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oftenderweapons · 4 years

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Love Talk - Jimin

Pairing: Jimin x reader (nicknamed Princess)

Wordcount: 6.6k words

Genre: smut, fluff, lowkey angst

Rating: 18+

Hello cuties! 💜

I’m back with a new piece and this time we have a very soft boy Jimin with a lot of fluff (plus smut, ‘cause we all know I’m a certified slut by now). This is the right moment to remind you that if you’re a minor the content under the cut is not intended for you and you should not read.

Anyways, quick recap: Jimin and y/n-Princess have been dating for about four months at this point, they are seeing each other exclusively, though they haven’t yet explicitly said ‘I love you’.

On to TRIGGER WARNINGS: discussion of eating disorders (they are NOT condoned, but rather addressed and gently corrected), alcohol consumption (just mild tipsiness, nothing major). Swearing. Sub!Jimin wants a spanking. Of course he gets one. Very in-depth discussion of BDSM conditions and limits related to a spanking scene. Punishment scene and powerplay. Teeth-rotting fluff. Unprotected vaginal sex (do I need to remind you to use protection whenever you engage in oral, anal or vaginal sex? Well, this is me, kindly reminding you to keep it safe). Woah, these warnings are shorter than usual.

Wordcount: 6.6K

A small thank you to @nervous-moon for the constant love and support (and for listening to me ramble for days about crazy themes and prompts) and another silent thank you goes to an amazing angel who listened to me panicking about this fic not working and putting me back on track.

Here is my masterlist!

And before I let you read in peace, please remember to vote for the next theme :) (link in my bio)!

Enjoy!

Jimin is a tense bundle of nerves, walking back and forth at the feet of the bed, pacing anxiously before sitting and grabbing his hair, tugging it in exasperation. How could he possibly do this?

It’s not like he could bend over your lap and scream “I won’t stand up until you spank me raw.”

But at the moment he was desperate enough that he was actually considering. He threw himself on the mattress, rolling on his belly and whining loudly, kicking and punching the covers.

Nuzzling his face into the duvet, he took in the smell of you on the bedsheets, finding small comfort.

What if he moved your hand on his ass, leading your wrist so your hand smacked on his ass?

He grimaced and shook his head.

Turning around he stood up and went to the kitchen. It was late. You should be here in ten minutes. Maybe tipsy from your night out with your friends. He spotted the bottle of beer in the fridge.

A little liquid courage?

He nodded to himself, grabbing the bottle.

The bottle was empty when he heard the door unlock. A sweet chill ran down his spine as he heard you take off your shoes, silent footsteps heading down the hall, following the light from the kitchen.

“Hi.” You said, surprised, noticing the bottle on the table. Your mind, already growing suspicious, noticed that there was only one glass on the table. You calmed yourself down.

“Hello.” He said with a cute blush, puffy cheeks and his sweet smile. “You’re back.”

“And you’re tipsy.” You replied, smiling at him incredulously.

He nodded, lids heavy.

“Come with me.” You murmured. “Put down that stuff.” You invited him playfully.

He looked at you with a dreamy look. “Haven’t you drunk?”

“No, Jimin. I was assigned to sober godmother duty tonight.” You huffed out, slightly stressed.

He cocked his head to the side. “Don’t you want a sip, then?”

You looked at him. Your sober godmother duty wasn’t over, apparently. You were sure of it when you saw him oscillating dangerously on top of the barstool by your kitchen island. “No. I want to undress and get to bed.”

He made a grumpy face, all of his features scrunching up, his lips locked in a pout. He extended his arms towards you, making grabby hands.

You took a few steps towards him, hugging him as he smiled once more as you helped him down the chair. He kept holding you tight, brushing his face all over your neck and the small triangle of skin appearing from your demure top. “What do you want, Jimin?” You asked sweetly, your index tipping his head back so you could look at him.

He only shook his head, trying to escape from your inspecting gaze.

You had none of that. “Jimin, love. Do I need to take you to bed?”

He smiled, eyes closed, whining out a long, giggly “yes”.

Keeping an arm around his waist, you started walking to the bedroom, leaving the lights on in the kitchen. You had to go back for the bottle anyway.

“You didn’t drink that much, baby.” You kissed his temple. “Did you eat?”

His brow creased as he shook his head.

“Why not, Jimin?” You asked.

“I wasn’t thinking about it. I had lunch with Yoongi hyung and Taetae. Dinner kind of passed by.” He mumbled.

“That’s not good, Jimin.” You reprimanded lovingly. “Your body needs yummy food. Nutrition.”

“I know. I didn’t do that on purpose, though. I wasn’t hungry. I forgot.” He admitted.

Reaching the bed, you made him sit on the edge. “I’ll go fix the kitchen. Make yourself comfy.”

In the kitchen you put some instant rice in the microwave as you threw away the bottle. Waiting for the rice, you prepared some salad, opening a small jar of kimchi and laying it all out on a tray.

The microwave dinged and you grabbed the bowl, adding kimchi and sausage slices. Satisfied with the result, you went back to the bedroom. Jimin was laying on the bed, his back straight against the pillows by the bedpost.

“Here,” you offered, laying the tray on the bedside table and sitting beside him, on top of the covers.

“I want you here with me.” He complained, trying to drag you under the sheets.

“I have my day clothes on.” You justified yourself.

“Take ‘em off.” He giggled.

You shook your head, snorting. “Stay there, I’ll go get changed.”

A few minutes later you came back, dressed in your soft silk pajamas and a robe. “Time to eat, Jiminie.” You climbed in bed, settling beside him, your legs disappearing under the sheets. Holding the tray, you moved it on your lap while Jimin curled up against your side, arms wrapping around your arm and squeezing it. You took a spoonful of rice and brought it to his lips as he leaned over the tray.

Opening his mouth wide, he put his soft, plump lips around the spoon, eyes wide, fixed on yours.

He was teasing you.

You huffed out a heavy breath. “Jimin.”

“What” He sputtered through his mouthful of food.

You shook your head.

“More.” He muttered before opening his mouth wide. “Aaah.” He said, inviting you to feed him.

You huffed out, slightly annoyed, and offered him another bite. “Come on, good boy.” He brushed the side of his face against your arm, his lips curling up in a confident smirk.

You fed him the whole bowl, alternating it with salad leaves, offering him sweet praises and cuddles. “Now, will you explain to me why you are not taking care of yourself, Jimin?”

You gave him a serious stare, your voice concerned but also caring.

“I’m just busy.” He shrugged. “No big deal.” He didn’t look you in the eye.

“Jimin.”

This time he looked up at you. “What?” He taunted.

“You’re tense, baby. I see that you’re stressed.” You caressed his hair. “What is it?”

Was this the right moment to tell you? He shook his head. “It’s just work. We’ve been producing more material than usual and it’s taking its toll.”

“Is that why you’re not eating much?” You moved the tray out of the way, taking your arm away from his grip and wrapping it around his shoulders.

He hid into your chest, nodding.

“Oh, my poor baby.” You cooed, pampering him, brushing up and down his spine with your palm. “Do you want cuddles?”

He felt spoiled. He felt cared for and loved. He felt like you could understand him. It felt right.

With a wave of courage taking over his body, he slithered out of your embrace and quickly found his way to the bathroom, fumbling with the drawer where he kept the hair dryer.

When he came back, his pace was significantly slower, his footsteps wary and insecure. His whole posture had changed as he hid his head low between his shoulders, his back hunched, his hands holding something to his chest.

You watched perplexed as he neared the foot of the bed. “I really don’t know how to say this.” He murmured with a little lisp in his words.

You felt like melting on the bed. Ever since your first day you had grown fond both of his tender, delicate side and his flirty, cheeky one. The shift from one to another always kept you on the edge of your seat, never knowing whether you’d be confronted with the sweet, affectionate boy or the forward, bold man. All that you knew was that, since you started dating four months ago, you had started falling for him. And just now Love hit you like a train on a track.

And he had been falling too. All he needed was the final push, confirming that you would satisfy that tiny whim of his, that recurring fantasy that he never had the courage to bring up since you two started messing around, a couple months ago.

“You can say anything to me, darling.” You reassured him. “Come here, show me what you got there.”

He climbed on the bed, crawling toward you on his knees, hands still plastered to his chest. “Will you promise me you won’t laugh at me?” He whispered.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You said, your voice calm and comforting.

His wide, glimmering eyes met yours and your whole body warmed with understanding and compassion.

“I would never, ever laugh at you, pretty duckling.” You opened your arms wide and he let his body fall gently into your hug. Now he was curled up against your side, head laying on your chest, leg wrapped around your hips possessively.

He let the secret object fall on your belly.

A hairbrush.

Your brow twitched. “Jimin, baby, I need you to explain.” You felt too confused to put two and two together.

“I— You know that sometimes people feel the need to… Get a little rough?” He searched for your hand, toying with your fingers. He was looking even smaller now, all your protective instincts surging beneath your skin.

“You want to get a little rough?” You asked, still trying to understand the exact implication of that.

“I want you to get a little rough with me.” He admitted, blushing violently and hiding his face into you.

“You want me to use the hairbrush on you?” You asked, trying to clarify.

He nodded into the crook of your neck.

Well, of course you were a little shocked, but not surprised. Not at all. It was clear that Jimin liked to be pampered and spoiled. He liked praises and cuddles and attention. He liked flirting and he liked when people flirted back. He liked when people decided to one-up his cheekiness, to beat him in brazenness.

And of course he liked partners who could put him back in his place.

“I need you to sit up, duckling.” You ordered him with honeyed voice. “And I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

He heard the change in attitude and he parted from your chest, looking you in the eye.

“Sit up, Jiminie.”

He obeyed, bending his legs under his torso, his ass resting on his heels.

“I’ll play it out for you, all you need to say is yes and no.” You assisted him in this laboured confession. It was unusual for Jimin to act shy, and you assumed that you had to treat such vulnerability with tender and loving care, creating a positive association to him confessing his insecurities, through praises and affection, emotionally wrapping him up in a warm blanket, putting him in a pretty bubble that could become a safe environment until he felt strong enough to go back into the real world.

“You want me to spank you?”

He nodded, hiding his face behind his lovely hands.

“Look at me, duckling.” You told him quietly, holding his wrists and taking his hands away from his eyes.

He whined a little but at the end he settled his hands down on his lap and looked at you.

“I cannot use the hairbrush on you, Jiminie. Because I don’t know how to use it and I could hurt you.” You knew you weren’t ready for it. And it would have been dumb and dangerous of you to ignore your lack of experience and preparation. This is not stuff that should be played with, especially without proper research and training.

He looked at his lap and nodded, understanding you completely, but still a bit upset at the thought that he needed to postpone this experience with you. Because it wasn’t a no, right? It was a maybe later, right?

You looked at his unhappy expression. You not wanting to use the hairbrush on him didn’t mean that the whole scene was cancelled. Maybe if you set the right terms you could be safe and still make it right for him. “Would it be okay if I used my hands? Get you used to those before we get naughtier?”

He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with surprise and gratitude at your offer. He nodded eagerly.

“Then that’s it, duckling. We’ll go with my hand. But first we need to talk about this very thoroughly.”

“It’s okay. We can discuss rules and safewords.” He suggested.

You nodded. “That’s right. I need to know what you want me to do, Jimin. I need you to help me make it safe and pleasurable for you.” You felt like you needed his guidance. “I need you to help me, Jimin.”

He noticed you using his name, twice, and the submissive side of him subdued as he annulled the power imbalance and came in your assistance. “We can start from something very easy. I would say we could try a set of ten, but the golden rule of every first scene is to stay hungry and do only half of one of the many many things you want to try. So the best way to do this safely is to limit this to five hits. Can you do five hits, ____?”

You thought about it carefully, not letting yourself be seduced by the thought of Jimin in such a vulnerable position. “I think so. But as I said, guidance is key.”

“It’s okay. I’ll try and lead you, call that a power bottom.” He giggled shyly, trying to brighten the mood. “I’ve been trying to talk about this for a while.” He explained. “I didn’t know how to ask.” He tweaked his fingers in the meanwhile, torturing himself a little.

“Is that why you’ve been tense lately?” You questioned.

“Yes. I mean, I think I’ve always thought about this since we started dating, but lately it’s a way more recurrent thought.” He explained, shoving his hands under his thighs.

“Okay. Let’s take this as a trial round. We’ll start with five hits. I’ll only use my hands. You can stop me at any moment. And I may decide to interrupt the scene, if I find myself inadequate.”

He looked you in the eye. “Do you want a safeword for yourself? I mean, technically you’ll be dominating but it is not uncommon for novice dominants to have a safeword they say before they snap out of their role. It can also be a signal that determines the end of the scene.”

You took a pause to mull over it. “Good. Do you have one that you’ve used before or that you’re comfortable with?”

He thought about it, quickly, trying to remember the information he had picked up from various websites. “The most obvious one would be the colour system. Green for good, Yellow to slow down and Red to stop?”

You smiled encouragingly and caressed his face. “Yes, of course. That’s easy.”

“Usually this kind of scene is used for punishment and atonement. I think that you can interrupt it by explicitly saying “you are forgiven”, or any sentence along the lines of that.” He suggested.

That was smart. Intuitive.

He looked back at you, holding your face. “I trust you. You’re smart and compassionate. You’re empathetic. I know that you won’t hurt me. I value your common sense and your affection. I know you’ll keep me safe, ____.” The words were almost there. I love you, Princess.

You leaned in his hold, inhaling deeply.

He continued your briefing. “I’ll help you through it. Five blows sound like a small number, but what’s important is the quality. Take your time after the first one, rub the spot you’ve just hit and the one you’re going to hit next. Sensitise the skin before you hit.” He directed you. “Normally a submissive can speak only when directly addressed to, however it’s our first scene, so if you prefer I can interact with you at any given time.” He explained, comforting you some more.

“Okay, Jiminie.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you brightly, giggling slightly.

You huffed out a focused breath. “Let’s recap. Just five spanks, with my hand. If you want me to slow down, you say yellow. If you want me to stop, you say red. You can interact with me as much as you want. Between one spank and the next, I will rub your skin and receive your feedback.” You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to enter our role as a dominant. “I will take care of you, Duckling. Are you okay?” You waited for his confirm.

He nodded, looking at you with such adoration in his eyes that your whole heart melted.

“Is it okay if I call you duckling, baby?” You asked him.

He nodded. “Yes, ____. Is there any name you want me to call you?” He asked in return.

“For now my name is okay, Jiminie. Are you still tipsy, baby? Your consent is important and I cannot play with you unless your consent comes as an extremely lucid decision.”

He nodded. “I am okay. I didn’t drink that much, and I ate too. The alcohol is already gone, I promise.” He wasn’t looking impatient or greedy, both things that would cloud his judgement.

“I am very thankful that you trusted me enough to talk about this with me, and that you trust me enough to let me try this with you. I really can’t wait to explore with you, but I will have to do some research after tonight.” You admitted. The nourishing instincts of a carer had always been natural to you, and his request didn't sound absolutely inadequate or unfeasible. To put it plainly, you were quite interested into becoming more dominant, and learning about BDSM practices didn’t sound bad at all. Especially if Jimin was the one you would be using them with.

He let the thought sink in. "So you would be okay with this becoming a more frequent thing?" He asked.

More frequent? "Well, for now let's try this tonight. And then we need to learn how to do this in full safety. The best thing to do would be to learn about this first — better safe than sorry — but you said you will help me, and we’re taking this slow, so I can learn as we go. Just a few smacks, to see if you like this. Innocently. You know I wouldn't do this if there were even the smallest chance of me hurting you, right?" You reassured him, thinking of all the things that could possibly go wrong.

"I know you would never hurt me.” He said, big, pleading eyes set on you. God, I’m such a fool for him._

“Do you want this, Jimin?” You asked very seriously.

He nodded before holding your hand. “Yes, I do.”

