#shut the fuck up about the smoke looking like a tail please god
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#mgs#solid snake#mgs4#metal gear#metal gear fanart#from a shitpost on twitter#yk the meme#shut the fuck up about the smoke looking like a tail please god
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You’re Toxic, I’m Slipping Under
Summary: He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it. “See you next week,” he hums.
A/n: To celebrate Glass Onion coming out, here’s ol’ boy Ransom because I hate him so much :) 4.1k words.
Warnings: Smut; mild degradation, spitting, daddy kink; classism; Mind Games with Ransom Hour etc. etc. Please stop reading if you’re not 18+
Your whole apartment building seems to rattle when he arrives thirty minutes late. Like raucous fanfare to announce his appearance, the door slams shut, the latch clicks loudly, and then you hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs.
His shoes are still on—of course they are—stomping your floorboards and dragging in dirt. You can practically see them, the usual suede loafers switched out for leather boots with the late fall chill, and probably mud-caked because he’s thankless like that.
With your attention still on your laptop, already irritated because you’ve been attempting a paper that’s only chased its tail for the last three hours, you ask, “Did you misplace your watch, Ransom?”
Turning, you show him you’re the screen reading 8:32 and blink pointedly, “Is that a yes?”
“Don’t be smart,” he snaps back. “You know I don’t like that.”
Your head’s been a mess of fog, body tense and frustrated for days, and although you’ve always prided yourself on tact and grace—patient like a saint—Ransom manages to bring out the worst. You hiss, “Take your damn shoes off, you know I don’t like that.”
You watch mutely as he does so, not without a sneer here, a shitty comment there. He takes three long steps and plops himself on your bed, hands curling into the quilt, thumbs brushing over the patchwork fabric disparagingly. He pinches a loose thread and begins to pull, tugging slowly at first, and then finding joy in unraveling a line of stitching until nearly three inches rip apart.
“I always thought you needed to replace this thing.” He twirls the string disdainfully, “It’s ugly as sin.”
He pretends he doesn’t know how you obviously love this quilt—handstitched and affectionately made, your damn initials are embroidered into the corner, after all. He’s made a game of testing your patience, gleefully punching at every button as he tries to get you to snap.
Ransom Drysdale Thrombey. You’d met him at one of the Thrombey’s family… functions. Dysfunction, you’d muttered under your breath when Walt beat his cane against the floor in a drunken tirade and Meg ran out back to wolf down a pot cookie that she was supposed to be saving for later.
She was on the cusp of a panic attack, words tumbling out like a car crash, her hand in her beret, then hair, then trembling over her maroon-painted lips.
“God, I’m so sorry— I thought we could just make a pit stop before heading out. The food’s always catered and really good— god… it’s a fucking mess.”
You waved her off because it’s not like you haven’t witnessed at least one aunt having a meltdown during holiday dinner before— family’s just like that—and tried to placate her with, “Can’t be worse than the cousin who asked if we’d be scissoring later.”
Meg’s face twisted in disgust. “Ugh, ew! Fucking Jacob! He’s a skeezy little incel— I swear he’s a moderator on one of those internet forums where they post revenge porn and upskirt vids— honestly, he was adorable two years ago. Then I guess he went through puberty and got radicalized on Youtube.”
You paused as she lit a cigarette and inhaled furiously before realizing that the two of you were thinking of two entirely different cousins.
“I meant the big one, Meg. This one went through puberty twenty years ago.”
“Ew, Ransom,” Meg frowned, “That’s even worse.”
“Ransom? What is he, a Disney villain?”
Leaves crunched behind your back and Meg looked up from flicking ash into the yard toward the sound.
“Let’s be honest, I’ve got the face of a leading man.”
Meg blew smoke at him, as if the fumes were enough to threaten his sensibilities. You figured not, he looked like a cigar smoker anyway—one of those guys who’d dedicate a whole room in their house with the humidity just right to keep them fresh. Rich people shit.
“Go away, Ransom,” she said, to clarify.
“I don’t recall addressing you, Megan.” He took a drawn-out look, lips pursing in scrutiny before lifting a brow, making a real goddamn show about it. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll bite. 400 on the dresser for an hour; you can get yourself something nice.”
You’re still not sure what it was about either your attire or attitude that allowed him to conjure up such an offer.
Maybe it was your shitty jeans and your sweater from freshman year orientation. Maybe you looked like an easy mark to tear down.
His audacity shocked out a laugh from you—a loud, abrupt guffaw that eased Meg enough for her to dip back inside to grab more from her stash. And when she was out of sight, focused on rummaging in the old clock, you responded, “Yeah, okay. I’ll bite back.”
Maybe it was an act of rebellion against your background in contrast to all this excess. The bitter aftertaste of eating bottom shelf food out of necessity for weeks at a time—those awful chicken bouillon packets and dried blocks of instant noodles your first year of college. No one paid for your schooling or housing so learning to balance an over-abundance of classes and a job because you needed to graduate early, needed to spend less money on tuition, meant that you were working yourself to death.
If Youtube radicalized Jacob, then habitually sleeping three hours a night in the campus library and skipping meals to afford textbooks while men like Ransom crashed Maserati’s for fun radicalized you.
So, sure. Game on.
He picked you up the following weekend without anyone knowing and took you somewhere expensive. It was a whirlwind of exorbitant dinners and being quietly sneered at down the straight line of his tall nose bridge. The front door to his bachelor pad shutting but not bothered with locking. Falling into the thousand-count Egyptian cotton bedsheets naked, the skylight’s beam spilling like gold-flecked champagne.
You promised yourself it meant nothing. Just an experiment of unbridled spite. If he wanted to throw money at you, hell, that’s his problem. If he wanted to fuck you, well, you’d give him the best fuck of his life— let him see that despite wealth, at the end of the day, he was flesh and blood trembling for the right stroke.
And sure, he trembled, but it was your mistake to pare it down so simply.
Ransom juggled fuck buddies much longer than you’d been fucking at all. He knew it was best with the right amount of emotion involved. Just enough to yearn. If he laid roses at your feet, kissed your knees featherlight and worked his way up to your jaw, cradled the back of your head, nosed the pulse of your wrist, your collarbones, asked for your eyes on him, and panted the lightest breath of your name at the edge of it all—now who’s fucking who over, sweetheart?
You were out of your depth. He was powerful, older, and more experienced. He touched you in ways that emulated affection—that brought fire and danger. His hands were large and callused at the juncture of his fingers. His pretty mouth was pink, wet, kissed greedy. His sharp eyes took everything in.
But, as you predicted, his moods soon volleyed in every direction as consequence of never being told no, and once the novelty of crazy hot—often angry—sex grew stale, you crashed back down to earth burned out. You ghosted.
“You’re, what…” he called through the door the week after you texted that it was both too much and not enough to carry on with, “breaking up with me? Seriously. This is a fucking joke.”
And you could have practically seen it—how his bottom lip would jut out as his incisors crossed, how his brows would sink when he got angry. He was never belligerent, only calculating.
You told him to leave, and he did, after a single loud kick to the frame, because he’s never begged for anything, and he wasn’t going to start.
The guilt came afterwards, with the bouquet of roses on the doormat, petals scattered around because he’d slammed them down after being ignored again and again, and you swept them inside to throw into a vase next to the three other vases with flowers in various degrees of wilted.
“Breaking up” prickled complicatedly in the middle of your chest, because despite the many shows of affection, you knew you weren’t exactly breaking up. You had never really been with him anyway. People aren’t… with Ransom. They’re towed along by Ransom, dragged by their hair by Ransom. Played with by Ransom until he inevitably gets bored.
It devolved into needless melodrama. Weekly episodes of a teen show with grandiose gestures of toxic relationships perceived as romance. Ransom’s habit of whisking you away, fucking you senseless, turning around to fight with you about any-goddamn-thing he pleased. Dropping off flowers and champagne. Restarting the whole process.
It wasn’t healthy—isn’t healthy, probably, according to most therapists—since he’s here, present-day, in your room, beginning to undress.
You fiddle with the sleeves at your elbows, thumbing cool satin before advancing, arms subconsciously crossed.
He’s only in his underwear now. A pair of nondescript gray boxer briefs fitted on his muscular thighs, taut as he leans back on his palms. He slowly spreads his legs, inviting you between them. His lips purse when you stand passively, knee brushing his bulge, hands resting over his shoulders. He’s warm.
One palm caresses your lower back and the other on himself, gliding up and down. His lids are half open, voice low, “You miss this?”
“No,” which is a lie. You missed it when evenings were boring, half-heartedly nodding to some boy’s drivel about campus life, mind wandering to someone who didn’t look freshly 21, didn’t date like it. Didn’t talk themselves up just to get you into bed.
At least Ransom was honest; he always said exactly what he thought, told you exactly when you were pissing him off, how he was going to teach you a lesson—where he wanted you, how he wanted you, and— a chill races up your arms.
He’s downright smug when he notices.
“No? You prefer sloppy frat boys pawing at you like virgins over me? Every time, you think they might fuck right but, well, you’re always disappointed.” He reaches beneath the short hem of the robe, splays his hand out over your thigh and very slowly feels his way up.
Your eyes shutter as he pulls you forward, gripping tightly and massaging up toward your ass. The pit of your belly is tightening, the rest trying to push down being too eager for him all over you, his broad shoulders, his strong hands, how he bends his grasp on your shoulder, fixes you in a perfect curved arch just the way he likes.
Ransom noses the robe out of his path, sinking his teeth lightly down until he scrapes a line over your breastbone, laying his face gently down like a child—like a lover.
“You know,” he begins, taunting again, “You make a… face.” He says it as he trails down beneath the swell of one breast, letting your nipple graze his cheek, before he presses a kiss to your ribcage. Hot like a brand, searing into your belly. And then he bites.
You flinch, hand going to his hair to pull him away. He throws his head back into your grasp, eyes glittering and amused. He quickly works your thighs apart, dipping two fingers between and sinking into your heat.
“There it is,” he chuckles when your eyes flutter, “Yeah... Really gets me off.”
You’re in his lap before you know it, your hold on him fallen off and now scrambling for his wide shoulders to hold yourself steady. He’s got you leaned back on his thighs, hanging off the edge of the bed and perfectly helpless, the only thing planting you even close to secure are your folded knees, your arms around his neck. He’s shushing you, one large hand on the small of your back, the other still working inside your pussy.
He says, “Calm down unless you want to fall,” but it’s goddamn hard when your heart is pounding with equal parts fear and arousal. He’s sucking on your tits, balancing you just precariously enough to thrill, fingering you all the while—like it’s nothing to him, like you’re an object he can manipulate however he pleases.
His cock is erect, flexing against the fabric over his groin, a swell of hard, aching muscle. You want to put your hand around it, feel its girth in your palm, simply hold it because you do fucking miss it. The places he can reach, the ways he spreads you, rocking in and pulling out—how he sometimes settles inside, and then does nothing but watch you squirm.
It’s undeniably gorgeous—and he is too—when you fumble it out after he lays you down and hovers over you with interest. You’re wetting your lips automatically, staring in awe at his thick shaft sprouting from soft, dark, curls, the tip of it smooth and almost purple, swollen up with blood.
“Legs up,” and the way he says it, how he just goes right out and says it, makes you groan.
Boys don’t do that. Too busy in their heads about peacocking and re-enacting the kind of porno where performers wordlessly move into new positions in sync, nothing verbal exchanged but high-pitched shrieking and nasally fuck me’s.
Ransom’s extremely verbal in bed. He easily says, “Look at me. Show me how much you want it,” and flits his eyes between your bodies.
You do, shivering, sliding two fingers along the sides of your folds, finding yourself aroused and damp, humiliated and incredibly turned on when he grins, simply content with watching. Your thighs are squeezing reflexively, abdomen crunching up trying to keep it together.
But he’s never been patient, and quickly tells you to hold your knees, rock back, make yourself small and exposed, and then he’s delving gently into your hole— thumbs taking turns, coaxing more.
Two fingers tuck in, then another two struggle next to them, and you can’t stop yourself from gasping and crying out at how he pulls apart the walls of your cunt.
The sound of it— sloppy, squelching, a light and hollow kind of noise like a tongue flicking inside an open mouth.
“Look at this pretty pussy.” He tugs a little more, and you wriggle into it, gripping your legs tighter, pulling your knees up, shins toward your burning face to hide.
He descends on your clit, tip of his tongue licking into your stretched hole, purposefully only running against the taut skin around his fingers. “You got a talent, baby,” he murmurs, buzzing. “I could fuck you the whole day, fuck you numb… but give you about half an hour and it’s good as new, tight and perfect.”
There had been marathon rounds of bouncing in his lap between being at each other’s throats, his thighs splitting yours, hands holding you up, nibbling at your ear. Then he’d turn you around, take you to the floor until you collapsed on the bearskin rug, the sweat on your neck and chest rolling into dark furs. Railed you until you were so sensitive anything would make you come; your body unsure if it was considered your own anymore.
Fuck, fight, rinse, and repeat.
“Are you—going to talk all night?” You grunt up to the ceiling, trying to steel yourself from panting or moaning and only barely making it.
“Thought you liked it when I talked.” His dark head is still between your legs, nose pressed into your skin, licking agonizingly slow with his entire tongue. It’s so warm, and gentle, and assertive. “What, you don’t like being told how good you taste?”
He keeps licking, pushing at the back of your knees when you try to switch positions, holding you in that bent up pose. He’s suckling at your clit when his fingers find their way back inside, easily hooking in three and pumping them smoothly.
“How—” he sucks hard, the shape of his full, plush lips fitted over you making a filthy wet smack, “mmm—I love the taste of your sweet pussy?”
When you come like it’s being ripped out of you, legs shaking around his head, lines of his spit dripping down your ass and onto the sheets, he lets you go with a hard slap on your sex, and you nearly wail.
“That’s my girl,” he says. “Yeah, you missed me, huh? You missed it like this, didn’t you? Tell me.”
“Unnng …” a high whine, “Ransom.”
“I know,” he mumbles, kissing up your belly, your neck, your ear.
He moves into position, entering effortlessly after all his prep work, and the shine of your juice still on his beard is fucking unholy hot. He’s grinning and panting, eyes fluttering briefly as he slides home.
“I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, you’re gonna take it.” He’s a fraction unfocused, letting himself enjoy how you squeeze around him before he begins to punish.
Jesus, you missed this. Missed the agonizing drag of his shaft that feels like it goes on and on forever. Miss the way you get full of him, miss how it almost hurts.
His hipbones are hitting against yours, a steady fast rhythm because he’s experienced like that. Whereas some others might go faster when you’re close, Ransom stays at the pace that got you there in the first place. If anything, he pushes just a bit harder, makes you listen to the sound of his skin on yours, the choke of your breath he punches out.
You crunch yourself up smaller, toes touching the headboard now. Anything to get him further in.
“Fuck, you’re a slut,” he laughs. “Pretty little slut, god you don’t give it up like this for anyone else, do you?”
There’s not enough sense in you to argue even if you wanted to. The room is swimming, undulating, slipping further and further out of reach as the bed rocks and squeaks in protest. You’re sure you met a very handsome guy at the bar weeks ago but as soon as he started hinting that he was interested and stirred up conversation by asking your major, you left.
It just… wasn’t there. It wasn’t the same. No way in hell.
That boy wouldn’t have done this—wouldn’t be planting one foot on the bed, the other knee still down, enormous hands tight on your hips and crashing in.
You could cry, it feels so goddamn good.
Tears dribble their way out from the corner of your eyes. You turn your face enough to get a breath of fresh air, gulping it in frantically between the drive of Ransom’s cock and the half second he slides out.
You vaguely register his hand moving from your hip to your cheek, knuckles brushing upward.
“Oh,” he sighs, “pretty, pretty girl.” He slows his pace, nearly stilling. You squirm beneath him, inching away from how deep he is inside you, how intimate it feels as he kisses the hollow of your cheek and then toward your brow.
“So sweet for me,” he says, pulsing, making you whine with how he pushes against your sore walls. “Did I make a slut out of you? Huh? Make you stupid for my dick?”
“Make me come,” you say. “Make me—“
“Ask me real nice, baby. Ask daddy to make you come.”
You want to hit him. Kill him.
“No?” He whispers into the sensitive shell of your ear, “You don’t want it?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment clawing up your face, but Ransom’s hold is tighter, sharper, and he really is— so fucking right. You want it. And he’s made you a little stupid, so yeah--
“Please make me come, daddy. I wanna come.”
The Cheshire grin that unfurls on his face is more panther than cat. “You wanna come on daddy’s big cock?”
“Yes, daddy,” you admit. “I wanna so bad.”
“Oh, that’s it, baby. You’re a good girl, aren’t you. You put on a little show just for me? Act like you don’t want it but soon as I get in you and you let me lay you out anywhere, make you say anything.”
You turn away but he’s got your fucking number— got you as a boneless, spineless mess beneath him as he begins to fuck you again, and harder, his calculating, beautiful, cruel face hanging above you like a fever dream.
“You gonna come? Gonna cry?”
He’s melting away, he’s everywhere, and the lights behind your eyelids are starting to glare and threaten to explode.
“Gonna come for daddy, huh. That’s it, baby. That’s my girl, let me feel your pussy— ah— there it is— you can’t help it, can you? Mmm, swallow daddy’s cock with your pussy.”
Your orgasm is a wreck of curses and teeth on Ransom’s shoulder when he drops down close enough to make contact. You shake and whimper, struggling to calm yourself through the aftershocks.
When you’re done, still floaty but more aware, the mess of your humming insides less tight around him, he pulls out and shuffles up until his swollen tip is at your chin.
You obey wordlessly, and afterwards, when the flex of his shaft is tell-tale, and he empties into your mouth, you hold it there, show him the mess.
“Baby,” he says, slowly making his way back down, admiring the come submerging your tongue.
Ransom licks his lips, licks the inside of his cheek, and leans back over again, his eyes liquid darkness and pleased as punch. And he drops a line of spit on top, drools it down over your teeth, into your mouth, and says, “Good girl.”
-
“You need a new laptop.” He’s tugging his belt until the clasp hooks into place.
“I don’t.”
“It looks old.”
“So do you.”
He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it.
“See you next week,” he hums.
You don’t say anything in response, only listening for the same heavy footsteps slam back downstairs—perhaps a fraction lighter—and the clunk of the door swinging shut. A long breath and you stretch slowly, letting your body regain its normal shape before he bent you into a goddamn pretzel. A few minutes pass, and then a few more, and you hear the roar of his car speed out of the parking lot.
Safe now, out of his reach, you amble back up into your computer chair to face the awful white, blank document staring back like a judgmental audience. You slide in and crack your neck, feeling the throb between your thighs yield to a less uncomfortable ache.
The problem, you’ve learned after leaving Ransom’s world, was that you had been ill-equipped to play his game. His game, and by extension, Meg’s game. All the Thrombeys and Drysdales and everyone in-between.
They belonged to a class you couldn’t really understand unless you were making a fucking killing—and graduation was just around the bend, so maybe you would, one day—but you were in the red with 45 grand of student debt and staring down the barrel of a subsequent degree because it was getting hard to make it with just a single bachelor’s in anything.
There was too much to do and not enough time to be jerked around by Ransom—not nearly enough time to feel frustrated about your situation in any sense. No, scraping by taught you to survive. You couldn’t be whisked off to the Caymans for brunch, couldn’t be fucked raw in hotel infinity pools, get lost for days meandering the Pacific on luxury yachts for the fun of it.
Your world was a little more drab, a little less rose-tinted.
So it was back to normal now, back to the grind, back to not wasting any part of your week on shitty dates, shitty sex, and coming home more frustrated than you left it. Because there was Ransom, so eager to make some kind of statement about proving you wrong that he’d be the last to know when he’s being used.
And maybe 4 out of 5 therapists would say that your coping mechanism to a normal sex drive is unhealthy—mind-fucking and regular-fucking your ex/not-ex will do that—but you wouldn’t know. You can’t afford therapy just yet.
You rub your back, patting out the tightness of overworked muscles. It doesn’t feel any worse than the cramp you’d gotten after staying up three nights in a row cramming for finals.
As if your brain has reset, your fingers begin tapping on the keys, and you realize your writer’s block’s been lifted.
#ransom drysdale#ransom thrombey#knives out#ransom x reader#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale smut#reader insert#fanfiction#ransom drysdale thrombey
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Insufferable (5/7)
Getting close to the endgame here, I think! I’ve been excited about this chapter of the Vox sickfic for a while. Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4
Next chapters: 6 7
Wavs: 1 3
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If Velvette believed in prayer, she would be praying for a miracle right now. Of course, ending up in hell tended to make one think that any god would be unlikely to help out. So she resigned herself to hoping for a new development.
When Vox stumbled out from the bedroom, he was lacking all of the enthusiasm and energy he’d had the previous times. His screen was full of tiny cracks, though it was unclear if this was a broken screen or just a malfunctioning display. The center of his screen had a bright spot but everything else was dull. “Ugh, what time is it?”
“Morning, Vox. It’s 10.”
“Shit,” he said, rubbing his sore head. “Didn’t I have an interview today?”
Velvette shook her head. “That was yesterday, and it’s already taken care of. All you need to do is rest, love.”
Vox sighed and collapsed on the couch, as if he had used up all of the day’s energy just by standing and saying a few words. “I feel fucking awful.”
Velvette just nodded. “I know.”
“And I just…” he paused, turning his head around the room. “Where’s that radio coming from? Why the fuck is there a radio in here?”
“I’m not hearing anything,” Velvette said. “And besides, there’s no more functioning electronics in this room anyway.”
“I could have sworn I heard… hhh’tzzzch!” A small shower of sparks fell from his screen.
“And that’s why there’s no functioning electronics in this room,” she added, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “How’s that virus scan coming?” she asked, approaching his display.
“I have a virus?” Vox’s face froze, not like a broken program but rather like a shattered hope.
“And memory loss.”
“You sure you don’t hear that radio?”
She shook her head. “And hallucinations, apparently.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Val asked, walking in.
“Val, please tell me you hear that fucking obnoxious radio static.”
Val raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck are you talking about? All I hear is your fans whirring like a helicopter.”
“Fucking hell, I can hear his cackling too. Buzzing static and maniacal laughter and… heh’TZZZZCHT! Constant irritation.” He clawed at his arms. Valentino left the room and came back with an anti-itch lotion, rubbing it in generously. “Thanks, Val, but I don’t think that’s actually doing anything.”
Valentino shrugged. “Worth a try. Speaking of worth a try…” he found the volume controls on Vox’s side and turned them down. “Do you still hear the static now?” Vox’s mouth moved in response, but no sound emerged. “Damn it, he’s lost his voice again!” He blew some smoke into Vox’s vents and Velvette stared at him incredulously.
“You turned his speakers down, idiot! Of course you can’t hear him!” It was very strange to watch Vox sneeze with no sound. Just the flickering screen, the odd facial expressions, and the flurry of sparks. Eventually, she turned the volume back up just in time to catch the tail end of the fit.
“HHHH’TDDZZZZZSH! Heh’TZZZCHT! Hhh’TTTTZZZZZZCHHH!” Vox deliberately aimed the last few at Val to express his discomfort, and the other jumped from the shock. “Thanks for nothing,” he groaned, clawing at his throat. He grimaced and launched into a hacking cough, looking incredibly frustrated and confused when it was done. “You guys didn’t suddenly adopt a pet while I was asleep, did you?” Velvette and Val both shook their heads. “And Val, you haven’t seen Angel recently?”
“No, why?”
“Because I have the distinct sensation of fur in my mouth and it just won’t go away no matter what I do. Fucking gross.”
A warning popped up on Vox’s screen. “Sensors appear to be malfunctioning.” Yeah, no shit. Vox’s fans kicked into an even higher gear than the Vees had thought possible and he began to shiver so violently Velvette wondered if he was going to shut down for the fourth time since this disaster began.
“V-V-V-V-V-V…” Velvette and Val made eye contact with each other and then with Vox, having no way to tell which of them he was calling for. “V-V-Val, c-c-could you get me some… hhh’tzzzsh! S-s-some w-water?” Val nodded and came back with a cup of warm water. He handed it to Vox, whereupon it promptly fell out of the weak grip of the TV demon’s trembling hands. “Sorry.” Val began cleaning up the spill and winced when a sneeze from Vox electrocuted him through the puddle. “Sorry again.”
Velvette searched the cupboards for a pitcher with a spout, then filled it with more warm water and poured it into Vox’s mouth. She had to pause a few times to let him swallow, but eventually all the water was in his system. A small smile spread across his dim screen and he seemed a little calmer, though still clearly quite pathetic and uncomfortable.
His eyes went wide as he stared at a spot in the room. “Wait, what? Alastor… no. No, he can’t be here. There’s no way he’d get past security. It’s just… why does it feel so real?” He buried his face in the couch, trying to dull his senses but nothing worked. He began crying again, this time deep, wracking sobs that shook the whole couch as his fist pounded limply against the pillow. “Please, God, no! I can’t do this anymore!” Valentino’s eyes flitted towards the guns, but Velvette shook her head. Vox looked up at both of them, his screen crackling with energy that was somehow both weak and desparate. “How the hell am I supposed to deal with this?”
