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wolfeyedwitch · 2 years

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Auction of evil for Bailey? Maybe an AU where SV tires of them and sells/rents them off to the highest (villainous) bidder

I liked these two together, so I combined them. Do I need more AUs for WBOH? No. Is that gonna stop me? Also no.

CW for non-con drugging/sedation, implied abuse

Masterlist

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“I’m in position,” Zera said softly into their comm.

“Good,” came Elijah’s tinny voice. “Find out what it is they’re auctioning and get out. Just recon, nothing else.”

Zera tamped down on the anger welling up in them at that. He was right, after all. As much as Zera might want to help if someone was in danger, there were too many people here.

There were too many villains.

Iris had found the information about the auction with one of her programs. Zera couldn’t claim to understand what she had said when she explained it. Something about the dark web, VPNs, and honeypots? What Zera did understand was that she had found the coordinates, date, and time of an auction being planned. An auction to which all of the villains who could make it to the area were invited.

What she hadn’t found was information about what was being auctioned. All the heroes knew was that it had to be something big. Something dangerous. Potentially catastrophic if left in the wrong hands.

Zera was there to find out just what it was that had drawn so much attention.

“Got it,” they replied. “Find out what’s being auctioned, stay to see who buys it if it’s safe, then get out.”

“Exactly. Comms blackout starts now.”

With that, Zera’s earpiece went dead. They felt a shiver travel up their spine at the idea of being unable to reach their team. It was necessary—there were too many technopaths in the villain world for any comms to be safe in this situation—but they still hated it. They settled into their hiding spot in the rafters, making themself comfortable for the wait.

The seats in the old theater started filling up. Zera recognized many of them. Ice Queen, Black Fox, The Piper, Livewire, Miss Eerie… these weren’t just local small-time villains. Some of these were international supervillains.

What the hell was special enough to draw them all here!?

Finally, the lights in the hall dimmed and the chatter went silent. All eyes turned to the stage.

The figure who walked out wore an expensive tailored suit. The click of their dress shoes against the stage reverberated through the hall as they walked to the spotlight. The domino mask they wore was a decorative, lacy thing that wouldn’t have been out of place at a masquerade ball.

Slipknot gestured like they were embracing the gathered crowd, and the villains in attendance applauded.

“Welcome, welcome!” Slipknot greeted their audience. Their voice was amplified and played through speakers throughout the hall, giving the disconcerting impression that they were everywhere.

The hall quieted, and Slipknot continued. “Thank you all for coming. I promised you something special, and you won’t be disappointed.”

They clicked their fingers, and a second figure emerged from off-stage. This one lacked Slipknot’s refined poise. Their suit was meant for combat, not elegance; their mask was utilitarian, not decorative.

Poppet looked as out of place as a bloodstain on a wedding dress amidst the finery of the hall.

They reached Slipknot’s side and sank to their knees beside the supervillain, head bowed. Slipknot placed a hand on the back of their neck; Poppet didn’t so much as flinch.

What. The. Hell.

“As many of you know, I have been training a protege for the last few years,” Slipknot said. “My Poppet has come on in leaps and bounds in terms of their powers. Their telekinesis can be used for both brute force and finesse. For more detail, just look at the news.”

That got a chuckle from the audience.

“I am here to auction off one month of Poppet’s service. During that time, they will be yours to command as you see fit. They must be returned at the end of the month in the same condition they are now: all limbs attached and functioning.” Slipknot grinned at that.

Zera felt like they’d swallowed a stone. Poppet was their nemesis, sure, but that didn’t mean they deserved this. Hell, Zera almost enjoyed fighting the villain! They were smart and witty, something that Zera learned when getting to banter with them between blows. And lately, those blows had been barely connecting. The villain had been going easy on them for some reason. Zera hadn’t had so much as a nosebleed from fighting Poppet in the last month. And okay, yes, some of that was that Poppet had been suspiciously absent for the past few weeks, but the point still stood!

Poppet finally showed up, only for it to be here?

Slipknot was willing to sell their own apprentice? Like they were nothing more than a weapon, an object? A guard dog to be loaned and traded?

“The bidding starts at one million dollars,” Slipknot said.

Zera needed to get out of there. They needed to get back to their team, to report on this. To let everyone know just how ruthless Slipknot was.

But…

Wouldn’t it be useful to know just who bought Poppet’s services? That way they could make plans for what that villain might do. Maybe they could even rescue capture Poppet during that time. And Elijah had said they could stick around if they deemed it safe…

Their thoughts were cut off by a sharp sting in their neck, followed by a wave of coldness seeping out from that spot. They turned their head to see Viper, a villain specializing in poisons, standing a few meters away with a… blowgun?

They reached a hand—why was that so hard to do?—to their neck. Their fingers brushed against something, and they pulled it out.

A dart. She had hit them with a dart. A dart that had to have some kind of paralytic or sedative or something, because their body wasn’t responding correctly to their commands.

Viper touched a hand to her ear before speaking. “Yeah, caught them sniffing around just like you suspected. I’ll bring them down now.”

The next thing Zera knew, they were being manhandled. Time was acting funny, too fast and too slow at once, like molasses shot from a cannon. A blink later and they were dropped to the shiny wood floor of the stage.

“And as a bonus, I’ll include custody of the hero Foxfire to whoever wins the bid on Poppet,” Slipknot said smugly.

Zera’s eyelids were too heavy to stay open. The last thing they saw before they closed their eyes was Poppet, staring at them in horror from behind their mask.

---

Zera woke up with a scream stuck in their throat. Everything ached, a bone-deep pain that seemed to throb in time with their heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” came a small voice.

Zera managed to turn their head to see the speaker.

It was Poppet. They were no longer in their suit, but rather civilian clothing. The change in outfit revealed dark bruises ringing their wrists and decorating their arms. Zera winced in sympathy.

“I’m so sorry,” Poppet said again.

---

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff, @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway, @whumpcreations, @wicked-whump @heart4brains, @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps

Special thank-you to everyone who helped me come up with villain names to round out the crowd!

#with bloody outstretched hands #auction of evil #au #bailey the villain #bailey aka poppet #zera the hero #zera aka foxfire #supervillain is a manipulative bastard #asks answered #bthb #auction of evil bthb #non-con drugging #sedation #forced sedation

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chalkbird · 2 years

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once again thinking about "you're gonna have to amend that one name though, just to be fair. it's Lady Vex'ahlia."

