning into you, hips crashing to yours with such incredibly lewd noises, breathing hard with the effort.
“Fuck,” he mouths against your lips. “You’re so hot, baby. You’re gonna make me cum. I’m so fucking hard…”
You can’t speak, can’t think—can’t do anything but jerk underneath him, trying to pull him closer, convince him deeper, deeper, purring and mewling when you feel him nudging secret, hidden away places inside of you that spark and flash. But it still isn’t enough and you hiccup a groan when you realize he’s faltering, pace turning erratic, fucking hard and fast, but too close to his own end.
“N-Namjoon,” you blubber, grabbing at what you can reach, his hair, his shoulders, frantic at the threat of again being left without the orgasm you’ve earned, you need, you need. “Namjoon, pl—I need, I—“
“Mm? What is it baby?” he growls, nipping at the base of your neck a little too sharply. “What is it, what do you need? Fuck, I’m so close.”
“N-no, I need,” you’re scrabbling for his hand, you have to make him understand, you have to have him touch the marks, he has to touch the marks, you have to cum. He allows you to drag his fingers to your breast but he becomes too eager to help and goes to squeeze at the nipple as he thrusts, impaling you on his length.
“This? You need me to touch your tits?” His voice is snagging on his ragged breaths, hissing through his teeth. “Are you gonna cum for me? Are you gonna cum on my cock, baby?”
“No,” you howl, clenching your fingers around his and pressing him more firmly to the pinprick scabs on the inside of the swell. “No, here, I-I need—I need this.”
He pauses, eyebrows creasing, but it’s too late for him and he surges forward with a powerful thrust, two, jaw dropping open as he accidentally claws at you, blunt fingernails breaking the skin, grunting and gasping, but it’s perfect, its perfect, the pain at your chest blossoming into everything you needed and you arch, shrieking, his cock shoved so deep in your cunt, filling you so entirely, stretching your wet hole around him, forcing you to feel him pulse, shake, wet heat erupting in your walls, oozing, leaking, your orgasm finally reaching the final heights and plunging you into ecstasy so intense you can’t even make any noise, body seizing, trembling, toes curling, pelvis crashing into his violently as you milk it, you take it, feeling the juices from both of you running down your thighs, nails turning to talons in his skin, the dam bursting behind your eyes and flooding your entire frame with pleasure.
He rocks into you unsteadily as you clamp down on him like a vice, easing the dregs of his high out of his cock, whispering unintelligible profanities. The intensity of your orgasm finally breaks and you ease down, all too aware of how every inch of you throbs, aches. When he slides out of you, spent, you both wince.
You attempt to catch your breath, a pang shooting through your stomach with every inhale and exhale, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Slowly, you become more and more aware of how hard Namjoon is breathing, and spare a glance towards him, unable to move your head for fear of breaking it clean off your sore neck, but still throwing a flick of your eyes towards where he still holds himself above your body. His hair, damp with sweat, sticks to his ears, his forehead, the nape of his neck. His eyes are staring, laser-focused, at your chest. He swipes two fingers across the blood that beads up from where he’s reopened your wound, swirling, intent on gathering as much as he can, before hesitantly, falteringly, raising his fingers past his plush, swollen lips and sucking on them. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his jaw work as he slips his tongue about his own digits, his eyelashes flutter closed briefly.
He removes his fingers from his mouth, his mouth lingering as though loathe to stop, licking at his lips. His dark eyes flit to yours.
“So.” He says after a heavy beat that begins to settle in awkwardly.
“The bite marks, huh?”
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#bts smut#bts vampire au#bts fanfic#bts x reader#reader x namjoon#moth to flame#something seriously possessed me during hoseoks scene like i was legitimately taken over#i dont know dude#reeses in pieces LMAO
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tea for two
Summary: After nearly two hours of preparation, Alfie was finally ready. The table was set, the tea was brewed, and the poison watched at the end of the counter. That was Alfie’s source of entertainment.
//
Alfie engages in tea party Russian roulette that he himself organized. Tommy, eventually, reacts.