Before either of them could formulate a response, another warning popped up on the screen. “Virus removal has been halted due to insufficient resources. Recommend upgrading to stronger anti-virus protection… Checking for updates… No updates available. Try again later.” From the way Vox’s face fell so far it was practically off screen, it was clear he was aware of the message. “No! Please! I can’t… I’ll do anything!”
“Oh ho ho, anything, you say? This will be fun.” Velvette and Val winced as the voice rang out through the room, first from the sheer volume of it and then from the realization that now they could hear it too. This was far from the new development Velvette had been hoping for. But it was the new development they would have to face.
#my snezfic#snezbin hotel#I’m so nervous about the next chapter like I’ve had the idea for this twist for a while but actually writing it is nerve wracking#so pls be patient cause it may take me a while#and also your own theories and prompts are welcome as they may help with writers block or at least be fun to read lol#fun fact: shivering & stuttering & pouring water cause too weak to hold a cup happened irl last week#when I went to visit my FWB cause he was having a really bad allergy day
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Rickmans day 7: stormy reunion
18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI
tags: @illiana-mystery, @deepperplexity, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @cassieuncaged
warnings: swearing
I groaned as the rain started pouring down. I had thought the weather in Los Angeles was bad but New York weather was worse. I had been caught without an umbrella and trying to catch a taxi was like trying to catch smoke in a bottle. Traffic slowed down as the rain started to pick up. Just as I got a taxi to pull over, someone else went to grab the door handle.
“hey!” I cried while I turned to look at the person. My eyes went wide and I gasped. “Hans?” I breathed out. The man standing next to me blinked at me as he slowly nodded. “Oh my god. I thought…”
“Not here. Please.” He whispered. I nodded and watched as he opened the car door. “Get in. We can talk when we get to your apartment.” I nodded again and got in. Hans slid in next to me and closed the door. I watched in shock as he gave the driver my address and we pulled back into traffic.
“Hans.” I breathed out, reaching out for his hand. Hans smiled at me as he turned his hand over, intertwining our fingers. We sat quietly, thoughts running rampant in my head. The more I thought about it the more pissed off I got at him. He left me after nakatomi. He made me think he had died. And then took the money and ran! My emotions started to brew just like the storm outside the cab. I didn’t let go of Hans’ hand through it all, scared that if I let go it would all prove to be a dream or a figment of my imagination. When we pulled up to my apartment, Hans paid the driver and helped me out. My gaze had turned stony and I tried not to look at Hans even as he walked by my side, fingers still interlocked.
“(Y/N).” He started when we had entered my apartment. I dropped his hand and turned on him.
“don’t.” I growled. “Don’t do that. You left me. You took the money and went god knows where. You fucking left me hans! I didn’t know where to go or what to do because every contingency plan hinged on you being there to put it in motion.” I pointed my finger at him and ground my teeth. The pain in my jaw brought me back. “I thought you had died you bastard.” Hans held his hands up. I could see the tick in his jaw that meant he was thinking how to gain control of the situation again. And then in a second everything dropped. His gaze. His face. His hands.
“I did.” He admitted. “I didn’t want to. I was supposed to be able to get out of there quickly and find you. Take you away.” Hans took a step towards me. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…” he sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t supposed to…that wasn’t…” he squeezed his eyes shut and slowly lowered himself to his knees. “I didn’t plan on it. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Hans looked up at me. He put his hands together and pressed them against his chest.
“how am I supposed to believe that?” I asked, my temper abating slightly as I stared at him. “From the man who planned everything out. Down to our…” Hans chuckled and shook his head.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He admitted. “I didn’t think there was going to be someone running around the building.” We stared at each other for a few minutes before hans stood slowly. “I understand. If you want me to leave. If you never want to see me again. But I needed you to know…” he smiled at me and his expression turned sad. “I didn’t do it on purpose. If I had any say in it, I would have made my way back to you long before today. I love you and I never wanted to hurt you.” I stared at him as he slowly advanced towards me.
“That doesn’t change the fact it took you so long to do it Hans.” I hugged myself as he stopped in front of me. He nodded.
“I know. And I’m incredibly sorry for that.” He said softly, trying to catch my eye. “The police kept looking for me when I disappeared from the hospital. I finally got them off my tail. My brother landed yesterday. He’s a bigger fish to fry than me. I can move about as I please now. And I’m here to stay.” Hans reached out and rubbed my arm.
“Simon is here?” I asked. Hans nodded. “They’re going to have a field day with him.” He laughed and nodded again.
“Am I forgiven?” He asked. I have him a small smile.
“maybe. Maybe not.” I shrugged. Hans laughed and leaned down to kiss me.
“given your amount of snark I’d say I am.” He said just before his lips made contact with mine.
#alan rickman#alan rickman fanfiction#alan rickman fanfic#alan rickman imagine#alan rickman x reader#hans gruber#hans gruber fanfiction#hans gruber fanfic#hans Gruber x reader#hans gruber imagine#Rickmas#rickmas2023
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—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes
pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader
word count: 4049
warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder
challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”
request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial
author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!
inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts
The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.
There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.
Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.
His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.
You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.
Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.
You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.
Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.
You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.
“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”
A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”
You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”
Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.
The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.
You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.
Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.
With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.
You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.
His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.
You sigh, oh well.
The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.
Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.
God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.
“Come ‘ere.”
An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.
His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.
Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.
Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...
You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.
“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.
You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”
You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.
Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.
An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”
A blink is all you get.
“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”
He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”
Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.
Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.
A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”
The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.
It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.
“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”
When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”
“You’re insane.” You hiss.
He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”
The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.
He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.
You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.
Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.
Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.
“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”
He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.
“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”
Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.
Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.
“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”
A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.
“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”
You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.
He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”
Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.
Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.
Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.
Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.
That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.
His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.
“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”
Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.
Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.
He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.
“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”
He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”
“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”
You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”
Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.
Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.
Or not.
Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.
The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”
“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”
“Fuck you!”
He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.
You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.
Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”
“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.
He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”
Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.
“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”
Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.
“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”
“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”
Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”
***
If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.
Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.
“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”
“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.
You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x black!reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes smut#decadeundertheinfluencechallenge#5k...holy god
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mayhaps m!kylar with a bully!fem!pc where our soft yandere boy finally snaps and drags the pc in the school closet nd,, breeds her? and as much as she hates to admit it she got addicted to his cock and keeps dragging him in the same closet for a quickie? 🥵👉👈
It’s just too easy to pick on that creep. He’s so tiny that she can lift him clear off the ground and slam him into lockers, he flinches at every sudden movement, and he’s such a fucking crybaby.
Some may call her cruel, a bully, and they certainly wouldn’t be wrong, but it’s not like Kylar doesn’t deserve it, especially after a pair of her underwear disappeared from her gym locker. She may not have solid proof that it was him, but who else would be creepy enough to steal a girl’s panties!?
The way he reacts when she teases him in other ways just cements it; he shudders if she gets a little too close while threatening him, just a brief flash of her panties leaves him awkwardly tugging his hoodie down.
God, he’s a loser.
Is she playing with fire? Perhaps, she’s heard stories about that little freak pulling knives, but he’s way too much of a coward to actually do anything.
Right?
She doesn’t even notice the storage closet opening, nor the small hand reaching out, until she’s grabbed and pulled with enough force to send her to the floor.
The freak is grinning as he pins her wrists in place and secures them with a zip tie. She could probably break through the cheap plastic with ease, but a slowly approaching headache and the glimpse of a knife make her reconsider.
He’s just trying to scare her. That’s it. He’ll wave that shitty little pocket knife around, act all big, and then run away all terrified.
Just like he always does.
She tenses when the metal blade is held just inches away from her throat.
“Y-You’re so mean to m-me,” he mutters, “but i-it’s okay, I can f-fix that...”
There’s a loud rip sound, followed by a sudden coldness on her pussy.
The remains of her panties are tossed into the corner of the closet, and it’s only then that the bully really notices the lack of light in Kylar’s wide eyes.
No.
No, no, no, no, no, no.
She begins trembling and squeezes her thighs together, only for Kylar to pry them back apart and kneel between her legs, preventing her from trying again.
Kylar shushes her, two slender fingers forcing their way past her lips and pressing down on her tongue. “I n-need to teach you a le-lesson.”
He places his knife on the floor, blade still pointing towards her, and traces his now-free hand down her shaking body, over her breasts, stomach, and thighs, before finally dipping between and brushing against her pussy.
“You’re n-not a virgin, are you?” Kylar doesn’t wait for an answer before roughly thrusting a finger inside. “I’ve h-heard stories, seen t-things.”
She sniffles, trying to fight back tears. She can’t cry in front of the creep, can’t show him weakness. Maybe he’ll leave her alone if he realizes she won’t break.
“Still t-tight...” He’s talking to himself more-so than her, entirely enthralled in her pussy.
Christ, what a fucking virgin.
He withdraws his finger and licks it clean with a quiet moan. “...So sweet...”
With a lopsided grin, Kylar shoves his shorts down his thighs and pulls out his hardened cock, precum already leaking from the tip.
It’s bigger than she thought it would be.
The head of his cock rests against her pussy, threatening to penetrate.
He leans over her, forcing her knees against her chest and leaving her muscles burning. “Y-You’ll look beautiful f-full of my children.”
With that, he thrusts forwards, burying his entire cock inside of her.
Kylar’s movements are erratic, hips snapping against her ass as he watches every little change in her expression.
She hisses out something about it hurting, but the fingers in her mouth turn her words into nonsense gibberish. She doubts Kylar would care even if he could hear. The freak’s too far gone at this point.
His knife is still within his reach, one wrong move and the blade could end up buried in her chest. She wouldn’t put it past him, not when she’s realizing that the stories about him threatening people for the smallest things are all true.
Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut and pretends to be literally anywhere else. Pretends that Kylar isn’t whining and rutting against her.
But she can’t.
Every desperate thrust brings her crashing back down to Earth and slaps her with the reality that she’s trapped in a storage closet with some psychopath, one who seems intent on fucking his way into her womb, like some shitty hentai made for horny virgins who’ve never even seen a real pussy.
Of course he’d read that crap.
Her snarky thoughts are the only thing keeping her from breaking down, the sole thing keeping her sane.
“Gah!”
By some miracle, Kylar’s cock strikes that one bundle of nerves that has her seeing stars.
“Th-That feel good? Make...make that f-face again.”
He angles himself in just the right way to hit her g-spot again and again and again.
She can feel her eyes roll back and her body go limp. The sudden rush of pleasure mixing with fear and pain is too much for her brain to handle.
And her mind goes blank.
When she comes to, it’s just in time for Kylar to pull her down on his cock, allowing him to cum deep inside her pussy.
He’s breathing heavily as he straightens up and pulls out. It seems like only then that he realizes what he did.
“I’m...I’m sorry! P-Please don’t t-tell anyone!”
Then she’s alone.
She doesn’t even bother to clean the cum out of her pussy or check her locker for a spare pair of panties, instead heading straight to the school roof, where all the other delinquents hang out. Several of them notice how disheveled she is; hair tangled, shirt partially untucked, wrists bruised, gait awkward, but none comment on it.
Whitney looks her up and down with a snicker. “What? Did you get shagged on the way here?”
“Something like that,” she replies, snagging a cigarette from Whitney’s packet.
Whitney lightly shoves her and mutters something about owing them a smoke. She just gives a noncommittal grunt.
The next few days are unsettlingly normal, and she fucking hates it. As much as it disgusts her to admit it, Kylar hasn’t left her mind, and it’s not in that I’m-gonna-beat-the-fucking-shit-out-of-you way that she thinks about most perverts. She’s addicted, to that fucking freak’s cock. One rough fuck in a storage closet was all it took, and now she wants more. Just one problem;
Kylar’s back to running away with his tail between his legs.
She ends up having to threaten a few people to get him in the right place at the right time.
The greasy creep is trembling when she slams him into a wall, obviously expecting some kind of violent vengeance.
Instead, his lips are captured in a bruising kiss.
“You’re comin’ with me, freak.” Kylar doesn’t get a chance to respond before he’s being pulled by the collar of his shirt.
Any students present in the hall move out of the way, assuming that the resident outcast is about to get his ass beaten again.
She grins when Kylar is thrown on the closet floor, much like she had been. He’s whimpering, tears pricking the corner of his eyes.
“Quit bitching,” she says, straddling the petite boy, “you’re gonna shut the fuck up and let me cum, got it?”
Kylar doesn’t resist when she pulls his cock out of his shorts, but his eyes do widen when she lifts her skirt to reveal a lack of panties.
“Not such a big fuckin’ man now, huh?” She spits into her hand and uses it to lubricate Kylar’s cock. “You’re some loser virgin! It’s not fuckin’ fair!”
Her head falls back as the loner’s cock finally slips inside of her. Kylar’s hips are already trying to hump upwards, but she holds them down.
“You’re my toy, that means I call the shots.”
Kylar ends up leaving the closet with a limp, a luminescent blush, and some very conflicted feelings.
It becomes a dirty little secret between the two of them. She makes it clear that Kylar’s body will never be found if he tells anyone, and there’s not a chance in hell that she’ll admit to becoming addicted to that fucking loser’s dick.
She has to keep up appearances, of course, so Kylar’s still being shoved around like always, but now there’s an added layer of sexual tension to everything she does, and Kylar knows that he’ll get to empty his balls in a warm, fertile pussy at some point that day.
It’s an odd dynamic, but it works.
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Ok so I had a prompt idea? We’re all familiar with the “villain is sent to a ‘rehabilitation center’ that turns out to be secretly torturing the villains there” trope, but consider this: scared villain is captured by a kind hero and sent to a villain rehabilitation center, and villain has never experienced such warmth and kindness! Not to mention frequent visits from hero to check up/see how they’re doing. Maybe it’s no good but just a thought I had; I love your writing so much!! 💛🌼
(No pressure though, I know you’re probably busy!)
Oh, I absolutely love this prompt! Evil rehab centers are all well and good, but I’d never thought of one as being a source of comfort. I hope you like this! I was going to do some more with it, but it was already running a little long ^^
Thanks so much for the prompt!
CW//Arson, burning buildings, smoke inhalation, fear of death, gross food, mentions of torture, animal disease
As though singed by smoke, Villain’s lungs burned.
Even as they gasped, they felt as though they could not inhale a single breath. Yet, somehow, they had enough air to keep going.
It wasn’t as though they had a choice.
They were unsure, at that point, if their legs were truly moving at all. They had lost feeling in them far too long ago to be able to verify such a thing. Somehow, though, they were moving forward. Even if they wanted to, they didn’t know if they could stop, with momentum pushing them as it was.
Everything was riding on this. Days of keeping ahead, of leading the chase. If they stopped moving for just a moment, it would all be wasted.
And their life would be over. If they stopped running now, there would be no Villain left.
In that instant, they understood what it was to be a rabbit. When there was a fox on your tail, there were no do overs. No second chances. It was run or die.
As long as they could, they were going to run.
Villain couldn’t remember the name of the building in which they had managed to find the briefest of respites. Despite its sprawling size, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. Perhaps it did not have a name in the first place. At some point, it had been some sort of industrial complex-- the home of half a dozen separate companies, each clashing and butting up against one another.
Yet, the structure had long since been left to rot. They had a feeling that mold clinging to every corner had something to do with that.
Just a week ago, they would never have dreamed of so much as going someplace like this. The air smelled rotten, and breathing it left a sour taste sticking to their tongue. Not to mention the fact that several animals of varying size and danger had already claimed the rotten complex as their home.
But, they weren’t the same Villain they had been a week ago. Stumbling upon the building had felt like a gift from above, and, the night prior, they’d managed to get some honest-to-god rest among its sodden carpeting.
It was the most rest they’d gotten in days, despite the fact that, halfway through it, they’d awoken to a diseased rat with its teeth buried in their forearm. They’d had worse awakenings.
After shooing away the animal, they’d managed to sleep an hour or so more. Then came the worse of their two awakenings, that night.
The shouting voices of heroes.
Villain didn’t know how they’d found them. There was no trace, no trail. They had no vehicle-- instead moving through the woods on foot. ‘On foot’ was quite literal in that instance, considering the fact that they’d lost their shoes three days ago to a patch of quickmud.
But, still, they’d been found.
They didn’t no how long ago it was, that they’d been awakened by those voices. With the darkened building’s clocks hanging stubbornly on the wrong minute and hour, there was no way to tell how long it had been.
How long they’d been running...
Villain skidded around a corner, hissing as their foot caught on an uprooted carpet tack. Had they been this way before? It was impossible to tell-- all the halls looked the same.
The halls repeated, just as the heroes’ footsteps did.
How were they not tired?
Maybe because they’d eaten. And slept. And had water.
Villain had found that stream the other day, though...
Everything about them seemed to be repeating. The walls. The footsteps.
The lies of the heroes.
“Just stop running! We don’t want to hurt you!”
They couldn’t count just how many times they’d heard those words. Lies. Of course they were lies! Or, perhaps, it was their own sick attempt at a joke. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to kill you!
Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not just yet.
Another corner was taken with haste, and their nostrils were overwhelmed with the scents of rust and oil.
The garage was massive-- reaching further upwards than the shreds of sunlight filtering through dusty windows could reach with their furthest rays. Its concrete floor stretched out, seemingly, all the way to the horizon-- dotted only by support beams, and whatever scattered machinery and supplies the company had not deemed valuable enough to bring along.
The source of the scent of gasoline was quite rapidly made apart. Stacked haphazardly in the corner, red gas containers stood. Their reek alone made it well known that they were far from empty.
But the gas was far from Villain’s main concern regarding the garage.
In the past few days, they had become awfully good at finding exits. It was with a ruthless instinct that they scanned the room for one.
But, in the end, they reached a terrifying conclusion.
There was one exit. It was the same door as the entrance. The garage doors on the other side of the chamber had long since been chained shut, and there was no time for lockpicking.
The heroes flooded in.
It was with an exhausted hopelessness and steadfast stubbornness that they kept running forth. Of course, with their terrible luck, they did not make it very far. A rebar pipe caught their toes, sending them sprawling onto the concrete, pain shrieking from a thousand different, tiny wounds.
For a few seconds, Villain let themself breathe. They figured that, at the very least, they should let themself enjoy their last moments alive.
Their relaxation did not last long. They refused to die laying down. Trembling from exhaustion, pain, starvation, dehydration, and terror, all at once, they staggered to their feet. For a moment, their vision blurred, before solidifying once more.
Half a dozen heroes fanned out before the entrance, guarding it ruthlessly. Faux looks of concern painted their countenances.
From the array of aches and pains swarming Villain, a single one, all at once, made itself known. Something pressing up against their leg.
Their lighter.
Their trembling gaze flicked to the pile of glimmering red gas cans. It was behind them-- only a few steps back. If they could just...
“Villain!” The person in the front of the group called out-- Hero. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You just need to come with us. You can’t survive like this much longer, you know that!”
No. What they couldn’t survive was the heroes.
But, they didn’t have to.
Villain took a step back, inching towards the pile.
“Come on, buddy!” Another hero called. “What are you so afraid of?”
It was the heroes who should be afraid. Another step back.
“There’s nowhere to run, Villain.” Hero spoke once more. “Just come with us. No harm will come to you, I swear to it.”
No.
Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not today.
They took the final step, until they were mere inches from the pile. With a well-placed kick, and a horrible clattering, the cans toppled from their precarious pyramid. The reek of gas grew tenfold as brown liquid spilled out, onto the concrete below.
Stepping back from the gasoline-- they were ready to go, not just yet-- they reached into their pocket. The heroes had no time to identify the object they pulled out. By the time they realized what had happened, the lighter had already been thrown.
The flame leapt into the air with such force that Villain was thrown back, tossed to the concrete like a ragdoll.
The faux compassion on the heroes faces turned to an emotion that was very, very real.
Fear.
Spreading so fast that its growth could be heard, the inferno pounced, grabbing onto the base of a wooden support beam and licking its way upwards.
“Everyone!” Hero shouted-- terror in their voice overpowered by sheer determination. “Get out! This building’s not stable.”
“W-what about you?”
“If I’m not out within five minutes, send someone in after me.”
“Are you certain?”
“We’re heroes. And, sometimes, that means saving villains, too.”
Despite their clear reluctance, the other heroes, one by one, nodded, allowing their terror to spur them to flee.
When the last of them was gone, only two remained in the garage. The villain and the hero.
Villain looked upwards, watching as the flame reached the top of the support beam and rippled onto the ceiling.
There were only two ways this could end. They knew that.
Either Hero lost their nerve and fled, allowing their prey to escape, or they both perished in the flames.
No matter which came to pass, there was only one thing that mattered:
They would not die by the hands of a hero.
“You’re scared.” Hero began. Another stupid speech. “I know. I know you’re scared. This last week has been hell for you, I know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this. You can still make the right choice.
Please. Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to die!”
“You’re a bad liar, you know.” They croaked.
Villain’s lungs were already torn from gasping. The slowly-rising smoke only served to salt their wounds.
Before them, a flaming ceiling tile fell, spraying them with embers.
“You don’t want this! I know you don’t! You don’t want to die!”
“Why do you think I’m doing this?! Of course I don’t want to die, you fucking idiot!”
“Then come with me!”
“It’s like you don’t even hear yourself.”
The building shuddered as a support beam splintered and collapsed. The force of it sent Villain, once again, to the concrete, bathing their face in smoke. As they scrambled to their hands and knees, they could not help but let out a shuddering cough.
“Villain! Watch out!”
“Wh-”
The ceiling tile struck their head, burying them under its accompanying rubble.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Warmth... and music.
They awoke to warmth, and music.
The first of the two came in the form of something soft, heavy, enveloping them, making them feel as though they were buried within a cloud. The music, too, seemed to surround them-- there were no words to it, just the soft, lulling tone of a piano, accompanied by the occasional splash of waves.
It was confusion that first whispered to Villain, when their leaden eyelids at last agreed to open. Above them sat an off-white sky, stretching out to meet with a light blue wall. They blinked once more.
Where...
The chase the heroes the running the building the gas the fire the rubble the-
Villain jolted upright, tossing off of themself a heavy, fleece blanket. Trembling fingers gripped the mattress below them as they scanned the world around, instincts kicking in, searching frantically for an exit.
The room was small, walls colored a soft, baby blue, and lit by a pair of lamps with warm, orange bulbs. The few items of furniture were made of a light brown wood-- three small nightstands, two in corners, and one next to the bed in which Villain lay.
Next to one of the stands was placed a small writing desk and chair, while the other was accompanied by a potted plant, petals just starting to emerge from its buds. Embedded in one wall, a window stood, a small radio perched upon its sill.
The door was at the room’s far end, next to their bed. A wooden door with brass handle-- easy to break down.
But guarded.
Before the door, a figure stood-- a person dressed in a bright flannel, from the breast pocket of which stuck an overabundance of pens.
They did not look particularly strong, but, then again, neither did Villain. At the sound of their movement, the figure turned to face them, a smile growing upon their round face.
“I didn’t even notice you waking up.” They hummed. “Good morning.”
There were two options for escape: The door or the window. Neither was particularly desirable, but they had to choose one...
“Hey, buddy.” The stranger’s voice felt almost as warm as the fleece blanket. “You’re looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, there. I’m sure this is all a bit overwhelming, and I’m sure you’re pretty confused. I’d be confused too, trust me.”
No. There was no confusion in Villain’s mind. They were focused on one thing, the only thing that mattered: Getting out of here!
The flannel-wearing figure took a few steps towards the bed. In instinctual panic, the villain scrambled to their hands and knees, shuffling backwards until their spine was flush with the headboard.
“Hey, hey, shhh.” They hushed. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll stay right back here, okay?”
“L-Let me out of here!”
The figure frowned.
“Bud, I’m not sure that you’d last another day out there. Not in the state Hero found you in.”
Hero. Of course they were working for Hero.
“I’ll explain everything, alright bud? But let’s just start here. My name’s Doctor. What’s yours?”
Villain only then noticed that they were shaking like a leaf. Whatever this method of torture or interrogation or whatever it is was, they wanted no part in it. They just wanted to go home! To get out! Warm bed or not, this was a prison. They were sure of it.
But, the bed was comfortable, and there wasn’t a single rat in sight...
“How about this...” Doctor coaxed. “You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?”
A trade. Information for information.
Was it worth it? They supposed there was little use in lying.
“V-Villain. My name’s Villain.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Villain.”
“Now, wh-what is this p-place?”
Doctor nodded.
“This is the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. We’re in the city, right by the river. Next to the botanical gardens, if you know where that is.”
They were really telling them the location of their prison? Surely it would have been better to keep such a thing secret. That is, assuming they were telling the truth.
“I believe you’ve been asleep for about... seventeen hours.” Doctor glanced to their watch. “Yep, just about. You’ve been here for maybe half that time. After you got caught in the fire, Hero brought you to the hospital. They bandaged your wounds and brought you here. I hope you slept well.”