“I need you to be really, really sure, Jimin.” You repeated. The more times you asked, the better. He needed to understand that consent is important. For girls such a lesson is somehow engraved in their mind. They grow up learning that “yes” and “no” are very heavy, big words. Boys sometimes tend to forget that. They’ve been subjected to centuries of predator theory, being only subjects of desire, rather than objects of it, forced to actively initiate sexuality and hardly ever taught of being on the receiving end of lascivious intentions. They never had to learn to say yes or no because society never supposed that they would be the ones answering rather than asking.

“I am really, really sure, ____.” He confirmed, holding both of your hands now.

Nodding, you bent and kissed him sweetly. “You know I care about you a lot, right?” You whispered on his lips. You felt like the “I love you” was right there, on the tip of your tongue, still you swallowed it, letting only the watered-down taste of affection slip past your lips.

“I know.” He blushed and kissed you harder. “And I trust you. And I care about you too.”

“Then, would you like to take off your clothes, duckling?” You offered.

He hummed in confirmation, standing up at the foot of the bed and taking off his shirt.

You stood up next to him, your hand caressing his chiselled abdomen, running upwards, following the thin valley connecting his navel to his jutting breastbone. “Look at my lovely boy.” You whispered at his ear, standing behind him. “He looks so good when he takes care of himself.” You massaged the tense muscles of his shoulders. “When he eats he becomes a strong, healthy boy. So good looking.” Your hands dove into the hair at his nape, tugging it slightly so that his head was thrown back, exposing his sensual neckline and his strong jaw.

“Can you take off your sweats and underwear, duckling?” You asked, your voice resembling a sickeningly sweet dark poison.

“Yes, ____.” He murmured, undoing the ribbon of his sweats and tugging both them and his briefs to his ankles. As he was bent over in front of you, you held him steady with your hands on his hips, caressing the swell of his ass as he stood back up straight.

When he felt your hand on the muscle, a shiver ran down your spine, making him exhale and whine quietly.

“You like it, Jiminie?” You asked kindly. “You like booty rubs?”

He blushed, nodding with small motions.

“Say it out loud for me, duckling. Let me hear what makes my baby happy. Do you like booty rubs, Jiminie?” You cooed.

“Yes, I like your booty rubs, Princess.” He used your nickname, trying to reconnect with that fond, well-known part of you. He felt vulnerable and reminding himself all the times you’d been a sputtering mess below him, as he teased you with the nickname, brought back slight balance in his mind.

“Good. Now, you asked to be spanked, Jiminie. Would you like to get in your favoured position, baby?” You let him choose. If it were for you, you would love to see him on his knees and elbows on the bed, but you thought it would be better to let him choose.

“Do you think I can just lay on the bed on my belly?” He asked, insecure, waiting for you to confirm.

You thought about it. “As long as it’s not uncomfortable laying on your front when you’re turned on.” You reasoned, thinking about his possibly painful erection. “And you need to be relaxed and comfortable. Can you breathe comfortably like that?” You checked.

He nodded. “I just need a pillow under my chest.” He informed you, assuming his position. You were still at the foot of the bed, staring at his beautiful backside, taking in the strong lines of his back and spine, the twitching muscles resembling the fluttering feathers of a regal swan.

“You are a vision, duckling.” You complimented him, and his blush made him hide his face in the comforter.

“Thank you, ____.”

Miss, that’s what felt right. But that would be for next time. Right now you wanted one task and you wanted to carry it out perfectly.

“Where do you want me, duckling?” You asked for his directions, still trying to make it sound like you were the one in control, the one making him a favour by asking for his preference.

“Could you sit on your knees next to my hips, on the bed?” He suggested, his tone so sweet and delicate you felt like you would give him the moon if only he asked.

Following his direction, you sat beside him as instructed. “Here, duckling?” You felt like addressing him with such nickname was helping you separate your boyfriend from the splendid, unfamiliar figure on his bed.

He turned his head slightly, checking your position. “Just make sure that you’re comfortable staying like that, that you can fully control the movement of your arm. You can touch me and check whether the angle feels comfortable for you. You could hurt yourself too if the angle is wrong.”

You nodded, rolling your shoulders in anticipation. After taking a deep breath you let your hands run from the back of his knee to the full, toned muscle of his ass, your nails scratching delicately, in a barely-there motion.

He hummed out a gentle moan at that, nodding in appreciation. “This is the right moment to locate any vulnerable parts. Careful with bones and nerves: you must not go there. Locate the tailbone. Use your thumbs side by side, down the spine.” He instructed, the briefing identical to the one he used when he massaged Taehyung after tough workouts.

You followed his directions, finding the delicate spot a couple inches down the seam of his ass. “Here?”

“Exactly. Before you go, place your non-dominant hand on the spot you’ve just found. That will keep you from hitting anywhere dangerous. Identify the soft, fleshy parts — the lower part of the cheek, the upper thigh — there, you can hit without worrying too much.” He was relaxing you through the briefing. You felt already more confident, his calm voice leading you and making you feel like everything would be okay.

With one hand blocking the no-zone, the other one on your target, you started massaging the skin gently, correcting your posture as you went. You found yourself sitting with your thighs perpendicular to him, your palm caressing his butt cheeks, just like he’d told you. “Is it okay?” You asked.

He turned, looking at you, enjoying how he had to twist and arch his back to see you. Analysing the position quickly he nodded. “That’s good posture, princess. Check that your wrist doesn’t strain. Check if your hand creates a rough angle with your forearm.”

Your wrist kept a neat line. You nodded. “Okay.”

“I trust you, princess.” He reminded you, caressing your calf before tucking his hands under his chest.

You smiled, confidence renewed. Your aim is to take care of your man. That’s all you want. You would do anything for him. And to see him relaxed and sated? Because you gave him what he needs? Yes. Anytime, anyplace. “Are you all set, puppy?”

He released a tight breath. “Yes, ____.”

“Perfect. Do you remember your safewords, duckling?” You asked, making sure that he remembered that he could stop you at any given time.

“I do, ____.” He confirmed, his voice firm but incredibly sweet and slightly high-pitched.

“Okay. I’ll start.” You rubbed his flesh a couple times, then you lifted your hand, aiming for the lower part of his ass, where it curved downwards into his thigh. When your hand was a foot or so away from your target, you stopped, gathering the tension necessary to smack him. Biting your lip, you struck.

He chirped out a “yes” while your hand stayed on his skin rubbing gently.

“Are you good, duckling?” You checked.

“Yes, ____. Yes. That was a perfect thud. Keep rubbing.” He directed.

Fuck, that was truly a lovely thud: heavy handed, with a nice, rigid wrist, the palm sufficiently cupped to adhere to the skin.

“Any feedback?” You asked.

“Not really. Just advice. Hit with your wrist and your elbow, not with your shoulder.” He hummed as your hand stilled and just pressed more firmly against his reddening skin. “That’s good, ____. Keep your elbow tucked into your side. Try again, on the other leg now.” He suggested.

Adjusting your angle, you mentally repeated the instruction. Elbow tucked in, rub. Check the wrist angle. Check the other hand covering the tailbone. Move your dominant hand away. One foot roughly. Deep breath. Focus. Release.

The breath Jimin was holding came out as the softest, angelic sound, his head hiding in the sheets, his legs twitching while your hand on the small of his back kept him still.

Focusing on your task, you didn’t let his sound distract you as you kept your hand pressed into his bum. “You liked that, duckling?”

“Yes.” He giggled, huffing out a quiet whine. “Can you go harder? Just like before but harder?”

You took a deep breath, your palm raising from his skin so it was only the tip of your nails drawing small circles on the blushing imprints on his ass. “I can go harder, duckling. Are you uncomfortable on your lap?” You worried, thinking about how hard he must be by now.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, ____.” He reassured you.

“Perfect. Harder?” You asked, removing your hand, letting some anticipation slip in.

“Please, ____.” He moaned.

You knew what you wanted, right in that moment. You could handle just that one more thing. So you asked.

“Do you think you would enjoy calling me Miss, duckling?” You questioned very carefully.

He turned towards you. “Are you sure?” He asked, eagerness filling his voice.

“Yes.” Just like you called him “duckling”, you wanted your identity as his girlfriend the be partitioned from what you were doing right now. “What do you say to this, duckling?” Use that name for me.

“Thank you, Miss.”

Satisfied with his reply, you let your forearm swing and hit. You slightly reprimanded yourself for your shoulder slightly accompanying the motion, but how could you feel sorry when Jimin moaned like that?

The movement felt more familiar now, your arm getting used to measures and intensity.

You rested your palm for a few seconds. “What do you say, duckling?”

“Thank you, Miss.” He cried out deliciously, voice dripping in pleasure.

“That’s a good boy.” You cooed. “Ready for the next?”

“Yes, Miss.” He replied quickly.

“There we go, duckling.” You said. This time you carefully took initiative. Elbow a foot from your side, you rubbed your target. Check the wrist angle. Check the other hand covering the tailbone. Move the hand away, this time a foot and a half. Deep breath. Focus. Release. You let your forearm swing back a little, gaining momentum, before lashing forward, hitting him with a last minute flick of the wrist, curving the swipe upward.

“Oh, Miss, thank you.” He squealed, his hips thrusting against the bed.

“You’re welcome, duckling. You liked it more or less than before?”

“More, Miss.” He chirped enthusiastically.

“It’s the last one, duckling. You want me to give you another like the one I just gave you?” You asked, glad that he was enjoying the scene.

“Please, another stinging one, Miss.” He pleaded.

“Here it comes, duckling.” You took a few more seconds, feeling more comfortable, prepping just like you did before. Big breath. Swing back and… smack.

“Thank you, Miss.” He breathed out.

“Are you okay, duckling?” You asked, massaging him before bending down to kiss his reddened skin. You kissed both his reddened glutes, your other hand caressing his spine now that the spanking was over. Raising up, you kept stroking his back until you reached his head, moving his hair off his face, inviting him to look you in the eye.

As soon as he established eye contact, you gave him your agreed cue. “You are forgiven, Jimin.”

His lips parted gently, his eyebrows arching and knitting together, his soft features expressing confusion. “Is it over already?” He asked.

“Yes, baby.” You comforted him. “Five hits. One set. Just like we had agreed.” You reminded him.

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Okay.”

“How are you feeling?” You asked, even though you had just checked in.

He looked at you as you sat on your hip, moving closer to his face, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m very glad I did this with you.” He whispered.

You kissed his lips. “I am glad you asked, baby.”

He slowly brought his arms out from below himself, letting the one on your side fall heavily on top of your body. “Can we make love now?” He asked with the most tender, vulnerable voice you had ever heard from him.

You felt like crying. Because of his request, of his word choice, of the gentleness of his voice.

“Yes, if you want to.” You murmured intimately. “Let me undress.”

He let go of you and turned on his side to look at you standing by the bed, removing your clothes in an absolutely ordinary fashion. The room was basking in the yellowy soft light coming from the bedside table, turning your skin a mild golden shade.

“You look so pretty.” he whispered, completely enchanted by you.

Smiling shyly, you let your panties fall to the floor, climbing on the bed. “Thank you.” You whispered.

You were laying side by side, naked, looking in each other’s eyes, no embarrassment between you. It felt right.

“I love you.” He whispered, his arm coming around your waist.

It was your turn to stare at him with your mouth agape.

“You don’t have to say it back.” He said, at the same time as you told him: “I love you too.”

He giggled, eyes disappearing, lips stretching in a fond smile.

He rolled on top of you. “Say it again.” He ordered sweetly.

“I love you too.” You murmured, chuckling.

“I love you too.” He said right back, leaving playful, messy smooches all over your face. You laughed even more, basking in the warmth of this moment, in the domestic surety that it will be forever saved in your memory, with its colour, sound, scent, and feeling. That such tenderness would always be associated with Jimin’s smiling face hovering over you.

He used his knees and one elbow to sustain his weight as his palm reached to cup your cheek, thumb pressed on your lip. “I love you a lot, princess.”

Your eyes closed as you smiled at him. “I want you, Jimin.” You said, opening your eyes and biting your lip.

“Want me to grab a condom?” He asked, always considerate.

You thought about it quickly. You were both tested and clean, you were monogamous and you were in a committed relationship. You loved him and trusted him. And he loved you and trusted you too. What could possibly hold you back at this point?

“We can do it without, if it’s okay with you. You know I’m on the pill.” You stated.

“Are you sure?” He waited for you to confirm.

Nodding, you moved your hand into his hair, bringing his face closer to yours so you could finally kiss him a you wanted to.

You immediately took his plump lower lip in your mouth, sucking on it as he growled, letting you do what you wanted with him, too lost in you to do anything but follow your lead. Your hand moved down his abs, landing on his hard length.

He drew back from your mouth, kissing your jaw, moving to your ear.

“Touch yourself, princess. I don’t know how long I’ll last bare inside you.” He explained, his mind set on making you cum around him before he lost his cool.

You obeyed, fingers finding your clit as he slid a bit lower down your body, so that his mouth was at level with your breasts. Sucking your nipple in his mouth, he focused his eyes on the expression on your face, bliss making your features flutter. As his mouth moved to the other nipple, you thrust your hips upward, into him.

��Are you ready, princess?” He asked, moving towards your face, looking at you intently.

You nodded, moaning. “Please.”

Propping himself on his elbow, he used his free arm to stroke himself a couple times, dragging the tip against your slit to make the access more slippery. “Ready, princess?” He asked. As you nodded he reminded you once more: “I love you.”

“I love you.” You replied as he slipped in.

It wasn’t easy. But it was not difficult either. It was different. He felt warm. Warmer than usual. And slippery. Everything felt wetter. Maybe because you were.

“Hell, princess, I can fell everything.” He growled. “So damn good, baby.”

You grunted quietly, panting, trying to adjust to him. One of your hand stayed on your clit, drawing small circles on it in hope that the stimulation would help you relax and stretch for him; your other palm moved to his waist, caressing his spine.

“Can I?” He asked, grunting himself as he tried to keep still.

“Just another second, love.” You murmured, closing your eyes and taking a big breath.

He bent down and kissed your cheek. “I should have prepped you.” He whispered.

“It’s fine.” You reassured him. As his small gestures of affection calmed you down, you felt ready for him to move. Pushing your hips away from him, you started grinding on him, letting him slip out only for an inch before taking him inside you again.

“Dammit baby.” He murmured. “So tight.”

You kissed his furrowed brow, eyes shut tight in concentration. He tried to open them to look at you, dropping his head to kiss your mouth, your chin, the crook of your neck. “You’re perfect, baby. I love you so much.” He repeated once more and you knew, right in that moment, that he would never get tired of telling you.

“Jimin, faster, please.” You begged.

He growled and smashed his hips against yours. “Baby, I need you to...” Still supporting his weight with one arm, he used the other one to bring your hand from his waist to his ass, where you knew his skin was still stinging with your spanks. You felt the skin grow hotter there, probably because it was red and tender. “Grab it, princess. Use it.”

He looked you in the eye with scorching intensity before his mouth dipped to your breast while his fingers unlatched from your wrist and landed on you breast, his digits tweaking your nipple.

His pace got incredibly faster, encouraged by your hand leading him, setting the pace and manhandling his sensitised skin. The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin drowned your laboured pants. The hand on your clit stopped just as you threw your head back with a silent scream, your climax surprising you, and Jimin too, your tight grip on his cock becoming even tighter. He completely lost his pace, hammering furiously inside you until relief washed over him, his orgasm filling you so deep you felt your bones melt at how hot he was inside you.

“I love you.” You murmured for the millionth time as he collapsed over you.

“I love you too.”

⁂⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂ ⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂ ⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂ ⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂ ⫷ ⁛ ⫸ ⁂

I left the book in Jimin’s office. Joon let me in. I left you some notes in it, including other useful resources. We can talk about it anytime.

It was a text from an old highschool friend of yours, who apparently had been dating Namjoon for a while now. You had met maybe a bunch of times during group celebrations, small dinners, birthday parties. It didn’t take long before you got acquainted again, going for coffee dates, hanging out together, especially when the guys were busy — you also found out that your university flatmate and her knew each other, which really seemed a strange twist of fate. Your first reaction the day after your steamy night with Jimin was to text her. You knew it would be absurd and possibly uncomfortable or embarrassing, but it’s not like you were unused to gossiping about your sex lives: your partners too famous for the two of you to confess anything to anyone else. It was a strange friendship, but somehow, among all that madness you both found solace and companionship with each other. So, when you texted her, you somehow expected her to help you, however, her reply surprised you.