#percy my beloved #micdrop moment #bestie beloved bastard #percival fredrickstein von musel de rolo iii #percy de rolo #vex'ahlia #taliesin jaffe #laura bailey #critical role #vox machina #girlboss behavior

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mediocre-creations · 2 years

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Izzie and George - Grey's Anatomy x Somewhere Only We Know

Capcut this time. How do you do the blinking thing? Also, I need original ideas.

Fun fact: George's death still breaks me and this scene permanently changed my brain chemistry

#greys anatomy #george omalley #izzie stevens #meredith grey #cristina yang #alex karev #miranda bailey #richard webber #magic interns #this makes it seem like izzie's dead #but that's ok because so did bastard season 5 #i fully expected her to see denny #fucking elevators man

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nando161mando · 4 months

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ashersanity · 5 months

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Cruel bastards. Bastards who like the look on your face, the loom of their shadow over yours as they touch themselves right in front of you, eyes trained and set on their weeping genital. Since you’ve been such a fucking whore lately, rebellious, snarky, never listening to their every word, their orders that they lay out for you.

It’s only fair to give you a taste of your own medicine, watch on as your lush, pink lips part, pupils dilating at the sight of it all, tongue peeking out to get a desperate lick in, yearning to lap over their throbbing cock/cunt. The wet, slicked sounds of their fat cock furiously being stroked, beads of pre-cum forming at the flushed tip, loosely dripping onto your skin. The obscene squelches of their sopping wet cunt being fingered, middle finger idly rubbing over their swollen clit, almost urging you to stuff your face into their crotch and suck.

Loving the way you whine and squirm, huffing a breath about how you wanna join in, make them feel good, moan like never before, that you’ll be a good boy from now on if they just let you have your chance with them. Gaze trailing down, over your spread legs like the slut that you are, your aching, twitching arousal so very evident, straining against the front of your pants, fabric dampening.

That smirk. That fucking smirk that forms onto their face as they pin your wandering hands down, pressed flat against the hard surface, murmuring into your ear that you just be nice now, sit back, relax and enjoy the show.

“Be a good boy and stay still for me, will you?”

Biting your lip with a resigned sigh and whimper, knowing only to obey, hanging onto their every word and movements.

Fuck. You mutter beneath your breath, gritting your teeth in frustration.

“Fucking bastard.”

whitney, corrupted! sydney, bailey, avery, satoru gojo?, kaeya alberich?, kamisato ayato?, toji fushiguro?, your favorite. forgot who the fuck exists besides them.

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smuthospital · 8 months

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⭐️Yandere Kylar x Reader⭐️

Premise: You're a streamer, and your biggest fan really really likes you

Warning: Non-con, kidnapping, gn reader

Minors DNI

Bright lights flash in your eyes, your fingers rapidly bashing buttons on your keyboard, your other hand furiously clicking your mouse. You whine as your character suddenly falls to the ground, dead.

"Ok, guys! Ok, I get it! I know I'm not that good at this game! No need to tease me!" You laugh. Inside, you're a bit peeved. These stinky bastards aren't here for your gameplay so they better shut up. Shut up and enjoy their eye candy. You're currently streaming an online first-person shooter. You made your little hobby into a little side hustle not too long ago. Guys love watching hot people play games and it's proven to be profitable. "I'm cute? Well thank you, Mr. Husband!" This guy is a regular. Gotta give him those shout-outs he practically pays for.

As much as it hurts to deal with these weirdos, It helps with expenses. You've even seen Robins username pop in and out quickly, probably hoping you didn't see. At first, you were uncomfortable with acting all sweet for your audience, but you warmed up to the idea when it started staving off your bastard Landlord at the orphanage you live in, Bailey. You play games dressed sexy, say sweet dumb things and the money comes pouring in.

These poor, lonely guys send you money in hopes you'll give them a crumb of attention, and you do. Sometimes, you say their names. You don't exactly care that you're taking their money at all. It's a gift! It's not like you forced them to give you money, nor did you even ask. They just want a chance to get in your pants and you're not gonna stop them from dreaming. You can't count the number of times people in the chat have asked if you have an onlyfans.

You'd never, of course, date one of these pigs. You imagine your viewers are stinky, slimy, greasy and would cum in their pants at just seeing you in person. Their whole body is probably sticky to the touch and shower maybe once a month they probably have piss filled mountain dew bottles on the floor next to their pc and shit stains on their seat. You're pretty sure a few guys in the comments are jerking off as you stream this very second.

A few times, you've received ominous messages in the comments from different users, almost threatening you for some ridiculous problem they have with you. How you play, what you're wearing, or just your face, so you make sure to always hide your location and are very vague about your personal life. You're used to them being weird, saying things about what they'd do to you if they were alone with yo- Just have to learn to ignore it. You calm yourself down.

"Well, that's enough for today, I'm getting sleepy! It was nice playing with you today. I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight, love you!" You blow a kiss at the camera. You see people commenting their 'i love you too's and whining about how you could stay a bit longer' in the chat before you disconnect. You made $540 from that two-hour stream. You received most of it from the same person. Mr.Husband. Not one minute after closing the stream, you get a message. You thought you disabled direct messages? You notice that it's to your personal account that's open on another tab from an unnamed account. No bio, no profile picture.

New user: Hey

New user: Do you want to meet up sometime? For coffee?

You: Who's this?

New user: I'm Kylar. You can get to know me when we get coffee.

You: Uh no? How the fuck do you know me?

New user: I love your streams, pretty. Drop the fucking attitude before you piss me off. I knew you'd be more of a bitch off-camera. You just look too good to be good hearted. You have to be taught obedience. You're lucky I care about you so much.

You: Keep your tiny prick away from me. I never want to see you in my presence. Disgusting. Ugly pig. Do me a favor and never ever leave your dirty cave. Go fuck yourself

New user: Wanna watch?

*New user has now been blocked*

You stand up and walk away from your computer. how the fuck did he find your actual account? You don't even have your real name anywhere. You start to undress, not noticing your computer's camera has flicked on again.

In a dark room, a man fists his massive cock slowly, eyes trailing up and down his obsession through the screen. His mind is filled with all the things he wants to do to a little cock tease like you. Ruin you, break you, crush you under his weight, teach you a lesson for whoring yourself out. A cute treat like you should have better manners "Pig...tiny prick. Ah, (y/n) I can't let you just say those things to your husband." he watches as you slide your underwear down, eyes zeroing in on the crevice between your thighs as you bend over. He shudders as hot baby batter coats his chest and thighs, continuing to roll down his cock in fat globs.