Notes: i had a tiny idea regarding alfie organizing lethal tea parties for funsies a while back, and it became this. also thank you to @sholomons + @those-peakyboys for reading bits of this as a sanity check <3
Warnings: Suicidal Ideation/Suicide Scare/Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms/ - those are the main ones, but if you think there should be more let me know. The rest of them can be found on the AO3 post. I promise this isn’t some devastating ending though, lmao, technically is supposed to be //romantic// in a twisted Tommy Shelby way.
On AO3
------------
Alfie indulged in the art of organizing tea parties later in life, once the crime became routine and uninspiring.
The idea came to him one afternoon, while thumbing through the day’s post. He was struck by a revelation, of sorts, “yeah, because when I went to pick up my cup, right,” he had described the moment to Tommy in detail, “I noticed that there, at the very bottom where the tea leaves floated—there was a message.” His eyes had narrowed, voice low, fingers motioning in the air trying to conjure up the image, “and you know what they were saying to me, those leaves, Tommy—they were saying Alfie, you have got to stop hanging around that Shelby—his witchcraft and madness are starting to rub off on you ” he’d cackled then, which meant the origins would remain unexplained.
Alfie did, however, commit himself to the task.
He decided the event would take place in his dining room, using the hand-carved table featured there. Tommy watched him prepare from afar the day of the first tea party. He did not endorse the fucking behavior, but he was curious—it was rare to see Solomons fuss over plate placements.
A frilly tablecloth was dug out from the back of a cupboard, and freshly picked flowers decorated the middle. Alfie used his best porcelain set—the one he claimed was the last heirloom still in his possession from the mother’s side of his family. That bit was a lie, he had admitted to Tommy one day. Instead, he had Ollie scavenge it from some shop window with a sock over his head and tears in his eyes—but that tale was far less interesting. And the foundational role of any host, Alfie knew, was to entertain his esteemed guests.
Tiny silver spoons—ones which nearly disappeared in Alfie’s hand—lay atop carefully folded napkins. He drew the shades, and arranged the biscuits, lips pursed in concentration. The scene looked quite pretty, actually. Meticulously organized—an unexpected detail coming from Alfie Solomons.
And after nearly two hours of preparation, Alfie was finally ready. The table was set, the tea was brewed, and the poison watched at the end of the counter.
That was Alfie’s source of entertainment.
+++
His guests were an array of different people. Old friends, new enemies, long standing members of his payroll, a few of the fanciest individuals he knew—each person with some form of stain on their record, at some point having wronged him. Alfie was not entirely cruel.
“It’ll be a shame,” he had said, “but everyone dies at some point, yeah?”
The trick about the poison was that it took a while to pollute the veins. Alfie had considered this detail as thoughtfully as he had the decorations—determined to avoid frothing mouths from ruining the appeal of his parties. The winners would appear fine until the next morning, so the poison was untraceable in both taste and source.
For a while, at least. Though even if the pieces were eventually slotted together—who would be brave enough to accuse an aging man of serving tea?
“It just might be genius, Tommy.” Alfie had lifted the vial towards him, eyes glazed over with self-admiration. Going after him would look ridiculous, Alfie knew this. Tommy knew this, and he smiled besides himself. Perhaps it was.
And as any good host, Alfie partook in the activity himself—an equal player in the game. A few clear drops coated the bottom of a cup, the cups were mixed up, the location was forgotten.
The fact that Alfie had grown desensitized towards his own death was no shock—he and Tommy shared the same indifference. Though what Tommy struggled to understand was his sudden interest in openly pursuing it.
Though, didn’t they do that already? Alfie had asked. Their years brimmed with pacts, vindictive partners, with mouthing off to men whose fingers trembled against triggers. They had never run in the opposite direction of death, rather alongside it—the place where their paths would converge had always been just along the horizon. Alfie’s behavior was nothing but a variation of that.