Villain almost laughed at that, before a realization struck them. They had slept well. Sure, remnants of the specter of fatigue still haunted them, but for the first time in days, they felt awake enough to think clearly.
But, this was still a prison.
Right?
Prisons didn’t usually have soft beds and fleece blankets, but...
No. It was a trick. This was a prison, and they were a prisoner.
“Let me go.” Villain insisted, though it was halfhearted. “Y-You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving. I need to leave!”
Doctor frowned again, biting their lower lip.
“I’m sorry, Villain, but for now, you’re going to have to stay here. But, I promise, you’ll like it here.” They sighed. “I know you’re scared, and confused, and a thousand other things. But, here, you’re safe. There’s other people here-- quite a few of them, in fact. And, at one point, they were all like you. But ask any one of them. This is the best place for you to be.”
Other people?
“Where are they? W-What are you doing to them?!”
Doctor smiled.
“They’re in our main wing, right now. I believe everyone is eating lunch right about now. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, lunch isn’t a form of torture.”
Villain pursed their lips.
“Then, where am I?”
“This is our arrivals wing. You’re going to stay here, for a few days. Until you’re comfortable, and we can make sure all that smoke is out of your lungs. Then you can join in with everyone else. I’m gonna move over to the side of the bed now, okay? I won’t touch you.”
Even with the warning, Villain couldn’t help but flinch as Doctor approached. They moved to the nightstand at the bed’s side, plucking a small, red box from its surface.
“Hero told me to give this to you, when you got up. It’s not exactly the most nutritious thing to start your day off with, but I think you deserve something tasty.”
They offered the box. After a moment of hesitance, Villain snapped it from their hands, drawing it close to their chest. Was it a threat? Some kind of warning? Morbid curiosity took hold of them, prompting them to open the box’s lid.
Chocolates.
A dozen chocolates, laid out in the design of a star.
“I can eat these?”
“Go ahead.”
Without hesitance, this time, they popped one of the candy pieces into their mouth. Its flavor overwhelmed them, strong enough to nearly knock them over. It’d been days since they’d eaten anything that didn’t come off a bush or from the dumpster.
“Um...” Villain looked back up, closing the box. “So, when are you going to kill me?”
Doctor laughed.
“Hero will be visiting tomorrow. With how long they can talk for, I think you’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”
This was a prison. Of course it was.
Yet, as they glanced down at the box of chocolates, they could not help but forget all thought of panic and escape.
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Foreign Shadows
Karl Heisenberg x Reader: Part 1
Warnings: weapons, blood, gore, kidnapping, torture, cursing, sexual content.
"Ethan, you can't be serious?" (Y/N) calls after her friend. "I am serious. She's missing and I'm going to find her." Ethan shouts, over his shoulder, continuing into the woods. "Its getting late, you can't go out there alone." She says, stomping after him. Ethan turns suddenly. (Y/N) bumps into her chest, inhaling sharply. He looks down at her with desperation.
"Then come with me."
(Y/N) walks beside Ethan, arms crossed. They hadn't spoken to each other for at least twenty minutes. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Ethan sighs, breaking the silence. "I know this is hard for you." (Y/N) starts, feeling an uncomfortable shiver run down her spine. Someone was watching. "But this wasn't a good idea. We're out here alone, in that dark, with a only a flashlight. I mean this is classic horror story shit." (Y/N) says. "I know, I know." Ethan mumbles. What sounds like a small branch snapping under someone's foot his heard. They both fall quiet. Ethan looks at (Y/N). Shs looks back wide eyed. He glances around, suddenlt noticing lights in the distance. He pulls (Y/N) to him, whispering in her ear. "There are light down the hill. When I tap your arm, we run, got it." He explains, having a feeling of dread in his gut. (Y/N) lets out a shaky breath feeling him tap her arm. She boots.
Ethan is hot on her tail, as they both sprint down the hill. The lights get closer and closer to reveal a small village. "What the hell?" (Y/N) whispers. Ethan doesn't see her stop running and bumps into her, knocking them both to the ground. "Shit!" Ethan says, grabbing the attention of some people walking the street. (Y/N) groans, sitting up, feeling eyes on her. "Ethan." (Y/N) says, patting the ground beside her. He was gone. She stares at the spot of the ground he once was sitting on. Did he leave her? (Y/N) stands, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Ethan!" She whispers harshly. "Dammit." She mumbles, looking entirely out of place in the village. "Are you lost?" Someone asks, from behind her. She turns, quickly. "I don't- I'm not from here." (Y/N) stutters watching the woman's face light up. "A foreigner! How lovely." She starts. (Y/N) doesn't let her finish. "Have you seen a guy, about this tall," She gestures with her hands, "Blonde hair? He was wearing a green jack-" The woman stops her. "I've seen no man. Please come, inside!" She says ushering (Y/N) inside her home. "Wait, but-" The woman sushes her. "I insist! We never get foreigners nowadays." The woman laughs, eerily. (Y/N) swallows, thickly. "Let me go find my husband, and I'll be right back." The woman says, giving her a creepy grin. (Y/N) shutters as the woman leaves. She rushes to the door, opening it. It slams on the wall as she bolts out of the woman's house and into the square. Where the hell was she? What was going on? Where did Ethan go? What was in the wood? Her breath quickens and she glances frantically around the village for an escape. Villagers stop in their tracks, staring at her as if she were a digusting creature. A dull pain, resonates on the back of her skull. She grunts, falling to the ground from the impact. She turns, seeing villager with some heavy object in hand. (Y/N)'s head pounds. Her adrenaline begins to kick in. The man raises his weapon to strike again and she rolls to the side hearing it clank on the brick below her. She kicks the man in the shin, pulling herself up. "Oh no you don't!" The man yells, aiming a shotgun at her. Where did her get that from? "What do you want? What's going on?" (Y/N) roars, anger filling her. "Where is my friend? What did you do to him-" The gun goes off, the bullets piercing her thigh. (Y/N) falls on her back, crying out in pain. Her hands shoot to her injured leg, holding it. Blood seeps onto her hands. She sobs, looking up through her tears at the man. "Mother Miranda will be very pleased to see you." The man says, confusing the hell out of (Y/N). "Please-" The barrel of the gun comes down the hit (Y/N)'s head.
Darkness.
"Oh, please, that is utter nonsense!" A female's voice booms. (Y/N) winces, feeling cold metal around her wrists. Her thigh is numb and pulsates with her heart. Her head hurts. It's throbbing, aching. She turns to lie on her back. "(Y/N)!" Someone hisses, from beside her. "Ethan?" (Y/N) croaks, quietly. "Thank God. I thought you wouldn't wake up." Ethan says. He's bloody and dirty. "What's going on? Ethan, please tell me this isn't real." (Y/N) whispers. "Ah!" The same female voice says. "They're awake." She chuckles. (Y/N) props herself up against a wall. Oh god. A woman looms above her. She's enormous. She towers over (Y/N) like a tree. She has to crane her neck to see the woman's face. She glances around the room seeing several other figures. Her eyes widen. What the fuck was happening? "Oh, don't be alarmed, darling." The woman, grins. "The worst is yet to come." She says. Someone snorts and (Y/N)'s head turns to see a gruff looking man, smoking a cigar. "What the fuck is going on?" (Y/N) projects, taking all of the strange people by surprise. Ethan feels anxiety bubble in him. "Who are you? What are we doing here?" (Y/N) drills. No one answers. "Answer me, goddammit!" (Y/N) shouts. Cigar man let's out a laugh. It sounded like it came from deep within her gut.
"What's so funny, cigar man?" (Y/N) growls, making Ethan kick her uninjured leg. "Dont provoke them." He mumbles. "Cigar man." The scruffy man repeats. "Don't provoke them?" (Y/N) says lowly. The strange people watch the two humans interact. "Don't fucking provoke them?" She shouts at Ethan, making him flinch. "Some dumbass shot me in the leg and all I was trying to do was get some answers." (Y/N) rants. "You're the one who dragged me out here to find you're precious daughter!" She says raising her hands mockingly. Ethan's face contorts. "Oh so it's my fault?" He says, laughing bitterly. "Obviously! We're in this situation because of you!" She argues, shoving her index finger into his chest. "Me? I'm not the one who-" The tall woman becomes tired of their bickering. "Enough!" She booms, shutting them both up. "Mother Miranda is on her way and she will decide what to do with both of you." She says, obviously annoyed. "I like her." The man says, pointing his cigar at (Y/N). "She's got spunk. Now him," He pauses, pointing to Ethan, "He seems like a pain in the ass, if I'm being blunt with you." He says, ignoring that the two humans were even there, talking to the tall lady. The large woman, sighs heavily. "It isn't your decision, Heisenberg." She says, sitting down. "Now hang on just a minute," (Y/N) says squinting. "Since when am I property?" She glares at all of them. Ethan swallows. "Since you set foot here." A new voice says. It's filled with power. It was quite intimidating. A female figure covered in feathers enters the room. "What the fuck." (Y/N) whispers, eyes trailing her as she walks. The Heisenberg man snorts. Ethan cowers to the wall behind him. Idiot.
Miranda stops at the center of the room. "We will decide your fate, from now, forward." She says, speaking with a kind of grace. "So we don't get a fucking say in this?" (Y/N) fumes. "(Y/N)." Ethan says, weakly. "Don't '(Y/N)' me. I don't want anything to do with this! This is insane. It this a joke? Did my mom set this shit up? She's been after me for years. I knew-" (Y/N) is silenced. "Shut your fucking hole and let the woman speak. Damn." Heisenberg snaps. "I thought you liked me, cigar boy." (Y/N) sneers. Heisenberg rises from his seat, suddenly, making her jump. Mother Miranda sighs. "Now you listen to me, princess." Heisenberg growls, stalking over to her. (Y/N) stands her ground, rolling her shoulders back. Ethan starts to shake in fear. He grabs her jaw, roughly.
"You ain't making the fucking decisions around here." He says. (Y/N) tries to pull her head out of his grasp, but he simply tightens it. "Your fate is already layed out for you. So I suggest to cooperate or you will face the consequences." Heisenberg grins. "Get your hands off me you pig!" (Y/N) says, lowly. A loud crack echos inside the room. (Y/N) falls back against the wall, hand to her face. He just hit her. "Learn your place or you won't survive." Heisenberg whimpers. (Y/N)'s eyes sting with tears. Everything hurt and nothing made sense. "Go to hell." She mumbles. "What did I just say-" heisenberg starts raising his voice. "That's a great show you put on for us, dear, but I think that's enough." The tall woman says, boredom in her tone. (Y/N) slumps back against the wall, defeated. It was no use.
"Ethan Winters." Mother Miranda says. "Your fate has been decided." She speaks with authority. There's a pause. "Lady Dimitrescu will have you." She states. The tall woman grins wildly. Ethan shrinks back against the wall. (Y/N) sits there, a cut on her cheek from something Heisenberg hand on his hand. Possibly a ring. She didn't care. Ethan is carried away by the tall lady she had learned to be Alcina Dimitrescu. "Good fucking ridens." (Y/N) mumbles to herself, watching Ethan struggle. "(Y/N) (L/N). Your fate has been decided." Mother Miranda repeats. "Oh, great." (Y/N) says, voice dripping in hate. "Lord Heisenberg will take you." She says. (Y/N) feels anger filling her. "I'm not going with that idiot." She says, looking at Miranda while referring to him. She hears him stand. Goosebumps rise on her skin, seeing his shadow on the ground as he looms above her. "Get up." He orders. "Fuck off." (Y/N) retorts, still looking at Miranda. "Get the fuck up!" Heisenberg booms. (Y/N) glares up at him. "I said, fuck off!" She yells back. Heisenberg smiles, adjusting his hat. "You're in for a ride, pretty girl." He growls, grabbing her forearm, forcing her to stand on her bad leg. (Y/N) yelps, numbing pain shooting through her ankle to her hip. She pants, pulling at the chains surrounding her wrist. She would glady, for no money at all, kick him in the balls, if her leg was healed.
"Well? C'mon walk." Heisenberg says, in a teasing manner. "I got shot, dumbass! I can't walk." (Y/N) spits. "Guess I'll either have to drag you or throw you over my shoulder. What'll it be?" He says, a glint in his eyes. (Y/N) remains silent. He grabs her by the middle, hosting her over his shoulder. "Put me down!" (Y/N) shouts as he begins to walk. "Oh! I see. You'd rather be dragged on the ground, huh?" Heisenberg says, stopping. "No." (Y/N) says, quickly. "That's what I fuckin' thought." He says, hand resting on the bad of her thighs. It didn't seem like he really cared about the wound on her thigh.(Y/N) starts to feel blood rush to her head. The man was carrying her at an uncomfortable angle. She grunts, wiggling to adjust herself. "Quit movin'." Heisenberg barks, slapping the back of her injured thigh. (Y/N) flinches letting out a pained sound. She dangles from his shoulder like a ragdoll. This was embarrassing to say the least. He was treating her like a sack of potatoes.
After what felt like a month, they reached some sort of plant. A factory maybe? This was all surreal. A whirring sound is heard and (Y/N) is walked through a door. "Welcome to your new home." Heisenberg chuckles. "This isn't my home." She snaps, hitting his back with her chained wrists. "Now you've done it." He says, before throwing her down on the floor. (Y/N) hisses, her leg aching. "Look, this us how it's gonna be." He starts, kneeling down to an eye level stance. "You ain't gonna cause trouble and your gonna do what I say. You hear?" He says. "You may need some trainin'," He pauses, eyes hinting some darkness,
"But you'll fuckin' learn."
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blue hour.
demon!au!dabi x reader nsfw; find the sequel here
Inspired (sorta) by this post. This was initially a 400 followers celebration fic but took so long I got to 500, plus it’s Halloween!! 🎃🎃🎃
i listened to Mothica’s song Blue Hour while i wrote this and honestly fell in love with it. hence the name! please go give her a listen!
Minors, go away. This content is not for you.
Warnings: brief description of kidnapping, tiny mentions of religion (nonspecified tho!) and human sacrifice, injury + blood mention, foul language, brief cremation, Dabi being horny (hehe), Dabi absolutely 100% not using magic on you nope, thigh fucking, orgasm denial, biting, dirty talk, degradation?, spanking, overstimulation, dumbification if you squint?
Words: 14k+
Summary: Kidnapped and held as an offering to an ominous demon, you thought your death was near. Soon enough you find your captor dead and the demon you were offered to becomes your savior. Dabi clearly has plans for you, but what are they? Or was everything just a dream?
Your heartbeat thrummed within your ears, sweat sweltering and becoming a thick layer on your skin all over, making the fabric of your clothes cling to it ever-so-uncomfortably. It felt like you were being smothered from head to toe in fabric. The cooled blood that began just above your temple and trickled all the way down your face and neck had dried by now, acting as a crusty reminder of the reason behind the throbbing in your head. Trees swayed in the chilly winds that passed, making the cool air even colder - yet here you were, sweating like there was no tomorrow. You were bound by the wrists and ankles to a musty wooden pole in a forest you’d never seen before, the sky dark yet bright for the blue moon. The stars looked so free, so beautiful, so serene tonight. Yet you didn’t feel it.
Your breathing was quick, panicked, and hurried to the extent that you’d take in more oxygen by breathing less. Your poor, puffy lip was numb from having been chewed on so much, to the point where you couldn’t remember whether you were a chronic lip biter or not; but you sure were, now. That is, until he gagged you by tying an old handkerchief around your face. You struggled against your scratchy, dry restraints so much, they began to dig into your skin and bleed, sending a trail of blood down your arms and a jolt of burning, throbbing, stinging pain through your nerves.
You were far from alone.
The only other human body you knew of was the one who put you in the position you currently find yourself in after a night of dancing, booze, and sweat. The inebriation from the alcohol made you an easy target, you guessed. God damn it all.
The night began with your celebrating a friend’s birthday at a club, drinking, dancing, and making merry. You had regretted agreeing to go at first after having a long, agonizingly tiring day at work, which gave you the burning desire to wrap up after a bath and lay in bed until the next day when you’d have to get up again. But as the night progressed, you were glad you tagged along; after all, it was an unexpectedly nice release after a bad day.
Now you were regretting it again.
If only you hadn’t gone to the club.
If only hadn’t agreed even if begrudgingly to go.
If only you hadn’t left your apartment.
You made the mistake of trying to find a bathroom on your own and ended up in an alleyway. The last thing you saw was a filthy dumpster before it all went black, and upon waking you found yourself bound in this horrifying forest.
Around you was a circular dirt clearing bordered with a solid line and filled with various marks made upon it, ones that you’d never seen before. They looked to be of a lost, long-dead language - the language your masked captor was evidently speaking as he sat on his knees with his hands in the air before a makeshift altar of a sort. There was some distance between him and the altar, probably about two meters, that being the same distance he sat from you as you watched in horror.
He was going to kill you, but not before torturing you - or other things. For some hideous purposes that looked a lot to do with a demon or something. All because you were a virgin that just so happened to cross his path.
You tried making noises, tried screaming, but it made no difference. He wouldn’t stop his hideous chanting and no one could hear you anyway. The thick forest swallowed your every scream and the gag held back your every cry. More tears run down your cheeks at your predicament, your struggling against your binds only digging into and stinging your skin as piping hot blood continued to trail down your tender wrists and ankles. It felt like frostbite was setting in. Was it actually, or was it your nerves?
A pillar of black smoke began to rise from the ground in front of your masked captor, who then bowed with his forehead to the ground. Your own heart was beating in your ears so quickly you thought it would explode any minute. If only it would - you wouldn’t have to endure this any longer.
“What... the hell do you want?” you hear a voice boom, distorted in such a way that made it sound like it echoed a thousand times. “Filthy human.”
“Your favor, my lord. I offer you this virgin.”
You try screaming again, your throat beginning to feel scratchy and dry. It almost felt like it was bleeding. Could it be bleeding? Your mind was almost a haze, now.
You can see a form emerge from the ground where the black smoke stands, and you’re stunned and scared into total silence as you see the silhouette of two large wings and a pointed tail. Other than that, the silhouette appears mostly human. But it’s not.
“My favor, eh?” you hear the voice again. The silhouette swings his arm and with it vanishes the smoke, and the reality that this... thing isn’t human finally settles in your heart. His hair is black and spiky, there are pieces of what look to be burnt flesh under his minty eyes and the lower half of his face, bound to the unblemished skin by silvery staples that seemed to spit steam. Three dotted piercings adorned his nose, and plenty more his ears. His wings reminded you of a bird’s with feathers and all, and they were a flat charcoal in colour, albeit they seemed a little worse for wear and severely burnt. The demon’s horns poked out from each side of his forehead and curled around like that of a ram’s. He wore a dark, simple cloak.
You almost wondered if he had goat hooves for feet.
He looks down on the human who summoned him, literally and figuratively, it seemed. His eyes narrow viciously at the man, before jolting to you - and you, honest to all that exists, feel what you can only think of as a bolt of lightning course through every nerve - no, cell - of your body before it feels like your heart stops beating. You can feel the blood coursing in your veins, and it’s ice-cold, all of this forcing you to tense every muscle you’re able. He looks away and you’re instantly back to normal, slouching in your restraints.
“Is this asshole bothering you, little one?” the voice of what’s clearly a demon rings.
“I-I beg your pardon, m’lord Dabi?”
“Shut your trap, moron.” Clusters of the brightest, bluest flames you’d ever seen erupt above each of the demon’s eyes and he leans downward to grab the man by his neck, before easily lifting him in the air as the human choked. “Y’know, back in the day, sacrifices in some cultures were an honor. It was seen as a gift, a way to serve ancient - nonexistent, mind you - gods. People vied to become a sacrificial lamb. I’m ancient, too, you know that.”
The human man stammers and stutters, trying to say something coherent but failing out of fear.
Dabi lets the man rest his feet on the ground as he jerks your captor to look at you, and you want to just shrink into yourself. “What the fuck is that, huh? Do you see the fear in her eyes? The bruises covering her body? The blood seeping down her arms as she fights against that rope? Does that look like a willing sacrifice to you? Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think she is willing at all.”
You blink. What? How? Why?
“You piss me off.”
Dabi throws the masked man to the ground away from him, then raising his palm into the air and summoning flames to filter out of the ground. They swallow him hole, and whilst he’s screaming in agony and burning alive, the demon turns on his heel and saunters your way. “Well, this is quite a mess, eh, dear?” His eyebrows are pointed upward, almost as if the gentle tone behind his words is sincere, yet almost as if there is deviance behind them.
You can’t help but gulp at the look in his eyes. Smile and arch his brows as he might, he was still clearly a demon unfitting of your trust. Right? He was going to hurt you. Surely.
His hands reach up for your face and you shut your eyes tight and turn away.
Much to your surprise, fingers work away at the handkerchief splitting open your poor, stretched, and saliva-coated lips, and you nearly gasp at the relief of pressure on them, the ache in your cheeks quite apparent and downright agonizing. Not only that, but the corners of your mouth were rubbed raw, and you weren’t sure if there was saliva mixing with more saliva, or blood mixing with saliva at the site. Dabi drags a finger from the corner of your mouth up to your cheek to wipe away the tears staining your skin, and you have no strength to fight the shiver that runs up your spine as your eyes fall half-lidded.
“Fuck me, you’re lookin’ a bit worse for wear, little one,” you hear him coo. “Easy, babe. You’re alright. That ugly, scary man’s all gone.” He seems to chuckle at the irony, before a toothy smirk splits his lips. His teeth are sharp, certainly enough to puncture skin without much effort, and you shiver again.
You’re quickly relieved of your bounds, but with the little strength you have left, you’re not able to stand on your own and collapse into his chest, spent and sore. He’s warm. It’s... nice. Fuzzy. Cloudy. Soft. Where are you, again? What’s going on? Why is everything spinning?
Everything fades to black.
:·•·:
You groan and turn over in your bed, pulling the fluffy covers up closer to your head as your body ached. You were warm and settled in, nothing could make you leave the comforts of your bed, yet you knew you needed to. To explain the achy joints, you tried reminiscing the night before. You remembered that night. Parts of it, anyway. When you tried to remember the feeling of being bound or the blood trickling down your wrists, nothing came up. When you tried remembering the chanting of your captor - nothing. It seemed that any parts which could be deemed... unsavory were gone from your memory. You brought your wrists up and felt around them and-
Also gone were any wounds.
It was odd. You could remember it all happening, but at the same time, you couldn’t. Must’ve been some whacked out dream induced by the alcohol.
You had no want to, but you sat up in bed and reached over to your nightstand to switch he clock around so you could see it. It read about half an hour after midday, and you sighed. How long were you asleep? You picked up your phone from the nightstand and switched it on, your heart leaping into your throat at the amount of notifications. Texts, emails, calls, there were dozens upon dozens of them.
“How long was I asleep?!” you shriek.
“Enough to nearly get evicted.”
Your head jolts up so quickly you hear your neck crack, and you see the demon leaning against the wall in front of your bed. You can’t help but gasp and scoot away, your back banging against the headboard of your bed. It wasn’t a dream.
He waves his hand lazily. “But don’t worry, I got it covered. Congrats, you have free rent for life, now.” His wings, horns, and tail are all gone, and he almost looks human, save for the staples and scars. You guess he can’t change his appearance much. Perhaps he doesn’t want to.
The teeth showing off from his smirk look just as sharp as before, however.
Your eyes are drawn to the huggies piercing the cartilage of his ears. They’re as shiny and plentiful as you remember. Your heart rate spikes, and you begin to breathe heavily.
“That soreness is probably from you bein’ out so long, sweets,” he comments, arms crossed in front of his chest, his right ankle also crossed over his left. His voice is smooth and a clear attempt at comforting you - yet there’s something behind it.
“Th-thank you. For saving me, and... the rent... I guess.” You hoped he would leave if you thanked him. Why else would he stick around?
He only shrugs, though. “Sorry, little one, but you’re not special. That sacrifice wasn’t done right in the first place.”
‘Ouch!’
Ah, you remembered that, now. But you couldn’t remember his name.
“What’s your name?” you ask hesitantly. He’s obviously not going to kill you by now. Why would he stick around?
“Dabi.”
“That’s it?” You tilt your head. You were surprised at how... nonchalant you were beginning to feel about this. The longer he stood there, the more it felt normal.
“That’s it, dollface.”
:·•·:
He ended up not having goat hooves for feet.
You knew there was a catch to being saved by that demonic bastard.
Aside from the fact that he wouldn’t leave you alone, keeping a demon cooped up in your apartment wasn’t easy. It especially wasn’t easy when said demon was constantly on your heels, pressed right up against your back. Personal space was not in his vocabulary. Dabi was constantly up to something, and he loved to harass or scare your neighbors with his devilish form; it was just too easy. “What else have I got to do while you’re gone all day?” he’d say. “Gotta entertain myself, somehow, doll.”
Apparently, it had been a long time since someone had summoned him at all, let alone with an offering of some kind. He hadn’t seen the mortal realm in hundreds of years, and because you were offered to him, he decided to stick around you. You only agreed to it as long as he never left your apartment.