Two days later, you're walking back home from a late shift at the cafe. You plan to stream when you get home.

Something is watching you.

Cold sweat dribbles down the back of your neck. You shiver, the cold night air doing nothing to calm you. You can feel eyes drilling holes into your back. You picked up your pace, your eyes darting all around. Who is it? What do they want? You think you can hear footsteps not far away. They're getting closer. You break into a sprint and make it to Danube street before you're tackled to the ground. All air is pushed from your lungs, depleting you of oxygen. You do your best to fight against your unseen attacker, but they're far too strong. You try to scream, but only a wheeze comes out. The man roughly picks you up like a sack of potatoes under his arm and carries you into a mansion nearby.

He walked down a flight of stairs and threw you to the ground. You tried to scramble away, but he grabs your ankle and drags you back to him. You get a look at his face in the dim light. He's handsome, but his expression strikes fear in your heart. Fury is the only word you can think of to describe it. You scream and flail your limbs wildly, trying to get him the fuck off of you. You hear a crack and before you realize what happened, your cheek is burning. "Shut." Smack "The." Smack "Fuck." Smack "Up." He's seething by the end. Your head was knocked back into the ground by the last hit. A dribble of blood runs down your nose, your cheeks completely red and moderately swollen. You're no longer trying to fight him, head far too foggy to do anything but lay there in pain.

"I'm sorry, baby." He huffs, calming down a bit. "Don't fight me and that won't have to happen again." He wiped at the blood on your face with his thumb, cradling your cheek. A blush creeps over his face along with a deranged smile as he stares down at you with his unblinking eyes. "You're just so perfect. Everything." You feel a bulge forming atop you where he's straddled. He pants heavily as he looks you up and down. Hot tears slip down your swollen cheeks at the realization that you can't get yourself out of this one.

You lie completely still as he palms his crotch in front of you. "I...I'm kylar...you said I have a small prick, (Y/n)... That wasn't very nice. You should say things like that to your husband." You stare at him in awe...it's..the guy from the chat. did he find you? He's crazy. He's insane. He's gonna kill you. Your chest heaves up and down uncontrollably. You feel blood rushing to your ears, feeling the most fear you've ever felt in your entire life. He takes notice of your panic attack and tries to calm you. "H-hey! Shhh, it's ok, just breathe!" You don't hear a word he's saying and thrash wildly again. Your legs kick underneath him, but his body doesn't budge an inch.

You freeze when you feel his lips smash onto yours. He grabs your wrists in one hand above your head, effectively immobilizing you. It feels like he's trying to eat you, no longer caring about your little tantrum. "Just stay still." He mutters as his large hands roam up and down your body like he's waited his life for this moment. You feel his ever growing bulge rub against your stomach. He grabs your hands before you could try to fight him again.

"...You know...I've been giving you my good money, (Y/n). All because I knew how hard it was to live on your own. But now you're here with me. You'll be my personal house whore." You feel his breath hit your cheek. "Please...let me go. I didn't do anything to you!" You're full on sobbing at this point and to your horror, you feel his cock twitch against you.

"Oh fuck! Keep crying for me like that, baby." He's clawing your pants. Your eyes dart around the room for anything that can help you, but your blood runs cold when you just see hundreds of photos of you plastered all over his walls, some even on his ceiling. You hear a loud tear. This animal ripped your pants and underwear in the process of ridding them from your body.

You're a shaking mess as he cups your sex in his hand. "K-Kylar, please!" You cry, trying to appeal to his humanity. He groans, a little wet spot of pre cum appears on his crotch. "Say my name again." He demanded. His fingers rim around your hole, threatening to dive in. You quiver at the feeling. He unzipped his pants and you feel something impossibly large, heavy and hot slam onto your stomach with a thud.

He releases you momentarily and moves himself lower on your body, his head between your legs. His arms circle around your thighs in a vice grip. He takes a strong whiff and lets out a moan. You feel his tongue slide up and down your sex as his fingers plat around with your hole before dipping half a finger in. You're too dry, it hurts! You whine and struggle, uncomfortable. His finger dips all the way in, uncaring for your pleasure. You scream as he continues to thrust his finger inside you as his mouth engulfs your sex. He removes his finger and lifts himself off you. You sigh in relief.

That relief dies as you feel his meaty cock push at your hole. He begins to push in, but your hole resists. It's too big. He lets out a sound of annoyance before spitting on his hand and rubbing the liquid up and down his cock. It does little to help aid in his entrance. "This may hurt a bit…a lot actually." He wicked grin stretches across his face before he rears his hips back and forces his cock through. You let out a blood curdling scream he rips through your insides. He's only halfway in, your walls desperately trying to push him back out. He holds onto your waist and pulls you into him, bottoming out. You feel like you're bleeding, but you're too afraid to look down.

You can hardly breathe. His cock feels like it's in your stomach. Your body twitches, hot tears slipping past the corners of your eyes as you wheeze out please for mercy. He only looks down at you in awe at your beauty. "Oh, you're so cute like this! I knew you could take it! I know it hurts now, but just give it time." His thumb rubs at your tears. There's nothing you can do to get out of this. You feel completely helpless.He pulls himself out, and slowly goes back in, groaning. "Fuck, you're so tight" he grunts. You close your eyes and hear a flash. Your eyes snap open to see he's holding a camera. A blinding light fills your vision along with a 'click'. This sick fuck.

You let out an involuntary moan when he shoves himself into you at just the right angle. He presses himself deep inside you, holding himself there, his cock hugging your sweet spot. "Ah (Y/n)! (Y/n)! (Y/n)!" He chants your name like a mantra at each thrust, but you can barely hear him. All you can do is feel him. Hurt hurts so bad but feels equally as good.

You can't help but let little sounds of pain and pleasure spill from your lips as his hips ram into yours. You look up to see his eyes are completely rolled back. His lips press wet kisses to your cheek. You feel a knot start to build in your lower stomach without your consent and you feel yourself lift onto cloud nine. "Oh (Y/n), cum for me! Cum for your husband!" He moans. You feel shame and pleasure wash over you as you do just that. You clench around him, his breath hitches in his throat at the feeling. He slams into you harder and harder. The over stimulation is killing you now. It's too much!