“More creative.” he had claimed—better than being killed by a gun or a knife, “Or by a blade sewn into a fucking hat. Imagine that.” he smirked. It was only funny because they were past killing each other now—Alfie had beaten Tommy to the initiative.
+++
Of course, the cordial invitation had been extended to Tommy Shelby as well.
“And how have I wronged you?” Tommy had asked. Alfie laughed, promising it would be a clean cup, but Tommy refused regardless. The whole matter was much too dramatic for his taste.
He would stay the night of the tea party, though—was due for a fuck, anyway.
-
In truth, Tommy had been staying the night more frequently.
It was Alfie who had initially offered to move the location of their meetings . The official reason he’d cited was for more security, but Tommy had seen him holding his back in pain each time he’d stepped out of the office.
Fucking in a bed, as opposed to on a desk, toed the line with an intimacy Tommy was cautious about crossing, but the suggestion was too enticing to refuse—aging had not been doing either of them any favors. And because it was Alfie who had made the proposal, Tommy still had room to cut himself free of any strings attached.
The routine had continued as usual at first—business, fuck, leave. Tommy would gather his clothes frantically afterwards, hopping out the door with only one sock on. He was terrified of the implications staying longer would have—the consequences it could bring.
Though that chaos eventually transitioned into a slower collection of his belongings—fatigue and the haze of his orgasm tethering him to the bed. He stayed for longer, counted the cracks in Alfie’s ceiling and the number of stripes on his sheets. These extra moments seemed progressively less threatening.
“Are you truly that desperate to return to that lonely fucking castle of yours, mate?” The question came months later, while Tommy sat on the side of the bed, rubbing the stiffness from his legs. He was startled by the voice—Alfie tended to slip into a slumber nearly immediately after they’d pulled away from each other.
Lonely castle. It sounded worse when phrased that way. A kingdom crafted at the expense of everyone around him. Pitiful.
Tommy had not entertained Alfie with an answer, but still chose to lay back down—comforted by the idea of a few more hours of sleep. He left the next day wordlessly, and sleeping over became routine. The castle would still be standing in the morning.
Yet that change didn’t mean anything, Tommy reasoned. Whether he permitted himself to stay or not, it was still just fucking —nothing more complicated than that.
So perhaps it’d be a shame if Alfie finally won one of his rounds, Tommy thought the evening of that first tea party—his business would be missed. But he remained, on the whole, unbothered by it.
Everyone died at some point.
+++
Each chair was occupied with an esteemed guest the first time. They were all impressed by the sudden burst of hospitality—thankful for Alfie’s unspoken forgiveness of their past transgressions against him.
Assumption was quite lethal.
Meaningless chatter swelled the air in the room, shrill laughter echoing off of the walls. Alfie floated from place to place, offering stories and more food, savoring each one of his sips. He chuckled often, rolled his eyes on cue, and held his pinky up.
It was a performance, yet no one in attendance was aware they were a part of the show.
He caught their attention in particular with a story from before the war. Something to do with a stray dog, an appalled mother and a wet carpet—certain elements of which were exaggerated. “Oh Alfie!” he’d felt a small pat on his shoulder, a gesture which in any other circumstances would have earned the person a cut on the cheek, but Alfie simply smiled and patted back. It could be you .
Alfie found excitement in it all—an ironic strengthening of the energy which had been slowly draining from his body.
It was nearly enough to forget about the cancer.
-
Cancer could have been considered a motive—it was the letter from the doctor speculating about his expiration date which had sparked the inspiration for the tea party business. Though Alfie didn’t like to dwell on that coincidence. Much rather preferred to keep the reason as Alfie’s sudden burst of twisted thrill-seeking . Not that anyone would know about the sickness, regardless—Thomas Shelby included. He fully intended to live out these days undisturbed by sympathy.
He came to bed that night with cheeks flushed and things to say. Granted, Alfie always had a mouth full of words, but they were stories this time—things he’d seen and heard. Tommy had propped himself up against the headrest, pulling on cigarette after cigarette, feigning disinterest.