Well, technically. He wasn’t actually giving you a choice, he was going to stick around anyway. Dabi so loved giving innocent mortals the impression that they were in control when they never truly were. The demon practically got off on the idea of giving a helpless little thing like you a false sense of security.
Having him essentially stuck to your hip, you couldn’t let him cause any trouble with the human world, be it harmless pranks or downright murder; hence why you left a line of salt in front of every opening to your place one day, to keep him home. He was a curious demon, a sketchy one.
And a bit of a horny one, at that.
If the groping or peeking in on your showers wasn’t enough of a clue, the fact that he did everything else in his power to seduce you certainly was.
Demons don’t sleep. They’re immortal, they don’t need to. Yet, as you lay snuggled up in your bed at night, he always snuck in with you to poke and prod at you, the exchange usually ending with you kicking him out of bed - sometimes literally. Other times, he’d randomly lean into your ear and say the filthiest things you’d ever heard - and then some, obviously - to get a rise out of you, giving him the opportunity to tease you about unconsciously clenching your thighs, whether it was for friction or out of denial.
You were starting to think he was a damn incubus.
But no, he denied that. He looked almost insulted when you made the insinuation before explaining that incubi and succubi are one and the same, changing back and forth between male and female. First as a succubus, the demon collects... “seed,” and then transforms into an incubus to “plant” it. He could change his physical appearance if he so wished, but he never had much want or need to, save for hiding away or using his devilish form; nor could he procreate, he was so proud to tell you.
It seemed the fact that you were a virgin only spurred him on to seduce you. With Dabi being the vile and damned being that he is, you thought he wouldn’t give a damn (ha) if you consented or not at first. The thought was honestly horrifying. Yet not once had he forced you or went too far. It was “poor taste,” he once said, there being no fun in it. You wondered if his rule of consenting sacrifices played a part in his discipline.
And of course, Dabi would go on about how badly he, a demon, an unsavory being to say the least, wanted to be the one to take your virginity and “defile” you, “the pure, innocent treat that you are.”
Defile? Really?
And treat?
‘Pick better wording next time you sex-starved, pointy-tail-having, staple-wearing, horned son of a bitch,’ you thought sarcastically, shoving dishes into their proper places after having dried them. He’d left you alone for most of the day, talking to you and treating you like he was a normal human being. ‘Then, maybe I’d consider letting you get your dick wet.’
Would you, though?
Nah...
Right.
One of the plates was a little wet still, and managed to slip out of your hand and shatter on the counter in front of you. You yelped when a shard cut into your palm after you’d instinctively reached to catch the plate, failing miserably. “Dammit,” you mutter, holding your left hand up to inspect the cut. From the looks of it, no stitches were needed, but it still stung like hell.
You should’ve known better than to think he cooled his jets for the day, because in an instant he’s standing next to your left side and reaching for your wrist.
“It’s fine, just a tiny cut,” you mutter, quirking a brow as he seemingly glares at the wound. “I think I’ve got a first-aid kit somewhere... Have to keep it clean, at least.”
“Nah, don’t need it,” he mutters, before pulling your hand toward his mouth. His tongue slithers out from between his lips and drags along the cut in your palm, the wet appendage searing against your skin.
A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation, and yet another soars when you see the hungry, predatory look in his eyes, which are fixed on your wound. You can’t help the gulp that sounds from your tight throat, or the yelp that fights out of your lips when his whole mouth latches onto the fatty part of your thumb where the cut is. Your knees begin to feel weak and your eyes fall half-lidded.
Dabi sucks on the flesh there, licking the wound occasionally as well. His eyes then flicker to yours, and they burn into you like no other ever has. You feel the heat of a blush trail up your neck and to your cheeks and ears, your heart thrumming in your chest and lips slowly falling open just a tad as he licks away at the opening in your skin.
“Ah-“
The demon pulls away with a pop from one final suck of your flesh, whilst a trail of his saliva - do demons have saliva?! - hung between your hand and his mouth. “See? Take a look.” He pushes your hand towards your view, and amidst the clear wetness on your skin, you see no wound at all.
Your mind flips back to the wounds you should have had from that night.
“Back then... did you... y’know...”
“Naah. There’s spells and the like for bigger stuff like that,” he explains nonchalantly with a shrug. He almost seems proud of himself with his next line. “Tiny paper cuts like this can be taken care of with good ol’ fashioned demon spit. It’s nice, huh?”
You deadpan at him. “No, it’s totally gross.”
Dabi chuckles at you, waving a hand as if to wave you off. “Admit it. Your virgin ass enjoyed it.” His words are crass, but you know he’s only teasing and they’re not meant to insult.
Yet it still riles you up.
That heat crawls up your neck again, and you huff at him. “Shut up!” you gripe, then turning away from him to at least try to clean up the dish shards. There was nothing wrong with being a virgin! A lot of people wait for the right person, or they just aren’t ready. People have their reasons, and there’s no shame in it! Just like there’s no shame in being the opposite. As long as it’s healthy, that’s all that matters!
“Jerk! You seem to forget whose apartment you’re squatting in!” you grumble, scooting the pieces of the plate you broke together - ever so gently - with a washcloth from the sink. “I could kick you out, y’know.” You forgot for a short moment that he managed to achieve free rent for life for you, but you told yourself it wouldn’t matter anyway. It was still your apartment, after all.
“Really, now?” The demon scoffs, then leaning against the counter and crossing his arms - clearly at you. “How would you go about that, little mouse?” His tone is unconvinced and sultry, the look on his face painted with doubt.
You avoided eye contact with him and perused the kitchen for a plastic bag before marching back to the mess of plate shards and trying to sweep them off the counter and into the bag. “I’d exorcise you,” you mutter. Finding a priest in this area would prove difficult, but you could manage to find one willing to travel. You could do it if needed.
Dabi only laughs you off, though. The sound is smooth and velvety, yet you’re left to describe it as littered with smoke and ecstasy. “C’mon, doll! That wouldn’t work,” he says finally. “Besides, we both know you don’t wanna do that. You like havin’ my sorry ass around too much, eh?”
“Ha! You’re right about you being a sorry ass,” you sass with a huff before tossing the bag into the waste-bin.
Oddly enough, while you’d never tell Dabi this and end up stroking his already massive ego, you felt safer with him around. It was hard to pinpoint why. Nothing had happened for him to be called to protect you; however, you lived in a less than savory part of town, which wasn’t entirely unbearable, but shit still happens. And you’ve already been abducted once, leading to your acquaintance with this horny (I’m more ways than one) asshole. Maybe it was because you knew part of what he can do, all that aside. Push comes to shove, he’d protect you, right?
That was a nice thought to have, if a bit naive, you thought.
He was a demon, not a guardian angel of some sort. He had no obligations to you.
Yet here he was, still living with you over a month after that awful night.
Your thoughts are completely swept away when you’re pushed by the hips against the counter with your back to it, your hands instinctively bracing the edge on each side of your hips for support. The demon’s face is immediately in front of yours, his breath easily filling your nostrils with an ashen smell. You see those horns of his again and have to fight the urge to reach up and grab one, maybe even give it a tug. He’d probably cremate you for it.
Could he hear your thoughts? Previous instances somewhat insinuated that he could, but he never admitted to it - or denied it.
Dabi was right. You don’t want to get rid of him. Especially not when he’s looking at you like that. There is an intensity in those half-lidded, fiery eyes of his that has never before been directed at you by anyone, and it leaves you wishing you could read his thoughts. Are his eyes merely looking at your own, or are they bearing into your soul, calculating and appraising it?
What you can tell is that it’s full of impatience and want. Greed. Lust. And so much of it all.
You tilt your chin down a bit and look up at him with a gulp quietly. You can’t think of anything to say, and tension builds within your chest as you search; you feel as if that silence ought to be filled, yet here you are, at a loss for words as you stare at your own reflection in his glossy eyes. On the other hand, he seems totally content letting you lie in it, letting you squirm for him as he smirks.
And so you look away, bringing your hands to your chest and holding them there bashfully. The sleeves of your sweater are soft and warm and plush - just how Dabi would describe you right now.
This maneuver of yours not being what he wanted, Dabi scowls a bit and grabs your chin to essentially force you to look at him, his thumb ghosting over the softness of your lower lip. He tilts his head at you almost curiously, perhaps evaluating your reaction as it’s been so long since he has seen or felt the mortal world. Those eyes narrow at you, though not out of ire. Dabi’s thumb pokes at the crevice between your lips, and the rest of his fingers on your jaw tug downward.
Confused, you comply anyway and part your lips for him, only for his thumb to invade your mouth and press hard on your tongue, coaxing you to gag and instinctively grasp both hands on his wrist. You attempt to pull it away, to relieve the pressure in your mouth, but he doesn’t want that.
Hell, in reality, neither do you. You just don’t feel like gagging and clouding your vision with tears.
Aw, you poor dear.
With a contemplative hum he pulls his appendage out of your mouth and holds it not far from your mouth, as if planning another venture into your wet cavern. You can’t help but stare at the string of saliva still connecting your lips and his hand as it glistens in the low lighting of your kitchenette.
“Open back up for me,” he huskily demands, but it’s not cruel and dictating, so you comply, entranced as if under a spell. But you know you’re not. This time, it’s his forefinger and middle finger that roam between your teeth, and as if he had told you to do so telepathically, you close your lips around them. With an innocent, doll-eyed look, you suck his fingers and lick at them with your tongue, earning yourself hushed praises and a searing trail of touches up your ribcage and back down. You continue to lick away, occasionally wrapping your tongue around his digits or cradling them as you suck on them, coating them in your saliva as some of it trails out one of the corners of your mouth. They feel cold, as if there was a lack of circulation, and it only spurs you on to warm them with the toasty cavern of your mouth and soft plushness of your tongue.
You’re sure you’re less than apt at this, but the praise and touch you’re receiving helps you feel less... off.
Dabi leans in for your ear, his hot breath against your cartilage sending a chill down your spine before his wet tongue laps at it, and you jump in your skin at the burning, completely unknown sensation. It’s so hot it almost stings, but it’s not painful; tingly, maybe. In the process you lean away to your left a bit, at which he seems to pause. But then you lean back as if to tell him to go on, and you can nearly hear the simper he gives just before he latches onto your ear, licking and nibbling away as you tremble and whimper around his fingers. The heat at your core throbs in tandem with your racing heartbeat, creating a melody of your arousal that you hoped only you could witness.
But you knew better than to doubt the senses of a demon.
“You’re doin’ good, doll,” he breathes into your ear, aggravating the sound of blood flushing through your ears and the thump of your heartbeat. “Such a good girl for me...”
The digits in your mouth get a little adventurous and explore your wet cavern a bit, but they’re quick to push down on your tongue again and you gag around them. Tears start to pool within your eyelids and your whimper is stuck in your throat.
The demon then unceremoniously pulls his fingers from your mouth to reach down at the hem of your sweater and yank it up over the swell of your chest, leaving your torso and bra-covered breasts bare. Dabi seems to drink up the sight of you as if it were a sweet wine he hadn’t indulged in for centuries. Both his hands then trail ghostly fingers - really, they felt like spiders - up your belly and to your sternum. You shiver and a mewl fights out of your throat unexpectedly, your back arching unintentionally toward him as you clutch onto his forearms. Dabi lets out a hot breath, just thereafter his hands roughly squeeze your breasts through your bra as he grinds his pelvis against yours, the outline of his hardened cock clear as day against you. You don’t even try to fight back the moan it elicits as your head droops back at the stimulation.
Why bother, right?
The inhuman entity before you takes the opportunity to use your open mouth, his own latching into yours and tongue exploring your mouth in a battle for dominance you have absolutely no hope to win as he makes a mushy mess of you. You accidentally lacerate your tongue on the sharp point of one of Dabi’s teeth and flinch a bit, the sting on your tongue nearly coaxing you to pull away while the taste of iron floods your mouths. That tase you could certainly live without only encourages him, as Dabi growls and grips the base of your neck to hold your head in place as he quite metaphorically devours your tongue with his own, before his teeth latch onto your lower lip and you squeak in surprise as he pulls away.
“Aw, what’s’a matter, little mouse?” Dabi taunts, left palm dropping to rub against your clothed sex.
“Ah, Dabi-!” You jolt at the sudden stimulation on your clit and breathe in hard. Even if there are a couple layers keeping his bare hand from touching you, if feels damn good to have someone else touch you like this. Ripples of warmth flood through you and you feel your body temperature rocketing. Your own breath feels as though it’s on fire as it leaves your heavily salivated mouth and bloody lips in rabid succession, alongside your increasingly rapid heartbeat. Your grip on his firm arms tightens and you resist the urge to grind against him as he continues his ministrations. “Fuck...” Your lips throbbed, yet you weren’t sure if it was from the tiny wounds he created or your blood pressure spiking.
“Hm?” The demon hums, inquisitive and high in pitch - yet maybe condescending. “‘Fuck,’ huh?” His grip on the back of your neck relaxes only slightly before his tongue pokes out of his mouth and drags along your lower lip, lapping away at the blood pooling there and drawing a slight whine from you. “What about it? You sayin’ you want me to fuck you, doll? Tell me.”
Blood rushes to your face like there was a race and your eyes wander from his bashfully, instead choosing to look at the horns cutting through his spiky black hair. He’s right, you do, you have to admit it. But admitting it out loud was embarrassing! With a gulp you elect to simply nod, but his brows furrow and he’s clearly unimpressed considering the animalistic growl that claws out of his throat.
“Hey, I’ve been locked away from you humans for so long, y’know,” he breathes, his voice dark and low. “I’m a bit behind on gestures. You have to tell me.” This time, you can tell by the almost playful tone of his voice that he’s really lying and just trying to make you admit it aloud. Dabi’s palm leaves you before moving up to the waistband of your jeans while his other hand snakes up your neck and latches onto a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, say it. Where’s all that spunk from earlier? You’re all bark and no bite, little one.”
“Y-yes, Dabi. I... I want you to fuck me.” You finally meet his eyes again, and the hunger in them from before hasn’t faded at all; it’s only deepened. What else has changed was the hunger and arousal in your own eyes.
That smirk appears again and Dabi leans into your ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he parrots, “do you? You want my demon cock to take your virginity and fill you up? You want me to fuck you against this counter until your voice gives out? You’re a slut after all, little one. Beg like one, then.”
Your thighs clench together and you gulp. This was... not how you fantasized your first time to carry out. “Demon cock” was not something you’d ever thought you would hear someone say.
But who cares? Not you.
“Yes, please. Please!” You tug at his jacket in an attempt to coax him toward you, your knuckles turning white from your grip. “Please, fuck me with your demon cock...” Your this time voice is less loud and demanding, albeit it’s more desperate and pleading. “Please.” Your voice breaks this time.
Nor was it something you thought you would ever say.
A groan rumbles from Dabi’s chest. “Good little human. Keep it up, yeah?”
You squeak as he roughly yanks your sweater over your head before working to unbutton your jeans, his lips and teeth savoring your neck all the while. Your head cranes back again, a mute gasp leaving you at the sensation of his searing tongue on your recently sweat-slicked neck as his fingers work to remove your bra before they move onto yanking your panties down. At least, you thought he yanked them down, but a quick glance to the floor revealed he ripped them off, rendering them unusable.
“I liked those!” you whine, still panting.
“Tough luck. I didn’t.” It’s not like you need to wear panties around him anyway. He’d burn every pair you owned to mere ashes if it meant getting you to waltz around your apartment with no panties. They just got in the way.
“Daabi! Why would you-
“Oh god!”
You jump and thrust against Dabi’s hand when his fingers run through the slick of your soaked cunt, your breathing ragged, while he gathers the slick abundant there and edges toward your clit. His tactic coaxes ripples of pleasure that lull a low moan out of you.
“Ha,” he scoffs in your ear, “no gods have anything to do with it, babydoll.”
Dabi’s fingers finally work their way to your clit and circle around it a few times before rubbing in a steady rhythm around it. You moan at the combination of the bliss he gives you and the pet name, and your legs instinctively open wider for him as you mewl.
“I’m really not sure you are a virgin, doll,” he starts with a chuckle, “You’re fuckin’ soaked, you know that? Like a slut begging for my dick.”
“D-Dabi!” You flinch at the sinful words he’s spitting at you, embarrassed.
The demon’s digits leave your clit and trail back through your folds, and the wet, lewd sounds that result almost surprise you more than the fact that you want to fuck a demon. You buck your hips in hopes of encouraging his fingers back to your clit, albeit his other hand distracts you with a flick to your nipple, before it rubs circles over the sensitive nub as the rest of his hand palms at your tit.
“Ah, feels so good,” you find yourself muttering.
In response his ear seems to twitch. “Speak up.” His lips are sucking and nipping at your neck, either ignoring or enjoying the layer of sweat built up on your skin as the heat coming from his body begins to overwhelm you. Not that you mind either way. He’s definitely leaving a mark here and there as he works around your neck. Not that you mind either way.
“Your fingers... ah, feel so good!” Your head cranes backward, your hands dropping to the counter against your ass for support as your legs begin to feel weak. The shockwaves of pleasure his hands send through your nerves leaves you feeling weak and mushy.
“Good. Now hold still.”
You give a confused look, eyebrows pointed upward before you feel the tip of his digit poke at your weeping hole, eliciting a loud gasp from you when his finger plunges into your pussy with no reserve. You hiss at the sudden intrusion, you walls stretching pleasurably yet painfully as he slowly moves his finger around, letting you adjust. His other hand merely plays with your breast.
Biting your lip, you lean forward and plant your sweaty, flushed forehead on his shoulder. “Hey, it kinda hurts,” you whine.
“Just relax, doll.” Dabi’s voice isn’t as crass as it was before, nor is it entirely soothing. You figure he just doesn’t have it in him to coddle you, being a demon and all that.
You whimper as Dabi ever so slowly thrusts his finger in and out, the mixture of pleasure and pain not at all what you’d expected. When his finger hits a spongy spot, you jolt and moan for him, and he takes the opportunity to take over your mouth again in a wet, hurried kiss with a groan. Dabi swallows any and all sounds that you make, and in the process you feel the hand on your tit move downward to your hip before it swings around and wraps under your thigh to lift your knee up to his hip level. The muscles of your legs tensing and the choked moan in your throat tell him the pain is starting to very slowly fade away. At the realization, he carefully dips another finger into you and you moan, higher in pitch, into his mouth before he pulls away to stare at the sight of his fingers fucking into you for only a short moment. Dabi is then quick to shove his tongue back into your salivating mouth.
The lithe digits within your wet walls pick up pace gradually, giving you time to adjust and not barreling into you. By now there is still a barely-there stretch, and all the pain has essentially faded as the assault on your nerves takes place and you near an orgasm. Your eyes lull shut and your head cranes back, your hips almost thrusting involuntarily on his fingers as his pace keeps increasing and pushing you over the edge.
“I’m- ah, I think I’m...”
Dabi hums as if requesting you repeat yourself or perhaps simply acknowledging your sputtering, but you’re too busy moaning louder and and thrusting into the palm of his hand, to do so, as the coil between your legs tightens. His fingers graze over that same spot as before and you cry out for him, for which his fingers increase their pace even more rapidly and slam into that spot over and over and over again as he groans at the lewd, wet squelching resulting.
“Shit! I’m gonna cum, Dabi, I’m gonna cum!”
“Do it. Cum for me, babydoll.” His voice is much more authoritative and huskier, and as per Dabi’s demand you cry out almost loud enough for your neighbors to hear as your orgasm slams into you like a tsunami of pleasure crashing into your nerves. Your soft, hot walls convulse around his fingers in your release as he uses them to fuck you through your first orgasm of the night, with your hips still thrusting toward him uncontrollably as you go through your high and begin to climb down, panting.
Your head feels light in the best way possible and your legs are weak, so you whine lowly as he pulls his fingers from your heat with a pleased sigh. The second your legs give out, he catches you by the ribs before grabbing your trembling hips and lifting you onto the counter, with you latching onto him and holding tight all the while, your forehead on his shoulder and arms around his neck while your legs wrap around his hips.
Dabi drags the tips of his fingers up and down your spine, sending a jolt of calming, electric waves up your spinal cord as he repeatedly kisses your hair and ear on the side accessible to him.
“Atta girl,” he mutters into your hair.
Do you... thank him? He’s giving you a compliment, after all, right? Do you nod? Do you hum? You have the energy to do all three, but what response does he expect of you?
“I didn’t... do anything,” you mutter quietly, chest rising and falling in quick succession.
“Technically. Doesn’t matter because you will, soon.” He leans into your ear like he’s so fond of doing, his lips grazing your earlobe. “We’re not done, doll.”
Your legs twitch around him unconsciously, eliciting a deep, amused chuckle from the demon.
You see pointed pearly whites bear at you before he lifts you off the countertop and plops you down in front of him. Dabi’s hand squeezes your ass cheek, said hand then spinning you around to put your back to his chest. Searing breath on the back of your ear makes it twitch. “You’re wet and all, doll, but I’m not sure you’re wet enough,” he taunts, his hands splaying out on your abdomen and gently roaming around, fingers spread wide as they adore your body.
“For what?” Dabi’s chest against your back prevents you from turning around and giving him a confused look.
“My cock. What else?” he jabs.
Your curt reply is totally cut off and forgotten when you feel a wet tongue singe the side of your neck toward the back, and you gasp shakily.
“What to do, what to do...?” you hear Dabi whisper into your now-pebbled skin, his hands ghosting down toward your thighs.
“Oh.”
Remaining silent yourself, you could feel the damn lightbulb light up in the bastard’s horned head, but you didn’t know what exactly would entail.
Before you can ask what the hell he was on about, his fingers drove between your glistening folds and prod around, as if measuring the lewd slick settling there. They quickly pull away after a quick hum from Dabi.
“Be a good little human and bend over, yeah?”
Without a word or thought against it you comply, bending over your countertop and leaning on your elbows a little. You gulp at the thought of your leaking cunt bearing for Dabi. You weren’t sure what he could see from this position, but you were a little embarrassed, nonetheless. With a gulp you shift your weight back and forth on your feet nervously.
Hands rub and palm at your ass cheeks as thumbs rub deeply into your flesh in a symphony of soothing touch. You sigh blissfully and spread your legs for the demon without realizing, but it’s over all too quickly when he instead moves your legs back together. You crane your neck to look at him. “Wha...?”
Wasn’t he going to fuck you from behind?
Suddenly the weeping tip of his cock slips between your thighs, gliding against your dripping cunt and through your folds. There’s no piercing despite his many others, though perhaps that was why he asked you to take him to a parlor not long ago.
Dabi’s cock manages to grace your clit and your body unwillingly jolts a little, still having been sensitive from your previous orgasm. A soft gasp leaves your swollen lips and you hear Dabi growl behind you while he pulls back from your ass end only to jut forward again. Legs beginning to tire out, you unconsciously spread them, only for his hands to push them together roughly.
“Don’t fuckin’ spread ‘em,” he hissed, hips holding still. The fingers on your thighs push deep with force sure to leave bruises while you hiss quietly at the stinging pain they bring to your nerves. But that sensation is quick to fade into something warm and euphoric yet electric and sensitive, causing your head to spin even though he’s not fucking your desperate pussy. He pistons his hips into your ass, and you mewl.
“That’s your last warning, fuck!” he grunts.
You nod vigorously, content with letting him fuck your thighs so long as he keeps grazing your puffy clit like this. His pace quickens and soon enough you hear loud skin slapping against skin, his hips jutting into your ass and balls pattering against the crevice between the soft flesh of your thighs. The quick pace and silkiness of his cock against your clit is euphoric, leaving you to wonder if it would be better than this if he were inside of you. Are you drooling? Your head droops lazily as you revel in pleasure.
The wetness and heat between your legs has increased several-fold, but it’s apparently not enough for Dabi. Your poor body rocks against the counter and your eyes are clenched shut, head fixated on the sensation of his cock grinding against your cunt and between your soft, drenched thighs. You weren’t sure if it was the position or your nerves going haywire, but your legs ached with a dreadful burn.
“D-Daaabi,” you whine pitifully, “my legs... aah, hurt...!”
A hand jumps to your navel and brings you back toward him to allow room for his fingers slithering to your cunt. Before they graze over your clit, they stop. “Cum for me, then,” you hear him command, voice deep and breathy and sending a chill up your spine. “Maybe when you’re done, I’ll take you to the bed and fuck you into the mattress. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, doll?”
“Yes, b-but,” you suck in a breath when his hand envelops your tit, “‘maybe?’” You parrot the word desperately, your head going blank as you near orgasm.
“Mhm.” You can hear the smirk in it, and the sound of the hum rumbling in his chest is oddly euphoric for you to hear.
You hated having him behind you like this. All you wanted in the moment was to latch onto him and relish in his heat no matter how intense it would be for a mortal like you. You wanted to touch him, to be able to see him, and he was depriving you of it all - very likely on purpose.
Your moans and squeals get higher in pitch and Dabi evidently picks up on your cues, thrusting against your cunt faster and faster until your entire body tenses.