You think he might break something inside you, you think his dick might knock your brain out of your skull with how hard he's pounding. You feel like your organs will never be the same. "Gonna get you pregnant, gonna breed you again and again. Gonna have my babies. We'll be great parents!" His muttering awakens what's left of the fight in you. "Ah! N-no, stop! I-I can't!" His hand slams over your mouth, his bottomless green eyes staring directly into yours. He lifts your legs up and puts them over his shoulders in a tight mating press.

He hits your special spot and your eyes roll back. He can reach far deeper like this. He slams into you with one final thrust, pressing into you with his full weight. You can't breathe. The over stimulation finally comes for you and you cum all over his cock again. You feel his cock twitch before unloading what seems to be an endless supply of semen into you. You can almost hear the wet sound of him cumming inside you. Your lower stomach rises by the sheer volume of cum produced. You wonder if he used to be a bull at Remy's farm or something. That thought quickly vanishes along with your whole mind as your brain is unable to produce anymore thoughts.

With a satisfied sigh, he pulls his slipping wet cock out of you, a rush of lightly pink cum following after, quickly stopping when he plugs you up with a small plug. His cock isn't even fully soft. You pray he doesn't decide he wants a round two. "That wasn't so bad, now was it? You were crying for nothing." He pants. He kisses your temple before picking you up by your waist, once again like a sack of potatoes in one arm. He walks over to a mattress on the floor and drops you on it, your body softly bouncing on top before settling in a heap. He had a mattress the whole time and still fucked you on the cold, dirty cement floor!? You hear a click and see he's chained your right angle to the wall. He smiles at you and pevks you on the lips the way a husband would before leaving to work. His mood did a 180. He's so very cheerful, his handsome face cheerfully grinning down at you like you're a cute little kitten.

"You did really well today, (Y/n), my love. I'll be back tomorrow. You won't get dinner tonight because you fought me so much, but you'll learn to behave. I want to treat you better, so please be good for me. Goodnight." With that, your new 'husband' stands up to his full height and walks upstairs, leaving you in the cold pitch darkness of the basement.

#lemon #non con #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #degrees of lewdity #kylar the loner

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hopefully-hellbound · 2 years

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M!Bailey x gn!Angel!PC

Bailey has one orphan that he can't stand because theyre always so nice and pure, and he's a bastard. Goes too far one day.

Noncon, purity loss, hurt feelings, noone is happy at the end, bastard bailey, a lil longer setup but eh

Bailey always fucking hated you.

Stupid little goody two shoes, who put him on edge more than a lunch date with Briar or Remy. Bailey knew those bastards were up to something, always were, but you... You he couldn't quite figure out, ever.

What could one think of someone who can remain so sweet in a town this rotten?

From the moment you came here, to his orphanage, you were the sweetest little thing, coming to Bailey at stormy nights asking for a hug, promptly getting doors slammed shut in front of your face. Working as a tutor since you were a child, using the little money you earnt to buy chocolates for the whole orphanage on Valentine's and Christmas - Bailey included. His always ended up right in the trash, it wouldnt be the first or last time someone tried to poison him.

You'd always come trottling to him when someone would break in, you had no fighting skills, no way to defend yourself - an absolute idiot who gave their pepper spray to their stupid friend Robin. Bailey thought you would get your head out of the clouds once youre eighteen and rent starts, but nope, didn't fucking happen!

He couldn't wrap his head around it, how you managed it, how you stayed clean, pure, good. He purposely barged in while you bathed multiple times, and there weren't any bruises on you, not even a chastity belt to protect you! He charged up his rent, no way anyone can get 2k a week in this town without getting their hands dirty!

And yet, here you were.

For twenty bucks a week youve rented a patch of Bailey's yard to make it a garden, and you sold the pretty flowers you grew there - vegetables were for the orphanage, and you didn't want any money for them, despite how suspicious he was. You pranced around with that fucker Avery once a week, you got money from the church, you worked at a local shelter and on some farm outside of town. And you. Stayed. Pure.

Worst it was, you still liked Bailey! You still came to him with problems he didnt care about! Still brought him the stupid chocolates and flowers twice a year even if he threw them away right in front of you! Still had that stupid, stupid smile on when he barked something at you and you replied.

Bailey could swear he saw a halo if he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

And god, he hated it with the core of his corrupt soul.

He doesn't know what made him save you that one day.

He was just going around, trying to get his semi-monthly shopping done, annoyedly carrying bags of clothes for youngest orphans home. Little bastards had a lot of hand me downs, but he still paid for the basics of what the ones underage used. He was just considering calling up Leighton and trying to negitiate that uniforms would be given in school for cheaper, but then he heard a muffled scream come from an alley nearby. And while normally Bailey wouldn't think twice of it, he walked past it and from the corner of his eye, recognized that golden shine of a halo that was never there when he tried to check.

The men trying to drag you in a van weren't hard to politely convince to let go of you, they ran, clutching their bloody noses and dragging the friend who tried to kick Bailey in the balls to the hospital - maybe if theyre quick enough, he'll get to keep his leg intact.

But Bailey turned to you when you grabbed for his shirt, face burried in his clothes as you cried. First time he saw you cry, perhaps. He certainly didnt remember any others.

"Im sorry... im sorry im so-o-orry, they just showed up-"

Bailey doesnt hug you back, just awkwardly tells you to be more careful next time and dont waste his time again as he pushes you away.

And he would leave, he's already turnt to leave and spend the rest of the week wondering why the fuck would he save you, you of all people, when he heard you sniffle and he looked over his shoulder.

He shouldn't.

He really, really shouldn't.

Because there it was, that smile that always pissed him the fuck off, it still shone through your tears, still made you look so fucking angelic.

"y-yeah... t-thanks dad, i'll be more careful..."

And because of that one, single, forbidden word, Bailey snapped.

Your halo breaks when he shoves his cock in your tight, almost dry hole.

You sob and beg and nearly gag, but Bailey is enraged, hands on your neck choking you so hard your vision is so blurry you can barely see his face. Knuckles still bleeding from when he saved you, just minutes ago.

Bailey cant stop, your pleas for mercy are music to his ears, symphony for the supressed part of him that raged with envy every time he saw you and your stupid, happy grin. Every time he thought you'll finally see the world for what it really is, see Bailey for what he really is, but...

He guesses now you do.

He fucks you raw and hard, and soon you don't even have the voice to continue begging him to stop. Or maybe you've just realized that he won't.