A cousin of the Sabini’s had brought Alfie a bottle of wine, he learned. There had been a bit of tea spilling on the carpet sometime in the middle, though it had occurred after a refill, Alfie reassured. Nearly everyone offered some comment about the design on the porcelain, sniffed the flowers, and claimed they had enjoyed themselves in the doorway.
“Silly little puppets, yeah—every last one.” Alfie had laughed and blown the candle on the nightstand out. It was nice, actually, being able to share this bit of secrecy with Tommy. An outlet, of sorts, and it helped that Alfie did not have to truly explain himself to him.
It was the first night Tommy stayed which did not involve fucking.
+++
Tommy continued accepting the invitations to be an invisible guest.
Unsurprisingly, one party had not been enough to satiate Alfie’s newfound appetite for this version of Russian roulette and finger sandwiches, so he kept organizing them. It tended to be the same crowd each time, with a few new faces here and there—replacements for any vacant seats.
Alfie gradually grew fancier—a nicer tablecloth, more biscuits, a larger array of tea. He had different stories to tell, new rings to show off and even Ollie had grown quite fond of the flower picking aspect of his job, asking a few days in advance if he had any preferences.
Alfie collapsed beside Tommy after the fifth party, exhausted and unwilling to relay the night’s events. It wasn’t necessarily healthy for his back, Tommy had mused—all those hours of wandering around the room, hunched over chairs—but his mouth stayed shut, and they fell asleep in silence.
-
Even after nights when his insomnia had been generous, Tommy woke first.
Alfie breathed beside him.
It was a relief, Tommy admitted—spared him the dramatics of having to drag Alfie out from between the sheets himself. He’d imagined that scenario once or twice while waiting on Alfie to stop his entertaining, considering what exactly he would do with Alfie’s body just—laying there. Notify the staff most likely, but he wasn’t quite sure what beyond that. Perhaps shake his hand, or pay his respects through a whispered congratulations , yet Alfie always managed to interrupt that train of thought before anything concrete was decided on.
He was hesitant to leave the morning after the fifth night, oddly disappointed that Alfie had not shared any stories. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but he decided to wait until Alfie woke. There was time to spare, Tommy argued with himself, it was the weekend—as if that meant anything in this line of business.
Idling in bed until the moment arrived was out of the question. Roaming his halls also seemed inappropriate—and risky, in case Ollie had let himself in. So Tommy settled on visiting the kitchen to eat. Attempt to, at least.
Preparing food provided only momentary relief from the fact that staying had been an absolutely idiotic idea. Tommy brewed some tea—for the irony, if anything else—and made toast. Some for him, some for Alfie, though he winced at the choice and threw Alfie’s portion in the bin. Too much.
He opened the morning paper. Squirmed in his chair. Checked the time. Returned to reading. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Alfie eventually joined him in the kitchen, sleep still settled on his limbs. His hair was sticking up in uneven tufts, beard flattened on the side he’d been lying on. Nothing indicated he was surprised that Tommy had remained in the house.
“So you’re still here then, eh?” Tommy said, eyes on the news, but desperate to fill the silence.
Alfie only ran a heavy palm across his face. “Yeah, still fucking here.”
+++
The parties remained successful and Alfie’s enthusiasm persisted. Guests streamed in week after week—whether out of fear or curiousity was unclear. It was quite unusual to be in Alfie Solomon’s presence within an unthreatening environment, but they seemed to appreciate his change in character.
And the tea was always delicious.
It was Tommy who suffered the change in opinion, pacing the bedroom with a clenched jaw. He had certain ideas—to make an appearance, peek through keyholes or press his ear to the door, to somehow interfere—but he cast them all aside.
Time alone had never been healthy for him. Funny, for a man who ensured his own abandonment.
-
Nervous. The word finally rose above all of the other thoughts at one point and settled bitterly on his tongue. Tommy was nervous.
“Aren’t you fucking bored of this yet, Alfie?” he asked as casually as possible, in between pulls of his cigarette, but Alfie had shook his head.
“I should have done this sooner.” he claimed, eyes dancing, and for some reason the sentence felt like a slap to the face.