You cry out his name ever so quietly, yet before you can climax he pulls away and leaves you panting and weeping, a whine escaping your throat. “But you told me...!”
“Changed my mind.”
“You’re a jerk!” you half-gripe and half-whine, standing up to glare at him. “I was so... so close, you know! You better make it up to me!” You huff and puff from the intensity of almost cumming.
“You’re awful feisty when I’m not touching you,” he remarks cockily.
You’re going to regret saying what you said. At least, that’s what the look in his eyes tells you when he spins you around. It’s dark and already you shrink in front of him. The next thing you know, Dabi’s pushing you against the counter and mumbling something into you ear, that something being an incantation that sends a trickle of electricity though every nerve of your body. Suddenly you’re cumming hard as heavy waves of pleasure wrack your cunt clenching around nothing rapidly as whatever the demon used on you pushes you through your orgasm, your toes curling and lips shrieking, head falling back so fast it almost slammed into the cabinet if he hadn’t caught it. You don’t register that you had wrapped your arms around his waist until his hands grasp them as if holding you there.
“How’s that for makin’ it up to you, eh?”
With his voice pulling a moan out of you, your poor brain goes foggy and full and it spins within your skull as you pant away, your body feeling heavy. Dabi grabs hold of you and lifts you onto the countertop when it seems like your legs are going to give out. “Hey,” he mutters into your sweaty neck, “don’t tire out on me. I wanna fill that pussy up with my cum ‘til it’s dripping out.”
You feel heat rush from your heaving chest up your neck to your cheeks. “Stop... that! You pervert.”
Dabi chuckles at you. You weren’t prudish, you were inexperienced. “What? Stop what, hm?”
“Talking like... that.”
He only hums, though, and he’s not to comply with your request. “Ya know, if you weren’t a virgin, I’d take your ass, too. Or put you on your knees and shove my cock down your throat until you’re chokin’ on it. Fuck, you’d sound like an angel.” Dabi chuckles at his ironic comparison, seemingly proud of himself for it.
You shrink in front of him and shiver, the room feeling so cold. You glance at your bedroom door and he notices promptly.
“I’ll carry you, for a price.”
Your eyes flicker back to him and the simper he flashes you would’ve had you weak in the knees had you been standing.
“Like what, my soul?” It’s a slightly genuine, slightly snarky question.
“Your mouth.” Dabi waves a hand at your widened eyes. “Not tonight. Maybe next time. You won’t know up from down and I don’t feel like playing teacher more than I already am.”
The demon doesn’t wait for your snarky remark before he picks you up and lugs you to your bed. You let out a noise when he literally drops you onto the mattress, your form bouncing atop it before he pins you to the bed roughly, so quickly you get dizzy. He dips his hips between your legs and spreads them wide while his mouth delves into the crook of your sweat-coated neck to let him begin suckling and leaving stinging marks with sweet, little kisses peppered in between.
It seems he’s suddenly gone soft on you, but it won’t last, even if you don’t know it.
Your back arches against him, ready to finally feel his torrid body against yours so that you can relish in his warmth despite the fact that your body was soaked in sweat; you wanted so much more, you needed it. Your next moan is dealt without a care who can hear, and thereafter with you wrap your arms around his neck tightly. Dabi grabs your hips and squeezes the plump flesh before his hands roam down your thighs to your knees as he hikes your legs around his hips, with you far too eager not to comply.
“Dabi,” you breathe, and he hums with one of his hands still on your hip as the other supports his weight by your shoulder. “Kiss me. Please.” Your voice is desperate and needy, and you’re starting to think this is more than lust pushing you on.
Had he used another demonic spell on you?
When Dabi complies, his hips grind against you to allow his hardened cock to nudge the folds of your glistening pussy.
This time around, with his tongue prodding in your mouth at a slower, more passionate pace, you catch on and realize he has a tongue piercing. Your walls clench at the thought of what it would feel like licking stripes up and down your soaked cunt, wondering whether it would be cool to the touch or searing hot due to his body temperature.
Searing hot would be the answer, though you don’t know that as of now.
The demon grinds against you as he devours your mouth with his own, his weeping cock sliding through your your wet folds. On the other hand you’re careful not to cut your tongue on his teeth again, albeit he wouldn’t complain if you did; if anything he’d encourage it. Your hands splay on his hot back, and you wonder that if leaving them on his searing skin for too long will burn you. If it gave you the opportunity to roam your fingers over his muscles and caress the staples, goddamn would it be worth the burns. With a sigh into his mouth your hands move from his back to grab onto those horns you’d thought about, your grip gentle yet exploring as you try to focus on feeling the rough texture of them.
Dabi pulls away from you to pepper open-mouthed kisses among your jawline, growling all the while. “What’re you doing?” he brusquely asks between the wet gestures, and you croon. His voice was so rough and gravelly while the gestures were soft and... sweet. You almost dare to say it was heavenly.
“Just feelin’ ‘em, babydoll.”
You throw his pet name back at him purposefully, and the mockery elicits a dark chuckle from him. Ever so slowly, you were beginning to learn how to be more brazen. You were getting comfortable with him on this intimate level. You’d already been comfortable in some way with him living forcibly in your apartment for over a month, but not on this level, not like this.
The stapled hand on your leg disappears before it reappears in your hair and gives a pull - not a yank - to tilt your head back and further expose your neck. You expect him to ravage it with his mouth like earlier, but he stopped to admire his apparent handiwork. You can’t see the marks he’s left, albeit he’s apparently satisfied as he smirks.
“What’re you doing?” you mimic him playfully.
“Thinkin’ about how I want you, of course.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
In response, you huff at him.
“Let’s see,” he begins, moving closer to you, his breath fanning the lower half of your face as his eyes bore into your soul, “chest up against the wall, or on your hands and knees... hell, maybe just your knees...” He moves down so that his breath reaches just under your jaw, his eyes still staring intensely up at you while his hand slithers to your tit, rolling the hardened bud under his finger and you mewl. “...could always put you in a mating press and fuck you like a bitch in heat... I might even let you get on top, if you’re a good girl. Decisions, decisions, eh?”
“What,” you huff, “you mean, with all that whoring and harassing you did, you never thought this through?” You mirror his smirk with your own quirked brow while you rub the horns on his head, thoroughly enjoying their soft yet rippled texture.
“Oho, that’s the problem, doll. I’ve thought about it too much.” Dabi’s teeth put on a show for you to see from his widening smirk. Next thing you know, his fingers are pinching and tugging your nipple roughly for the first time and you keen under him from the shock before his wet mouth matches onto your other tit, tongue lulling over the bud. You mewl and flick your head back, chest heaving in your panting as you feel him suction onto your plump skin and suck away with a sopping, hot mouth, his low sigh into your skin blissful.
Your hands drop to his shoulders as a result of the distraction his mouth brings. Demonic saliva coats your tit and glistens in what little silvery moonlight filters through your blinds, all while you feel the pull of your leg over his right shoulder and prodding at your weeping heat with the tip of his cock.
“Ya know what?” he murmurs into your skin, “I wanna see these lovely tits of yours bounce.” With his other hand he guides the tip in and gives a moan at how warm and slick the entrance of your cunt is around him. And tight as hell, too. Of all the summons he could’ve answered, he answered the one that, unbeknownst to Dabi, lead to you, just on a whim. And fuck, if it wasn’t worth it.
You whine and writhe underneath him, needy as can be, as your entrance clenches around the head of his cock.
“Use your words, babydoll.”
You groan at him. “Just please hurry up and fuck me!”
“Your wish is my command...” Dabi’s voice is full of tease and mockery, which makes you want to bite his tongue.
Without any warning he sheaths his cock all the way into you as a groan escapes his throat, and you jolt at the sensation of suddenly being so goddamned full, your lustful gasp resonating off the walls of your bedroom. That one hard pump of his hips sends a wave up pleasure through your nervous system and the stretch of your tight walls leaves you wanting more. He’s much longer and thicker than his fingers, and you can’t help your cunt clenching around him like it does. The subconscious movement has Dabi groaning and panting out as you clench on his cock, and he still can’t help but relish in how fucking worth the wait you are.
That stretch of your cunt is back again, sweet and sinful as before. His cock brushes against all the right places, filling you up perfectly and having you drool for more.
Dabi holds still at least, though you can tell it won’t be for long.
“So goddamned tight,” he spits through his teeth against your neck, fighting the demanding of every cell in his body to fuck you like a rabid animal. Dabi’s hot breath fans over your neck, his teeth clenching as a result of your tightness around him.
His hips slowly start pushing and pulling to gently thrust his throbbing cock in and out of you, slowly letting you adjust before he can pick a normal pace.
...is what you thought he would do.
But nay, he begins with slow and agonizingly yet blissfully hard thrusts into your wet core, his grunts being drowned out by your wails and mewls as he slams into your sopping cunt. The lewd sounds of wet skin slapping slowly against skin and hot squelching mixes into it all, creating a melody of sin only you and Dabi share, that only the two of you can hear.
You were definitely going to hell, by now. But hey, good dick seemed worth the eternal damnation. Right?
With one particularly hard thrust, Dabi bites into the crook between your neck and shoulder, unexpectedly not breaking the skin, eliciting a cry from your parched throat and your eyes shut tight. The teeth latching onto your skin feel less sharp and more human, as he’s morphed them not to tear into your flesh and draw blood. He’d never hear the end of it for getting blood on your sheets, he knew that. Besides, if he wasn’t careful it would kill you.
He doesn’t want that happening again. Ugh. That was a godsforsaken mess - literally.
With every pounce of his hips, your tits bounce on your chest like he set out to do and he was sure to take in the sight of it all very well, having waited over a month for it. The smarting pang you felt earlier when his fingers fucked you is completely gone by now, leaving you to writhe and thrust your own hips from the overwhelming fucking of your senses.
“Dabi, Dabi!” you sob, your thoughts blending together until nothing but the demon inside of you remains in your consciousness. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, drawing a thick, black liquid in the deep crescents, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Words, babydoll,” he breathes out, emphasizing the first word with a thrust. “C’mon, you know better.” He groans above you.
A yelp and another, higher in pitch slap of skin resonates within the room amidst the wet, sloppy ones and his grunts, but it doesn’t register that he’s slapped the underside of the thigh perched on his shoulder until you feel the pulsating sting that scatters through your leg. The yelp was apparently yours.
“Faster!” Your voice is devoured by a whiny tone and squeals that fight out of you, but it’s drowned out by the rhythm of his hips against yours.
Another slap hits your senses, and you cry out, tears flooding your eyelids. All you need is a little push.
“So fuckin’ demanding... Where are your manners, little mouse?” His lips are on your ear again, almost as if threateningly. “I’d be a little more... ngh... polite if I were you.” The covers bunch and roll under your body when it’s slid back against them from the hardest thrust he’s graced you with yet, the process bringing a shriek out of you and shock as a result of his hitting that special spot after angling his hips just right and causing your poor head to spin. With Dabi then yanking you back to where you were with the hand on your thigh above the reddening cloud of flesh, you croon underneath him as he stops fucking your dripping wet heat altogether. You’re left to stare into his fiery blue eyes directly while hot breaths flood out of you in rapid succession. His nose almost touched yours, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s dead serious.
“Hate to break it to ya, but you’re at my mercy, doll. If I don’t want you to cum, you won’t.”
“Nonono, I’m sorry! Please! Please! I’m sorry!”
A cross between a hum and growl leaves his throat, and you shrink underneath him.
“‘Please,’ what?”
“Go faster, please!”
Dabi’s teeth are on your neck again when he picks up his thrusting into you, increasing in speed and fucking your sopping pussy like you had requested. With his hands on your hips, the demon mutters praises and moans into your neck and you sputter incoherent gibberish when you’re not gasping for air and squealing and bawling out from his almost inhuman, blissful pace. The leg wrapped around his waist clenches as hard as you’re physically able as he slams into you, and while your senses are being ravaged and brutalized, you hear faintly those wet squelching noises and the sounds of metal and wood creaking. You weren’t sure if the thrumming in your eardrums was your heartbeat or your headboard hitting the wall, but the thought of the latter rolled your eyes into the back of your head. Dabi angles his hips just right and smacks his cock into that oh-so-special spot within your soft cunt, and the jolt of pleasure and utter bliss that results brings you back to reality momentarily - yet still somehow throwing you out of your mind.
“Right there! Dabi! Oh, fuck!” You sob with a slur, your hands grasping and clawing at his back desperately. Incoherent garbling follows thereafter, and Dabi doesn’t even try to decipher it even if it is silk against his ears.
The fingers gripping onto your hips are so tightly embedded into your skin, Dabi’s sure they will leave round little bruises in their wake and he relishes in the idea, but the sting they bring you feels so damned good, you welcome it, too. The tension that builds within your cunt keeps building and building, your hot walls clenching around Dabi as you near carnal release. You’re close, so fucking close to the height of true bliss, your moans getting higher and higher in pitch as your back lifts off the mattress without you willing it. You feel that familiar tingle before-
It stops.
You sob at the utter emptiness and lack of release, your head spinning.
The ancient bastard denied you of your orgasm.
Chest heaving up and down in your panting, your wordless whine and protest at the emptiness you can feel is seemingly ignored by Dabi. The lack of warmth at your pulsating core is almost... cold. So cold.
“Wh-why...?” you whine.
The demon lets out a breathy groan. You can feel him dip his lips to your collarbone and smirk. “Just ‘cause.”
Quickly the demon sits back on his haunches and your arms droop off his shoulders. Dabi blinks at you with his hand holding your ankle to his shoulder, all the while staring you down with an intensity that has you feeling small, like an ant before an elephant. You’re so vulnerable and naked under his unwavering gaze, it’s nearly frightening. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen before. It’s soft but it’s predatory. He drinks in the sight of you leisurely.
You know damn good and well blood is rushing to your face, your hot breaths leaving you in weak puffs.
“Aren’t you precious?” you hear him remark with a toothy smirk. “Just for me. Right?”
You nod.
Demonically slitted eyes narrow at you darkly. “Say it, then,” he demands.
“Just...” you pant, “for you.”
Dabi’s hand pulls your ankle off him and puts your foot flat against the bedding next to his knee as he looks down at you. The moonlight striking the vibrant color of Dabi’s eyes is breathtaking, if your breath could be knocked out of your lungs further. It almost forced you to liken the sight with tinted ice, with icy waters off Iceland or perhaps glacier-dwelling seas of the Antarctic. And yet, you knew better.
The sight before Dabi was more than he’d expected, albeit just as sinful. Seeing you splashed out in bed, sweating and panting and dripping in your own essence just for him drove him wild. You were so adamant against fucking him, about retaining your innocence and saving it for the “right” person, in the beginning. And yet now, you let him do as he pleases and he didn’t doubt it would be the first time. He knew better.
“Get on your hands and knees, love.”
That was a first. “Love?” You like it more than the several others. It was smoky and gravelly and breathy all once.
Without your knowing your eyes soften and you grin the tiniest grin at the demon, knowing he won’t return the favor and be as gentle and sweet with you. He’s quick to quirk a brow at you, but you turn on your side to maneuver your body around and comply with Dabi’s command. Your breath has evened out by now, as you prop yourself on your elbows with your ass pointing out to Dabi, weeping cunt ready to be filled. It was embarrassing being on display like this again. You glance back at him with curious eyes, only to be met with silence and what felt like a dark presence. He’d gone cold on you.
You feel a hot hand on the nape of your neck and swear on whatever god you used to believe that your skin sizzled for a bit, while another lands on your left hip as his cock presses up against your folds and slithers through between your legs a couple times, gathering the slick of your essence - as if it needed to! - before he delves into your pussy once again. You croon in front of him, and the moan that comes out of Dabi has you clenching around his cock for the countless time. He mutters something untranslatable to you and pushes down on your nape, easing you face-first into the mattress. Your bedding was so soft and warm from your own body heat. Maybe it was leakage from the demon’s body temperature, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was a mix of both, intermingling like perfectly-cut pieces of a puzzle.
With a sharp moan, Dabi bottoms out in you, your mewls being swallowed by the bedding pressing against your cheek. You sigh into plush warmth, but the soft and gooeyness you feel is quickly torn away by a harsh snap of Dabi’s hips. Your gasp is cut through by a squeak from your throat, only urging him further as you already feel that coil tightening and readying to snap. You feel him shift a little against you, and you try to glance at him as much as you can before he begins thrusting into you again. That hard but slow pace makes its appearance for a short while, and hot damn is it heavenly. You moan and whine completely unabashedly. The walls of your apartment were thin and cheap, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
It was just an effect he had on you.
So what if your neighbors knew your were getting railed by a demonic being from ages past?
He certainly wanted them to know.
Dabi’s pace picks up again and you already feel the ripples of pleasure soaring through your body from your clenching cunt, your grip on the fabric underneath you tightening as you fight back the urge to bite into it. Even the lewd slaps of his hips against your ass are louder and quicker, and fuck aren’t they wetter. Dabi himself seems proud of this.
Your breathing quickens and your lungs almost burn like the hand on the back of your neck, your keening and sobbing getting higher in pitch and filled with rushed air. His thrusts only seem to get deeper and harder, if it were possible, and your eyes close shut tightly as your body trembles. Dabi adjusts his hips and continuously hits that oh-so-sweet spot that makes your head cloud over totally, his head falling back at the way your pussy hugs him tight.
“Dabi!” you sob. “Don’t stop, please!” Your wording is heavily slurred and slightly hushed from the impact of his fucking your nerves and your cheek being pushed into the bed, but you manage, nonetheless. You can’t fight back the drool that droops out the corner of your mouth.
The demon chuckles. Dabi could hear you say his name like that for a thousand years straight and it wouldn’t be enough. “S’pose you’ve been a good girl, babydoll. Go on, I’ll let you cum.”
The hand on your neck moves to your shoulder and soon enough, your chest and face are removed from the sheets, albeit you’re still on all fours as he fucks into you. Thereafter you feel the piping heat of his chest against your back, a crude reminder of the seven layers of arson Dabi’s capable. His hand holds you still while he continues to wrack your body with thrusts into your wet heat. You feel his fingers rub and circle your clit after a torrid hand snakes around your ribs and down your navel, and the pace of Dabi’s fingers is almost in beautiful tandem with his fucking as he hits that special spot over and over and over again. You can feel your essence flowing down the insides of your thighs like you thought wasn’t even possible, pussy dripping onto your bedding.
Ah, fuck.
With a lustful shriek, your spongy walls convulse around his cock as he fucks you through your orgasm, your vision going white as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body rocks back and forth, legs twitching and torso shuddering. It takes almost everything Dabi has not to cum then and there, his hiss and loud growl being evidence of that. You just feel so good, why wouldn’t he want to cum now? But no, that would be a treat for you later.
Your clutch on the bedding underneath is as tight as you’re fully capable, and your knuckles turn white while you revel in your own personal bliss, courtesy of whatever the hell Dabi is. The intensity of it all has your head spinning and body pulsating. Poor body beginning to come down from the fierce high, you wondered if Dabi would stop and let you bliss out - but nay; he continues to fuck you like an animal and abuse your clit while you cry it all out. You were drenched in sweat, your cheeks flooded with tears you didn’t know were there until now.
“Too much, too much,” you squeak quietly, so quiet you’re not even sure he could hear you. But maybe it was incoherent. Maybe you were babbling and drooling like a fucked out hole at this point. Was it getting overwhelming? Yes. Did it feel ungodly good? Fuck yes.
“You’re so fuckin’... wet, though,” he pants, before slowing down slightly. “I think you’re playing innocent. You like this, ah, don’t you?” Dabi groans as you continue to flutter, sensitively, around him. “You want me to fuck you stupid, to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore, right?”
Dabi chuckles at your lack of response and continues to ram into your soaking heat with your cries and squeaks only urging him further. An attempt to glance at Dabi is mostly thwarted by the pace he’s taken on, or maybe it’s because everything’s spinning - or is it the tears flooding from your eyelids - you manage to meet his icy, slitted eyes once, which prompts him to poke kisses at your nape and behind your ear. You feel that familiar warmth in your entire pelvis, you cunt clenching down on his cock as the waves of pleasure intensify.
“Dabi, I- nnn, it’s too mu-much,” you whine. “Please.”
“Nah, you’re okay, babydoll,” he drawls cockily, voice gravelly and breathy enough to make you cum on command. “I think you’ve got a few more for me, don’t you? C’mon.” He makes a point to hit your g-spot harder than before after he’s done talking, and goddamn does it take the air out of your lungs. You choke on your own spit when you feel that piping hot hand patted against your asscheek repeatedly.
Your shriek and wet slopping fills the room as you cum yet again, albeit this time the pressure on your nerves feels different - smoother, warmer - and the tingle in your belly is intense as your scream feels like it claws at your throat until it bleeds. Your thighs are drenched in your juices, cunt twitching and clenching in the aftermath of your mind-splitting pleasure. You mumble and whimper as he finally slows down and gives you a sliver of mercy, both of his hands now holding you up by your hips when your torso slowly droops down like it was before. Dabi chuckles behind you quietly as he comes to a halt.
“You good, doll?”
He’s definitely not sincere.
Your eyes squeeze shut and you heave and pant, the fabric in your fingers wrinkling in their grasp.
“Oi, you can’t quit on me now,” he demands. “I haven’t cum yet and I gotta make you squirt again.”
Trying to get a whole, solid word out was a struggle as a result of your heavy breathing and the overstimulation. Your head was fuzzy and the room was spinning like a damn typhoon, and for a split moment you thought you’d fallen unconscious. What spills out is garbled nonsense.
The demon hums that inquisitive hum again, urging you to speak.
You lift your cheek off the bed slightly, as you’re able. “Will...”
You’re not sure why, but the thought of Dabi skipping off after taking your virginity so unceremoniously rang into your thoughts, giving you a sense of loneliness and anxiety. Why, though? Why now?
“Huh?” He leans in so close, his horn bobs off the side of your head when he arches over you to put an ear to your lips. “Try again, love. Go on.” He sounds quite intrigued, probably the most you’ve heard him.
“Will you... hah, leave... me?”
The grin against your neck is dark.
“Whaddya mean, little mouse?”
His voice was downright excited. You were worth the wait. How long had it been since he’d had a human so obedient, so innocent yet so easily corrupted? You were his, now - whether you liked it or not was irrelevant. But he knew you would. Dabi had grown on you far more than you’d ever admit, he knew that for a fact. You were clearly enjoying yourself now, anyway. And it didn’t take magic to do all of this, save for one here and there to coax you to enjoy yourself and to bring out subconscious feelings. Like right now. You felt these things, he just amplified them to an unbearable extent. Whoops. You poor thing.
“Don’t go.”
Eyes half-lidded and droopy, you turn your head to look back at the demon, only to be met with sharp teeth shown off in a naughty grin. You blink once and you could’ve sworn you saw an image of a black, smoky aura surrounding him.
“If you can handle me, dear.”
You nod against the bed slowly before trying to push your ass against him with what little stability you have. Even if his cock was still buried in you, without any movement you felt empty and... alone.
“I thought it was too much?” he quips, hand rubbing at your reddened ass cheek in a way you have to describe as soothing. It felt so silky and mellow. Yet you knew he was far from that. “Well? I thought you were bitchin’ out on me like the virgin you are.”
“In... insi... inside,” you sputter shyly, mental clarity not quite returning, albeit you manage enough to think of that at least. You want him to cum inside, to know what it feels like to be stuffed full of his cum, to feel his cock twitching inside after his release. “C-um.”
You never would’ve thought about that before you met him. Why would you feel this way?
“Aw, what is it?” The hum that results from his scarred throat is dark. “You want me to cum inside right now? I’m not sure you’ve earned that yet.” His voice is bastardly and maybe even a little teasing, and he sighs almost happily at your squirming. “Asking me to cum inside like that the first time you get fucked - such a whore. Have I fucked you stupid already, doll? Shame, I thought you’d hold out better than that.” Dabi clicked his tongue and shook his head, though you can’t see. “Broken so early. Guess there’s no point in me stickin’ around after all, huh?”
A noise sounds from the back of your throat in protest and nearly unbeknownst to you, drool slithers out the corner of your mouth. Dabi seems to ignore your noises as his hands adjust your hips, giving you enough friction to elicit a whine from your lips. You can’t register this at the moment, but Dabi was a victim to his own whims and could be a mix of soft and downright mean in the bedroom, and there’s no telling which will arise. Sometimes he’ll want skin against skin, tongue lashing against yours, fiery pleasure; sometimes he wants to insult you and lash his hand across your ass cheek, leaving bruises or drawing blood wherever he can.
“I was gonna make you convince me,” he breathes, slowly thrusting. “But considering you’re still conscious, I think that’s enough.” Dabi chuckles behind you. Well, you were only conscious as per his meddling. He was the one keeping your consciousness pulled to the surface, preventing you from letting go of reality and passing out. “You’re most welcome to cry and beg, though, babydoll.”