Part of him that's not completely enchanted by just how good your virgin hole feels like vaguely registers your shopping bag thats laying where you dropped it. Little chocolates and wrapping paper fell out of it. That's right, tomorrow's Valentine's.

A sting of guilt strikes Bailey for the first time in decades, the simple thought of you getting him those stupid chocolates every year.... Suddenly thrusting into you doesn't feel as good anymore. He thought he would enjoy seeing that sparkle die in your eyes, but all he sees are tears and a reflection of himself.

Your guardian.

Your caretaker.

Your da-

Bailey drops you like a sack of potatoes, jerking off to quickly finish on your face. Suddenly every second feels wrong, every moment that should bring him sadistic satisfaction just makes him feel like shit. It's a feeling he doesn't like, just like how he doesn't like the look of betrayal on your face.

Maybe you'll learn now, he thinks bitterly, about trusting people.

He leaves you there in the alleyway, torn clothes and covered with his semen, to walk home on wobbly legs if something else doesnt snatch you up first. Bailey wishes it would, he doesn't want to ever see your hurt eyes again.

When Bailey finds little chocolates on his doorstep the next day, he doesn't throw them away.

#bailey the caretaker #bailey #degrees of lewdity #nc #tw: noncon #bailey the bastard

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reluctantjoe · 3 months

Text

I'm Harry. Nice soldier and traitorous bastard.

JONATHAN BAILEY as HARRY | Comic Relief 2024 — The Traitors: The Movie

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bb-simp · 2 years

Note

Thanks for all the art you post recently, my tl is very dry and im absolutely love your humor + your art style a lot, bailey is so fucking attractive in your style, everyone you draw is so attractive HELP

Thank you so much!!! Your message made my day anon muah<3

#Im happy to know Im not the only one simping Bailey as a bastard #ask

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wolfeyedwitch · 2 years

Note

🥶⚡️💪- All for Bailey/Poppet!

🥶 Cold

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms

💪🏽 Bridal carry

Pre-canon. Buckle up buttercups, because this is another entry in the column labeled "why Bailey has good reasons to be afraid of the heroes"

Masterlist

---

Bailey's hands were shaking when they managed to comm back to base.

"Poppet?" Slipknot's voice came through. "What's wrong?"

Because it was far too soon for them to be touching base if things were going right.

"C- cold," Bailey gasped out. "Hur- hurts. Need h- help."

"I'm tracking your comm, I'll be there right away. Are you somewhere safe enough to stay there until I can get to you?" their mentor asked.

"I think- I think so?" Bailey managed.

"Then stay put. I'm coming to get you."

The line went dead.

Bailey tried to stay awake in the meantime, they really did. But they were just so cold. They'd found shelter after the fight had gone bad, enough to both keep the rain off them and keep the heroes from finding them, but that didn't change the fact that they were soaked. It felt like they barely blinked, and then Slipknot was there shaking them.

Bailey cried out as the movement made all their wounds sit up and proclaim their existence. Loudly.

"Sorry, little poppet," Slipknot said. "But I need you awake. What happened?"

Bailey groaned through their teeth. "Wasn't just Spark," they said. "Was Tempest, too."

"What? Tempest was here? Why didn't you call for backup?"

"Tried to," Bailey said. "Think Spark had done something, dampened the signals maybe? Comm didn't work until later. I called you first thing."

"Okay," Slipknot said, sounding calmer. "Can you walk?"

Bailey shook their head, biting their lip to stay quiet. "My leg," they said, when they could manage more than inarticulate groans of pain. "Dunno know what's wrong, but she got it with her staff, and it burns."

Slipknot swore quietly. "The two of them. Using lightning against anyone is excessive, I don't care who they are. I'm sorry, Poppet. I thought this was going to be something you could handle. I wouldn't have sent you here if I had known it was going to be this big a job."

They looped one arm under Bailey's knees and the other behind their back. Slowly, gently, they carried Bailey to safety.

---

Notes: it isn't full lightning, but Spark/Iris has some electro-generation ability along with her technopath powers. Combining that with Tempest's wind and weather control, and a metal staff makes for a great conductor to hit your enemies with.

(There are some serious miscommunications going on as to why they think that much force is appropriate.)

(Does Slipknot know that? Are they sincere or not? Let me know what you think.)

Taglist:

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mellowwillowy · 7 months

Text

𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

⤷ Synopsis: An honor student was sent to detention, and to everyone's surprise, it was nothing out of the ordinary until the headmaster decided that he had enough and gave your beloved caretaker a call.

⤷ warnings — possessive behaviors, mention of past abuse and trauma, gn reader

"Seriously, your caretaker will be hearing this soon." The headmaster grumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose, another trip to detention which you thought would just be another chance to laze inside the headmaster's room, sleeping on the couch while killing time.

"Didn't he tell you not to bother him over menial problems like this?"

"Considering how many times you have lazed in my room, I wouldn't say it's menial anymore. Besides, just what made you think that it was a great idea to pick a fight with Whitney?!"

You groaned at the headmaster's bickering, waiting for your beloved caretaker to just come and patch your wounded ass. Picking a fight with the head bully was never a great idea but you were somehow itching for a fight by the school's corridor out of nowhere!

"He should be here by now."

"And you will not be hearing the end from us."

The doors to the headmaster's room swung open, revealing your caretaker who was wearing an annoyed expression. "I supposed it's supposed to be something important, Leighton?" The man questioned your headmaster as he leaned toward the doorframe.

"Did you not learn the etiquette of referring to someone who is older than you too?"

"Oh I'm so sorry but we did not recall ever seeing you being a proper headmaster."

You and he both attended the same school, and the only thing that was surprising enough was that the uniform you two once wore hadn't changed much. Some may say that your uniform seemed a bit different but that was all, no further questions were asked about you. Especially your age.

"Your pretty little brat was causing trouble again, am I in the wrong to summon their beloved caretaker?" the headmaster spat as he drummed his fingers on the table, "Not the first, second nor tenth. But I couldn't just close my eyes anymore on this matter."

You tugged on your caretaker's suit, "Bailey, do you have bubblegum?" Surely you were defiant enough to not listen to the headmaster's bickering but he wouldn't do anything about it. He couldn't.

Bailey sighed as he handed you a pack of bubblegum, at the very least it kept you away from cigarettes. "And?"