Tommy did not fight back.
+++
Alfie retired earlier than usual one night, reasoned it was due to a headache. Tommy bit down on his lip to prevent any visible reaction.
He slipped under the covers, hand searching for the band of Tommy’s pants —ar ousal had always reigned above pain for Alfie —but Tommy swatted it away, ignoring the slight tenting. “Not today, Alfie.”
Alfie grunted. It was not necessarily unusual for Tommy to refuse him, though Tommy’s face was flushed, teeth gnawing at the inner flesh of his cheek. There was still potential in the moment.
“But Tommy,” he whispered, sliding up against him, lips grazing Tommy’s neck and fingers playing at his hip. “I may be dead tomorrow.” and he placed a firm kiss to his Adam’s apple. It was only meant to be a teasing remark —nothing more than Alfie’s greedy attempt at extracting a fuck out of the other man—but the words wrapped themselves around Tommy’s throat.
Tommy snatched Alfie by the hair, tearing him away from his skin. Their eyes met, Alfie squirming besides himself under the cold stare. “You might be dead tomorrow.” Tommy repeated, nodding in agreement. Out of reach .
And he kissed him.
Once. Twice. Grip slowly loosening, hips finally shifting into Alfie’s touch. His hand remained in the hair, the other one snaking around Alfie’s waist, clothes being peeled off feverishly. Alfie’s efforts proved successful.
They fucked that night to the brink of exhaustion, wrapped in the darkness, spent and gasping for air, and when Alfie pulled away, Tommy choked on a please echoing in his throat.
It was a hollow plea—for something he was too terrified to admit.
+ ++
The following morning after he woke, Tommy lingered in bed.
Alfie snored facing him, rested on top of his left arm. Sleep softened him, Tommy noted—hid the pain behind his eyelids, smoothed the creases from his forehead. He reached out hesitantly to run the backs of his fingers across Alfie’s shoulder, along the shell of his ear, his jaw, tugging down the covers to find his thighs. It was a peaceful moment—rare and terminal—and Tommy was suddenly gripped by an urge to memorize it. Drink in every detail.
Tommy took advantage of the safety unconsciousness had provided him and settled back down, shifting closer to Alfie’s body—close enough so that the tips of their noses were brushing against one another. He lay still, soaking in the warmth of Alfie’s exhales, and tried to align their breathing.
The task proved to be more challenging than expected. Tommy stumbled over his own inhales, yet Alfie continued to be one breath ahead of him. Inhale. Exhale . Out of sync. And it was a silly effort, naive and trivial, but Tommy’s heart still hammered at his ribcage in frustration. Because there had to be something there , in the alignment. Some kind of meaning, a mutual understanding shared between their bodies. A form of reassurance. A sign of togetherness —that Tommy was not fucking mad for wanting to share these breaths with Alfie for longer than the bastard had planned for himself.
But each attempt sputtered and failed.
He slammed his fist into the mattress and rolled off the bed, waking Alfie in the process.
-
The toast was burnt that morning.
No tea— fuck tea.
Alfie walked into the kitchen, rubbed a palm across his face instinctively. The regular question never arrived, but he answered its ghost regardless. “Still here.”
Yes , Tommy thought, miraculous .
He left for Birmingham immediately after breakfast, and abandoned his tendency of visiting Alfie in between the special occasions. He would know when the next party would be—the invitation would arrive in the post a few days before it.
+++
A week later, there were only 16 people in attendance, two couples were missing. Whether they had grown suspicious or were dead was left unclarified—Alfie was only interested in one outcome.
The event proceeded as usual: eat, laugh, sip, Alfie refilling his cup more frequently than usual. Nobody questioned the absence. It was normal.
And then it was not, because Tommy Shelby walked into the room — eyes bloodshot, scanning the scene.
There was a 1 in 16 chance that Alfie poisoned himself today, Tommy noted, but he had endured this night after night and he found he’d grown quite bored of the adrenaline. The uncertainty. So he took a stand at the head of the table this time around, his hand hidden behind his coat.