It’s okay, I’ve got something for you. But we better call Lace too. She’s the best.

It took you a few days to read the book. As soon as you were done reading the guide, you texted both Lace and Vixen.

Dinner at mine this Friday?

And that’s how you found one trained brat, one certified rope bunny and a BDSM guide in front of you, at the dinner table of your apartment.

“Where do you want to start, sweetheart?” Said Vixen.

“This is gonna be so fun!” Chimed in Lace.

Thank God there was wine in the fridge and a long night before you.

#bts smut #bangtan smut #jimin x reader smut #park jimin #jimin one shot #jimin scenario #jimin imagine #jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #bangtan sonyeondan #jimin reaction #sub!jimin

125 notes · View notes

somenewsarah · 5 years

Text

Betrothed Pt. 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Word Count: 5.2k+

Genre: Idk anymore, tbh, it’s a story lol

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw Reader

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this took so long to get out! I work in the entertainment industry, specifically film and television and this is a hot season for ATL right now, so I’ve been working and traveling and just haven’t had time to write! I appreciate your patience and hope you enjoy!

If you’re a part of my taglist and you changed your @, please let me know so I can get that fixed on my end! <3

Succumbing to the flu was not in your original plan when you were told you’d get to spend a month alone with your boyfriend/husband-to-be in your childhood home, but that’s what was happening. It’d been a long couple of days- you’re weak and nauseous and cranky and a being a bit of a bitch, but Draco overlooks every snide remark, every whine, every sprint to the bathroom to throw up. He holds your hair every time.

You laze on the couch, a cool rag over your feverish forehead. Draco paces the living room, his bottom lip between his teeth as he mutters to you in a voice so low you wonder if you’re even hearing him correctly.

“Draco,” you whine. “Stop pacing, you’re gonna make me sick again.”

He’s quick to kneel next to you, wiping stray hairs from your forehead.

“Can I get you anything? Some soup, water, a bath? Anything?” His eyes are wide and grey and they make your heart clench.

“A bath sounds really nice,” you whisper. You haven’t really wanted anything but to lie on the couch and sulk for the past week, so hearing you want to shower is music to his ears. “And then maybe you could call your mum? I’m really not feeling well.”

“Of course,” he concedes. He helps you to your feet, then hauls you to the bathroom where he runs a bathtub of warm, soapy water.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your cheeks heating up. Draco kisses your forehead once before he slips his hands under your shirt and tugs it over your head, following swiftly by your underwear.

“Step in, darling,” he says, holding you steady over the water. “Careful… In you go.”

You sink into the water, feeling grateful for the bubbles and the way your stomach was instantly soothed.

“You can get in, too, if you want,” you offer, keeping your head against the cool tile wall.

Draco nods once and removes his clothes. He slips in behind you and wraps his arms around your torso, tugging you to his chest. You let yourself be held for a while, wrapped in his warm embrace where everything was safe and the outside world doesn’t exist.

Narcissa’s hand is cool on your clammy forehead.

“Maybe we should get her to the healers,” she murmurs to Draco. “She’s really warm. And you said this has been going on for how long?”

“A little over a week,” you answer for him.

“She won’t eat, she won’t drink, and anytime she does she just throws it back up,” Draco explains, looking worriedly at his mother. “I can take her.”

“Nonsense,” Narcissa quiets him. “I’ll accompany you so we can get her seen about.”

St. Mungo’s is crowded and moves faster than you ever anticipated. With Narcissa’s arm wrapped around you, you stumble through the crowd of sick and injured wizards and into a small office, where a witch sits with a clipboard, shuffling through papers.

Narcissa clears her throat and the witch immediately looks up.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. What seems to be the problem?”

“She’s really sick. Feverish, throwing up, not eating or drinking,” Draco explains in a rush for you. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Of course,” the witch smiles kindly. “We’re a bit backed up today, but we’ll have you in tippy-toppy shape in no time.”

Narcissa cuts her with a look that’s anything but kind. “Perhaps you aren’t aware, my husband is Lucius Malfoy, who is a very large contributor to St. Mungo’s. We came in hopes that we could have her seen about rather quickly.”

The witch’s brown eyes are wide as she stares at the three of you. “Of course, Mrs. Malfoy, right away, ma’am. Right this way.”

You’re ushered into a small room with an examining table and a few chairs. The walls are lined with empty potion bottles and small cauldrons. Next to them, posters hang depicting small wizards and witches, all with different injuries and how to heal them at home.

Narcissa lets out a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. This is the first time you’ve ever seen her look so relaxed.

“I’ve always despised using my husband’s name,” she explains. Draco places a comforting arm around her.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You’re in and out of St. Mungo’s and back home rather quickly. You’ve been fed a potion that made the nausea subside, but it was up to you to eat soft and drink plenty of water. Draco disappears into the living room, gathering up your dirty, sickly sheets on the couch to replace them with new ones.

“What shall I make for dinner?” Narcissa asks, clapping her hands together. She looks around your meager kitchen, planting a smile on her face. “Soup? Something heavier?”

“Soup sounds nice,” you smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, for taking me today. I already feel an awful lot better.”

Narcissa smiles at you and places her hand on your cheek. “You’re family now, darling. We take care of our family.”

Days fly by and although you’re weak, you’re slowly getting better. Narcissa checks in on you often, but doesn’t hover. Draco slowly allows you to become more dependent on yourself instead of him, and soon you’re eating more solid foods and sleeping in your own bed again, tucked against Draco’s chest.

Morning comes and you wake up alone, something you aren’t used to doing. You clamber out of bed, wrapped in Draco’s t-shirt and your underwear, and pad to the door. Down the hall, you hear voices coming from the kitchen- your own father’s voice, Lucius Malfoy’s voice, Draco, Narcissa, Bellatrix.

“Aw, now sissy, I don’t think it’s necessary to involve them,” Bellatrix drawls. “I rather think they’d only get in my way.”

“They deserve to know,” Lucius says. “It happens tonight, Draco.”

You step out of the bedroom and into the hallway, edging closer to the dining room so you can listen better. The floor beneath you creaks, and everyone falls silent.

“She’s awake, then?” Your father asks. You hear the telltale sound of his chair scraping against the hardwood floor as he stands.

“I’ll go check,” Draco is quick to interject. He rounds the corner almost immediately and his hand reaches out for you. “Come, now.”

He pulls you back into the bedroom and begins rummaging through your dresser drawers, producing a pair of his own sweatpants.

“Put these on, love, you need to hear this for yourself,” he whispers, handing you the sweatpants.

“What’s going on?” You ask as you pull the pants on, staring up at him.

“They’ve settled on it,” he murmurs. “They’ll explain everything out there, come on.”

He takes your hand once again and pulls you into the dining room. Four pair of eyes stare at you. Two of them look delighted, seeing you in their son’s clothes, all trussed up and sleepy. One pair is sad and one is just disgusted. Draco pulls out a chair next to his own empty one and you sit down.

“How are you feeling?” Narcissa whispers, leaning over to you.

“Much better,” you smile. “Thank you.”

“Get on with it,” Bellatrix dismisses everyone in the way only she can. “I’ve got things to do, tasks to carry out.”

“Right,” your father says, stumbling on his own words. “I think you should know that the Dark Lord has chosen tonight to attack.”

“Attack?” You ask, looking up at Draco. His hand slips into your own under the table. “Attacking what, exactly? Where?”

“Hogwarts,” Lucius says. “He’s taking over Hogwarts tonight. And his target is Harry Potter.”

“Y/N,” your father starts as he stands in the doorway of your childhood home. The others already apparated out, but your father stayed behind, much to your dismay. “I think we should talk.”

“I think it’s unnecessary,” you shrug, moving to close the door in his face. His foot stops it.

“Y/N, I’m sorry… After your mother died, I went off the rails. But let me make it up to you,” he pleads.

“And how do you expect to do that?”

“I can get you out of the deal,” he rushes. “I don’t have much time to explain, but I can get you out of it. I can free you from the Malfoy’s. I will do this for you.”

Before you can answer, he’s out of your face, closing the door himself. Draco stands just behind it, his eyes wide with fear, hurt, you’re not sure, but they’re wide and gazing at you as if the fate of his world is in the hands of you and your father.

“I-“ You start, but cut yourself off.

“Do you want out?” Draco asks, his voice cracking only the slightest at the end.

You shake your head immediately. “No, Draco, I don’t.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

You move towards him at once, taking his face in your hands and kissing him hard. It wasn’t the sweetest kiss, but it was all you could muster right now. “Draco, I love you. I don’t want out. If I did, I would’ve been gone a long time ago.”

“Alright,” Draco sighs. His body relaxes and he pulls you against him, wrapping you in his arms again. “The only way to get out of the deal is to… To kill my father. Y/N, he’s going to kill my father tonight.”

He’s panicked and shaking, releasing you to pace immediately.

“Draco, we can’t let him. We must fight. We don’t have a choice. We have to go to Hogwarts tonight,” the resolve in your voice is surprising to even you, but you don’t let it sit there for long.

“They’ll kill us for not being loyal to them,” Draco says. “We’ll have to invade with the Death Eaters.”

“What if someone tries to kill us?”

“I won’t let that happen,” he promises. “Come on, let’s shower. You’re still weak and we need to get your strength up before tonight.”

“I’ll be fine, Draco,” you assure him, though you know it’s a lie. You can’t walk from the door to your bedroom without being winded. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

“I know you will be, but that won’t stop me from worrying about you, darling.”

“Promise me something,” you say immediately, turning to him and taking his hands in your own. “Promise me that if things don’t go as planned, we’ll run. If by some miracle we get out, we won’t go back in. We’ll leave it all behind and we’ll run away. Just you and me.”

Draco’s hands caress your cheeks. His eyes are sad and you know he’s thinking specifically of his mother. He nods once.

“I promise, Y/N, that we’ll run away together if that’s our last hope of staying alive,” he whispers. He pulls you to him and kisses your forehead, then rests his cheek against your head. “I won’t let anything happen to you out there. That’s my promise to you.”

Draco’s hand slips into your own as you’re brought back to Malfoy Manor. It’s as bleak and dull as ever, and it takes a lot for you to breathe through it and just walk through the gates.

“Ready?” he asks, squeezing your hand.

“Not in the slightest,” you murmur. But, you pull him through the gates and off you go, up the long path that leads to the vast marble steps that case the front of the manor.

Draco pushes the front door open, and a rush of warm air from inside hits your face.

“Ah, it seems we have visitors,” a ghostly voice echoes.

As soon as you step inside, you see the room full of Death Eaters, gathering together in the parlor around Lord Voldemort. His face is turned to you, his eyes wide with sheer excitement.

“Young Malfoy and his bride to be,” Voldemort smiles. “Welcome. I presume you’ve come to join us?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Draco says dutifully. “We’ve come to join the fight against Hogwarts.”

“I see,” Voldemort says, stroking his chin. “Very well. I know it can be hard to remain on the losing side. Find a seat. We attack at dark.”

The wind hits your face as you stand atop a hill with a clear view of Hogwarts. Although it’s May, it’s never felt chillier to you. Draco shrugs his suit jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders. Your father looks at you from the group of people. You shake your head at him, trying to communicate that you didn’t want what he was offering.

“Come,” Voldemort says. “It’s time.”

Draco takes your hand and helps you down the steep hill, one step at a time until you’re at the very bottom.

“Y/N,” you father says. He approaches from your left and pulls your arm, tugging you away from Draco. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Father, I’m fine. And I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “I won’t let you or Draco go into this fight without knowing that I was there to help at any point of the way.”

“Draco?”

“Yes, Draco,” you snap. “I don’t know what you were thinking, plotting to kill Lucius, but they’ll kill you before that can ever happen.”

“Just say the word and I’ll do it,” he says, full of blind determination.

“I don’t want out, father. I didn’t like it at first, and I didn’t like Draco at first. But, things changed. I love him, and deal or not, I will marry him someday,” you say with confidence. “Whether on your terms or our own.”

Your father stops walking, taking your arm to stop you as well. Death Eaters shuffle around you, and you make out Draco’s mop of blond hair turning to look for you.

“You love this boy?” Your father asks, searching your eyes for any form of lie.

“Very much,” you nod. “So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go rogue and try to kill his father.”

“You have my word,” he nods, releasing your arm. “You’ll do what’s right, I know you will. I never wanted you caught up in this mess.”

“You put me in this mess,” you snap. “And now I’m digging myself out of it. Once this is over, I want you out of my life for good.”

You turn on your heel, walking away from him, leaving him standing there. You’ll never forget his face as you left, but it’s for his own good.

“There you are,” Draco says as you match pace with him. He wraps his arm around you, making you walk a little more awkwardly than you’d like, but you welcomed the comfort. “I was starting to worry.”

“It’s alright, I just needed to speak with my father.”

“Everything alright, love?”

“It is now,” you smile up at him.

Together, you trek towards the castle that’s always felt like home to you. You know that security measures would be put in place, and you know that it’s protected and there are students and professors there, waiting to attack and fight back. You just didn’t know how many would need to die before the nonsense is over.

The protective charms around Hogwarts are broken. Your group of Death Eaters charge towards the school, you and Draco in their midst. He tugs you one way, and you’re met with a wand in your face, Luna standing just behind it.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she utters in her wispy voice.

“No!” Draco says, knocking her off her feet. “I won’t let you.”

“Luna!” You say, quickly kneeling next to her. She stares back at you, then at Draco. “We’re on your side, we just couldn’t get in on our own. We’re here to help fight back, and we know their plan. Let us help.”

Luna nods and you help her to her feet. Spells and curses rage all around you, and you take it all in little by little. Draco’s body continuously shields yours to the best of his ability, and you do your best not to look into the faces of your classmates that have already been bested.

“We need to move,” Draco says, ushering the two of you farther down the corridor. You run together, dodging spells and curses, throwing out counter-curses when you can. You turn the corner and almost collide with Crabbe and Goyle.

They raise their wands at once, both terrified and alert, but when they see Draco, they breathe. “Sorry, mate, thought you were one of them.”

A spell blasts your group apart. You and Luna are flung back, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle are flung to the side.

Amycus Carrow walks down the hallway, sneering at you.

“I should’ve known you were traitors from the start,” he snarls. He raises his wand, but Luna is quick to her feet.

She duels him and you soon join, blasting him with every jinx, hex, and curse you can think of. He fires back at you, hitting you with the body binding curse before you can dodge it. Your back is cold on the floor, and the terror of not being able to move sets in quickly.

Draco is quick to unbind you as Luna throws the final killing curse at the death eater.

“Brilliant, Luna,” You beam at your friend. “Come on, we can’t stay here long.”

Together, the four of you round corners and hide in corridors. You’ve done well so far, but even the adrenaline can’t help you as you rest your palms on your knees, taking deep, steadying breaths.

“Are you alright?” Draco asks as he holds you up.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” you nod. Your body protests as you stand, and that’s when you notice them. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley, all running towards you, wands raised.

“Run!” Harry shouts. “Go! Run!”

You don’t ask questions. You’re the first from the group to run, stepping over Amycus’ body and turning down a seemingly empty corridor. The footsteps behind you fade, and when you turn around, you’re all alone.

“Draco?” You call, peering around the corner. It’s as empty as before.

“Well, well, well,” a voice drawls. You turn, your eyes wide as your own father approaches you. “Thought we wouldn’t notice that you and Draco jumped sides, then?”

“Father,” you start. “Please, let me explain.”

He shoots a curse at you, but you quickly deflect it.

“You want me out of your life so bad, my darling daughter? Take me out, then.”

He fires another curse at you, and it blasts you backwards into the middle of the corridor.

“I don’t want to fight you,” you cough, stumbling to your feet. “I won’t fight you.”

“Then I’ll kill you,” he shrugs. He fires another curse, but you deflect that one. He growls at you, standing his ground. “Fight me, Y/N. Fight me!”

You shoot a curse at him and he counters it quickly. He’s faster than you, better even, and you know there’s only one thing to say to stop him.