"If I have to say, I am kind enough to give them preferential treatment, wouldn't you say so too? No photographs, no spanking, and no-"

"I think you are a bit too high over your head right now," Bailey growled at his remarks, "I too, am being nice to you. What do you think this school will do to a perverted headmaster like you if I leaked out all the blackmail materials you had against the students?"

You thought to yourself as you blew out a balloon, would the mayor do anything about this? Probably not unless a revolution started or the Mayor was edged by Bailey until he had no choice but to dismiss your headmaster.

"You are wasting my time, you know that right? And you," Bailey looked back at you, making you pop the balloon and chew the gum back.

"What?"

Bailey chewed back all the nasty words he was about to tell you as he scratched his head, "Get into the car. I'll have a chat with him first." You shrugged and left the room without looking back, shutting the dual doors tight.

"I'm not going to say much anymore," Bailey stood up from his seat and walked toward the door, "they could not feel how it's like to be a student and all you had to was turn a blind eye to everything they did, is that so hard?"

The headmaster's face contorted into a scowl, "Bastards, you two really have your caretaker's tendencies running thick in your blood, blackmailing just to obtain what you want."

"Whatever you are saying, if I see them troubled again, I won't be this lenient anymore." Bailey slammed the doors with a loud thud and thought to himself, just who was the brat that punched you so hard that it cut your left lip?

Bailey groaned at your sight and started to drive like a madman toward the orphanage, "Good, just make sure you can at the very least win."

"Did you win?"

"Hmm... I think so, considering how I'm the only one who could walk to detention." You shrugged as Bailey examined your bruises in the car, your uniform torn and stained with blood, your hair disheveled, and a cut on your left lip.

You cackled at his words and started to play the radio, bobbing your head to the tunes, "Reminiscing how hellish it was whenever you see me wounded?"

Bailey didn't respond but hell he knew what you meant. The two of you were not catered to as children and ironically enough, the boy you once remembered as someone kind and loving is now a ruthless extortionist called Caretaker, perhaps he was worse than your previous caretaker but he was nice enough to not do anything toward the children that were not considered as an adult yet.

Perhaps that was the only justification you could give him.

You pouted at his words, those who failed to pay will be sold but you knew he wouldn't do that. Besides, the others would be squirming happily should he ever sell you.

"Ah right, time to pay up brat."

"No preferential treatment for me?"

"You are still my orphans and I am nothing but a fair man."

"I think I'm short in money sir."

"What a coincidence, I need someone to clean my bedroom and make my bed," Bailey looked at you side-eyed, "and I need someone to keep me company for the night, I suppose you could cover up your debt with this much yeah?"

#DOL #Degrees of Lewdity #Bailey the Caretaker #Leighton the Headmaster #Whitney the Bully #Yandere x reader #x gn reader #this is a shitpost

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azsazz · 7 months

Text

Change Your Ticket (Part 5)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,541

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Notes: ugh. i don't like this one.

_________________________________________

“What?”

There’s no way she just said what you think she said. You wouldn’t be able to hear it with the pounding of your heart and your blood rushing through your ears, you can’t even decipher her next words as the floor falls from your feet.

How would she know that? You pride Mor on her innate ability to find out most information about almost anyone, she’s like a secret agent sometimes. Once, when Feyre had had told you and Mor that her sister Elain was to be engaged to a man no one in her family liked, Mor spent two nights digging into his socials and finding out everything she could about the bastard. To this day, Elain still doesn’t know who it was that sent her those anonymous screenshots and photos of him with another woman.

But right now, you don’t think it’s possible for Mor to have found something out like this. You and Cassian have been so careful, to the extend where you’d been a little paranoid even, always checking your surrounding and planning the times you and him meet up down to the second. You’re anal as fuck about it, but it’s worked for eight months. So why isn’t it working right now?

“I know you don’t want me to repeat myself,” Mor huffs down the line, but her voice is all static, your ears ringing. Your phone is buzzing incessantly in your fingers and your arm is numb with it. You’re terrified to pull the device from your ear, not knowing who or what kind of messages you’re receiving right now.

The elevator rings, signaling its arrival to your floor, and the doors sliding open almost feel like a death sentence. On numb legs, you step forward and off the elevator, Mor’s voice still echoing in your head. You’re dating Cassian Bailey?

Bright flashes jolt you from your thoughts. Whipping your head to where the front entrance is located, you quint, holding your hand up to block some of the glare. Your stomach drops to the floor at the sight. A crowd of paparazzi wait outside, snapping pictures of you through the lobby’s clear windows.

Holy shit. This is real. This is really fucking happening.

You’re not prepared in the slightest. You don’t know what to do, your mind is racing with a thousand thoughts a second and the strobes coming from the front of your building blind you, leaving white spots in your vision, taking out another one of your senses. Mor is rambling on in your ear, shrill sounding, and if you could make out the words through your muddled mind, you figure she’s scolding you and feeling a bit betrayed by you keeping this a secret from one of your closest friends.

Outside, the people shout. Their words are muffled by the thick glass, but it only adds to the anxiety scorching your veins. The collar of your shirt tightens around your throat and your breathing turns shakey. You’re frozen to the spot, halfway out of the elevator, the doors trying to slide closed but your body against the sensor keeps them angrily pulling back open.

The people waiting for the elevator upstairs are probably pissed.

“Mor?” you ask, and she falls silent. You must not sound like yourself because Mor never lets anyone interrupt her. Ever.

“Yeah?” Her tone is cautious, obviously picking up the emotion—or lack thereof—in your tone.

“What’s going on?”

It’s the only thing you can think to say. Your mind is being hammered with thoughts and the bright lights trying to blind you aren’t helping in the slightest but your feet are frozen to the ground. You know you look like a deer in headlights and that you should move, force yourself to do anything besides stand here like a fool for them to get all of the pictures they want—

Your body surges into action, striding out of the elevator and turning down the hall, giving them your back. You can hear their pathetic pleas for you to turn around and walk their way, but you know better than that. They’re here for one thing and one thing only—to see exactly who Cassian Bailey is sticking his dick into.

Rumors and stories will be swirling by tonight. Your phone buzzes in your hand again and you’re sure these pictures are already up in the tabloids, social media, every inch of the internet they can reach. You wonder if Cassian’s seen any of it and then remember that he’s finishing up practice, so he won’t be by his phone to see all of this for at least another hour.

You’re all alone in this.

Mor sighs your name sadly, and your chest squeezes tight as you round a corner, putting a wall between you and the paparazzi. What she’s about to say isn’t going to be something that you want to hear, but maybe it will make it all the more real.