It was meant to be a distraction, perhaps a form of confession —anything to get Alfie to stop these fucking games. Whispers swept the room, mouths parted in surprise—it was a rare occurrence, seeing Tommy Shelby in attendance—and Alfie sighed, because he knew, he fucking knew that Thomas was here to spoil the fun.
The gun pointed to Tommy’s head, and Tommy’s head pointed towards Alfie.
“One,” 15 pairs of alarmed eyes stared at Tommy’s finger on the trigger. Only 1 pair glared back into his own. Alfie refused to set the teacup down.
“Have you gone fucking mad, mate?” Tommy had actually heard they called this love .
“Two.” The guests were moving, tripping over chairs, rugs, each other, searching frantically for the exit. The taboo of witnessing a potential suicide outweighed their curiousity, it seemed. So easy to clear a room.
The doors slammed shut, silence replacing the sound. It was empty now. Just him, and Alfie, and the gun, and the poison laughing out from one of the cups.
“Three.” Bang.
Tommy’s body crumpled to the floor.
-
He was lying half underneath the table when Alfie finally walked over. His eyes were wide open. Unscathed.
Alfie snatched the gun from his hand, clicked open the cylinder. “Tommy, you know, you’re not fucking invited to the next one, yeah?” the first shot had been a blank, but there was a single bullet inside. “Right—on account of the fucking mess you’ve made here today.”
“I’m well aware, Alfie.” he was tracing the pattern of the table’s wood with a shaky finger. Alfie grunted and tossed the gun aside. He collapsed awkwardly beside him, taking Tommy’s hand into his own. It would weather his joints even further, lying down here on the floor, Alfie was well aware, but this was the only act of affirmation which seemed appropriate.
He did not ask about the bullet. He knew why it was there. Kept as a precaution—in case Alfie had decided to drink anyway.
They breathed together.
#ok giving up after this try#tommy x alfie#alfie x tommy#sholomons#tofie#tommy shelby#alfie solomons#thomas shelby#peaky blinders#mine
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Chapter 3
Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Taehyung x reader, eventual Ot7 x reader in later chapters
Genre: fluff (not really in this chapter), angst, uhh maybe smut eventually??
Theme: Based kinda on sword art online a lot of similar ideas and themes kinda combining the idea of them trapped in the game, but the world is closer to ALFheim online
Word count : 1.9k
Warnings: Swearing?..I swear a lot it can’t be contained. Mentions of death, Panic attacks,
a/n : I realize in this chapter I’m taking a lot from the plot of SAO, I feel like I have to explain it more than I’d like to, most people probably already know what happens in SAO ( I did try to make some changes) but for the sake of people that may not know, and the characters and their personal feelings and reactions to what happens I’m gonna go into detail about it all. I swear I’m gonna deviate a bit in later chapters and make it my own. I just gotta set the scene for all of this and it’s taking longer than I wanted lmao, its my first fic okay, of course I got in over my head lmaooo
next -> Chapter 4
------------------------------------
“I’ll show you the way” he said with a grin. But something seemed off about that grin, there was worry hidden behind it. You didn't like this at all..
Kookie had taken your hand and led you to the town square that the emergency notice had instructed everyone meet at. It was a quiet walk that took about 30 long, worrisome minutes. Neither of you exchanging many words besides an “It’ll be okay” from Kookie a few times when he’d glance at your nervous face.
When you arrived there were thousands of others filing in. The golden colored stone courtyard in the middle of the town was more than big enough to space everyone, yet you found your anxiety growing bigger and bigger as more people flooded through the walkways leading into the town.
You had been fine when it was just you and Kookie, you’d started to think maybe you really did like being around people. This crowd was not to your liking though, it only heightened all the panic you were already starting to feel.
Maybe it was that fear, or maybe it was the fear that you had no idea why you couldn't log out of this game, but something pushed you to grab Kookie’s arm and hold it tight.