“Mum wouldn’t want this!” You shout at him, your eyes welling with tears. “She wouldn’t want us trying to kill each other, she wouldn’t want you to be with him, she wouldn’t want you to hurt this much!”

Your father laughs a menacing laugh, almost doubling over. “Your mother is dead by her own accord. She lied, she kept secrets, she died because she couldn’t handle not having any drama in her life!”

“That’s not true,” you say, your anger overcoming your sadness. “You wouldn’t know mum, you were always worried about the ministry! Well, where’s your ministry now, dad? Where’s your job now? You were so quick to betray them and join the other side!”

He throws a curse at you, growling under his breath as you deflect it.

“I did what I had to!” He starts, stalking towards you. He throws another curse and you counter it with ease. He’s getting weaker as he becomes more and more enraged. “I vowed to keep you safe and that is what I am doing!”

“By trying to kill me?” You shriek out another curse, and this one blows him back only slightly.

“Because you’d be better off dead!” he says with finality. He shoots a curse at you, but you move just in time for it to blast bricks from the stone wall.

“Avada Kedavra!” You shout, aiming directly at your father’s chest. The curse hits him, and you watch as his face pales, his eyes wide as he falls to the floor, unmoving.

You wipe at your running eyes and nose, hiccupping slightly as you step over his body. You take his wand from the floor and pocket it, vowing to burn it as soon as this was all over.

Hunched forward, you move quickly down the corridor, looking over your shoulder to make sure you weren’t being followed. Outside is chaos, fires blaze inside the castle, and Draco is nowhere to be found.

You round a corner, watching as smoke billows from beneath a door. It bursts open, and Harry rides out on his broom, Draco holding onto him. His clothes are ashen and burned, his face covered in soot. His blond hair is something you commit to memory as you bound to him. The minute Harry’s broom touches the floor, you fling yourself at Draco, sobbing into his neck.

“Where did you go? I was so worried,” you cry, holding onto him. “You promised, Draco, don’t ever do that again!”

“I won’t,” he whispers, holding you tightly. His face is buried in your neck as you sob, clinging to him like he’d died himself.

“Where’s Crabbe?” You ask.

Draco just shakes his head. You nod, standing straight and wiping at your eyes.

“I killed my father,” you say, your bottom lip trembling. Draco’s hand lifts your chin. He cups your cheeks tenderly, almost as if he were committing your face to memory. “I want this to be over.”

“I know, my love, I know,” he nods. An explosion rings above you in a nearby corridor, and Draco takes your hand, pulling you with him ahead.

“Where did Harry go?” You ask, looking for him.

“I don’t know, but we need to move,” Draco urges, pulling you down the opposite corridor. As you round the corner, you collide with Ron and Hermione.

“Hermione,” you gasp, flinging your arms around her. “Did you find all of the horcruxes? Are they gone?”

“Almost,” she says. “We’ve got two left. One we know of, the other we don’t.”

“How can we help?” Draco asks, pulling you protectively against him again.

“We have to kill Nagini,” Ron says. “Harry’s gone to take care of Snape, but we have to get to Nagini.”

“Take care of Snape?” You ask. Hermione only nods.

“Come on,” Hermione says, turning to run in the opposite direction, towards the large explosion that’d only just occurred. Hermione cuts a sharp left and enters the Great Hall, which had been reorganized to place bodies of those fighting for Hogwarts.

It was then that you saw that mop of red hair. Your heart constricts and you shake your head, tears pricking the back of your eyes.

“George,” you whisper, moving closer. Ron shoves past you, falling to his knees in front of his sobbing mother. “Is that Fred or George?” You demand, moving closer.

“I’m here. I’m George,” he whispers. You turn, flinging yourself onto him, holding him tightly as you sob once more. “Shh, it’s alright…”

“But Fred… What happened?” You choke out. You bury your face in George’s neck, holding him as much as he was holding you.

“The explosion from the Room of Requirement. He was inside, so were Remus and Tonks,” George says, his voice quivering as he stares down at his twin.

“I’m so sorry, George,” you say, sniffling again as you continue to hold onto him. “I’m so sorry.”

George releases you, his hands in his pockets as he falls to his knees next to Fred, next to Molly and next to Ron, all sobbing quietly, rocking as they say their goodbyes to Fred.

Draco pulls you into his arms, shielding your eyes from more of the students brought in from the fight.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, fighting to catch your breath. “I can’t fight anymore, Draco.”

“I know,” he whispers, stroking your hair. “Just a little more, love. We’re almost done, I promise. Just a little more fight. Can you do that? Just a little more.”

“I can’t,” you choke, pulling his jacket tighter around you. “I can’t do it anymore.”

Draco pulls you back. He wipes the tears from under your eyes with his thumbs as he gazes down at you. “You have to. I know you don’t want to, I don’t want to, either. But we have to stop this.”

“Harry’s gone to sacrifice himself to Voldemort,” Hermione rushes out, the words barely audible from her mouth.

“What?” You ask. “He can’t do that, Hermione, we have to stop him!”

“I tried, but he won’t listen. Voldemort killed Snape and fed him to Nagini, so Harry is going to stop the fight.”

“The fighting won’t stop,” you say, feeling the anger and the rage and the desire to stop flowing freely through you. “The only way to stop the fighting is to get rid of him once and for all. Killing Harry won’t do what he thinks it’ll do.”

You stand on the side of Hogwarts, facing the Dark Lord as a unit instead of individual students.

“Harry Potter,” he begins dramatically, a large smile on his face. “Is dead! And now is the time to declare yourself. Join us! Or be killed…”

Hagrid hold Harry in his arms, weeping silently over his body.

“And I have his wand!” Voldemort laughs again, tossing it to the side on the ground. He looks at his group of Death Eaters, taking in each of their ashen and worn faces. He turns, looking at the group of students until his eyes land on Draco.

“Draco,” Lucius says over the deafening silence. He motions for him to join. “Draco, come.”

You begin to move with him, but he stops, turning to you. “Stay here. Please. I’ll find you when this is over, I promise.”

“Draco,” you start, but he silences you with a quick kiss. It doesn’t last nearly as long as you desire, but he’s soon turning his back to you and walking to Voldemort. He wraps Draco in an awkward hug that makes you cringe.

“Ah, well done, Draco,” Voldemort says as he wraps his arms around him. “Well done.”

Voldemort continues to groan and moan as he hugs Draco, praising him over and over again. You make eye contact with Narcissa across the way, and her throat is tight as she nods almost unnoticeably at you. Lucius tries to step forward, reaching out to his son, but Narcissa holds him back.

Soon, Draco is standing with his parents and you notice Narcissa ushering him towards the back of the crowd. Neville Longbottom hobbles forward. His face is ashen and burned from the fight and blood drips from his forehead.

“Well, I must say I hoped for better,” Voldemort laughs. His followers laugh, mocking Neville. “And who might you be, young man?”

“Neville Longbottom,” he says. Death Eaters laugh, continuing to mock him.

“Well, Neville, I’m sure we can find a place for you in our ranks,” Voldemort says, smiling widely at Neville.

“I’d like to say something,” Neville starts. He swallows hard, bracing himself. “Doesn’t matter that Harry’s gone.

“Not now, Neville,” Seamus says.

“People die every day,” Neville snaps back. “Friends… Family… Yeah. We lost Harry tonight. But he’s still with us. In here. So is Fred. Remus. Tonks. All of them. He didn’t die in vain. But you will.”

Voldemort laughs, but Neville continues.

“Because you’re wrong! Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us,” Neville says. He pulls the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. “It’s not over!”

Harry falls from Hagrid’s arms, getting to his feet. You watch as Draco ducks, running across the clearing. He stoops, grabbing Harry’s wand. “Potter!” he shouts as he tosses him the wand.

Harry catches his wand and aims it at Nagini, trying to kill her, but to no avail. Harry and Voldemort go at it again, shooting spells at each other, hitting bricks and stone of Hogwarts and exploding them.

Draco runs, grabbing your arm and pulling you inside the burning castle, hiding you in a small corridor that’s hardly ever been used.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes searching your face for any damage that he knows wouldn’t be there.

“I’m fine, are you alright?”

“Better now,” he smiles, pulling you tightly against him. “It’s time to run, my love.”

“We can go?” You ask, leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

“We can go,” he says. He leads you down the corridor and through a burning archway to the back bridge of the castle. It’s the same bridge that you stood on as you blew up Hogwart’s defenses and invaded the castle. You look behind you, watching as Death Eaters flee from the fight, and for the first time since it began, you have hope that it could truly end.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asks, stopping beside you.

“We can’t go yet,” you breathe. “We have to go back.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Draco, we can’t leave them to fight on their own. We have to go back,” you say again, already turning on your heel. Together, you rush back into the fight outside the Great Hall.

“Not my daughter, you bitch!” Molly Weasley shouts. You turn, watching as she turns Bellatrix to ash and stone.

The fighting dies down, most of the Death Eaters already fled, though Narcissa stands behind you and Draco in the Great Hall, her hands on each one of your shoulders.

“I’m so proud of the both of you,” she whispers. She strokes Draco’s hair lovingly, kissing the crown of his head. “I couldn’t ask for a better woman to love my son than you, you darling girl.”

She leans down, her hand resting against your cheek.

“Where’s father?” Draco asks, looking horrified at his mother’s behavior. Narcissa only shakes her head.

“He’ll be serving time in Azkaban for conspiring against the Ministry,” Narcissa says. Her smile is tight, but you could tell she was doing her best to hold it together. She moves to stand in front of you, holding one of each of your hands in her own. “Take care of each other. I’m going to go away for a while, wrap my head around everything. I’ll write to you both, but please, take care of each other.”

“We will,” you assure her, wrapping her in an unexpected hug. Draco joins in, and though it’s awkward with all the eyes staring at you, it’s what you all needed.

“What now?” You ask. Harry took no time ridding the world of Voldemort, and at last, things feel at peace.

“Now we go,” Draco says, encasing your hand in his own. “Anywhere you’d like to visit?”

“Surprise me.”

Taglist: @hecatemacbeth7 @bladeofanarchangel @accio-rogers @nerd-domland @mclfoybaby @emoshawnall @mccloudchloe @travelnottogoanywherebuttogo @kaibie @thecrazytealady @shelby1baby @meaganjm @the-celestial-kitsune

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dirtyrainbowstories · 5 years

Text

This story was written as a collaboration between myself and Splinterhead452 on Deviantart. If you enjoyed this please consider giving him a look! You can find his account here: https://www.deviantart.com/splinterhead452

It’s that time of the month again, for another instalment of the ongoing saga of a beleagered maid Terezi and her disgusting diaper8itch of an employer Vriska.

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Terezi could not believe what she was looking at, her jaw hung open in complete awe. She had never in her life met someone so vile or disgusting, someone who was able to just shit themselves and hardly notice. Someone who was able to shit THAT MUCH. She was completely disgusted and unsure of what to do about it. The smell was frying her brain, and seeing that huge, brown tinted diaper and know it was just packed full of Vriska's nasty shit made her stomach churn.

"Oh no. No no no no no no no no! I am not, I'm not touching you or that freakishly full diaper. I'm not doing it. I am not changing a grown woman's diaper after you shit yourself in your sleep!" Terezi shouted, feeling fed up with how everything had been going so far today.

Vriska shrugged. "That's fine, you can do whatever you want," she said. "Just know that, if you don't do this, you won't get paid. Diaper changing was part of your contract, so if you refuse, our agreement is void."

Vriska obviously wasn't going to change her own diaper, so unless Terezi stepped up, she would continue filling the house with her putrid stench. Then again, Terezi could just leave the house entirely, running for the hills and away from the freakish woman. But if she did, all the time she spent feeding the horrific slob would've been wasted. The tips were a lot of money, sure, but they were nothing compared to the payment she was supposed to receive at the end.

Vriska's response completely shattered Terezi's anger. The disgust of the situation had made her all but forget that she was doing all of this because she was desperate for cash. The tips were a lot by her standards but not nearly enough. Just the thought of all that money she's already worked so hard to make disappearing now, when she was so close to the end of her work day... Her resolve returned to her, and she looked back to Vriska and her impossibly full diaper. A grotesque image with an even worse smell but... Terezi really was desperate.

"... F-Fine... Sorry ma'am. I'll uh, get right to changing your..." Terezi nearly gagged. "Messy diaper." Terezi took another few steps forward. She knew how to change diapers on kids, sure, but not so much on fully grown adults. Of course, the fact that Vriska's shit was so unimaginably large made it even more daunting of a task. Soon Terezi was near enough to Vriska to reach the diaper straps, although she was forced to stand with her knees touching the huge smelly diaper. The warmth of it all especially disgusted her. "Okay so... Uh... Should I just do it here?"

"Are you stupid or something?" Vriska said bitterly. "Take it upstairs. There's a diaper pail in the bathroom." She gestured vaguely in the direction of the upstairs bathroom. Her instructions were useless, but it would be easy enough to find on its own. If that diaper pail still had some of the mess from Vriska's previous diaper in it, Terezi could probably locate it through smell alone.

For once, Vriska made things a bit easier on Terezi, shopfitting around, and spreading her legs to make her shit-swollen diaper a bit easier to remove. Her helpfulness was short-lived, however, as a pungent fart ripped its way from between her ass cheeks, stinging poor Terezi directly in her nose.

Terezi stood idly for the moment, before flinching a little at Vriska's bitter response. The disrespect was just another drop in the bucket at this point, and honestly nothing compared to the humiliation of what she was about to do anyway. Terezi could only imagine the horror of the bathroom she had already been intentionally avoiding. Not to mention the existence of a diaper pail only confirmed that this was a regular occurrence. That made Terezi's heart sink more as Vriska shifted around a bit to make things easier. Of course, the disgusting sound of Vriska's shit moving around in the over packed diaper only served to sicken her more.

Reluctantly, Terezi bent down and reached toward the diaper straps to begin removing it, only to be met with a gust of foul wind being filtered through literal pounds of shit and into Terezi's face. She did her best not to gag, but Vriska could probably see it. With shaking hands Terezi reached the straps and quickly got to work removing them. She could feel the heat radiating from the pounds and pounds of fresh shit, it just made her want to work even faster at this to get it over with.

She manages to get the straps removed, and starts to pull away the diaper, regretting the action as it releases the smell completely. She pauses, holding her breath. "Okay uh, I'm gonna take this off... Do you have like wipes, I need to..." She nearly gags "Wipe you now, right?"

"The changing supplies are in the bathroom, in a drawer next to the diaper pail," Vriska said. There was a snippiness to her tone, as though it was unreasonable that Terezi didn't know how to do this already. With how memorable, or perhaps traumatizing this experience was, Terezi would almost certainly remember it the next time.

The closest thing Vriska's diaper could be compared to was a bag of manure. It was similar in size and weight, although unlike manure, it was fresh, meaning that it was uncomfortably warm too, and the smell was somehow much, much worse.

Vriska pushed her hips upwards, to keep the mess clinging to her ass from rubbing off onto the couch.

"What are you waiting for, go?" she commanded indignantly.

Terezi carefully removed Vriska's shit stuffed diaper, being surgically careful to make sure not to spill any of the heaping pile of shit onto the couch or floor. With both hands needed to even move the heavy mass of diaper, Terezi had no way of covering her nose or otherwise sparing herself the traumatic experience of smelling Vriska's fresh, steaming shit. No broken public bathroom or drive past a farm could ever compare to the raw stench of Vriska's shit. The smell was just as impressive as the ungodly amount she had produced... Well they would be impressive if Terezi wasn't disgusted beyond words.

Working quickly Terezi used the straps to seal shut the open end of the diaper, only partially stopping the overpowering stench from leaking out. As Vriska both instructed and reprimanded Terezi, the poor maid got a feel for just how truly massive this shit must have been. The comparison to a bag of manure was being quite generous to how much your average herd of cows could shit. Vriska's steaming dump easily put them to shame. It took a great amount of Terezi's strength to move the horrid sack of feces. And Terezi was by no means a scrawny woman. She grew up playing soft ball and volley ball in school, so the fact that she was struggling was telling of just how bad things were for her.