Hell, that list was half-checked off. Tears stained your cheeks and blurred your vision already, and the more he fucked into you, the more they fluttered out. Your lungs burned at this point, a searing heat cutting through your chest. Anything you try to say comes out incoherently, a sputtered and garbled mess, when it’s not a pitiful sob.
You push your hips back against him in an attempt to fuck yourself on his cock while Dabi fucks your puffy cunt, drawing a condescending chuckle from him. The jolt of overstimulation beckoned you to crawl away and relieve yourself of him, but the need to have him thrusting and cumming inside you overcame it. His release and what it would feel like to have his cum mixing with your juices and dripping out of you was all you could think about, as if entranced in a spell that bound your consciousness to that one thing. The rest of your thoughts were jumbled and incoherent even to you, the drool trickling out your mouth and the rolling of your eyes into the back of your head representative of that.
As Dabi watched your pussy envelop him, he couldn’t help but envision his name carved into your asscheeks with a sharpened claw of his. Ah, the squeals and squeaks that crawl out of you would be divine in the most sinful way possible, and the threads of blood that would trickle down your skin would taste head-spinningly beautiful. Maybe next time. Dabi’s jaw clenched at the throb of his cock within your sputtering, velvety walls, the tightness in his abdomen building. Just one more...
“Fuck, little one...!”
As the demon drags sharp claws up your thigh and asscheek, it leaves red ribbons in its wake and the squeeze of your cunt and pitiful squeal tells him well that you’re enjoying it far more than you ever thought you would.
“Such a good fucking human... good fuckin’ hole,” he grunts, voice strained. His hand plants on the middle of your back and pushes hard, bowing your poor back as his other hand keeps your hips up, his cock ramming into you at a faster pace. Dabi lets out a loud groan when he sees the blissed out, tear-stained, drool-covered face of yours before his thrusting loses rhythm and he suddenly feels your pussy flutter around him hard in orgasm again, soaking him in your slick again. Finally he allows himself to find the release you’d internally begged for, fucking into you at a less than rhythmic pace as his own mind begins to become overwhelmed with pleasure.
“Ah, shit. Fuck, fuck, motherfucking-!”
Dabi soon finds his teeth embedded into your flesh and gripping it hard enough to leave a bruise or even cut into the skin as his hips move entirely on their own against you. With a strained moan he cums, thick, warm ropes of cum painting your fluttering, sensitive, and overstimulated walls as you literally cry and sob underneath him, his hips still involuntarily thrusting into you as your cunt milks him for all he’s worth.
“Fucking hell,” he bites out, body relaxing against yours as he comes down from the high, yet he doesn’t pull out. “I missed this.” His voice is breathy and littered with pants against your neck. Dabi leaves a few wet kisses to it before leaning back and slowly pulling out with a groan, leaving you empty and dripping before him. He watches as his cum begins to trickle out but is quick to gather it with his fingers and push it roughly back into your pulsating cunt.
“Atta fuckin’ girl.”
Your poor head spins and you don’t know up from down, so Dabi ushers you to lay down and before he knows it, you’re passed out asleep. Eh, he’ll consider aftercare next time maybe. With a yawn that’s more out of sudden boredom than it is exhaustion, Dabi lays down next to you and props his head up with his hand, leaning against his elbow as he watches you sleep peacefully, a complete contrast to a few mere minutes ago. With a smirk he wipes the tears off your cheeks. Those cheeks...
“I oughta answer sacrifices more often.”
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#dabi x reader#dabi x reader smut#dabi#mha#bnha#blue hour.#*throws candy* happy halloween have some mediocre smut!
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5 Times Flip Ruined Valentine’s Day (And 1 Time He Didn’t)
Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)
11k ; cw: mild angst, mostly fluff & humor, mentions of baby zimmerman, mentions of war, mentions of undercover with the klansmen, brief hospitalization (sex injury), NSFW (PIV, fingering, praise kink, begging, finger sucking, multiple-orgasms, mild lactation kink, implied marathon sex)
Available on AO3
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L is for the way you look at me
February 14th, 1962. Flip Zimmerman is twenty-three years old and has finally worked up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. After months of pining, months of agonizing, months of Jimmy makin’ fun of him for being such a chicken, he finally asked and you stunned him by saying yes straight away. It’s his first Valentine’s Day with you, but more than that, it’s his first Valentine’s Day ever. Flip has it all planned out, he’s going to make sure that this memory is a perfect one, wanting to prove to you that he can be not only your best friend, but the best boyfriend.
Oh, if only life were that easy.
It had started out innocently enough, at least he likes to tell himself that. Not wanting to go too big too fast and run out of room on the very first holiday, Flip decided to keep things simple. He was going to cook you dinner. A real dinner too, with all five courses and a dessert. You didn’t know this, but Flip had been taking cooking lessons secretly after his shift at the lumber mill twice a week. He felt bad, knowing that you always do the cooking whenever you’re together, and dammit he plans on marrying you one day, so he figures he better get his act together now. His Ma had even given him the go-ahead to use the good china.
He doesn’t know when exactly, it went wrong.
“Hey Jim, are you busy?” Flip’s just finishing up his shift at the mill, when he calls his best friend to try and get some extra muscle, “I’m about to head to the market, help me with these groceries?”
He had told Jimmy about the plan of course, mostly because he told him everything. He loved telling you everything too, but this was one of those things that he had made Jimmy swear to secrecy, so as to not fuck up the surprise.
“Sure thing, pick me up?” Jimmy’s cheerful voice crackled over the phone line, and with an affirmative reply, Flip is practically bounding out of the little office where he works, and is grabbing his keys.
Ten minutes later, Jimmy is in the passenger seat, reaching into Flip’s jacket pocket for the grocery list, wondering what the hell Flip needs his help for.
“So what’s on the list anyway – holy shit this is a lot of stuff, Flip.” Jimmy’s eyes widen comically when the grocery list seemingly never ends, and he tries to make heads or tails of Flip’s shitty handwriting.
“I know! I’m doing a soup and a salad and then making these bread rolls that I know she’ll love and then for the appetizer course I’m doing – ” Flip doesn’t catch the concern in Jimmy’s voice, so focused on driving down to the market, focused on his mission.
“Uhh, are you sure about all this? Don’t you remember what happened that time you tried to boil water?” Jimmy very gently cuts Flip off, only keeping his best friend’s interests at heart.
Flip, for his part, sours and shoots him a glare, snatching the list back from his friend’s hand.
“Shut the fuck up, I’ve been taking lessons. I got this, now would you help me find everything? I figure it’ll be faster with the two of us, and I really need to get started before she comes over.” There’s a distinct edge to his voice that’s the closest thing to panic that Jimmy’s ever heard – at least since the day that Flip broke his clavicle on that snowboarding accident a decade ago.
Once in the grocery store, Flip can’t help but feel cocky. Between the two of them, everything on the list is found with time to spare, which is good because now that he’s really doing this, Flip won’t deny he’s got butterflies. It has to be perfect, he thinks, it just has to.
“Alright that’ll be everything I think – oh!” At the checkout register, Flip quickly grabs a big chocolate bar of your favorite kind, and adds it to the already enormous pile of shit, “And this too, please.”
Jimmy helps Flip load all the paper bags into the car, and then is a good friend and helps bring everything inside the house. Flip doesn’t let him stick around to help, instead shooing Jimmy out with a big plate of his Ma’s homemade cookies as a payment for all the help, and finally letting out a deep breath that he didn’t even know he had been holding.
“Okay Phil, you can do this.” He whispers to himself, “It’s just like class.”
And surprisingly, it was just like class. Flip prepared all the vegetables and got all the dishes starting in the correct order so they’d be finished in time for your arrival – which was in exactly half an hour. He doesn’t know how the fuck he managed to pull this off, but he’s not about to go tempting fate or anything, so he decides that now would be a good time to freshen up so he doesn’t smell like raw onions when you get there.
Flip agonizes over what to wear, eventually settling on a nice dress shirt and some slacks, willing his hair to part neatly. He hopes you don’t think he looks stupid, he – the doorbell rings, and he sucks in a sharp breath to himself.
Without another second’s hesitation, Flip moves to the front door and opens it, momentarily stunned by your beauty. He should have lit up a cigarette, he thinks, because all of a sudden his hands are shaking, just from the sight of you.
“Hi.” He blurts out inelegantly, but you only give him a big smile.
“Hi, you look really handsome.” You bat your lashes and bite the inside of your cheek, and some of the tension in Flip’s shoulders slip away, because he realizes that you’re nervous too.
Taking in the sight of you, it’s very clear that you tried hard to look nice for him, something that blows Flip’s fuckin’ mind. How’d he ever get so lucky to have a girl like you want to be his? Your nails are freshly done, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you in this dress before, you even put on some perfume. The scent of it curls up in his nostrils, and he tries to think of something to say so that he isn’t just staring at you.
“You too.” Is the genius move he comes up with, immediately tripping over his tongue, “I mean, you’re beautiful, not that you’re not also handsome, if you want to be, I – ”
“Can I come in?” You give him a break, and he’s grateful for it.
Opening the door wider for you, he steps to the side and mentally kicks himself for being such an idiot.
“Yes. Yes please do, please come in.” Flip tries his best to remember the manners that he was raised on, although it’s difficult when you’re so beautiful and you’re here and you’re his girlfriend. “Let me take your coat?”
“Sure, thanks.” You grin, before your smile falters and a deep concerning frown dimples your forehead, “Say, something smells…um…Flip is something burning?”
Flip frowns too then, filling his lungs, trying to figure out what you’re talking about when it hits him --
“My roast!” Flip shouts, bolting into the kitchen.
What had just been a perfectly cooked dinner not thirty minutes prior, was now a large grease fire, with flames licking up high high high into the air, threatening to touch the ceiling and spread across the kitchen.
“Fuck – fuck shit! God dammit!” Flip frantically begins searching for something, mind going into overdrive to put the fire out. He grabs a bag of something, he doesn’t even know what it is, flour maybe? All he remembers from the class is to never ever throw water on a grease fire, otherwise he’d really be in trouble.
“Oh my god the stove!” The soup on the stove has boiled over and hit the gas burners, there’s smoke coming out of the oven in thick dark plumes, and you scream, “Where’s your fire extinguisher?!”
“Under the sink!” Flip remembers all of a sudden, and lunges to the cabinet under the sink, yanking on the pin and letting the white frothy foam explode out of the nozzle.
Flip pushes you to stand behind him as he puts the fire out, like some hero in an action movie, but instead of praising his heroism, you run out of the room to the phone in the hallway and dial the emergency number.
“I’m going to call the fire department, the flames could be inside the wall.” You shout to him, opening up the windows to air the place out as you go.
Ten minutes later, the fire department is crawling all through his house, and every single one of the neighbors is standing outside on their front lawns like the nosy people they are. Flip is sitting with you on the front porch, his head hung low between his knees, as you rub his back.
“God my Ma’s gonna fuckin’ murder me.” He groans, praying that the fire didn’t get big enough to ruin the whole kitchen.
“We’ll explain to her that it was just an accident.” You lean your head against his shoulder and keep him calm, a soothing balm that cools all his frayed edges. “We’re okay, and that’s what matters most, right?”
He looks at you then, cups a hand to your cheek and gives you a sheepish sigh.
“Yeah.” He grumbles, really desperate for a cigarette now, “I’m real fuckin’ sorry sweetheart, I had it all figured out and then…”
One of the firefighters walks past him, and Flip just gestures to him with a sigh.
But you, somehow, somehow you’re an angel and all you do is laugh, nudging his side with your elbow, making him look at you with an eyebrow raised. Of all the reactions that he had expected you to have, laughter wasn’t one of them.
“Hey, at least we’ll have a story to tell the grandkids one day.” You offer, and in that one little sentence, Flip’s heart beats double time.
“You’re not dumping me?” His eyes widen in surprise, because he was sure, so sure that that’s where this fucking day was going, he wouldn’t blame you if you had, he almost burned the house down after all.
“Dumping you! After how hard you worked and tried? No way.” You shake your head, almost sounding offended by the thought. “In fact, I think it makes me want to date you even more now. Just promise me next year, we stick to flowers or chocolates, okay?”
“Oh, speaking of which – ” Flip remembers, reaches around for something in his pocket, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
It’s pitiful really, the way that the chocolate bar from the grocery store has slightly melted and broken while being in his back pocket this entire time, but he figures, no better time than right now to give it to you.
And even though you’re laughing, your arms corralling him into a tight hug to kiss the side of his face and reassure him that you think the gesture was very sweet, Flip still can’t help but feel…well…burned.
O is for the only one I see
February 14th, 1967. Flip Zimmerman is thirty years old and officially (!!) your fiancée. It only took him five years to propose, but you knew Flip, and you knew how hard and long he thought about things like this, wanting everything to be perfect. And it had been, the trip to Egypt was a dream come true! The wedding was set for next month, March 18th to be exact, but Flip didn’t want to rest on that excitement to not give you the incredible Valentine’s Day he’s always dreamed of giving you.
True to his word, the previous few holidays have been spent very lowkey, a quiet night at a nice restaurant, dinner prepared by someone that wasn’t him, chocolates and champagne and big bouquets of roses.
But things were different now, he wasn’t just some lowly boyfriend who worked at the family lumber mill – no, now he was a Detective with the CSPD and more importantly, your fiancée and that had to mean something. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t going to start slacking now that you’ve agreed to tie the knot with him.
“Ketsl? It’s me.” Flip’s just finished changing out of his work clothes in the rec room, into something more put together for the surprise date he’s about to take you on.
“Hi honey! I’m almost ready, I’ll be all done by the time you come home.” Your voice is bright and fills him with warmth from the other end of the line.
“Remember to wear something comfortable.” Flip flicks the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk, looking at the picture of you he keeps framed right next to the phone, that way it’s like you’re really there, even when you’re not.
“Will you tell me where we’re going?” You have that pleading tone in your voice that usually Flip can never deny, but today is a different day, a special day.
“No way, then it won’t be a surprise, would it?” He chuckles into the receiver, and you groan playfully, eventually conceding.
“Okay, I love you, see you soon.” You blow kisses into the phone, and Flip shoots glares to any and everyone who dares to make fun of him for that.
So what if he’s in love? Who could fault him for that?
He had it all figured out. After the disaster that was the grease fire, Flip decided that this year there would be no adventurous cooking. Since that Valentine’s Day, he had moved into a small house right off 21st Street with you, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to burn down that kitchen too.
Instead, Flip had gotten tickets to a play you had been dying to see at the Denver Center for the Preforming Arts. It was a bit of a drive, but the trip would be worth it, especially considering the seats he was able to get thanks to a friend over at Denver PD. He was going to take you out to a nice dinner beforehand, which meant if you were going to make it in time, he needed to hit the road now.
His car makes it halfway to his house, when there’s a strange rattle that comes from somewhere inside the dash.
“Excuse me?” Flip says out loud to himself, praying that what he thinks is happening, isn’t happening right now.
A light goes off on the dash, and then another, and then somehow another light, all lighting up on the dash, as his car rattles and makes all sorts of noises that he knows he can’t fix with his tire-jack.
“Oh no,” He groans, as the car comes to a rolling stop, the engine failing for whatever fucking reason, “No no no.”
Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he’s already doing the mental math and knowing that he’s going to be late – if he gets home to you at all. To avoid risking an accident, Flip manages to urge the car to the side of the road, and he chucks the flashers on.
“This cannot fucking be happening, not now.” Flip gets out of the car, goes around to the front and opens up the hood. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to fix things, he was handy and took mechanics in high school, but shit high school was some fuckin’ time ago and he doesn’t even know where to look first, anger and frustration bubbling up inside his chest. “How the fuck am I – Flip, remain calm. De-escalate the situation.”
Two seconds later, he still can’t figure it out, and he slams the hood shut with a loud, “God fucking dammit!”
There’s only one choice, Flip knows. He has to walk to the nearest gas station and use their phone for help. Luckily, he knows of one not too far away, you always give them a gift basket of homemade treats for the winter holidays.
As he walks down the sidewalk, leaving his car there on the street without much other choice, he feels…something.
A light plip of water on his shoulder.
Dread creeps up into his throat, because that plip turns to a downpour in five seconds flat, and Flip really had to just stand there, take a moment, and try not to scream out his frustration as the rain pours and pours and pours out of fucking nowhere.
By the time he makes it to the gas station, he is soaked to the bone, and livid.
The door to the gas station swings open and Flip steps inside, taking deep breaths to try and preserve some dignity that he has left. Of course, he had an umbrella, but it was in the car, and he wasn’t about to double back when he was already wet. The look on his face must have been murderous, because the cashier at the counter approaches him tentatively.
“Hey man, are you okay?” The guy asks. Really he’s a kid, probably not more than sixteen, and Flip composes himself as he lights up a cigarette now that he’s sure the drenching downpour won’t put it out immediately.
“My car broke down a couple miles up the road, can I use your payphone?” He sucks down a couple drags, pulling out his wallet and fishing for a few coins.
“The payphone is out of order.” The kid replies, and Flip freezes, letting that information settle into his bones.
“Of course it is.” He mutters, teeth nearly pinching through the cigarette that he’s now smoking like it’s the last one he’ll ever have.
The kid notices Flip’s darkening mood, and thinks for a minute or two, before noticing one of the other people in the gas station.
“But hey! My buddy here is a mechanic and drives a tow truck. He can give you a lift, can’t you Tony?” The kid offers on his friend Tony’s behalf, and Flip tries not to get his hopes up.
Tony, another teenager who looks like he just got his license, maybe a little older, pops up from around one of the aisles with his arms full of chips.
“Sure thing sir, where you headed?” Tony smiles brightly, and Flip just smokes smokes smokes.
“21st street.” He offers, praying that this kid knows where that is.
By the way his eyes light up, Flip thinks that maybe, just maybe, his luck is turning.
As it would turn out, Flip’s house isn’t too far from the mechanic shop that Tony works at. On the way to his house, they strike up a deal to get the car looked at and fixed up before the day was over.
It’s still pouring rain, Tony pulls the tow truck up to the curb and Flip opens the door, reaching over to shake his hand.
“Thanks, I appreciate this a lot.” Flip says, feeling much less angry and now sort of…defeated.
“No problem, I’ll give you a call when we’ve fixed her up.” Tony gives Flip’s hand a hearty shake, “And thanks again for paying for my snacks, that was pretty cool.”
They part ways, and he only gets two steps closer to the front door when it flies open and you’re rushing out into the rain to hug him, holding him close.
“Phil!” You bury your face in his chest, and automatically Flip’s arms wrap around you tight. “Oh thank god I was so fucking worried about you! It’s been hours! What happened?”
You pull away enough to cup his cheeks in your hand and search his gaze, eyes wide and worried, and Flip’s chest sinks. It’s like the first Valentine’s Day all over again, he sighs to himself, feeling just as shitty now as he had when it was a disaster then.
“The car’s in the shop, I’m sorry ketsl, I tried.” Flip shrugs, not knowing what else to do, or say.
“I know handsome, I know.” You stretch up onto your tiptoes to press a deep kiss to his lips, before grasping his hand in your own and tugging the both of you out of the rain, announcing, “But I planned for this.”
“How the hell could you have planned for this?” Flip mumbles, but you just throw a smile over your shoulder to him, trying to get him into a better mood.
“I had a feeling you’d do something extravagant, and we both know how that tends to turn out – ”
“Hey.”
“So I made us a special dinner and figured we could watch those old black and white movies together like we used to do all the time. Maybe have some champagne in the bubble bath as a pregame.” You waggle a brow, as the both of you find shelter in your front room, door locked safely behind you.
Water drips from your hems onto the floor, and you reach for a very conveniently placed towel that happens to be right by the door, offering it to him.
He has never wanted to marry someone more, in his entire life, than he wants to marry you.
“Next year will be better.” He promises, kissing you sweetly, before taking you up on that promise of a bubble bath.
V is very, very extraordinary
February 14th, 1968. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-one years old and celebrating the holiday, the first Valentine’s Day together since you’ve been married, overseas.
This year was not, in any way shape or form, better.
He listens to the tape you’ve sent him, plays it over and over again just to hear your voice, hoping to drown out the harrowing experience of war just beyond his headphones. He listens to your voice, and wonders if you’re relistening to the voicemails he’s left you once upon a time, wonders if you’re having dinner with your friends, if Jimmy brought you those flowers like he had asked.
He rewinds the tape, but he knows it’s not the same.
E is even more than anyone that you adore can
February 14th, 1972. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-five and finally back home from Vietnam. He surprises you one sunny day last summer, and the two of you are practically in each other’s back pockets every day thereafter.
There is no place Flip would rather be, than with you. To anyone who didn’t know you, it might look suspiciously lovey-dovey, but no, that’s really just how you are now. You nearly lost him over there, in the war. You went three years without him by your side – you didn’t want to be more than a foot away from him if you could manage it.
This Valentine’s Day, Flip has arranged everything so that you could do just that. He had a fantastic fucking date planned for you – nothing too fancy, but special nonetheless. It was going to be a complete throw-back, he’ll take you to the diner where they now serve the Zimmerman Special -- a combo of the sub sandwiches you always order, and a chocolate milkshake to share; you can’t get the sandwiches on their own, they have to be ordered together, something that always makes your heart flutter – and then afterwards, he got passes for the mini-golf place, one of the very first dates he had taken you on all those years ago when you were first stepping into more-than-friends territory.
You’re about ready to walk out the door, and Flip is right behind you when the phone rings.
Exchanging glances, Flip seriously is tempted to ignore the phone altogether, but you raise a brow at him and he lets out a disgruntled groan, dragging his feet over to the hallway and picking the phone up.
“Zimmerman, it’s Harry.” His boss’ voice has a tone to it that already has Flip developing a localized headache right in his temple.
“Why do you sound like you’re about to give me bad news.” Flip grumbles, and Harry just sighs.
“Because I have bad news.” Harry replies, and you already seem to know what’s coming, because you close the door with a sad sigh and step out of your shoes, “Look, I’m really sorry, but Ron just gave us some new intel, looks like the boys are having some sort of get together at the Bloomin’ Tulip, and we need you there.”
He was on this case with a rookie named Ron, something about infiltrating the local klan chapter. He wasn’t happy about it, not in the fucking least, for a lot of reasons. The men were vile, and he hated spending any more time with them than he needed to, and he had really fucking hoped that he wouldn’t need to today.
“Isn’t that a strip club?” You pipe up having overheard the name of the establishment, and Flip blinks, gearing up to start shouting at his boss.
“Flip I know it’s not how you want to spend the night but – ”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s Valentine’s Day! I’m not going to a strip club with a bunch of neo-nazis on Valentine’s Day! Besides, they know I’m married.” Flip seethes, the hand that’s not holding the phone gesturing wildly even though Harry can’t see it.
You light up a cigarette and hand it to him with a kiss to his cheek, knowing he’s going to need it.
“Felix and a couple of the other guys are married too, and they’re going. I’m sorry Flip but we need to know if they’re planning anything serious.” Harry really does sound apologetic, and at the end of the day, he is Flip’s boss.
Flip looks at you, and you look back at him and give him a sad smile, encouraging him to go with a little nod of your head. You knew what you were signing up for when Flip asked your thoughts on him becoming a detective, and you had agreed all those years ago. It was part of the territory, and you weren’t about to make him feel bad for protecting the town you loved so dearly – for keeping you safe.
“When?” Flip sighs into the receiver, and he can practically feel the relief in Harry’s sigh.
“You have to be there in an hour.” Harry replies quickly, already spouting off directions and whatever other bullshit that Flip’s not listening to.
“Tell Bridges I’m pissed about this.” Flip eventually cuts him off, and hangs up the fucking phone without even so much as a goodbye.
With the phone slammed back onto the wall, Flip smokes his cigarette for a second and lets his shoulders sag. He really couldn’t catch a fucking break, could he? Turning to face you, wondering where you went, he finds you settling on the couch, your pretty coat hung up on the hook, reaching for a book to start leafing through.
“Ketsl I – ” Flip’s heart sinks, and he has half a mind to call Harry back and tell him that he isn’t going to go, but you shake your head.
“Go, it’s okay. Work is more important.” You reach a hand out for him, and he takes a few long strides over to the couch, kneels in front of you and holds it reverently between his palms.
Flip rests his head on your thigh, pressing small kisses to your knuckles, hating this.
“No, it’s really fucking not.” He grumbles, anxious about the thought of leaving you. “How about this: I’ll go for just a couple hours, make some excuse, and then come right back to you and we’ll go on that date?”
He’s really going to give Ron a hard time about this, Flip thinks, when you just pat his cheek lightly and pull out your wallet from the purse you’ve left on the coffee table.
“Do you need some singles?” You rifle through the thick stack of cash and count out roughly fifty dollars.
“Why do you have a ton of singles?” Flip frowns, confused, and the playful suspicion in his tone gets you giggling, a sound that rushes through Flip like the breaking of a dam.
“Don’t worry about it.” You reply, mock-defensively, before you roll your eyes and explain, “It’s from the bake sale, trade me for bigger bills?”