He didn’t seem to mind, he didn’t look at you though. His eyes scanning the crowd of other worried faces, turning his head to try and listen in to others’ conversations”
“I tried to contact support but there's no button for it!” A large fairy with wolf ears and gray wings complained
“I’m sure my mom will just turn the thing off soon and i’ll snap out of it! Dammit! they told me not to be on past 8” a small red winged fairy whined.
“This is so stupid, you’d think with all the money I spent on this they’d have fixed this all by now” someone Kookie couldn’t quite see sounded out from behind you both.
Kookie sighed and puts a hand over one of your hands that gripped his arm. Finally looking at you he tried to assure another “It’ll be okay” and that one was the most insincere sounding one yet.
His own fear starting to break the calm and relaxed composure he was trying to maintain for your sake. You wished you could maintain your own calm and relaxed facade. You’ve had to be brave before for many things and you’d always handled it pretty well.
But this, felt different. The whole aura here was off in a way that made you feel slightly sick to your stomach and if it weren’t for the fact that this is where you’d met your new friend Kookie, the first friend you’ve had in years...you feel that you would wish you’d never even opened the box for this damn game.
A loud noise resembling a gong interrupted your train of thought. Causing gasps and many jumps and various noises from the crowd of thousands.
A bolt of lightning slowly shot through the now somewhat darkened ,red sky and the crowd shifted its attention to that direction.
A dark smoke started to creep from all over and assemble into a figure in the spot where everyone was focused. The figure had to be about 100 feet tall, hovering in the sky above the square. It was only a silhouette, but you could distinctly make out that it had the head of a wolf and the body of a human, with a long flowing cloak that sat on its shoulders, extending far past its feet.
Your grip on Kookie’s arm tightened even more at the appearance of this mysterious floating wolf in the sky.
“Good evening” Its voice boomed out “I am Fenrir, head game maker. And ruler in this world,” it paused only briefly, “I suppose you are all wondering why the log out button seems to have disappeared from your menu screen. I can assure you it is not a glitch, it is completely intentional”
A series of shocked noises rumbled over the crowd as they all took in the information that was just stated. You looked over at Kookie with wide eyes. He was focused intensely on the floating figure, brow furrowed and anger clear on his face.
“To explain further, this is how I designed the game. None of you can log out and if anyone from the real world attempts to remove or disconnect your headsets the high density microwave transceivers that have made this world feel like a reality” another erie pause, “Will fry your brain stem and end your reality here and in real life. You will die.”
The crowd erupts into even louder discussions and irritated banter with one another. You hear someone not to far from where you and Kookie stand yell out “Yeah fucking right man, I call bullshit freaky floating wolf man”
As if he heard that cry, or maybe it was the cries of many similar outbursts that had followed that he had heard, he spoke again, “If you don’t believe me, I’d like to inform you that though I put out a warning on public broadcast, some player’s families also doubted my message and tried to remove their loved one’s headsets. I’d like to inform you all that this new game I’ve created contained 12,000 players when I removed your option to leave, now it only contains 11,856. 144 players have been eliminated from the game...and from real life”
As he spoke that last sentence he waved a hand and the horrific proof appeared all over the sky. On at least 10 different screens floating in the sky were news broadcasts from all over the world. Stating exactly what he had said. Images and videos of families sobbing, and of people being interviewed in front of the office of the game creators of the full dive technology. Headlines reading:
“144 Dead in tragic gaming incident, 11,856 players still trapped in the game”
“Families grieve the loss of loved ones in horrific gaming incident, head game maker and CEO of new full dive technology missing”
“Faerie Realm traps 12,000 players in a deadly game”
You tore your eyes away, tears formed and your body started to shake. Your hands slipped from Kookie’s arm and traveled to your face holding your cheeks in horror.
Kookie was frozen staring at the screens, perhaps searching to see if he knew anyone who had died?
The screens disappeared and the dark figure spoke loudly again. You tried to focus your attention back on him but the ringing that had started in your ears made it difficult. You missed the majority of what he said, but managed to collect yourself only slightly enough to make out the last part.