"Yes ma'am, I'll be... Hnnng! Right back with the wipes..." She struggled, doing her best to haul the crinkling bag of mud. She lifted it just enough to carry, not wanting to drag it and risk cleaning up a rip or puncture. The horrid stench and warm mushy feeling against her arms and body sent a shiver down her spine as she went as quickly as she could towards the stairs and then the bathroom.

Luckily, being as sort of strong as she was, Terezi was able to (slowly) haul the diaper up the stairs, albeit with a few second long breaks to keep her balance. As she got more and more acquainted with the smell and warmth of the diaper, Terezi could almost swear the damn thing weighed almost as much as Vriska must have.

As she neared the bathroom, a place she had very intentionally avoided, a similar smell reached her, one that was definitely Vriska's shit, but not the shit she was currently carrying like the world's worst bean bag chair. She used her foot to kick open the door to the bathroom, woefully unprepared for the horrors she would meet inside.

Vriska's bathroom was, predictably, a complete horror show. Even Terezi's worst nightmares weren't sufficient to prepare her for what she was about to see, however. The room was absolutely packed with Vriska's used diapers, from floor to ceiling, save for a narrow pathway leading from the bathroom entrance to the sink. There was no toilet, of course, why would there be? Its exclusion meant that there would be even more room for Vriska's discarded nappies.

They were all obscenely full, although none seemed to be quite as large as the one Terezi was carrying. The enormous meal Terezi had prepared for her must've been exceptional, although Vriska did doubtlessly consume more food than the average person on a regular basis.

Some of the diapers were relatively fresh, but most seemed old, the shit within them having dried up and crusted over long ago. The smell, of course, was obscene, a mixture of distinct but equally foul diaper stenches all mixed into one unbearable wave of stink that permeated through the entire room. The heat radiating from Vriska's preserved messes meant that the bathroom was as hot as a sauna too.

At the end of the room, beside the sink, was the diaper pail Vriska had mentioned. It was stuffed beyond bursting with five or so of Vriska's diapers-after it ran out of room, Vriska opted to discard her diapers in the rest of the bathroom's space instead.

The question remained: did Vriska ever actually discard her diapers, or did this room contain every nappy she had ever used in one place. Were there other rooms packed completely with diapers, or was this the only one. And if Vriska did plan on emptying this room out and throwing her old diapers in the dumpster, would Terezi be the one responsible for doing it?

Terezi stopped dead in her tracks as the door swung open, stopping short as it was no doubt blocked by the pile of Vriska's diaper collection. This... Was way worse than she was expecting. It looked like a landfill, it smelled WORSE than a landfill. The air was so hot and thick with the potent smell of fermenting shit that Terezi quite literally threw up in her mouth. This room was like the estuary of the foulest, rankest, most rancid shit smell Terezi had ever been forced to brave. It was inhuman! Impossible to smell this bad... Or at least Terezi had thought until now.

She swallowed her bike and braved on, carrying the diaper inside and making sure to stick to the small path. On each side of her she could see a towering wall of putrid shit packed diapers, each looking like a horse had used them for a week straight. It was an abysmal experience for her, but somehow Terezi found the strength to go on. She approached the diaper pail and hoisted the newest, largest diaper up onto it, practically burying it as the brown stained nappy began to sag disgustingly. The heat it added to the room was easily felt.

Moving as quickly as she physically could, Terezi searched and rummaged about, finding the changing supplies in the sink cupboard. Baby wipes, a fresh adult diaper, and even some baby powder (Needed or not, Terezi didn't want to risk having to return to get it.)

With the needed items in hand Terezi all but ran out of the room, closing the door behind her to attempt to seal away the evil scent inside. She moved down the hall and then the stairs, reentering the front room. "Okay I'm back! I got the stuff, I can change you…"

"Mhm, get to it," Vriska said, pointing down towards her own filth-caked rear. A diaper dump of that size was bound to leave some residue behind, so Vriska's hindquarters were absolutely covered in clinging, dark brown filth. It still stunk, of course, but not nearly as bad as the load that Terezi had just finished disposing of. Most of the smell in the room was just the remnants from her initial diaper dump.

Vriska didn't bother explaining the process of a diaper change to Terezi-she said she knew how to, and the process was no different with an adult than with a child. A bit grosser, sure, but nearly identical in most other ways.

Vriska kept her hindquarters raised, to make the changing process easier for Terezi. For the first time today, she did something to help her maid rather than inconvenience or repulse her. Terezi would be a fool to assume that this was the start of some pattern, though.

Somehow she was looking forward to this even less than hauling the diaper away. Sure, hauling the diaper was a far more tiresome and foul smelling task, and Terezi would much rather never enter Vriska's bathroom ever again, but something about wiping a grown woman's ass was kind of humiliating. Well, more humiliating. Though to be honest Terezi had been humiliated over and over since she got here so why stop now?

At least this would be easier. Terezi moved over to where Vriska was sitting and got down on her knees so she was (unfortunately) face to face with her employer's shitty ass. Despite how much crap had been stuffed into that diaper Terezi was still sort of flabbergasted at just how filthy Vriska was. The smell was still present but it had dissipated, and besides it would take nothing short of a freshly filled diaper to compare to what she had endured so far.

Quickly she got to work with the wipes, thoroughly wiping away the disgusting muck and making sure to get Vriska nice and clean. It was humiliating, yes, but at least once she got done Vriska would probably smell kind of okay. Once she'd made sure to get Vriska nice and clean Terezi applied a liberal amount of the powder, and then got the fresh new nappy strapped on her. It was definitely weird doing this to a grown woman, but Terezi could handle. "There we go, ma'am... Feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I feel fine," Vriska said. It would've never occurred to her that her huge diaper messes could be interpreted as a sign of distress. Being able to gorge herself like that was an incredible, downright superhuman feat. Terezi should've been impressed!

Vriska slapped her hand against the fresh, clean diaper, sending a puff of powder into the air. "You're pretty good at this," Vriska said, shoving her hand into one of the couch cushions, and pulling out a wad of crumpled 10s and 20s. "Here, take this for doing such a good job."

As humiliating and downright disgusting as this evening was turning out to be, at least Terezi was making a pretty impressive profit. Not only could Vriska shit enough to put an elephant to shame, but she had money to burn too. She was quite the enigmatic woman, it seemed!

Terezi took the money without question, thumbing through the bills and counting them. All things considered it almost felt worth it now that she was actually holding the money in hand. She felt crazy for having that line of thought but there were probably way worse jobs out there that paid less than this... Terezi just shook her head and crammed the money into her pocket.

"Well, I'm happy I was able to... Uh, fulfill your desires?" Terezi kind of shrugged, now sure how to proceed with their professional relationship now that she had just wiped a practical bucketload of shit off of Vriska's ass. It was also only now that Terezi realized how tired she was feeling. She checked her watch and noticed that it was beginning to get rather late.

She fidgeted in place a bit and sighed. "Well, ma'am... It's getting kinda late. Unless there's anything else you need would it be fine to call it for today?" She asked, trying to sound as polite as possible. She definitely felt the need for a long hot bath at her apartment.

Vriska was given a moment of pause. She was having such a great time, she hadn't imagined that it'd end so soon. Luckily, the fun didn't have to stop until Vriska's wallet was empty, meaning that this could carry on for as long as she wanted it to.

"Sure, you could leave now..." Vriska said. Her fresh, crisp diaper bulged visibly between her legs. It was amazing that she could still maintain an aura of authority while wearing it.

"But I'll give you a huuuuuuuuge bonus if you stay. I have a guest bedroom and bathroom too, so you won't need to deal with my dirty diapers every time you get up to pee," Vriska said with a somewhat worrying wink. "I bet you really want to take a shower after all that too/"

Terezi was definitely hoping that Vriska would okay her dismissal. Vriska's reply made her tilt her head however. Definitely not what she was expecting. Terezi figured Vriska may have one last request or task, but asking Terezi to spend the night was definitely not something she expected. Of course, the idea of getting a bonus was appealing, and it wasn't like Terezi had any pets or plants to water at home.

"Uh... Hmm..." Terezi thought for a moment. The offer was appealing, especially since it saved her a 30 minute cab ride. Plus she had done all the cleaning here herself, so she knew that the place wasn't a pig sty. And if there was a guest bathroom that wasn't a valley of shit stuffed diapers, well then Terezi could suck it up long enough to get paid.

"Uh, yeah sure. I mean, yes ma'am. I'd be okay to stay overnight if that's what you want. Hey, I could even make breakfast for you in the morning!" Terezi hummed, trying to do a little sucking up to stay in good graces. She was really dying for a shower, though.

Vriska smiled. "I'd like that quite a bit," she said. "The guest bedroom is just down the hall, and the bathroom is right across from it," Vriska said, pointing across the adjacent hallway.

She let out a yawn, that turned into a hiccupy belch. Fortunately, it wasn't strong enough to reach where Terezi was standing. "I should really get some rest," she said. "It's been a long day, and I'll need a lot of energy for all the fun we're going to have tomorrow.

And with that slightly foreboding statement, Vriska trudged her way up stairs. Each step emitted a crinkle from the extra thick diaper between her legs. Terezi could hear the sound of bed springs creaking, as Vriska threw her body onto her mattress.

Terezi watched as Vriska went, suddenly feeling like maybe spending the night wasn't such a good idea. Then again... Maybe Vriska was just lonely? It had to be hard making friends whenever you routinely crapped in diapers. At least that's what Terezi figured. Either way, once Vriska was out of sight, Terezi made her way to the guest bathroom. She was relieved to find that it was nowhere near the horrors of the other bathroom, and had all the amenities. Before hopping into the shower, Terezi through her made outfit into the washing machine for tomorrow, opting to sleep in just her underwear and bra tonight.

After that she was quick to get a shower, making it extra long and extra hot. Once she was finished she found herself feeling refreshed and drowsy. She went to check on her outfit, moving it from the washer to the dryer and setting it to cycle. It would be fresh and dry in the morning, so that was pleasant at least.

With all that done, Terezi tiredly trudged her way to the guest bedroom, which she found to be bigger and nicer than her own bedroom at home. She didn't waste much time crawling into the big soft bed, and before she knew it she was finding herself nodding off. Soon she was asleep, resting blissfully unaware of what Vriska held in store for her tomorrow...

#abdlstuck #diaperstuck #diaper messing #messy diaper #hypermess #story #collaboration #Vriska Serket #terezi pyrope #homestuck #Scourge S(h)itter

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minteyeddemon · 5 years

Text

“Little Bit of Tension”

OC Sidonie x Dante, NS/FW! Written as a trade with @arridarling! Thank you for your patience in me getting to it, and I sincerely hope it was worth the wait. :’)

***

“This must be the place,” she mumbled with a sigh, taking in the bright neon sign well above the entrance, that seemed to flicker and hum slightly. There was a musty smell as she pushed the large wooden doors open, stepping into the dimly lit front hall. A bit away from the doors was a desk covered in scattered papers, as a pair of boots crossed at the ankles seemed to grace the scuffed top.

She walked towards the desk, her heels seeming to echo in the empty space, as she dropped an envelope down in front of the man whom those boots seemed to belong to.

“You must be Dante,” she greeted with a slight smile, he violet eyes darting between him and the rest of his ‘agency’. “Nice place you got here.”

“Tch, thanks,” he started, looking up at her through shaggy white bangs. “And you are?”

“Sidonie. But you can call me Sido,” she added when he looked at her strangely.

He snickered, dragging his boots off the desk as he leaned his elbows in their place, taking the envelope she had tossed and opened it.

“Ah, Morrison sent you to me, huh? What kind of job ya got for me?” he asked, look up at her as he held the notice between his fore and middle finger.

“It’s a mutual job,” she spoke matter-of-factly, walking towards the jukebox near the apparent bar. “I’ll be working with you, considering it’s also my job to hunt demons.”

“Naw, see,” he started, making to stand, “I prefer to work alone. I don’t like being a babysitter,” he emphasized, walking over to where she stood. He clearly towered over, having to tilt his head down slightly to look at her; but she only glared right back, not moving an inch.

“Lucky for you, I’m no baby,” she retorted, he eyes seeming to sear into his.

His smirk seemed to widen into a grin, as he stepped back, holding his hands up with palms out. “Fine,” he conceded rather quickly, surprising her, “but it’s your funeral if the demons get ya.”

Ah, there it was. She had been warned by Morrison he could be snarky bastard; but, she wasn’t afraid to take on a challenge. She could hold her own against any demon; hell, it literally was her life source to kill them off. The souls of other demons fed the one that was within her being. Though, that wasn’t something he would need to know any time soon.

He returned to his desk, plopping back down on his chair, and threw a magazine over his face as he crossed his arms behind his head. His voice came through the flimsy paper, although rather muffled.

“Spare bedroom is upstairs as well as a washroom if you plan on crashing here. If not, see ya tomorrow.”

She scoffed slightly at his lack of manners, but just rolled her eyes as she made her way towards the stairs. Might as well use the resources if he is so ‘willing’ to provide them.

Having taken a bath, she let herself fall into the not-so-soft bed, stretching her limbs out at first, than rolled to her side, cupping her hands together. She absentmindedly spun the gold ring on her finger, thinking of what she would face tomorrow. The assignment spoke of a few specific demons they needed to take care of, before heading out to the final destination of Redgrave City. There was the final demon she needed to make contact with.

With another deep sigh, she rolled onto her back, her mind drifting towards that of Dante. Despite the right-off-the-bat annoyance she had for him, she couldn’t help but find him strangely attractive. It was hard to place her finger on exactly why; but it was there, and it made her stomach do flips.

She forced the thought out of her mind, however, as she reminded herself of the job that needed to be done. She gave herself a slight nod as if agreeing with her own thoughts, and lulled herself to sleep.

---

When she arose the next morning, she was surprised to find Dante already awake, polishing his guns at the counter of the bar. He heard her footsteps descending the stairs, and he looked up briefly, before returning to his cleaning.

“Morning, sunshine,” he teased, holding his gun up to look at his handy work. “Ready to get moving? Got a bit of a ride ahead of us.”

“More than ready,” she remarked, walking over to his side.

He paused for a moment, looking her over. “No weapon?” he chided, chuckling softly.

“Oh, I have weapons,” she retorted, though didn’t bother to explain.

He would see for himself later.

They took his car, much to her surprise that he had one, and he kept the top down as he drove on. The wind swirled her soft pink hair, and the freshness of the air felt wonderful in her lungs. He wore dark sunglasses, but occasionally stole glances at her.

Once at their destination, it had seemed to start getting dark. She hadn’t even noticed they had been driving that long; the trip itself only felt as if it were a few hours.

She stepped out of the car along side Dante, as they both walked into a very clearly abandoned building. It ranked of death; a clear hide away for demons and the like. It was far too clear, especially seeing the remains of animals strewn about as they walked on.

“Might be an ambush up ahead,” she spoke quietly to Dante, as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end.

He didn’t reply, only gave a slight nod to his head, as he pulled one of his guns from his holster. “Sure you got some kind of weapon on ya, girlie?”

She gave him her own smirk this time.

They kicked in the door in unison, being greeted with snarls and howling as lanky and slimy demons scattered around the room, some heading right for them with claws and fangs bared.

Dante’s gun barrel made contact with one, blasting it’s head clean off, while Sidonie leapt to the side, calling forth her blade, as well as her own familiar.

From the golden ring on her finger flared out a blade, as if lightning and fire were intertwined within it, and she swung, cleaving the demon attempting to drop on her in two. At her feet lunged forth a Shiba spirit, whom she directed into the path of a demon, which the familiar tore to shreds.

Dante paused for a moment, eyes slightly wide at the sight.

“Ah. I see what you meant by weapons.”

She simply smiled at him, as they went about demolishing the horde of demons that had taken residence there.

From then on out, his demeanor towards her changed. He’d tease her a little more, compliment her often, try to keep her around him as much as possible. Granted they had only been working together for a few weeks, finishing off the assignments that Morrison had written on the letter; but a sort of...tension had been building up between them.

And it finally was coming to a head.