“There was a picture of you in the Morning Mail,” she explains, and your throat tightens. The Morning Mail is a stupid tabloid online that updates every morning. Most of the time it’s filled with silly stories of random acts of kindness or pranks gone wrong with the occasional post about the current celebrity gossip. You didn’t even know that many people followed the account. Mor does because she’s been on their feed a few times and it gained her thousands of followers overnight. “You’re wearing his shirt.”

You want to choke. You never leave the house in Cassian’s clothes; you make sure of that. You’ve been so careful all this time, parking down the street from his place when you visit, forcing him to take a car and get dropped off since people are surely tracking his personal license plates. You don’t sit with the other families in the stadium at the home games, and Cassian doesn’t even follow you on social media.

You’re wearing his shirt, you echo, wracking your brain for any chance you may have slipped up. Nothing comes to mind, and when you hang your head, it hits you full force; the t-shirt you’d stolen of his in your rush to avoid his more than cheeky attitude this morning. Distracted by his wandering hands, his charming smile, you’d shoved one of his on, tucking it into your slacks before rushing out the door.

“Fuck,” your voice wobbles, tears pricking your eyes and emotion thickening your throat. It’s a black fucking cotton t-shirt, and apart from the sheer size of it and how it hangs loosely from your body, you haven’t the slightest idea of how they know it’s his. But it is, and they know.

A quick glance around the corner has your heart stammering in your chest. The photographers look like a bunch of wild animals, climbing over each other trying to catch a glimpse of you. You pray that their flashes are reflecting off of the glass and ruining their photos, but surely, your luck has completely run out if this is how your Monday is going.

You need to get out of here, now.

“I’ve already called Feyre,” Mor says down the line, and you’re confused on why you weren’t the first call she’d made when she continues. “My attempts went right to voicemail, and I called you right back as soon as I let her know. We’re already on our way to your place but we can swing by if you want a ride?”

“Yeah, I—”

“(Y/N)?” Tarquin’s voice startles you as he peeks around the corner. His bleached brows are furrowed deeply, a frown painting his face when he catches the frazzled look on your face. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Ah, so he’s also seen the mass of crazies outside trying to capture a front cover photo of you.

You have a choice right now, to lie to your coworker and say that you have no idea what’s going on or who they’re trying to take pictures of, or confide in your best work friend who’s been with you since the start. Literally, you both started on the same day and have been inseparable since.

You choose the latter.

“Would you mind giving me a ride home?” you ask, holding your hand over the speaker of your phone while you talk to Tarquin. “It seems as though my car is surrounded by strangers.”

With a quick glance back in the direction to the front doors of the building, Tarquin agrees, tone hesitant and a little confused, but he’s gracious nonetheless. “Sure, I can do that. Let me bring my car around the back and I’ll pick you up there?”

You nod, thankful. “Yes, please. Thanks, Tarq, you’re the best.”

He smirks genuinely and you’d roll your eyes at his antics if you weren’t shaking down to the bone. With a wink, Tarquin makes his way through the crowd, and you can hear his cheerful voice as he shoved through the doors, obviously loving all of the attention.

“Mor?” you ask into your phone once he’s gone, “I’ve got a ride, just meet me at my place.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“So…are we going to talk about why all of those people were asking me about you and trying to get pictures?” Tarquin asks once you’ve successfully made it out into the busy traffic and away from the fleet of paparazzi surrounding your place of work.

Tarquin had picked you up at the back of the building and you all but dove into his car before any of the photographers could catch a glimpse of you. Your coworker had shoved a baseball cap in your direction, one with the Sealion’s logo on it that you reluctantly shoved on your head, slumping down in your seat so you weren’t seen.

Your phone has been buzzing constantly, and you’re worried you might actually have to get a new number with the onslaught of texts, calls, and notifications threatening to send your phone into the same shock you’re currently experiencing. Your parents have even been trying to get through, but you haven’t had the guts to answer any of them or even dare to look on any social media platform. You’ve just been staring at the screen, constantly lit with incoming messages, buzzing fervently in your lap.

You glance at the clock on the radio, blinking 5:32. How could your entire world have turned upside down in the matter of thirty-two minutes? You’ve gone from normal girl working a nine to five at a graphic design firm to Cassian Bailey’s girlfriend all because of a fucking plain t-shirt.

You don’t know if you’ll ever get over that, the fact that an oversized, black cotton t-shirt is your downfall in all of this. It’s mind-boggling to believe that someone had connected the dots that quickly, but there are some avid fans of Cassian’s that you wouldn’t dare to go head-to-head with.

“What’s there to talk about?” you speak softly, defeated. With a sigh, you shut your phone off. It’s the best way to avoid what’s going on on the internet until you can wrap your head around everything and what you plan to do about it. You’re exhausted already, just attempting to think about it. You let your head fall to the side, the leather squeaking against your head as you look over at your friend. “You heard them, Tarq.”

Everything that you’ve worked for, your privacy, your art, might all be ruined. Gaining your own following in the graphic design community had been hard, and now that you’re about to be known by the world doesn’t sit right with you. How are you supposed to make really work-related connections when people might only be seeking you out to get closer to Cassian? The thought of being used like that makes your stomach roil. Your trust issues are about to be through the roof.

You stare back out at the traffic and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Your brain hurts and you just want to be in the safety of your home.

“So, you’re dating Cassian Bailey,” Tarquin says, like if he almost can’t believe it himself. A sharp pinch to your shoulder has your eyes shooting open and your body bolting upright, only for the seatbelt to lock and nearly choke you.

Yelping, you glare at your friend, but his ice blue eyes are focused on the road. “Hey! What was that for?”

“For not telling me, obviously,” Tarquin scoffs, glancing over his shoulder and flicking on his turn-signal to switch lanes. You peek out of the passenger mirror, anxious that one of the photographers caught a glimpse of you leaving and has somehow followed you thus far.

“I didn’t tell anyone, if it makes you feel better.”

You’re answered with a roll of his eyes.

You don’t know what to say, how to respond to Tarquin, how to respond to any of this. All you want to do is crawl in a hole and hide away for the next few years. How are you supposed to go about your day normally when everything is anything but normal? You’ll be expected to show up with Cassian now, be there in the crowd for the home matches, you know people will be looking for you.