“To put it more simply, you will now feel pain. And if you die here in the game, you die in real life, good luck to you all” Then the smokey figure evaporated.
You fell to your knees, hands on the stone floor of the courtyard, unable to contain your panic anymore. Tears fell in intense streams down your face as your body shook in a way it never had before. While struggling to catch your breath, two arms wrapped around you and pulled you up, Kookie held you tightly and close to his chest. “Shh..sh” he whispered while stroking your hair. In any other situation this intimate moment would feel totally inappropriate considering you'd only just met this man today. But you welcomed his touch as it really did seem to calm you down from the sheer panic you felt.
He took you by the shoulders and brought you where you could see his face. He was trying to mask it, and he definitely had been doing a decent job at it, but he was just as terrified as you were.
“We need to find my roommate” he said in a soft voice suddenly, “my...friend...my best friend...he should be here too...we came in together but decided to do our own thing...he's gotta be...no one would’ve been in our house to take off his headset so...he's gotta be...here…” His cracking voice let on to the panic he was feeling.
Your heart broke for him, you could tell his thoughts were racing faster than he could sanely handle, as he wondered if his friend could be among the already dead.
“Of course” you nod “go find him”
“I don’t think it’s best for me leave you alone, lets stick together okay?” he said, not really giving you an option as he grabbed your hand and franticly started dragging you through the crowd, looking over every face he passed by.
He came to a dead stop and yelled in pure overwhelming relief “TAEHYUNG!”
A seemingly tall, attractive man about your age with mint green hair, and shimmering emerald wings sticking out from his back was sat on a bench about 10 feet away, eyes glazed over and un-moving with his hands in his lap.
Kookie rushed over to the man and kneeled down to his level, “Hey man, holy shit, I was so worried,” The green haired man, Taehyung, you assumed, snapped out of his trance with a small shake of his head and stared at Kookie. “Jungkook...what...what the fuck is happening?” his face forming into an expression of terror.
Kookie, well...actually Jungkook as you’d just learned, embraced Taehyung in a quick hug and pulled him up off the bench.
“We gotta make some kind of a game plan dude, the game maker said the only way out of here alive was to beat the game, so shits probably about to get pretty crazy. When you complete a quest, boss challenge, or defeat a animal that’s on the list of required tasks to clear each level it disappears for good, and once all of them on each floor are taken out you can move on to the next level. 100 levels may take a long time to beat. Our best chance is to move quick. It’s going to be tough with people going around trying to snag all the best and easy loot and experience points once they realize that getting as strong as possible, as quick as possible, is the best strategy to stay alive” he rambled,
Taehyung nodded at Jungkook’s words but Jungkook could tell he didn’t fully understand what was being implied.
“I think we need to leave. Now. The longer we just stay camped out here wondering what’s going on like everyone else is right now, the less of a chance we have to be the ones to get the best chance of survival”
It clicks for Taehyung, his voice wavers
“Kook...Wouldn’t that...be kind of a dick move? Snagging up all of the best stuff before anyone else can get to it? If that’s the best way to survive shouldn’t we let everyone know?”
Jungkook shook his head sternly, “No. I only care about us making it out of here at this point.” he nodded his head towards you and then to Taehyung.
Did he really just say he didn’t care if anyone else died?
You studied Jungkook for a second, his mannerisms were changed from the charming, friendly, smiling man who showed you around the forest earlier today, he was stiffer and more rigid in his stance. You couldn’t even see panic on his face anymore, instead there was a strong look of determination.
You weren’t sure if you liked this Jungkook you were seeing now, but you couldn’t fully blame him for the drastic switch, people can change when they are thrown into survival mode, and this...was now life and death.
#bts angst#bts au#bts fanfic#bts smut#bts x reader#jimin x reader#jin x reader#jungkook x reader#namjoon x reader#ot7 fanfic#ot7 x you#ot7 x reader#bts x you#taehyung x reader#hoseok x reader#yoongi x reader#bts fic#bts x y/n#ot7 au#bts fluff
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