Their most recent mission was a wild chase of two particular demons, who were attempting to portray themselves as humans to lull victims into a trap. Sidonie had suck her familiar on them, and Dante bolted along side the Shiba, with her bringing up the rear. They both seemed to be smiling at each other during the chase, as if it was just for the sheer thrill; which, to an extent, he probably was.

When they arrived back at the agency, Dante collapsed into his desk chair, laughing good-naturedly as Sidonie perched herself on his desk.

“Who knew you were so good at tying knots,” she teased, referring to the hog-tie Dante performed on the demon attempting to fight back.

“I’m a man of many talents, babe,” he replied, giving her a wink; something she had now gotten so used to, she would worry if he didn’t give her one.

There was usual flirting between the two; but tonight, she tried to push her luck...

“Think you could tie me up like that sometime?”

The smirk on his face waned slightly, and she felt a shutter crawl up her spine; oh no, did she go too far?

But when he grabbed her by the front of her blouse, pulling her into his lap and also into a deep kiss, the worries were thrown right out.

He kept one arm wrapped around her, pinning her small form to his chest, as he pulled a drawer of his desk open, producing a set of rope from it. He didn’t even break the kiss, but she pulled away to scoff at the rope in his hand.

“Do you seriously keep things like that in your desk?”

“Demon hunter, babe,” he said with a cheeky smirk, “gotta be prepared at all times.”

She rolled her eyes, but his free hand buried in her hair, pulling her in for another searing kiss. He moved from his seat, laying her out on the top of his desk, as his much larger build pressed her down into it. He pulled his hands from her, tugged her jacket off her shoulders, and pulled her cropped top over her head with a quickness.

He pulled away for a moment, taking in her lacy bra, before his bright blue eyes locked with her violet ones.

“Better take that off yourself, or I’m gonna destroy it,” he hissed, chest heaving slightly.

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her, as she unclasped the bar, and dropped it along side her discarded jacket and top.

“Better?” she teased, fluttering her lashes in an exaggerating manner; she enjoyed the huffed reaction she got from him.

“Not really,” he replied, tugging at her jean shorts. “These gotta go too.”

He popped the button, pulling them off, along with her underwear, his breath catching in his throat at seeing her exposed for him. He tore his jacket and shirt off, throwing them to the side, as he leaned back over her, taking the rope in his hands.

“Leaving my socks on?” she asked, running a calve along his side.

He visibly shuttered. “Yes. Those are sexy as hell on you.”

She giggled, but bit her lip when he pulled rope taught with a slight snap.

“Sit up for me babe,” he requested, and she did so. He wrapped an end of the rope around her wrists, tying them behind her back, as he wound it around her shoulders, waist, and between her breasts where he tied a knot. He made two more knots at her sides, using the extra line of rope to tie behind her knees, opening her to him and keeping her bound so she couldn’t move to close her thighs.

Once the last knot was tied, he stepped back to marvel at his work, smirking at the sight of her cunt glistening.

“Who knew that tying you up would get you so wet, Sido,” he teased, pressing a finger to her folds.

She whined and bucked her hips a little, but his free hand held her down by her hip. His fingertip found her clit, drawing small circles around it, making her mouth slack slightly at the sensation.

“You look so good like this,” he whispered, as if to himself, and he pulled his fingers away from her to work at his jean front.

He pulled them down along with his boxers just enough to let his cock free, and he let out a low curse when he pressed his tip to her folds.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about this before,” he remarked, pressing his tip into her entrance slowly.

“I-I say the s-same thing,” she admitted, letting her head press back into his desk as he pushed his cock further into her.

For a moment she forgot about her binds, and so desperately wished to wrap her arms around his neck; but all she could do was struggle against the ties.

“Sorry, Sido,” he breathed, finally reaching the hilt inside her, “but you’re at my mercy right now.”

His pace was slow and lazy, dragging his cock out bit by bit only to ram back into her with enough force to make her slide along the desk top. He couldn’t help the dark smirk across his face as he watched her breasts bounce with each of his thrust.

“God you feel so good around me,” he groaned, picking up his pace a bit more.

Her toes curled inside her socks as he gripped her bound hips, tilting her against his body with ease so he could pound into her at a different angle. Her head slumped back as he mouth hung open slightly, little pants and whimpers escaping her.

His grip was almost bruising as he sped up his pace further, his cock barely leaving her as he pressed flush against her. He could feel her walls beginning to tighten and flutter, as she in return could feel his cock twitching and beginning to swell.

“D-Dante,” she gasped, “Dante, I’m-”

“Me too babe,” he rasped, his grip on her only tightening.

She felt a burst of warmth in her middle as her body tensed, her hips rocking of their own accord into Dante’s. Her walls clenching on his cock pulled him over the edge, as he pressed flush against her core, spilling his seed within her. He let his body slump over, keep his hands braced at either side of her head, so he didn’t crush her with his weight. Slowly, though reluctantly, he pulled away from her warmth, holding in a groan at the soft whine she made from his movement.

Once he adjusted his jeans, he lifted her up slowly, and began undoing the knots. He carefully removed the rope from her, and carried her up to the bathroom, where he used a damp cloth to tend to her rope burns. Luckily there was some soothing gel in the cabinet; he would have to thank Lady for leaving it there later.

Though she emphasized she could walk herself, he carried her to her bed, and decided to curl up with her, but not before discarding the rest of his clothing. He pulled her into his arms, and she cuddled into his warmth.

“I appreciate the trust you have in me,” he mumbled into her hair.

She gave a playful scoff. “Who said I trust you?”

“You let me tie you the hell up. That says it enough.”

She mumbled something incoherent, and he just chuckled, planting a soft kiss on her head.

As he seemed to have fallen asleep next to her, Sidonie dwelled a bit on the situation she was now in. She knew there were more fights ahead. She knew what her ultimate goal was at the end of all this.

But, she figured, as she pressed a bit more into Dante’s chest, the worries could be left for another day.

#devil may cry ns/fw #dmc ns/fw #dmc dante #oc sidonie #fanfiction #fanfic #trade fic #arridarling #dante x sidonie

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junkyardlynx · 5 years

Text

Pt. 10

She was in a bad way.

Her teeth had been impacted through her cheek, white tombstones flecked with red grit peeking through. She smiled in spite of it as I reached out to touch her shoulder with a shaky hand, fresh blood welling up in her mouth from the effort of the movement. My chest, already heaving, felt suddenly empty and cold. The fire from before was gone. Casting a critical eye eye over her, I could tell that her jaw was broken in several places and her cheekbone was mostly shattered; scorch marks from the flame of his fist had imparted second degree burns to her flesh. She shouldn’t be standing right now. I could tell that she’d managed to throw up a barrier of ice just before impact.

Sarisa would have died if she didn’t.

My breathing became erratic and frantic as I looked around for a scrap of flesh, a mote of mana, anything. I could easily heal this, it would be fine, if I could just find a scrap of material, plea-

It was just...gone.

Amduisas and I had used it all up. Even his body was gone, as it was more thought than flesh - when the will and mana that comprised it was exhausted, it couldn’t maintain it’s form and turned to a brittle husk of, well, nothing.

If I’d fought more carefully, if I thought about what I was doing for once, if I just...

It was too late to think like that.

“Sarisa, follow me. I need to, ah, dress your wound.”

Her right hand, burned and slightly bloody, found mine.

She gave it a tender squeeze.

The weight she entrusted to me as she leaned to my side was less than it should be, but more than I could bear.

She nudged me with her shoulder.

I suppose that was her way of saying “let’s go” without saying it. We started walking, heading towards our destination, though I was sure nothing remained for us to find. This was all orchestrated too well. They probably meant for us both to perish back there, as the...reagents required to summon a Duke of Soritoroth were particularly hard to come by. Not many people had that high of a magical capacity, and the number required was frankly insane. You had to be insane to do anything like that. Insane. It was simply without sanity.

Just like everything about my fucking life, apparently. Seeing Rissa’s shattered face might just mark the first time I’ve ever cursed this existence. Well, it’s not like it was anything I could fix by having regrets. The time for that was long past. I’d given too much of myself, my soul, my innocence to discard this way.

The observatory loomed in the distance like some sort of voyeuristic patron of our struggles, the rusted and decaying dome open slightly as a broken telescope hung partially out of it. It reminded me of a sleeping dog, in a way. Watching and waiting on the edge of consciousness for the return of it’s master. Would it cause a ruckus when that lost master returned to it?

As we approached the building proper, we could see the immense disrepair it was in. The white paint was cracked and peeled away, revealing the dull concrete underneath. The sign denoting it’s name had completely rusted away, the reddish-brown of oxidized metal being the only thing left. A small auxiliary building constructed from wood and sheet metal stood as an access and rest area into the observatory dome itself. Noting the obvious signs of recent use, I suddenly turned to Rissa and let go of her hand.

She looked at me quizzically.

That gave me enough time to scoop her up with one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders, carrying her into the doorway. Almost like one spouse carrying another into the bedroom. I shook my head of the thought even as my cheeks went red, placing her on top of a relatively clean table.

“Sorry.”

I could read her as well as she read me, and the look in her eyes was, ah, yeah. Something of a “No you’re not, playboy.” I could hear the playful reprimand.

I wanted to hear that playful reprimand.

I stripped my torn and mostly-useless shirt from my body, slipping it under her head.

“You’re probably gonna get a little of my blood on ya. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

I felt like I was talking just to fill the spaces where she’d speak. I probably was. She gave me a little shrug and the twinkle of her eyes signaled her smile to me. Once I made sure she was comfortable, I scrubbed the dirt off my hands as best I could in the sink. I was surprised at first to find that the water was running to this place, but then realized that of course it was. They’d been out here kidnapping my fucking friend and plotting my death. Gotta have water for that.

“Give me just a sec, I’m gonna see if I can find anything useful in here before I play Surgeon Simulator on you.”

I opened dented filing cabinets, forced open warped desk drawers and pilfered mildew-ridden cupboards. My search was fruitful, and I produced an ancient pack of gauze pads and a nigh-empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

Ah, good. I’d really, really need those.

“Okay, close your eyes, champ. This is gonna hurt. I’d say it’s gonna hurt me more than it’s gonna hurt you, but uh, I can’t lie. This is just really gonna hurt, Rissa.”

I swore internally at my own nervous, talkative mouth. You never talk this much! Shut up, you idiot. She’s gonna know something’s wrong.

“Hhits’ nishe...’earing ‘ou talk.”

Oh, man. Did someone push Rhongomyniad through my chest? Her broken voice was killing me.

“Maybe I’ll have to do it more. If you speak again before I’m done though, I’m gonna delete your Steam account. C’mon, mushmouth.”

Before she could even think of formulating a response, I gave her undamaged shoulder a comforting rub and then set upon her. I carefully began to pull her cheek away from her impacted teeth, and she hissed loudly. She didn’t scream, though.

I’d have screamed if I was her. I guess girls really do have a higher pain tolerance. Damn.

A line of tooth-holes remained in her cheek, but her teeth were free. I pressed a section of my shirt to her dripping cheek to stem the flow of fresh blood. With that, I gave her an exaggerated thumbs up and, well. She attempted to kill me with a look. Not really, but also, kinda really.

“Hey, I’m gonna do something and you can’t get mad.”

What? Sarisa inquired with a cock of her head.

“No, you gotta promise. You can’t get mad.”

With the most perfect eye-roll I’ve ever seen, she shrugged as if to say “whatever, fine.”

I smiled.

Reaching into a Wound under the table to extract a small dagger, I kept talking to distract her.

“I don’t think Thom’s here. I think he was here at some point, judging by the state of things, but I think...we were manipulated into coming here. They probably wanted to kill us. Too bad they suck at it.”

I managed to hide my own hiss of pain between the “s” in suck. I was running the blade along my left side, like carving meat from a particularly juicy ham.

I needed materials, after all.

I tapped my toe in time with the steady dripping of blood to mask the sound, covering my tattered sneakers in fresh shades of red. I’d heated the blade, cauterizing the wound as it cut, but hey. Blood still happens.

Side note: don’t buy white shoes. It’s not worth it.

“But I don’t think Thom is an entirely willing participant. I think he was fed a string of lies and thinks he’s helping us or something. There’s no way he’d just give us up. I’m concerned as to how he learned, but it doesn’t matter as long as we get him back safe and sound. I still need him to teach me how to be good at Counter Strike - did you know he bought an entire fucking car with the money he earned from betting on his own matches? An entire Honda Civic.”

A piece of my own body came free, falling into my waiting hand with a soft but audible squish. Knowing my time was pretty much up, I basically threw the peroxide on my side as I hurriedly slapped the gauze patches onto my skin.

Ah, fuck. I think she noticed. She started to scramble, the worry and anger clear as day on her currently Picasso-esque face.

“Nope. You said you wouldn’t get mad, Rissa.”

With that, I channeled mana into my hands, leaning heavily on the table. Holy shit, this actually hurt a lot. I didn’t notice my pain when I fought Amduisas, but this was different. I wasn’t in the middle of some rage-fueled fight for my life. I was talking to someone I lov-loved? Loved? Was that the word?

I glanced at the inchoate mass of unbound life in front of me, cut from my own body.

Ah, yeah. I guess I really did love her.

The flesh, freshly separated from my body, seemed to slither through the air as it melted into a black sludge, attaching itself to her face. The teeth-holes in her cheek knit themselves closed and the crunching of bones and cartilage signaled the repairing of her own body as the viscous sludge faded.

She didn’t scream.

Sarisa just placed her hand on my wrist and gripped it tightly, nails digging into my skin.

Hey, I can’t afford to lose more blood right now, you know? Not that I’d say it.

In a few agonizing minutes, her face was restored. Dried and flaked blood still covered her face, but the damage was healed. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough to fully mend the burns on her hand, so they’d probably end up scarring. Add it to the list of things I’ve failed at today, I guess.

“Hey, doofus.”

I murmured as my head slipped from the cradle of my hands, ending up on her stomach with a gentle thud.

“Seriously, Jeal? That’s gonna scar, you know. You think I’m gonna find it hot that you have a big stupid sexy scar on your side or something?”

Her playful reprimand reached my ears as darkness came over me, pulling me down into sleep. The last thing I felt was her fingers in my matted, bloodied hair.

I’d really, really need a shower when I woke up.

#writing #my writing #the deeper wound #fantasy #modern fantasy #magic

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amoralityplay · 3 years

Text

Tokyo, June 1992

[CW: emotional abuse, implied physical abuse)

It was Friday.

Audrey knew this meant Nate would show up around noon, rather than later in the afternoon like he did during the rest of the week. He had a job, though he’d always been vague about it, explaining that it was something on the nearby American military base, but he wasn’t a rank-and-file soldier anymore. He had a desk job that he hated after some sort of disagreement during his last tour of duty, she had some recollection of him talking about it, but he’d never explained exactly what had happened and Audrey hadn’t pressed for an answer. Mortals were always getting into conflicts that, from her point of view, were petty and meaningless. Whatever it was probably didn’t matter at all in the larger scheme of things, so she hadn’t had any desire to dig deeper on the topic. Assuming he would have told her, anyway, which wasn’t often the case. If Nate didn’t want to talk about something, it wasn’t talked about, and he’d made that clear to her very early on.

As she wandered across the small apartment, Audrey paused briefly to look at a calendar that hung in the kitchen area, days crossed off until the last day of June. She’d never been very good at keeping track of time—for vampires, days or weeks passed in a blink—and marking a calendar was the only way she could keep up with Nate’s schedule, which he adhered to unfailingly. It was almost noon, so Nate would show up any minute and the young vampire let out a small sigh. She’d barely slept, not uncommon since she’d arrived in Japan, and knew he’d scold her for not taking better care of herself. It was hard to get any sleep, though, when he’d show up in the afternoon, wake her up, and then keep her up until he left in the morning. As light a sleeper as she was…that left the vampire with precious few hours to get some rest during the day, and often that was interrupted by other things: the building superintendent making repairs, neighbors making noise, traffic and city life beyond her small window. Audrey didn’t know it was intentional, of course; that Nate’s charms worked better if she was weak and tired.