A headache splits your skull at the thoughts running rampant in your mind. There are so many things to think about now, each and every move you make is going to have to be calculated. You’ll have to think about what you’re going to wear, how you’ll present yourself, thinking about what to say before you speak. Anything you do now will reflect on Cassian’s career, and fans will be blaming you for his mistakes.

It's all too much.

“How long has this been going on?” Tarquin asks softly, as if sensing you’re stuck in your head and need help getting out. You don’t really want to talk about you and Cassian at all right now, but you shove those impending thoughts aside with a sigh, and talk to your friend.

“A little over eight months, now.”

“Is he hung?”

You splutter, choking on your saliva, and Tarquin laughs. This, this is why he’s your favorite coworker. Tarquin isn’t afraid of saying what’s on his mind, no matter how HR unfriendly the question may be.

“I’m not answering that,” you laugh, craning your neck to look out the window, hiding your hot face. The blush staining your cheeks is answer enough.

Tarquin tuts, turning down your street. It’s empty, and you breathe a sigh of relief when he pulls up to your building and there isn’t a crowd of people shouting your name and trying to take your picture. A little of the tension eases from your shoulders.

“Do you want me to pick you up for work in the morning?” Tarquin asks, pulling over to let you out.

You shake your head, gathering your things. “I’m going to call in sick tomorrow. Don’t know what I’m going to do after that. Do you think Alis will let me work from home permanently?” You ask. Alis, your boss, is a strict woman who you can’t seem to figure out if she likes or dislikes anyone that works for her.

Tarquin huffs, “I doubt it. She’s tough as nails, that one.”

“Might just have to quit then, I suppose.”

Your friend’s jaw drops and he looks at you with eyes of betrayal. “You are not going to leave me with the wolves like that! I’ll come drag your ass out of this apartment everyday if I need to.”

“But if I quit, you’ll get to take over Tamlin’s project,” you tease, and his eyes widen comically. He hadn’t thought about that one, apparently. Unlatching the lock, you slide out of the vehicle. You lean down, looking back at your coworker. “Thanks for the ride, Tarq. I’ll text you later.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Feyre and Mor meet you at the door to your apartment, their arms packed with grocery bags filled with candles, ice cream, frozen pizzas, and a lot of alcohol.

“You look like you need it,” Feyre had said when you eyed the bottle of vodka she’d unloaded on your counter.

You do.

You have no appetite, picking at the crust of your slice of pizza. Your stomach stirs sickly, the never-ending thoughts consuming you as you fill your two best friends in on the last eight months you’ve spent with Cassian, from when you’d accidentally run into him at the grocery store late one night after a horrible date gone wrong, to this morning, when you’d slipped into his shirt and hastily left for work. You’d left out the part about Cassian trying to seduce you back into bed, but your friends got most of the story.

“This is insane,” you groan, shoving your plate away from yourself with a sigh. “What the hell am I going to do?”

You hadn’t turned your phone back on, you hadn’t wanted to. You left it in your room when you’d gotten home and changed into your most comforting clothes, stuffing that fucking shirt that got you caught to the bottom of your hamper in rage.

Snuggling deeper into your hoodie, you drag the bottle of vodka closer to yourself, pouring a heavy-handed shot. The alcohol burns your throat on the way down and you grimace, focusing on the burn instead of the pricking at the back of your eyes that hadn’t gone away since you’d all but fallen into your best friends’ arms.

“First, we’re going to need to start brainstorming how to get you out of this. Thankfully, I have a little bit of experience with this sort of thing.”

And she does. Mor has been in the tabloids more than a few times, and most of the time it’s a semi-true story with made-up aspects to really make it seem juicier than it is. She was once photographed coming out of a popular restaurant at the same time actor Harry Hybern was headed in to meet with some friends, and the media had a field day with it. As much as she liked the actor, Mor was upset with the fact that he is thrice her age. You would’ve hated being on the other side of that phone call when she’d dialed the magazine that printed the article, demanding a retraction.

“What’s the first thing you usually do when this sort of thing happens?” you ask. Maybe talking to Mor about her experiences in the public eye will make you feel a little better, if not offer an idea of what you can do yourself.

“See how cute I look in the pictures,” Mor answers, unabashed.

You huff out a laugh in response, Feyre giggling into her glass. “That’s the first thing I do when I see you in the media too, Mor,” she says with a grin, “That vomit green look from the other day? Not your best work, and (Y/N)’s plain black t-shirt tucked into her slacks was so cute! I’m totally stealing that look.”

“Go ahead,” you wave her off because you’re never wearing it again.

Mor glares a little, pouting. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Helping our friend and her sudden fame. I’m thinking Cassian’s dick will take care of most of the emotional turmoil,” she says and Feyre laughs a little too hard. Mor reaches into the bag and pulls out a notebook, flipping it to the first page. “We’ll start with some brainstorming—"

A knock at the door startles you from your wallowing. Back straightening, you glance at your friends taking up the other side of the kitchen island, eyes wide and heart hammering in your chest.

“What if it’s more photographers?” you whisper, and your fingers tremble a little so you clench them instead.

Mor and Feyre share a glance, a flash of worry crossing their features as if they hadn’t thought about it.

“I’ll get it,” Feyre decides, placing her half-drunk glass on the counter as she stands. The blanket droops from her shoulders, flopping onto the back of her stool like you want to be right now, a puddle of fabric and emotions. “If it’s them, I’ll say that this is my place and I don’t know who you are.”

“Good idea,” Mor compliments, nudging your glass with the beck of her hand. She gives you a soft, encouraging smile. “Drink up, (Y/N). It’s probably not the paps, but we’ve got to get you less paranoid so you can think better.”

“Not sure getting wasted is going to help with my thinking,” you mutter, tipping your glass back anyway, “But whatever.” Mor is ready when you remove the empty cup from your lips, already pouring you more. You’re glad to have such amazing friends to drop what they’re doing and come over in your time of turmoil, and they haven’t even laid into you yet about keeping this huge secret from them.

Small victories, and all that.

“(Y/N)?” Feyre calls from the other room. She sounds shocked, almost, and the sound of it makes you want to throw the blanket over your head and cower like a fool. “It’s definitely not the paparazzi.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Change Your Ticket Taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starsinyourseyes @jdeclerc @indiedash @kennedy-brooke @tothestarsandwhateverend @azsteris @obsessivereaderchick @aalxrose @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover @bookishbroadwaybish @itsinherited @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @vellichor01

#cassian x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #cassian #rugby!cassian #cassian au #change your ticket #acotar au

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