Flip kisses you, a loud smacking smooch right on your cheek, and fishes out his own wallet, not wanting to steal money from the bake sale. Whatever he spends on the case he’ll get back from the station, but still, that money was to go to the children’s hospital.
“I love you more than anything in the entire fucking world and I will be back as soon as I possibly can, I promise.” Flip rushes to say, as the clock chimes, letting him know he’s got to leave now if he wants to make it in time.
“Just go.” You smile, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. You kiss Flip once more, and then shoo him away with a parting, “And be respectful to the girls there!”
“Of course! I love you.” Flip calls back as he leaves the house, running back to give you one last kiss, before leaving for real.
Flip has nothing against strip clubs, not at all. He knows and likes pretty much all the dancers, from his days as a rookie himself when he would be the only one around the station to calls on his late night shifts. They know and trust him, and he’s thankful for that; especially when they see he’s clearly undercover, and know to keep an eye on him without making it too obvious.
The klansmen are exactly how Flip had expected them to be – obnoxious, loud, rude. They don’t tip well, spend most of the time jeering at the women and the rest of the time talking shit about their wives or girlfriends. Felix at one point asks Flip to join in, almost a dare to prove how masculine he is, how much of one of them he is, and the words burn in the back of Flip’s throat as he lies through his teeth.
He hates this, he hates them, everything is too loud and the beer is warm, and Flip’s having a terrible fucking time.
He also has no idea how much time has actually passed, because it’s too dark to see his watch, and there aren’t any clocks on the wall. At one point, Ivanhoe decides to get a little too handsy with one of the dancers, violating rule number one of the club, and gets the entire group of them thrown out. Flip had never been happier to get thrown out of an establishment in his life, and used that as an excuse to leave, claiming an early day at work in the morning.
When he gets back in his car and sees that it’s somehow after midnight, he curses the entire fucking way back home.
He opens the front door carefully, not wanting to come home making all sorts of noise in case you’re asleep. There’s an anchor in his stomach, he feels sick, he’s so fucking annoyed with how this day has gone, and all he wants is to be back with you
“(Y/N)?” Flip whispers, making his way through the house. “Are you awake? It’s me.”
He finds you on the couch right where you had been when he left, and despite the valiant effort you must have given to try and stay up for him, it’s undeniable that you’re dozing. Head resting on the arm of the couch, you’ve got your arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows, and Flip’s chest squeezes because he knows that should be him instead.
“Hmm?” You make a little noise as Flip’s arms scoop you up and hold you against his chest, turning off the lights on his way up the stairs.
“Shh, I gotcha honey-bunny.” Flip presses a kiss to the top of your head, feeling like the worst husband in the fucking world, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” You snuggle into his chest some more, voice thick with sleep. “I ordered a pizza, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t, I can’t have my girl starving, can I?” Flip smiles weakly, bringing you into the bedroom and laying you gently down on the bed.
He tugs the stockings off your feet, works on unbuttoning your blouse to unhook your bra, knowing that must not have been comfortable. You, the spoiled princess that you are, don’t bother helping him, liking when he does all the work. Flip can’t even tease you for it tonight, the weight of how the holiday has been ruined heavy in his chest.
“The pizza place was cute, they made it in the shape of a heart.” You say, watching him with soft eyes.
“I’m going to make this up to you.” Flip promises, mind a little too exhausted to figure out exactly how he’s going to do that just yet.
“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You shake your head, before groaning dramatically as you get off the bed much to Flip’s confusion, “Come on, let’s go shower.”
Flip checks the clock on the wall, it’s nearing up on one o’clock, and he’s sure a shower will just wake you up even further.
“You’re coming with me?” Flip asks, which is a stupid question because in the back of his tired mind, he knows that you always shower together.
“Well someone’s going to have to get the glitter out of your hair.” You give him a smile, and that stops Flip in his tracks.
“…Glitter?” Flip groans, yanking the bathroom door open and turning on the light switch, seeing how he’s completely and totally covered in the shimmery circles that he loathes probably more than anything for the way they never ever come off, “Aw fuck.”
You just laugh, and get the water running, and Flip feels like the luckiest sonofabitch that exists, even if he is covered in glitter.
Love is all that I can give to you
Love is more than just a game for two
Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it
Love was made for me and you
February 14th, 1974. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-seven and is the proud father of two precious little angels, that he absolutely cannot fucking believe are his. Last Valentine’s Day was hectic with the kids being so little, but now that they weren’t so teenie tiny, he has arranged for them to be watched by his Ma for the evening.
She had of course agreed, because any opportunity she could spend with her grandchildren was a good one in her book, which let you and Flip have the evening alone together for the first time in a long time.
It was silly almost, how excited the two of you were to go out to a fancy steakhouse and have an expensive dinner, how hard you both laughed at the comedian that Flip had managed to get great seats for, even so far as being able to meet him after the show and get a photo with him.
You are still laughing about some of the jokes all the way back home, and Flip is trying his best not to feel cocky. Finally, after so many years of trying to have a good and special evening, he’s finally gotten to give it to you.
There’s some gifts waiting for you at the house that he can’t wait for you to open, but when he gets you through the door, you are on him like a bee on honey. Your hands don’t know where to settle, skimming across his shoulders, his chest, cupping his cheeks and tangling in his hair, desperate and excited in a way that makes Flip’s heart pound.
“You are so fucking sexy.” He breathes, crashing your lips to his, throwing the keys and your purse to the ground as he backs you against the door, as he holds you tight to him, licking into your mouth and working on getting you naked.
“Take me upstairs?” You moan as his teeth clamp down onto your shoulder and he sucks hickies all over your throat, head tipping back for him to get better access.
Flip groans, his cock rock hard in his slacks, and he smacks your ass to get you runnin’ up to the bedroom, chasing after you with a hearty laugh. He pinches at you and you squeak out laughter and yelps of your own, as he tackles you down to the mattress, mouth seeking yours at once.
“How’d I ever get so goddamn lucky, huh?” Flip shoves his hand into the waistband of your panties, two thick fingers pressing right up into your pussy, working eagerly to get you stretched and relaxed and ready for a good hard fucking, he grunts and groans as your pussy sucks his fingers deeper, “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard ketsl.”
“We have all night, I want you to make me come all over this house.” Your eyes glitter and sparkle in the lamp light of the bedroom, and he grins, feeling overheated in his clothes.
Pulling away much to your dissatisfaction, he works on getting himself naked, while you deal with your own clothes. He eyes you as you reveal yourself to him, and his dick twitches, wanting to thrust as far as it can go into your body, your perfect fucking body.
“Oh I will, you better fucking believe I will,” He growls, yanking your ankle and pulling you across the bed with bright laughter. Flip climbs on top of you and resumes fingering you, “This pretty pussy’s in for a long night I hope you’re ready for my big hard cock.”
Your hands squeeze at his shoulders, traveling across his back, gripping him tight as your legs part and wrap around his hips. Flip lines himself up and begins to thrust inside your wet cunt, the pulsing heat throbbing around him and making him groan, the friction so good.
Moaning and sighing together, you gasp out loud as he builds up a speed that has you bouncing bouncing bouncing on the bed. He’s managed to find your gspot right away, and he wants to make good on his promise to get you fucked until you’re thoroughly and utterly wrecked – so he figures the more orgasms he can get out of you, the better.
Kissing you deeply, groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t realize how the way he’s pistoning his hips has you moving across the mattress, until you’re grasping at his shoulders with a surprised gasp, “Wait, Flip hold on we’re a little too close to the edge.”
He shakes his head and smiles down at you, wanting you to know that you’re always safe with him.
“I’ve got you baby, you don’t worry about a fucking thing – ” He starts saying, not realizing just how close you both really were, and with one particularly eager thrust, the two of you go toppling over the side entirely, landing with a loud thud on the floor.
Shit, he thinks, as he rolls off of you, scrambling to pull out and make sure you’re okay.
When he looks at you, expecting you to be laughing and scolding him and telling him all about how you were right, and instead sees a small trickle of blood across your forehead from where you’ve hit your head on the corner of the nightstand, his body runs cold.
“(Y/N)?” At once, he begs smacking lightly at your cheeks, a heaving feeling starting to rise up in his stomach as he shouts, “Oh my god, I killed my wife!”
Flip’s military training kicks in, and all he can think about is getting you to the hospital. He grabs a pair of pants off the floor and doesn’t even realize he’s put them on backwards, as he wraps you up in the sheet and runs with you down the stairs. His heart thuds and tears blur his eyes, but he swallows them down because you’re okay you have to be okay he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you’re not fucking okay.
“Oh my god,” Flip manages to get the bleeding to stop by bunching up the sheet and pressing it against your forehead, and he keeps one hand on you as he speeds through every single red fucking light in Colorado Springs on his way to the emergency room, “Oh my god oh my fucking god.”
The hospital isn’t too far, and thankfully him being a police officer gives him some special perks – like leaving his truck parked right on the curb as he practically kicks the doors open. He’s got you wrapped up in a sheet, carrying you bridal style with thick streams of tears pouring down his cheeks, shouting and shoving his way through the waiting room.
“Everyone out of my fucking way – can someone help my wife?” He’s frantic, must look like a fucking lunatic, but, “She won’t wake up I don’t know what to do.”
“Bring her this way, hurry!” One of the nurses who happens to recognize him buzzes him in, and he doesn’t let you out of his arms until you’re surrounded by nurses and a doctor is on the way.
He watches as they wheel you back somewhere he’s not allowed to go, not even as a police officer, and Flip punches the wall, hating that he can’t do anything else.
Twenty minutes later, one of the nurses has found him and given him a shirt, because he had forgotten to put one on in all the panic, and asked him what the hell was even going on. So he hangs his head between his knees and tries not to be sick, tears and snot hiccupping out of him.
“…And that’s when she fell over the side of the bed and smacked her head and started bleeding all over the fucking place which I know she’s going to hate because I just washed the carpeting this morning for her and fuck is she okay? Will she live?” He rambles on and on, twisting the fabric of this shirt that is too small in some places but too big in others, nervously, wondering what the fuck he’s going to tell everyone – what he’s going to tell his kids.
“Live? Trust me, she’s alive and kicking right about now.” The doc comes over then, sees the state that Flip’s in, and scoffs.
The words barely register in Flip’s mind before he’s running. He doesn’t even know where he’s running to, somewhere they’re keeping you, sticking his head into every room on the way in case it’s yours.
He finds you eventually, and relief makes his knees go weak. Rushing to your side, he carefully carefully carefully kisses you, the words spilling out of him all at once.
“(Y/N)! Oh honey-bunny I am so fucking sorry I didn’t mean for you to fall the way you did you were right I should have listened are you okay the doc told me you had to get stitches?” His eyes are wide with worry, but you have something of an amused if dazed smile on your lips as you comb your fingers through his hair.
“Hi Philly.” Your voice sounds rough, and Flip could cry, maybe he is crying, he doesn’t know, he’s just so happy to hear your voice. You nod, giving him a little sigh, “Yeah, just a couple right where I hit my head. Was I out for very long?”
“No, but then you were in so much pain they put you under while we worked.” The doc says, because how the hell would Flip know, he was having a nervous breakdown outside. Checking on the machines that you’re all hooked up to, he asks, “How do you feel now?”
“Like I was hit by a truck.” You sigh again, before turning to Flip and giving him a dreamy smile, “But you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Flip kisses you again, once twice three times right on the lips, before cupping your cheek and not looking away from you when he asks the doctor, “Does she have to stay overnight?”
The nurses come in then and begin to unhook the IV and pull all the cables away, bandaging you up nice and securely.
“No you’re free to go, there’s no blunt trauma or damage to the brain. All you have to do Mrs. Zimmerman, is rest up.” The doc pats your blanket-covered foot at the end of the bed, winking, “And take it easy in the bedroom next time.”
This has the both of you immediately embarrassed, feeling like scolded schoolchildren who got caught ditching class, instead of the grown adults you actually were. You give him a glance as if to say I can’t believe you told them how this happened, and he gives you back one as if to say I had to! I thought you died!
“Yes doctor, thank you doctor.” You cough awkwardly, covering your face and muttering to Flip once you’re sure everyone else is gone, “You think we’d get a free ice cream cone with how often we’re here, hm?”
“I’ll get you ice cream, do you want ice cream? We can stop by on the way home.” Flip kisses your hand, presses the tips of your fingers to his lips and smooches all over them, making you chuckle despite it all.
“Actually, that does sound pretty good.” You mull the thought over in your head, “Okay, just hand me my clothes and after I change we’ll go sign some paperwork and head home.”
It is then, that Flip realizes he forgot much more than his own shirt, when he had carried you up and away to the hospital. He looks around, wondering, hoping that the nurses had brought something for you instead of the little paper gown that you’re currently dressed in, but it seems that that hope was in vain.
“Oh…yeah…” He stalls, “Ketsl, about that…”
“You did not bring me to this hospital naked, did you??” For the first time in a long time, you give him an incredulous look, anger clouding over your face as you demand to know.
“Of course not!” Flip stammers, looking around for the proof that he, “I uh, wrapped you in a sheet.”
He holds the sheet up, still covered in the blood from your forehead,
“Philip Daniel Zimmerman!” You shout, covering your face and sinking back down into the bed, pulling the covers over your head as you realize in horror that he had somehow gotten you into the car naked, and carried through the lobby and the waiting room in nothing but a stained sheet, “God that’s so fucking embarrassing!”
“I love you so much, I love you more than anything in the entire world you are my one true love – ” Flip immediately drops to his knees, really lays it on thick as he winces, knowing that he really fucked this one up worse than all the other Valentine’s Days before it.
“Oh give me the fucking sheet.” You bemoan, snatching it from him and getting out of the hospital bed, taking stock of his own appearance.
He’s wearing his pants on backwards, and a shirt that you’ve literally never seen in your life. He’s got one sock on, and one is missing, no shoes in sight, and his face and hair are a travesty. The poor man looks awful, looks like he had spent the past hour bawling his eyes out, and with the redness in his eyes and around his nose, you’re sure that he has.
Despite it all, you can’t be mad at him. So, instead, you swallow your pride and wrap the sheet around your body like some long avant-garde evening gown, and sigh, “You’re so lucky I’m obsessed with you.”
And if anyone has anything to say about your combined appearances as you leave the hospital and head on your way to pick up ice cream from the drive-thru, neither of you notice, too glad to be alive and together to care.
L is for the way you look at me
O is for the only one I see
V is very, very extraordinary
E is even more than anyone that you adore can
February 14th, 1975. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-eight and he is sick and fucking tired of things getting in the way of this damn holiday. He is determined, absolutely fucking determined, to make sure you have the best day imaginable. He’s done everything right – and he means everything – to ensure victory in this long-sought-after, elusive battle.
Every Valentine’s Day disaster has been leading up to this, he thinks as he drives home from dropping the kids off with Uncle Jimmy. He will not be cooking, he will not be working, he has his truck tuned up and running smoothly, and he is on his way to you right now.
Fresh bagels, breakfast sandwiches, warm pastries and hot brewed coffee from that bakery down the street that you like are sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, and he’s going to surprise you with a perfect fucking day so help him.
When he comes back home, he arranges everything neatly on a tray and brings it up to you, smiling to himself that you haven’t woken up yet. He places the tray – decorated with a little rose in a vase and everything – on the dresser, and settles next to you, petting back your hair from your face.
“(Y/N),” He whispers, trying to bring you out of sleep, “Honey-bunny, wake up.”
“Mmmmorning.” You beam up at him, reaching your arms up for a hug, that he is more than happy to give.
“Hungry? I brought you breakfast.” He kisses you with a smile.
With that, you push yourself to sit up against the headboard and regard him lovingly as he leaves your side and brings the tray over. He settles it over your lap and gestures to the assortment of fresh and delicious looking breakfast choices for you to pick from, but you first lift the little rose up to your nose and give it a deep sniff, happily sighing.
“I thought something smelled good, have you been gone long?” You kiss his cheek and pat the spot next to you so he can lay in bed too, so he does, picking up a muffin and doing his best to not get crumbs all over the sheets.
“About an hour, I didn’t want to bother you on your special day.” Flip sidles up next to you and lights a cigarette, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you smile at him through the reflection of the mirror on your dresser.
“My special day huh?” You tease, knowing the track record for when Flip tries to plan something extravagant.
“Yeah, for real this time.” He’s so determined, so fucking determined, everything is going to go right if it’s the last fucking thing he does, but he doesn’t say all that.
You still hear it anyway.
“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” You prompt sweetly, almost convinced of the fact that it’s because he tries to keep things a surprise, that it all goes badly.
Flip must think so too, because he’s sighing and rolling his eyes, unhappy about spoiling the day but knowing it’s probably for the best.
“Yes, I got us a couple’s spa package. I know things have been difficult with the littles toddling around, and you do so much for them and for me, so today is all about pampering you.” He announces, and you let out a loving little squeak from the back of your throat as you aww at him, making him blush.
“That’s very very sweet, thank you honey.” You beam, excited about the prospect of a professional massage, especially because he was right; you loved your children with your entire heart but having two under two was a bit hectic at times.
“Don’t thank me yet – I don’t want to jinx anything.” Flip is quick to say, and you laugh because you know how he must be feeling right about now.
After breakfast and some lazy lovemaking in bed, the afternoon light shines brightly as you and Flip arrive at the spa.
It’s a real fancy place, the kind with a big water feature right on the wall that makes the entire lobby feel serene and luxurious. Flip is halfway expecting something to go wrong – he keeps bracing for it. But as the nice women at the front desk bring you into the couple’s massage room, everything seems to be going off without a hitch.
Hot stones are all the rage, and so for the next sixty minutes, you and Flip enjoy the peaceful quiet and mood music as the knots in your muscles vanish. Afterwards, they put some kind of mud mask on both of your faces, and add little slices of cucumber over your eyes. You both sit like that for a good while, as you’re each given a manicure and pedicure.
You get your favorite color of polish done, and Flip just asks for a clear coat, wanting his nails to look nice but not necessarily colorful. It’s fun, Flip decides, being pampered with you. Maybe this could become more of a regular thing, he sure as shit could use those hot stones now and again after a long fuckin’ week of stakeouts or pouring over paperwork.
By the time you emerge from the spa, it’s practically evening. You suggest going back home, but Flip has other plans – namely, to keep you out of the house for a little while longer. He brings you to a pizza spot that you remember fondly from your days of dating Flip back when he was working at the family mill he now owns, going out for a slice and a cola and kissing in one of the red booths in the back.
Everything is exactly the same, except everyone’s a little older, but the pizza and the company are still great. Flip can’t help but kiss you, even though you’re not in the red booth in the back, but no one seems to mind anymore. It’s been years and years of this, of Flip loving you, they’re all used to it.
Flip chucks a couple quarters into the jukebox and the two of you dance on the black and white checkerboard like you’re the only two people in the entire pizza joint, because when you’re together, it feels like you are. It feels like you’re the only two people in the entire world.
The clock strikes seven, and he knows the coast should be clear at the house by now, so he brings you home and tries not to act too suspicious. You call him out on it, but he refuses to say, manages to keep his big mouth shut the whole way home, until you’re opening the front lock and pushing the door open to reveal a romantic wonderland.
Ron and Jimmy had been working tirelessly the past two hours, blowing up heart shaped balloons, arranging big bouquets of your favorite flowers and roses of all different colors, and a thick trail of rose petals that led up the stairs to your bedroom.
Speechless, you clasp a hand over your mouth and give him a look, impressed and surprised, and Flip can only grin.
“Go up, there’s more.” He whispers, kissing you on the cheek and patting your ass playfully.
Following the trail of rose petals, you push open the bedroom door and your heart fills with so much love and appreciation for your husband, because on the bed are some carefully wrapped boxes with white satin ribbon bows just for you, along with a giant teddy bear, a bucket of ice and a bottle of expensive champagne, and your favorite kinds of chocolate.
“You are so good, you know that?” You whirl around and practically jump into Flip’s arms, hugging him and attacking his face with kisses, making him smug as shit, but rightfully so.
“Want to open them?” He offers, but you’re so overwhelmed by it all in the best way possible, you just keep hugging him.
“Oh Flip – I will, but first, please, please fuck me?” You bat your lashes up at him, suddenly desperate to feel his body against yours, desperate to feel him in and around you.
Flip hadn’t expected that right away, but that doesn’t deter him. He quickly scrambles to get everything off the bed and onto the floor or up on the dresser, and is back to you within a few moments, kissing you deeply, working to get your clothes off with a deep chuckle in the back of his throat.
“Yes, shit you’re so pretty, my pretty girl.” He scoops you up and drops you onto the bed, wrestles with you a little until you’re laughing and grinning at him, his mouth smacking smooches to your lips as he demands, “C’mere.”
“Please don’t let me fall off the side of the bed this time.” You grip his biceps and he flushes a deep embarrassed red, but brings your attention to the floor where the accident had happened all that time ago.
“One step ahead of you, ketsl.” He gestures to a series of plush pillows that he had lined up on either side of the floor by the nightstands so that if you were to fall – which he’s going to make sure you never ever do again – you’d land on something soft, “A perfectly padded landing platform.”
That is the final thing holding you back from pulling him down by his shoulders on top of you, and Flip happily goes, happily settles you underneath him, eagerly slides the head of his cock through your folds. Your pussy grows wet under his touch, and it’s not long before you’re whining for him to really give it to you, so he does – oh fuck, he does.
Lifting your hips with one of his strong hands, Flip lets your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts shallowly in small motions, wanting to get you stretched and relaxed as he sinks his cock deeper into you, making you moan, your eyes rolling back into your head when he bottoms out in your hot cunt.
“Oh! Oh yes, right there, right – yes!” You gasp as he begins to fuck you in earnest, holding your legs up and bending your body in just the right way to give him deeper action, stronger penetration that has you gasping.
Your back arches and your toes curl just from the feeling of being so full, your head tossed to the side as your hands twist in the pillowcase underneath your head, reaching up to grip the headboard that begins to shake and smack against the wall as Flip moves his hips faster and faster.
“Look at me?” He doesn’t like that he can’t see your face though, with the way you’re tucked against your arm, so he reaches for it and grips your jaw, pulls you to look at him. Your eyes are already unfocused and glassy but you’ve got the brightest smile on your face, that drops into a beautiful perfect O as he pounds into your pussy, “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, you know that? I feel like I don’t tell you enough.”
“Tell me again.” You tease, biting your lip and shaking under him, opening your hips and letting him fuck over your gspot with wild abandon, voice wobbling from the effort, “I didn’t hear you.”
“You’re – so – yes! – fucking – beautiful – oh god,” Flip groans long and low as you clench around his cock, your pussy fluttering and pulsing, the tight we velvet heat sucking him in and never letting him go, making Flip’s ears ring with pleasure, “Do that thing again ketsl, do it.”
You do as he says, and your cunt clamps down hard on him, making fucking you even sweeter, the friction driving him insane, making him grind his cock as deep into you as it can go. You can feel it knocking against your cervix and you whine out in pleasure, tears from overstimulation pricking up at the corners of your eyes, clinging to your pretty lashes.
“Flip! Ohhhhh Flip, that’s so good,” You praise him, only spurring him on, making him sweat sweat sweat all over you, dripping sweat down onto your perfect fucking tits that he just cannot not kiss and lave his tongue over and suck on, “Your cock is so good honey, fuck me harder, please!”
“No, I’m gonna take my time with you, make you fall apart, make this pussy soaking wet by the time I’m done with you.” Shaking his head, Flip pulls one of your nipples into his mouth and makes you moan high and loud, and Flip doesn’t even stop when your body confuses him for the baby, and sweet milk floods his mouth.
“H-honey! Right there, right there just a little faster? Please just a little f-faster -- ah!” You’re crying now, your thighs shaking, feet kicking out your pleasure, one of your hands gripped tight in his hair and yanking hard, making him come a little into your cunt, making him never want to stop.
“I should tie you up, keep you right here under me where you belong,” Flip pulls off your nipple and grips your jaw, “Tell you how fucking pretty you look taking my big Jew dick – suck.”
Slipping a few fingers into your mouth to wet them and let them rub against your tongue, gagging you, making the sweetest choking noises spill from your throat as you try to moan and suck at the same time, Flip’s mind blanks out entirely with pleasure, a static sort of hum singing through his body as your pussy pins him and holds him.
“I-I-I’m --!” You wail, and that’s his cue to pull the fingers out of your mouth, drool stringing from your lip to his knuckles, and finds your clit, rubbing steady circles that have your body jackknifing up, tensing up and cry cry crying his name.
“That’s it ketsl, let it out, shh I know it’s good.” He massages your clit slowly, milking it as he fucks you through your orgasm, licks up the tears and sweat on your face, kisses you deeply, passionately.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop honey!” You beg, trembling against his lips, and Flip wouldn’t dare go against those wishes, not for anything.
You don’t know how many hours pass, before Flip comes in you for the final time. He crashes down onto the bed next to you, chests heaving, bodies sticky with sweat and come and tears of pleasure, of overstimulation, of love.