As expected, it was only a moment before the sound of the lock turned as Nate arrived, still wearing his fatigues, which was unusual, and pushed the door open. A brow twitched upwards when he found Audrey in the kitchen next to the door, followed by a frown. “You’re already awake,” he said flatly, stepping inside and pulling his cap off, a hand smoothing his brown hair back into place.

“I couldn’t sleep, I knew you’d be here soon so I thought it was better to just get up and start getting ready…“

Nate didn’t answer, just frowned down at her. After a moment, he walked into the living area and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, what good are you going to be if you’re tired? Or did you just assume I’d feed you, today?” He dropped onto the futon, leaning back and propping his boots on the coffee table, starting to roll up his sleeve. “It’s been two weeks. Suppose it wouldn’t hurt. But you need to take better care of yourself, I can’t do everything for you, you know. How would you hunt if I wasn’t here?” “You don’t have to—“ “What’s the alternative, Audrey? Let you starve? Look at you. You’re not eating enough as it is.” It was true that Audrey wasn’t eating nearly enough—ideally, she needed at least two pints of blood a day to keep at a healthy weight, more than that to stave off anemia, which she was particularly prone to. She was getting less than half of that, and nearly all of it once a week when she tried to gorge on a kill, while the rest of the time she’d just nibble at steak and liver, although occasionally Nate showed up with a bag or two of blood for her that he’d been able to bribe off the military clinic. But she supposed that was the best she could do, since the coalition seemed to be ignoring her application and she felt reckless enough as it was killing a mortal once a week, even in a city as big, and with as many dark alleyways, as Tokyo. Not to mention Nate wasn’t a very good lookout, easily distracted by watching her feed. Letting out a small sigh, Audrey shrugged and looked down at her feet. “If the coalition would just—“ Nate snorted. “If they’d what? Approve the application you put in five months ago? Doesn’t look like they’re gonna do that, sweetheart…C’mere.” He patted the cushion next to him, holding out his opposite arm to her.

Audrey padded across the small space, stopping to gather a few things from a drawer as she tried to ignore the little ache in her chest that cropped up every time he pointed out that nobody seemed to care about her anymore. Except him, of course. Audrey hadn’t really believed it at first, but…her grandmother hadn’t tried to call her in months, not since they’d fought while she was still in Kiev, and she hadn’t heard from her grandfather since shortly after she’d landed in Tokyo. Then there was Rowan; Audrey wasn’t going to even let herself think about Rowan or his letters. It was going to take more than letters to convince her of anything he’d said since their wedding fell apart the day it was supposed to happen.

“It’d be easier if you just bit me,“ Nate started, eyeing Audrey as she sat beside him with the things she’d gathered: a kidney-shaped metal tray, a tourniquet, a length of IV tubing, an empty blood bag, and a large-gauge needle. She’d gotten pretty good at drawing blood since Nate had taught her how to do it and it was only a moment before the bag was filling, not any different than one might have seen happening in a Red Cross center, except that this was meant for consumption, not donation.

“You know I can’t do that,” she murmured, glancing up from the needle she was holding in place in Nate’s arm. “You could catch the virus and—“ “And I’d turn. Would that be so bad?” “I can’t without permission.” “Permission from who? The coalition that would let you starve, Audrey? From your grandmother, who’s been ignoring your existence for months?” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. I get it.” Audrey’s brows drew together with concern. “Get what?” “I get that I’m just some mortal to you. An easy meal. I’ll get old and die and you’ll just move on.” “That’s not true, Nate…I love you.” She pressed a piece of gauze to his arm as she pulled the needle free and laid everything in the kidney tray on the coffee table.

“Yeah? How long is that gonna last?” “Forever, Nate,” she whispered earnestly, looking up from what she was doing.

“Prove it, Audrey,” he whispered back, leaning forward so that his face was only inches from hers. Audrey looked at him for a long moment, the internal struggle plainly apparent on her face. She’d broken so many rules already, things that would make serious trouble for her if the Elders—namely, her grandmother—found out. But turning a mortal without permission would have been the most serious…and she knew she’d never get permission to turn this mortal. In fact, Audrey was certain if her grandmother found out Nate existed, she would personally show up and gut him, merely for the fact she would have seen him as a distraction from what Audrey should have been doing…which was getting back to fixing her strained relationship with Rowan and producing an heir to her maternal line. Finally, Audrey’s gaze dropped to her lap. “I can’t….not yet, Nate, please understand, it’s not anything to do with how I feel about you…I’ll write to get permission, it just takes time.“

Without looking up, Audrey felt his arm tense under her hands and she wanted to shrink, the silence in the room heavy and unbearable. She knew if she dared look up, she’d be met with a furious stare...and maybe she deserved it. Why should he believe her? If she loved him...shouldn’t she turn him? Regardless of what other vampires would think?

Before she finished that train of thought, Nate sighed and nudged her hands away from his arm, holding the gauze down himself as he stood. “It’s fine. Go ahead and eat.” There was no trace of displeasure in his voice and Audrey glanced up, unsure if she’d just imagined the searing gaze and tense muscles; Nate was simply looking down at her, his expression a little sad, maybe...but certainly not angry.

She hadn’t imagined anything; Nate was seething and he wondered if it would be easier to just kill her and infect himself with her blood than to keep playing this ridiculous game, pretending there was anything more between them than his desire to be essentially immortal and some tangential lust. But…he’d seen how strong she was, even when she hadn’t fed recently, and while he thought he could overpower her, it would be a messy affair. And Audrey had talked plenty about who her grandmother was; Nate was certain that killing and Elder’s granddaughter would make his immortal life more complicated--and potentially much less immortal--than he wanted it to be, so…he’d keep playing.

It wasn’t going to take much longer, especially if he managed to get her pregnant, Nate thought. She was a soft-hearted, romantic little thing and he doubted she’d be able to tell the father of her child “no” about much of anything, much less condemn him to age and die like any other mortal would. And even if it turned out the vampire wasn’t good for anything else, she was at least a warm body, easy enough on the eyes, and hardly ever objected to anything he wanted, so Nate supposed the last few months hadn’t been a total wash.

“I’m gonna lay down for a bit. Come to bed when you’re finished. I’ve had a long week…let’s stay in tonight. I think I need a little quality time with my girl, yeah?”

Audrey watched silently from the futon as Nate walked the short distance to her bed, only his outline then visible behind the thin partition that split the living space from the bedroom, as he stripped off his uniform before laying down, and wondered if she’d also imagined the faint threat behind his words.

#[drabble]#[Audrey]#[Evil Nate]

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patchworkweddingdress · 6 years

Text

I had this idea of YouTuber AU and I wrote a small snippet of it because I couldn’t get it out of my head! I might make this into a full fic later ;D

"Hello and welcome, today's tutorial is requested by someone from Twitter asking for long coats." The man in video held out a piece of dark fabric, explaining what type it is, and where to buy it. Then he picked up another one, this time a thin and shiny one. Waylon never touched any illegal drug in his life, yet his glazed eyes were red, and he swore his head feels lighter than it should be. The man - Eddie, according to the comments, picked up a line of faux fur. "This is an optional one. If you're making a coat for winter, I'd recommend including this. I'll show later how to attach this on the collar." His deep voice vibrated in Waylon's mind, like a song stuck inside and can't get out. The programmer hummed and scratched his chin, grabbing a can of cold coffee and pressing the rim on his lips. Eddie finished explaining the various tools and fabrics needed for the long coat, and the screen transitioned into a diagram showing the pattern for the coat. After a few seconds, the video returned to Eddie, now accompanied by a big, bald man. He showed what to measure, and how, using the man as a model. The coffee was a familiar comfort as it reached his stomach. He scrolled down the video, not even pausing it. He liked Eddie's voice too much. The comments were a giant mix of people commenting about the man's easy to follow tutorial, and fans who were practically salivating over Eddie and the other man - whose name he found out was Chris. Shameless requests of pictures and other sexual favors littered the comment section, others complaining of said fans. Patterpans Yo guys can you stop with the whole "Eddie pls fuck me" thing?? Y'all gross as fuck, leave him alone Waylon snorted and opened the replies. It was a hilarious thread full of perverts and white knights. A loud knock shattered his reverie, and he looked up from his laptop to see a disgruntled Jeremy Blaire hauling his latest box of computer parts. He smirked and gulped his coffee, scrolling back up to see Eddie showing the finished stitching of the sleeves. "Park, what the fuck are you doing?" "Taking a well-deserved break." "The project is due tomorrow, and you have the goddamn nerve to take-" "A well-deserved fucking break, seriously shut the fuck up," he glared at the man who had the gall to put his hands on his hips and give him a disappointed look. "I've been working non-stop for thirty five hours. The project is up and running, if you ever cared to stop playing golf with Trager and actually look at it. I'm just debugging the GUI, so take your self-righteous bullshit and shove it up your ass." Jeremy looked like he wanted to spit on his face. Just to spite him more, Waylon turned back to watching Eddie sew, slurping the rest of his coffee obnoxiously, his pinky stretched out like the Prince of Extra that he can be. His groupmate fumed behind him, angrily cursing and slamming the door shut on his way out. "Get fucked, Blaire." He tossed the now empty can on the bin beside his drawer, and when he glanced back to the video, Chris was modelling the finished coat with a small smile. Waylon hit Subscribe. -- According to his Facebook, his full name is Eddie Gluskin. What a weird surname, but Waylon liked it. Unique-sounding names intrigued him, just like when he first heard of Miles Upshur. Browsing Eddie's channel (with username aswifttailor, can you believe this) was a trip to Disneyland. He has over 300 videos, a vast majority of it tutorials of various kinds - sewing, building, cooking. But what got Waylon hooked like an addict was the vlogs, especially the ones that features his friends. Eddie seemed to be a man of few words except when it comes to sewing. Then he couldn't stop talking about it, and it became a running gag. Whenever his friends would tease him for it, he would sigh deeply or shoot back a similar banter. Like how Chris is disgusting for eating twelve eggs for breakfast (Chris argues it's protein) or Frank still picking up food that has fallen on the floor and eat it front of everyone (Frank just shrugs at this). His earlier vlogs show how uncomfortable he is speaking and recording something that isn't a tutorial, but later on it became natural for him to wave and show the camera what he is doing that day. It's kind of cute how a man so big and burly and stoic-faced like him could film himself running around with a dog or playing Nerf guns with his other big and burly friends. Speaking of his big and burly friends, Waylon has subscribed to most of them. Chris is a fitness junkie and owns a gym, where he films some of his bodybuilding guides. He also participates on weightlifting competitions, and blogs about his journey from being obese to his current lifestyle. He does regular Q/A videos for those who want to get fit, emphasizing the building of small habits instead of going cold turkey from day one. Frank is a photographer who specializes in food porn, but also does a lot of freelance cinematography work. He does tutorials but very rarely, most of his videos are sketch comedy and short films he works on as collaboration with other YouTubers. His Instagram is fucking gold. Dennis, who rarely appears on the videos, is a podcaster who produces a fictional podcast story involving patients of an asylum and their interactions with each other. It has a dark and sometimes humorous atmosphere, which reminds Waylon of Night Vale. His channel primarily focused on this podcast, but he uploads some behind the scenes where he goofs around his workplace. Maybe Waylon was just lonely and fed up with his shitty college experience, that he starts to mimic the lifestyle that he sees in their videos. He would wake up early and watch the sunset while drinking tea (which he doesn't even like, programmers like him are more used to downing coffee then going back in front of the screen), jogging lightly even though he ends up out of breath within 10 minutes, and trying to get more sleep by having an automatic shut down on his laptop by 9pm. He would wake up on Saturdays to go to the grocery store, and listen to Eddie rattle off a list of foods to a certain recipe on his earphones, then come home and try to put effort into cooking for real. Eddie has this way of explaining his trade that makes it a no brainer, and he also talks about what and what not to expect, and what to do if something different happens. This eases off the worries in his mind, as if he could imagine Eddie standing behind him while he leans over the stove and stir the congee nervously.

#eddie x waylon #eddway #my fics

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durex-on-a-bible · 7 years

Text

Self-Defence (4/5)

Well, that just happened.

Takes place pre-Logan

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

“Oh no.”

Logan dropped to his knees.

“Oh no no no no fuck-”

And fell.

“LOGAN!” He scrambled over, eyes fixed on the blade hilt sticking out of Logan’s back. It had only sunk in about half-way, but already a ring of blood was filling around it and dripping down his side. Caliban crawled to meet Logan’s face, which was turned to one side and wheezing. One watery yellow eye darted to look at him. “Talk to me!”

The eye squinted, and the older mutant coughed red where he lay.

He shook his head: “Oh, okay, that was stupid. Can you hear me at least? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

Blink.

“Thank God. Ok, I…” He looked at the upright knife, still oozing at its base, then back: “I can’t- I can’t take it out yet. The bleeding… If I take it out now you’ll bleed out. I need to-” He glanced away, trying to weigh up his options: if he called an ambulance, he wouldn’t know what address to give; then, even if he did, the risk of people finding out about Logan, himself, Charles…

His shoulders fell. Logan stared at him from the floor.

“I need to get some things. Stay still and… breathe easy? I don’t know, just - don’t die, OK?”

He clattered upstairs into Logan’s room, throwing aside a sea of empty whiskey bottles. Soon, he found a small bottle of aftershave – the closest to antiseptic they had; he made a mental note to buy an actual first aid kit after this was over. Throwing himself back downstairs, he fished some clean dish towels and a washcloth out of the cupboard, then pulled on a pair of latex gloves and dashed back over. After putting the cloth to one side, he leant over Logan and spoke softly: “Alright? I’ve changed my mind. I have an idea, but it’s not gonna be fun. Are you OK with that?”

Logan frowned, then blinked once.

“Right. I’m just gonna…”

A gaunt hand held the knife, and pulled up.

“UNH!” An onslaught of coughing, and the cut, now empty, was bleeding freely.

Fast as he could, Caliban pulled the towel over two pointed fingers, poured the aftershave onto them and pushed it into the open wound.

“-HHAAAAGHH!!”

“Shh, shhhh.” Pulling the fingers out, he bunched the rest of the towel over the hole and pushed down as hard as he could with both hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

They stayed like that for the longest time, one looming over the other, pressed into him, whispering nothings and reassurances as his charge shivered in pain underneath.

Eventually, the rattle in Logan’s breathing settled, not quite so vicious. Caliban sighed in relief. Turning down to him, he spoke: “You’re doing really well, so well, I just need to get something quickly. Hold on.” He stood up then, making his way into the kitchen; rummaging through the drawers, he produced a length of sewing thread and a needle, bringing them back over and running both through the aftershave with his fingers. Not ideal, but maybe Logan’s healing could make up for his own incompetence.

“I’m just gonna clean and patch you up now. Just need to…” He gently tugged on the towel, bringing it out in a soiled, bloody clump. The wound was still deep, still red and angry, but it had stopped bleeding. Threading the needle with difficulty due to the gloves, he began pushing it through the skin on either side, an amateur’s needlework; he could hear the shorter man’s breathing hitch a little as he went. In short time, the line of thread was tied off and cut, leaving a messy stitch closing the wound up. Content, Caliban took the washcloth to the kitchen and ran it under some warm water. When he turned around, Logan was lifting himself up onto his knees.

“Oh! Don’t move too much, you’re still healing!”

“ ‘M fine, I-” he hacked, curling back over and catching himself with his palms.

“Shh, Logan, it’s OK.” The taller mutant crouched down beside him again, placing one hand on his collarbone to support him. Using the other hand, he wiped away the blood from his back and chest as carefully as he could, saying: “You’ll need to give this time to heal. If I help, do you think you’ll be able to make it upstairs?”

“…Think so.”

“Good.”

Patting down the wet skin with another towel, he removed his latex gloves and offered both hands to the kneeling man. Logan took him by both arms instead, and together they rose slowly, gripped hands edging their way further along the thin arms until he was holding himself up on Caliban’s shoulders: Caliban in turn had repositioned himself to hold the other man’s sides, fingers curled under his arm.

“You good?”

Logan panted: “Yeah.”

“Come on.” He stooped, allowing Logan to rest himself fully on his frame. “Fucking hell you’re heavy!”

Creased in a smile and pain: “-Metal skeleton.”

“You don’t say.”

They staggered together, each holding one rail as they climbed the steps, stopping if the injured man coughed or lost his balance. Eventually they reached the top of the stairs and tottered over to the messy bed, where Caliban gently set Logan down. Pulling the blanket from the bed, he helped move the arms and legs into place, then tucked the sheet back on when he was done.

Their eyes met.

“Logan, I’m…”

“Not now, Caliban.” Logan breathed, exhausted: “Please.”

“…OK. Later.”

He made to move, to leave Logan to sleep, but stopped, looked back to see him drifting off. Something pushed inside his own chest, and he went back to his side, leant down and put a small, chaste kiss onto his forehead.

Brown eyes snapped open.

Caliban jumped back, then froze in place before the older man’s gaze. Tense, he waited for disgust or pity or-

All he saw was Logan’s face rest again, nothing left but tired eyes looking at him… with regret. His gut coiled.

“Good night,” he managed.

“Night.” Expended, their eye contact broke as Logan finally passed out.

Automatically, Caliban shuffled back downstairs to scrub the rolled-out linoleum, still caked in blood.

----

“When do you suppose Logan will be back?” Charles asked, between mouthfuls.

Caliban looked up from the modest fry-up, which he had been cutting into pieces for the elderly man: “He’s just sleeping Charles, he’s had a busy day at work.” Nothing he hadn’t said four times over the past couple of days, but nothing that he couldn’t say again.

“Hmm.” He opened his mouth for another bite, chewing thoughtfully, then: “I like it better when Logan’s here.”

A wave of annoyance washed over the pale mutant – he swallowed it back, scoffed: “Yeah, me too.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake Caliban! Give those here!” Snatching away the knife and fork: “I’m not a bloody two-year-old!”

Both hands raised disarmingly, he relented. Some days his ‘patient’ could eat for himself, but his routine always accounted for the days when he couldn’t. With caution, he watched as Charles gingerly took some fried egg onto his fork and fed himself. Relieved, the tall man peered down below the gurney to fish out one of the many books they’d managed to scrape together, after they’d moved to this rusted place. Opening the book to its first page, he crossed on leg over the other and rested it on top, ready. He turned his attention back to Charles, wearing his best approximation of a kindly smile: “I’m going to read this. If you like, I could read it to you while you eat?”

The knife and fork clinked back onto the tray, wrinkled grey eyes fixed at some point in the distance.

“…Charles?” Shifting in his chair, leaning forward: “Would you like me to help you eat-”

“Love,” he murmured.

“…Sorry?” His gut twisted.

“Love…. Rejected. Spurned.”

A pressure, like the light scrape of a butter-knife, brushed inside Caliban’s forehead. Silently, he closed the book and made to stand up. “Charles…”

“Don’t understand why… Thought he felt… the same? Why he’d done everything, this past month.” He frowned: “Don’t know why…. Unless…”

The paper bag rustled in a shaking white fist. “I think,” Caliban stammered, from the few feet of distance he’d put between them: “It’s time for you to have some more of these-”

“-Unless he knows.”

Both eyes widened.

Charles turned, steadily, unblinking, to face the other mutant.

“Knows what, Caliban?”

Blood racing, he tried to focus on the room, push his thoughts away from the scraping edge of Charles’ mind – still tethered by drugs, but railing against them. Rusted roof; potted plants; weathered carpet; assorted books. He steeled himself, pushing two pills out of their plastic sachet, imploring: “Please, you need to take these pills!”

“So much guilt. Ashamed!” The push grew firmer: “Of what?”

“For God’s sake, Charles! We’re running out of time, please just-”

“Take the damn pills, Chuck.”

So caught up in the moment, neither had noticed the clank of the steel door as Logan had entered, fully dressed in his work suit. Caliban breathed, feeling the flat weight on his brain pull back. Charles looked on sheepishly.

“Logan, he-”

“Is trying to do his job.” Taking what had been the taller man’s seat: “Come on.”

“He’s got secrets.” he placed a scarred hand in his and looked up at him adoringly: “I’m sorry Logan, I thought he was going to hurt you.”

“I told you not to poke around in people’s heads. Not at your age.”

“Hah!” Charles laughed: “You’re one to talk!”

“Yeah, well,” Logan chuckled, unable to come back with a retort. Taking the pills from a stiff Caliban, he said firmly: “It’s time, Charles.”

“Oh, fine. I don’t know what’s even in these things!” Charles complained, throwing the medication into his mouth and drinking his water. He opened his mouth afterwards, smugly showing off that he had indeed taken them.

“Told you before, they’re just sleeping pills. Speaking of, you should finish your dinner and have a nap. I’ll see you later.”

“Humph. Very well. I’ll see you then, Logan!” He picked up the knife and fork and resumed eating as the bearded man cranked the door shut behind him.

Caliban unfroze at the sound, glancing back and forth, then came to his senses. “Wait- LOGAN!” He yelled, pulling his poncho and hat on before running out after him, fumbling at the door and ignoring the icy stare Charles was shooting from behind him.

Huddled in the scratchy cloth, he dashed across the dirt towards Logan, who turned around and, seeing how little protection the albinistic mutant was wearing:

“Holy shit!” Rushing over, he wrapped one arm around him and dragged both of them through the door leading to their living area, slamming it shut behind them. “What were you thinking!?”

“What am I- What about you?” He yanked the hat off his own head: “You’ve only just gotten up and walking again! Where do you think you’re-”

Logan put a hand up to pause, then bent over with a wracking cough. Instinctively, Caliban patted him on the back. Before he could interject, he was interrupted: “It’s fine. I’m not gonna die from driving a goddamn limo.”

“The cough?”

“Scar tissue, probably” he wheezed. “Just gotta live with it.”

“You…” His posture slackened. “Just be careful.”

“Hm.”

As Logan made to open the door again, Caliban started: “Wait! Hold on.”

Looking back incredulously: “Make it quick.”

“I really am, y’know, sorry.” Pinkening: “Not just for stabbing you.”

“Oh, er, it’s-”

“I just,” gathering his thoughts: “I didn’t think you would... be the same way, or even towards me-”

“Ugh,” He put a hand on his scarred face: “Caliban, it’s not about that, it…”

With the same hand, he gestured all around him.

That same look of regret:

“It’s too late.”

Caliban heard the words, but couldn’t process them. Before he could respond, Logan was already opening the door.

“Oh, and, don’t worry about the training anymore.” A smile, grim but sincere: “You’re ready.”

“…I am?”

“For once in your life, just take my word for it.” Closing the door on him, he turned his head back: “Bye, Caliban.”

From further down the corridor: “See you later.”

The door shut.

#Logan #Caliban #Calogan #whump #hurt comfort #blood tw #gore tw

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supergirl-imagines · 7 years

Text

Lena Luthor/you fic part 15

After what had transpired earlier that morning, you had expected to wake up feeling somewhat relaxed. Instead, the peak of your withdrawal hit you like a ton of bricks. The sickness that had plagued you earlier was nothing compared to the way your stomach lurched and your skin itched upon coming into consciousness. The light from the window practically seemed to sear your retinas and pain shot from behind your eyes to every inch of your skull.

“Fuck,” you groaned and rolled out of bed, having temporarily forgot about the healing fracture in your leg. Right before you put weight on it, you managed to remember and used the nightstand to brace yourself. Bile rose in the back of your throat and you clasped a hand over your mouth. In a series of wild, desperate hops, you made your way to the bathroom just in time to collapse in front of the toilet and heave up a disturbing amount of bile.

You had known this was coming. You had seen people go through this before. Whatever you had felt on the first day was likely just the result of whatever damage using on an empty stomach had occurred. This was the real deal. The drugs had finally left your system. This was withdrawal.

Gripping the toilet seat so hard your knuckles turned white, you vomited again into the porcelain bowl and fumbled for the handle to flush away the foul smelling liquid. You hobbled to the sink and washed your mouth out as your breathing shifted from a pant to something calmer. A new wave of chills caused your teeth to chatter momentarily. For a brief moment, you thought you’d be sick again.

Lena flashed through your mind as you met your reflection’s gaze. You wouldn’t be able to hide this from her. You couldn’t even force yourself to ignore this. The neurons in your skin continued firing at random rates; eliciting the feeling of prickling bugs crawling all over you. You shuddered at the visual.

After you were sure you weren’t going to vomit again any time soon, you hopped gingerly back into the bedroom and collapsed back into bed. A fresh coat of sweat had coated your flesh during your excursion to the bathroom and it caused the sheets to cling to your skin as you slipped back under them. The feeling made you claustrophobic and you hurried to throw them off again. It was then that you realized how sore you were; not from the remaining injuries but instead in your joints and muscles. It was a deep ache that seemed to pulse in slow waves.

You laid there for nearly 20 minutes; shaking and rolling over and over to try to find a position that didn’t make you feel absolutely miserable. All you could think about was how stupid you had been to hand over that pill bottle so quickly. You could have handled this on your own. It wouldn’t have been impossible for you to wean yourself off without Lena knowing. God, you had been so cowardly in dragging her into it.

Though you knew it was hopeless, you got onto your crutches any way and began rooting around the room. Every drawer you searched through held nothing but clothes or jewelry; nothing that would quell the relentless need for medication. Your hands trembled as they dug through any place that had the potential to be a hiding spot. Desperation grew as you continued to find nothing. Lena was too smart to simply put them somewhere secret; they were probably long gone in National City’s sewage system.

Ignoring the pain ricocheting from your ribs, you slipped on your boot and a sneaker. You knew if you tried to drink this away you’d only end up with your head in the toilet, but cigarettes were a necessity. Better yet, pot if you could find it.

It took everything you had to not dry heave in the elevator ride down to the lobby. The woman who had gotten on one floor below Lena’s reeked of flowery perfume that absolutely churned your stomach. She gave you an indignant look when you brushed past her in a desperate attempt to get out of the building and into the fresh air.

The muscles in your arms began to burn as you carelessly crossed the street towards the corner store at the intersection. A cab honked its horn at you after screeching to a halt several feet away, but your eyes didn’t so much as waiver from the store entrance until you were inside.

“Can I get a pack of Marlboro reds?” you panted out as you approached the counter. The man working glanced up from the ancient iPhone in his hands and after studying you for a second, he turned around and grabbed your request.

“Anything else?” he grunted and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his faded flannel shirt.

“Uh,” you lowered your voice and leaned across the counter, “you got any bud back there?”

“You ain’t a cop, are you?”

“Pretty far from it.”

“Hmm,” he nodded and after a moment of hesitation, reached beneath the counter and extended his hand. You produced your wallet and smoothly transitioned the folded Ziploc in between the folds of the cash you had.

“Let me get some papers too then,” you pulled out a 50 and set it down in place of the cigarettes you picked up. You pocketed them along with a lighter you pulled off of the rack near the register and added the stack of rolling papers once the store clerk handed them over. “Keep the change, man.”

“Thanks,” he called after you. The register clicked and then chimed as you made your way back out onto the street. You were too occupied in pulling out a cigarette and lighting it to notice the figure standing several meters away that occasionally murmured into a hidden communication device in the cuff of his sleeve. After a few puffs, the nicotine quelled the way your nerves screamed enough for you to limp back onto the sunlit pavement and retreat back up to Lena’s apartment building like an injured animal returning to its den.

—————————————————————————————————-

“Ms. Luthor?”

Lena looked away from the spreadsheets in front of her at the entrance of her assistant.

“A package just arrived for you.”

“Thank you, Jess,” she nodded as the secretary set down a plane cardboard box on her desk. Her office door shut quietly behind Jess as she let herself out and Lena pulled a letter opener from one of her drawers to cut the packaging tape. She frowned in confusion as a small tablet slid out of the box and onto her keyboard. The CEO hesitantly picked up the slim device and as she did, the screen came to life. The pixels lit up into a horrifying image; you with a knife pressed to your throat by a gloved hand.

“Say it.”

The voice was familiar enough to twist Lena’s stomach; she had heard it come from her own laptop in the apartment.

“Say it!” the man on the video barked again. The footage was shaky and shot from a downward angle; it was evident from the positioning that you had been pinned to the floor under him.

“No.”

“The sooner you say it, the less this will hurt.”

“Please,” your voice cracked with terrified desperation and Lena let the tablet clatter onto her desk. A small bead of blood appeared from under the blade and your bruising face contorted with pain. “I can’t.”

“I’m gonna give you one more chance. Tell your bitch you don’t love her.”

“Let me go!”

The camera temporarily lost view of you as a struggle occurred and seconds later, it clattered to the floor. It landed upside-down, giving the lens a reversed view of you being thrown across the room and struck with a gloved fist. Cries of pain fed through the speakers and seemed to fill Lena’s office with deafening sound.

Lena tapped the screen in front of her with shaking fingers, but the torture video continued to play. Unable to stomach the sounds of your suffering any longer, she rose from her chair with the tablet in hand and fled to the balcony. Wind blasted her hair away from her face as she flung the tablet over the railing and watched it fall to the streets below.

It took nearly a minute for Lena to unfreeze and head back inside. Her mouth was dry and she still felt sick. Her hands still trembled as she pulled up your name in her phone and called you. Two rings passed and Lena’s heart began to pound again before you finally picked up.

“Hey.”

“Y/N? Are you alright? Where are you?”

“I’m at the apartment,” you sounded confused and it slowed Lena’s pacing in front of her desk. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone sent something to my office.”

“What?”

“It a tablet or something, with a video from when they hurt you. You haven’t seen anyth-“

“Lena, slow down. I’m fine.”

There was something off in your voice and Lena’s heightened paranoia allowed her to pick up on it.

“You don’t sound fine. I’m coming home.”

She rose to collect her things and notify Jess that she was leaving.”

“Lena, don’t. I’m okay; just a little sick. You can’t afford to miss anymore work and this is just Lillian trying to get in your head. Everything’s going to be okay,” you assured her.

“What do you mean you’re sick?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just getting everything out of my system. Don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t take anything, did you?”

“Jesus, Lena, no.”

“I’m sorry,” Lena apologized quickly. She had heard the indignation in your voice and immediately regretted the accusation. “I’m sorry. I just…are you sure you’re alright by yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you replied in a short tone and Lena clenched her eyes shut. “See you in a few hours.”

——————————————————————————————————-

After a shitty joint, you were finally able to lay down without getting overcome with nausea and chills. You drifted in and out of a restless sleep after hiding your cigarettes and other paraphernalia; overcome with dreams of pills, flashbacks, and Lena. The suspicion in her voice during her panicked phone call had left you on edge and irritated with both her and yourself.

If you had wanted to go out and get painkillers, you could have. Lord knows you had enough connects to do so. Even without your work phone, you knew where to go and where the right people hung out. But, that didn’t mean that you would. You were trying, but that obviously didn’t seem to be enough for her.

———————————————————————————————————-

Lena slipped through her front door at half past 5 o’clock, still shaken from the delivery to her office several hours earlier. Her apartment was dark and she glanced around anxiously as she slipped off her coat and shoes and set down her bag. After wandering around for a bit, she found you curled up in the bedroom with a trashcan beside your half of the bed.

“Y/N?” she murmured quietly. You didn’t stir as she sat down next to you and put a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N?” Lena repeated.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Please don’t be angry with me. I was just so worried and I—“ Lena’s voice hitched, effectively drawing you out of your attempt to ignore her and go back to sleep.

“It’s alright,” your voice was hoarse and you rolled over to look up at her. “I’m sorry. Come here and sleep for a bit. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Okay,” Lena stood and you watched as she stripped out of her work clothes. The dark haired woman slid under the comforter next to you in her underwear and her body heat quickly spread to your cold skin and warmed you.

“I’m sorry about today,” you said quietly. She settled against you after you wrapped an arm around your waist. “I’m here, alright?”

“Alright.”

Sorry this took so long! Lillian Luthor involvement coming soon!

#lena luthor #lena luthor imagine #supergirl #supergirl imagine #lena fic

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