The night is still young, you still have to open your presents and drink your champagne and all, but for now, all he wants to do is gather your beautiful naked body into his arms and kiss you, so that’s exactly what he does.
“Fuck.” He grunts as his muscles which had been so loose from the spa day, are now burning with all the exertion. He kisses you and pinches your nose, asking with too much hope, “Good?”
“Really good.” You promise him, cupping his cheek with a pleasure-weak hand and kissing him again and again and again, until he’s smiling. You laugh and stretch a little, your entire body made of jell-o, and joke, “At this rate, we’ll be three for fuckin’ three years in a row.”
“Would that be so bad?” Flip thinks of the kids that should be fast asleep by now, and his chest grows warm.
You duck your head bashfully, feeling so loved and cared for and wanted by your husband. You always do, truly, but you can’t deny that it feels a little more special today.
“I gotta say, Flip,” You turn to face him and prop your head up on your bent elbow, “You really knocked it out of the park this time.”
If there were a Heaven, this would be it, Flip thinks as joy and elation course through his veins. He grins and punches the air with happiness, feeling like he suddenly has the energy for a victory lap around the property. You laugh at how display of theatrics, and he surges up then, wrestles with you playfully and nips at your jaw with his teeth, finally finally finally having succeeded in something he had tried for over a decade to do.
“Would you mind saying that again?” Flip echoes your earlier sentiment with cheeky sarcasm, “I didn’t hear you.”
And you can only laugh and tell him again and again, wanting him to know that you have had a wonderful, a perfect, a beautiful Valentine’s Day, not just this year, but every year that you’ve been together.
Love is all that I can give to you
Love is more than just a game for two
Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it
Love was made for me and you
Love was made for me and you
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Tagging some pals! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000
#flip zimmerman#flip zimmerman x reader#flip zimmerman/reader#flip zimmerman x you#flip zimmerman/you#blackkklansman#adam driver fanfic#adcu#my writing#flip zimmerman fluff#flip zimmerman smut
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cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!
then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here, x
“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”
Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.
“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.
Humourless.
And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.
“This is the part where you-“
“Shhh.”
A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.
She’d made Eris wait almost a day.
In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.
Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.
She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.
The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.
It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.
Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.
It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.
Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.
Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.
Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.
“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”
Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.
“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.
“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.”
Cue phase two of the plan.
Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.
Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative.
“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.”
“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.”
Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.
He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.
“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.”
Eris said nothing.
“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued. “To do as you’re told.”
She gave him strict instructions. Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me. Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.
“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.”
She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.
Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.
She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.
And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle: a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.
She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.
Who’s your daddy, now?
-
She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.
They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.
Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.
“Damn it,” she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.
Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway…
“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.
She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…
“Ugh,” she said again, louder. Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time.
Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.
“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?”
He meowed again.
Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.
“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.
Cassian’s jacket.
Uhg.
Now she was thinking about him again.
Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.
He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.
She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”.
He purred.
Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath. Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him. The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.
Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.
The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.
Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.
Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.
Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.
Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.
Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.
Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.
She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.
Not a man. A boy.
A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.
Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.
Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex. Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet. In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.
But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it.
Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.
She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her.
Her screaming.
Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body. What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.
It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.
And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.
It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles. And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.
Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.
And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even. In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.
A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.
Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.
Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues.
No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.
And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.
Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.
“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь”
Her mother’s last words.
Ten numbers.
Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door. All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.
“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.
Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.
Like a phone number.
No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough. Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.
A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.
“Здравствуйте.”
Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.
Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.
“Who is this?”
Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?
“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-”
The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.
A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.
What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.
Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.
Go down for murder.
Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body. How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.
Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly. Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.
Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers. The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.
“If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”
“You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?”
“Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.”
“Woof,” Nesta had said dryly.
“Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”
“You offering to adopt me?”
“I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.”
Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.
“But you ever want job, you call me.”
Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.
Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.
In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.
She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.
And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice. Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.
Until Feyre had moved to the city.
Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics, selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit. Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.
At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.
Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner.
Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.
Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.
Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.
The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.
Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.
Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring. A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings.
If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain.
It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done. Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.
She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.
That and the fact they were really very good.
Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.
In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly. Sinking deeper into the basin.
A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-
Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.
Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.
“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.
“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.
Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.
“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.”
“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.
“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.
“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”
If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully.
It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.
“You told me to give him a chance.”
“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?”
Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.
Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.
“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on-
“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?”
“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”
“Ever heard of the third date rule?”
“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?”
Feyre sighed.
“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-”
“So why did you send him my way?”
Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.
“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.”
Nesta rolled her eyes.
“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked.
Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.
“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.”
It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.
“I’m fine,” Nesta said.
“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.
“Well I’ve been smoking.”
“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.”
“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.”
“He only smokes them on special occasions.”
“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?”
“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh so you did hear me?”
“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”
She hung up.
“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.
When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.
It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.
Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.
But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.
Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.
Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.
What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client. An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could. Because it was just easier.
Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.
Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.
Fuck.
Her being mad at him had been a cop out.
Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot; but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.
Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong.
She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.
A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living!
Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.
But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.
—
Cassian had ignored her calls.
All three.
Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.
Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator. Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.
Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy. She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.
Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.
Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.
It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.
“All work and no play?”
Cassian looked up from his desk.
“I can fix that,” she said.
He’d never looked more handsome.
Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.
He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.
It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.
“What are you doing here?”
Rude.
Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.
“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.
“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.”
She turned to find him watching her.
His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.
Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.
“You’re still upset about that?”
“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.”
“Oh really?”
“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.
She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.
“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.”
“You don’t have a clue what I want.”
“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly.
The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.
It was all very conflicting.
“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.
Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.
“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again. “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.”
The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.
“You’re right,” she said.
Cassian blinked.
Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.”
The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.
Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike. “Your emergency, of course. Which was?”
“Nothing to do with you.”
He shook his head, laughing bitterly.
“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”
“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.
But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.
“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.
A weighted silence settled like snow between them.
Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.
“Shit.”
His head fell into those large hands.
“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up. So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.
“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.
“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.”
“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.
Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.
Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.
“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?”
She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.”
“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.”
Nesta slid of the desk.
“Go on,” she instructed.
“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.”
Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.
“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.
“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.
“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.
“I can tell.”
She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.
“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”
Cassian swallowed.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.
“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?”
“If you say please.”
“Please don’t screw around with me.”
Nesta faltered.
Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.
“I’m really into you,” he admitted. “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.”
The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.
Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.
“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”
She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.
Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.
Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.
“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion. “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.”
She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.
“Nesta-“
“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.”
“Someone could come back-“
“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.”
His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.
“Nesta-”
She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders.
“I want you,” she purred again.
He might have tried to breath. And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.
“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.”
His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.
“You want me,” he breathed.
She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.
The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously.
“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.
“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.
“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.
His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.
“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.”
“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.
She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter.
“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…”
“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.
“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.”
“And I’m saying you could be in me.”
She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.
The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over. The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.
“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.”
“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.
“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout.
“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.
The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.
Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.
“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.
“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.
“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.”
“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.
Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.
“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.
“Yes, yes, please.”
“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.”
Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze, wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.
The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair.
“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.
And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.
“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.
“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.”
“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.
“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.
His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.
“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.
The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.
“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.
“More,” she demanded.
It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.
She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him. Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.
“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.
He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.
“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.
“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.
“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.
“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.”
“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”
His words sent her over the edge.
Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.
Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.
Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders. Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.
Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.
“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.
“Then get on your knees.”
Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.
“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.
“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again. “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”
His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.
Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.
Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.
“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.
“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.
He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.
In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.
Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.
She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.
“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.
Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.
The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.
Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.
Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.
“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.
His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.
His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.
“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.
“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.
“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.
Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.
“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.
She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.
Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.
He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.
She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.
“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.
He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.
Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.
“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.
“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.
Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.
“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.
“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.”
“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.
Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.
“Down boy,” she purred.
“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.
“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.
“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.
And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.
Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.
“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly.
“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.”
Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.
“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.
She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.
“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.”
“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby”
Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.
“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.
She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.
Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth. Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.
“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.”
Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew. His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.
“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.
Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.
“Cassian,” she keened.
She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.
Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.
Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.
He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.
And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.
“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.
“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.
“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.
“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.
Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.
“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”
Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles. Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.
“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips.
She gasped softly, grinding deeper.
“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.
“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.
“Let me take care of you.”
“Cassian.”
“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there. “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.”
Nesta smiled.
“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.”
Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.
She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.
“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.
His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.
“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.
It was so good.
Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him. And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl. Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.
His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.
“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,” She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.
“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.
“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit.
Nesta whined softly.
“Cassian…more…”
She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.
“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.”
She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.
“Oh!”
“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.”
His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.
“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.”
Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.
“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”
Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.
She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.
Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.
“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.
“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.”
She turned her gaze to him.
“Shame.”
He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.
Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.
“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.
Cassian grinned.
“You like Italian?”
Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.
“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.
Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”
“Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”
“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.”
Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.
“Lethal,” he whispered.
Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”
Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot. ��
“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.
“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.
Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair.
Their second date had been incredible.
He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.
Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.
If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.
Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.
Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.
Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.
Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.
Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.
The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.
The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child.
Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.
Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.
Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.
But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.
Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.
As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.
Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.
Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.
He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.
“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”
Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.
She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?”
Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.
“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying. Which off course only made him like her more.
“What? Make you blush like a-”
“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them- like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?”
Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”
“Says the military man.”
“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.”
Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.
“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.
“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.
“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.
“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”
“That was so a line!”
“You’d know if I was giving you a line.”
“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.
“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive. “Because I’d love to take your top off.”
Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.
“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”
“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.
“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.
“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.”
“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.
“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.
“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.
“What would you rather we talk about?”
“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.
Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.
Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute. It reminded you that you were alive.
The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.
So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.
The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.
Nesta sighed sweetly into him-
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore. Tame Impala playing from his pocket.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.
He fished out his phone, and declined the call.
“Well you’re the only one getting it.”
She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.
“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.”
“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.
Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.
“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.
Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.
Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.
“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly, hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.
Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.
They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.”
“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.
“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.
She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.
“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.
“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.
“Yes please.”
Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower-
Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.
She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.
Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.
“What are you doing?”
“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did. Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.
“Congratulations.”
Cassian grinned.
“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”
“Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.
Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.
“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.
“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.
“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.
“Please do.”
She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.
“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.”
He pulled back abruptly.
But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?”
For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.
“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.”
“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-”
“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.
“But I-”
A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.
He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.
“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.”
“More romantic than that sentence?”
“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.”
“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.”
“How have you already failed?”
“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.
“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.”
“So you’ve said,” she blushed.
“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.”
“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.
“You’re so mean,” he grinned.
They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf.
“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.
“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.
“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.
“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.
“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.
Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.
Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.
Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.
The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.
“Did you decline my call?”
“Yup.”
“Bastard.”
“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.
“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.
“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”
“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.”
He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.
“That why you’re calling?”
“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?”
“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation. “Yeah, I’m free.”
He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday.
“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.
“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-”
“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?”
Shit.
In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.
While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.
Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait. In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.
Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.
“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-”
“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.”
“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.
“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.
“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-”
“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.
“Fine, your stropping-”
“Fuck off.”
Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.
“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.”
Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.
“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.
“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.”
“Hang on a minute-”
“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.
“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.
“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.”
“Alright, alright Don.”
“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.
“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.”
“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?”
Cassian sighed heavily.
“This a secure line?”
“Always”.
“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.”
“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.
“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?”
“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”
“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.”
“Lucien?”
“Turns out the kid’s his.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.”
Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.
“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?”
Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.”
“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!”
“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-”
“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.”
“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.
Rhys went silent again.
“We could always just kill Eris.”
Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.
“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.
“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-”
“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.”
“Dick.”
“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.
“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-”
“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.”
“I’m fucking Persian!”
“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.
“A fanabla!”
“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.”
“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.”
“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-”
“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.”
“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?”
“If I said yes would you come back to us?”
“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.”
“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.”
“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.”
“Nesta’s no Feyre.”
Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.
“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.”
“See you then.”
TAG LIST
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Can you please do headcanons for what the twisted wonderland boys would do if their girlfriends ex showed up wanting her back?
Uh… .ALL OF THEM ???? Are you serious ??
Oh My God !!!! Ummmmmmmm, OK, I’LL DO MY BEST, but I think it’s about time I started putting character limits because this is going to be difficult.
IT WAS INSANEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
For obvious reasons I didn’t include Ortho, so I hope this is still to your liking
Riddle
He tried to make the meeting as smooth and consistent as possible.
He is the dorm leader, he has to be the example of maturity and consistency in dealing with women.
He tried for more than half an hour to dispel the insults towards him and politely asked them to get out of Hearstlabyul, but when your ex started talking about you… oh boiiii
Our Queen is pisseeeeeeeeed.
Indispensably if your ex had magic or not, it’ll be OF WITH THEIR HEAD.
Had to ask not only to Trey and Cater but also the dynamic duo to escort them out.
Treat him with little sweetness and a cup of coffee, our redhead will thank you.
"I love you, and I will always be by your side as long as you want to have me with you"
Trey
The personified knight. Outside of joking, at no point did he get upset or ask them to leave in a rude manner.
He handled the situation calmly and when your ex finished speaking, that was when his face changed radically.
Yes, the knight in shining armor was quite a facade.
He gave your ex a gloomy look and in a low tone commented that they were not welcome at Heartslabyul, much less NRC and that they had to leave if they didn’t want to end up with a broken leg.
SHOOK.
Both of you spent the night baking cakes and watching bad movies, even though what Trey really cared the most was spending the night with you, snuggled between his sheets.
"I may have reacted in a somewhat terrifying way, but believe me when I tell you that that look will never be directed at you"
Cater
Our dear orange haired man here didn't take it very well. It was one of the few moments in which his face or voice had not the hint of happiness and amusement that characterized him so much.
He may have used his unique magic to intimidate your ex… I mean, if a mildly angry Cater doesn't do any good, I guess five will work.
Indispensably whether it worked or not, you could always call in the dynamic duo to get your ex out of the way.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t necessary the one neuron duo, with the five Caters it was more than enough.
Before they left the dorm, he took a selfie as not in a mockery mode and uploaded it to his social medias.
“Do you want to appear in the photo? So I can show the world how beautiful you are, how lucky I am to have you and how stupid your ex was to show up at school "
Ace
Another one who lost his temper, but just when the person in front of him said it was your ex.
Don't overthink it, he just made an angry face because he already knew what your ex was up to, and he didn't like it one bit.
Believe it or not, Ace didn't hold on to the punches with them. No, he simply told them that he had no intention of letting you go and immediately sent them flying with his magic.
For the last thing, he told them not to bother trying, turned around and went to where you were to give you a long, possessive kiss in front of your ex.
"I maaaay have been a bit possessive, but I don't want you to leave my side"
Deuce
He threw a cauldron at their head ... jocking ... or not?
Nah, nah, I'm kidding, but he did come close to throwing his famous cauldron at them and leaving them squashed like a figurine.
Lowkey rogue mode activated.
It may have scared you a little, but it didn't have much of an effect.
Your ex didn't leave you alone until Deuce punched him across the face, screaming for them to leave you alone.
You have to get out of the crime scene before any teacher comes.
Ashamed of himself. Maybe the way of resolution he had was not the best, but it was effective and you were grateful for that.
You gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek and told him everything was fine, that he didn't have to worry about anything; he was your knight in shining armor.
“Sorry, anger washed over me again. I couldn't bear the idea of you being taken away from me "
Leona
Man, this one acted out of pure pride. A stranger grabbing his beloved herbivore? Ohhhh noooo, honey, you messed with the wrong lion and prince.
This is one of the few times he wouldn't send Ruggie in to fix it. No. He would stand tall and beat this motherfucker ass.
You'll have to stop him before he turns your ex to sand, and I'm not kidding this time.
The very thought of someone taking his girlfriend from him drove him wild.
With your ex out of reach, and scared for life, he will demand cuddles and a nap.
He won't admit it, but Leona was afraid for a moment of losing you. You are his, and no one else's.
“I will not let anyone take you from my arms. I will protect you no matter what”
Ruggie
Used Laught with me, no discussion.
And there was no discussion with your ex. He just saw them with you, heard snippets that they wanted you back, that they wanted a second chance, blah blah blah ... and that was it, unique magic in action.
You got disoriented for a moment when you saw your ex walking strangely towards the exit, but when you heard the famous giggle of your boyfriend you knew immediately what was happening.
Let's be honest, in all it was a pretty funny image.
Ruggie stayed by your side all afternoon in the Savanaclaw lounge room playing and splashing in the water.
"I may be a possessive and territorial hyena, but this hyena is at your complete mercy"
Jack
Nothing like a good roar to scare away any predator that intends to stick its nose into other's prey.
Just kidding, Jack would never consider you prey, you are his significant other and that means he must protect you from any danger.
Wolf mode activated to the surprise of your ex.
He growled until their figure could not be seen on the horizon… lowkey cute as fuck.
Give him cuddles in this form, he would really appreciate it… he really would love your hands caressing his soft fur.
Record a video of his tail wagging, just for science.
“I figured you were uncomfortable and couldn't think of anything else to get your ex off your back. Now come with me, I want to caress you correctly"
Azul
Believe me when I tell you that the appearance of your ex not only irritated Azul, but also brought him insecurities that he thought were already buried under the ground.
The fact that a stranger appeared at the doors of the Mostro Lounge with an air of melodrama was enough for our octopus to go out to meet them directly, thinking they was just another customer ... an annoying customer, to tell the truth.
But when they started yelling for your presence, demanding that you come back to them, oh ... Yeah, this so-called customer is now banned from entering.
He let Floyd and Jade take care of them.
Like Riddle, give him love and a few sweets, he needs it. He really needs affection.
He needs to hear your voice, to remind him that you are with him now. He wants to hear you say that he is the only person in your world right now and that you would not leave him for nothing.
“I'm a silly octopus who got tangled in your arms and not the other way around. Only you give me the comfort that I've been looking for so much "
Jade
Your ex must have some balls of steel to even be close to Jade and plan to face him to have you back ... this guy has a suicidal desire.
Jade's appearance was not only scary, but his way of talking and engaging in conversation with your ex was what made them run out of the Mostro Lounge.
But you were already more than used to his characterization as an intimidating person.
Bring him a basket full of multiple mushrooms from the botanical garden, he will appreciate it.
And maybe also a glass container to create a little mini environment for those mushrooms… both of you will have a nice time together, maybe the whole night putting it together.
"You are my favorite starfish and I cannot allow any sea thorn to monopolize your beauty"
Floyd
Even having the same calm expression as Jade when he saw your ex, it didn't last long. The moment your name came out of their mouth, Floyd's face broke.
You remember in episode 3 when he asks Adeuce braincell to shut up, well… that same expression.
By this time, Floyd was no longer as calm as his brother; in fact, he went directly to squeeze them.
If you paid close attention you could hear how the ribs were cracking little by little. Good thing you were there to stop Floyd.
Your ex stalked to the exit as they was nearly squeezed alive and Floyd gave you a grin from ear to ear as if he had done nothing wrong.
"I protect what is mine, no one has the right to take my shrimpy from my side"
Kalim
At first this ray of sunshine didn't even know what was happening, he thought they were just looking for you to chat, to keep up.
But when he heard this strange person exclaim that they wanted you back… he was still just as lost, but not in an innocent way.
He went to where you were to give you a big hug in front of your ex. He may have looked cute and adorable, but unconsciously Kalim was marking his territory.
Kindly asked your ex to leave the dorm and not make any more advances, they were making you uncomfortable, and if you were uncomfortable he was uncomfortable.
He gave you butterfly kisses when the situation calmed down. Give him kisses back, he needs them.
“You love me, right? Because I love you very much, and my love cannot be compared with anything in the world, and yours cannot be bought even with all the jewels I have in the treasure chamber "
Jamil
This is simple. Jamil only asked your ex once to leave the dorm.
Not understanding reasons the first time, he simply used his unique magic causing them to go "on their own".
Problem solved. NOW, that doesn't mean Jamil was in a good mood.
Not at all. Anger can be seen rising from his ears like smoke, but his face expresses calm.
Help him in the kitchen, he may not say anything, but internally he will thank you.
Cuddling in the middle of the night, curled up in his bed? HELL YEAH.
"You are the most precious diamond I have in my life, I am not going to let you go so easily"
Vil
How dare this pathetic person to proclaim you back in front of his own nose?
Putting aside how impressed he was by such a daring act, Vil was once again furious.
Vil isn’t a person who defends his opponent in a violent way like Leona or Floyd, but he could attack the self-esteem and brain.
Even though… if the obscene words towards you kept bubbling out of their disgusting mouth, he would have to give him a poison apple.
It almost happened, thank goodness you were there to lower the fumes.
Vil was irritable all day and not even a beauty treatment could calm him… shit this was bad.
Give him a couple of hours to calm down and try talking to him during the night and if he doesn't want to, you can always do the routine for his face before going to sleep.
“I'll be honest, I liked your ex's audacity, but it didn't displease to see how mistreated they was and if I can correctly assume, the mistreatment they caused you. You are here with me and I am here with you, neither is going to be detach from the other "
Rook
When Rook saw how your ex was trying to convince you to come back… let's just say he didn't take it very well.
But his face said otherwise. He had the same grinning and somewhat creppy expression as ever, so it was difficult to determine in that tense moment whether he was really angry or not.
I think the arrow that passed between the two of you, best expressed between your two faces, made it pretty clear that Rook wasn't going to sit idly by.
A bit violent and shocking, but effective. Your ex shitted their pants and stormed out of the place, without even looking back.
Coward.
"I'm sorry for the bad moment I put you on, but nobody touches my prey"
It may be that his action was with tenderness of support, but that doesn’t remove the shock from your face.
You slept with one eye open that night.
Epel
Let's say the conversation got off to a good start, until your ex had the brilliant idea of mistaking Epel for a girl.
Oh yeah, the truck driver's voice came out to our farmer.
Be prepared to hold him and prevent him from giving your ex a tremendous punch in the face. Even in that situation your damn ex had the decency to keep asking you to go back to them.
It even occurred to them to denigrate Epel for how short and his supposedly sweet voice was... now you can let him go.
With your ex out of your sight and a reprimanding of Vil towards Epel's ugly acting, you guys spent the night in your bedroom.
Simple caresses and a few small butterfly kisses to calm the atmosphere.
“Sorry, I lost control and gave you a hard time. Don't be mad at me, I don't even want to think about the possibility of losing you "
Idia
Oh… .emmm, embarrassed baby became even more embarrassed at having to come face to face with a complete stranger.
Talking to you is one thing, but talking about yourself with your supposed ex is another thing entirely; he even finds it difficult to talk about you with his own brother, so imagine the traumatic moment Idia had to go through.
In a stuttering manner, he asked them to please get away of hs face… and from school. If the shame towards his person was not enough to get your ex out of there, no problem ...
From somewhere he'd get a little machine that would run your ex's fucking ass outside the doors of NRC.
The machine would have a small camera embedded so you could see from its monitors how your ex ran like a baby with their butt burned thanks to Idia's invention.
He may have uploaded the file to the internet… who knows.
After this terrible and agonizing day, Idia doesn’t plan to leave his room until the end of the year.
Stay with him as long as necessary, hours, days, afternoons, nights, early mornings, whatever it is, just ... stay hugged him at all times.
“For a moment I thought you were going to leave with your ex. You know, Ortho loves you very much, and you leaving would make him very sad ... and me too"
Malleus
They have to have balls to go straight to Malleus and tell at his face that they wants you back.
10 for the audacity, -1000 for their physical health.
Malleus, like Vil, doesn’t need to destroy or attack your ex, just standing there and acting intimidating is enough.
If your ex still wants to hang around you after seeing that scene, then Malleus is going to have to put his horns on it.
Nothing like a spark of fingers to make him disappear from your side and send him flying out of school.
They are fine, at least that’s what Malleus said.
“Even being amazed at the audacity of that little creature, they should learn that the word no means no. You, little human, you are mine"
Lilia
Big bear mama Lilia took the situation with great grace. If only your ex knew that the were talking to a fairy over five hundred years old I throw a number they would freeze.
He endured the boring and monotonous talk with your ex with a sarcastic smile and when they finished speaking he wished them a good way back. He then sent them flying towards the exit of Diasomnia.
With their butt out, Lilia slammed the door in their face. You watched the scene from the top of the dorm lounge stairs.
At no time did our little fairy have a hair out of place. And with that same tranquility he disappeared from the door and magically appeared next to you with his characteristic smile and face down.
He gave you sweet kisses before he went out to babysit some freshmen who were about to set the kitchen on fire… as if Lilia hadn't done it before.
“Don't listen to them, they are part of your past. The best thing is to leave it behind, because now you have a present with me "
Silver
It happened in one of the few times when Silver was wide awake and with no intention of going to sleep in whatever corner he came across first.
Still, he literally didn't understand anything, he just wanted to spend time with you and that time was ruined.
Silver did nothing, just grabbed your hand and led you into the hall of mirrors, disappearing into Diasomnia's one.
Before going through the mirror, you turned your gaze over your shoulder, seeing how your ex was following both of you and with a handshake which happened to be raised the middle finger you disappeared into the mirror.
In the warm cold of the bedroom, you spent a long time in the arms of your loved one.
"There is no need to look into the past, I like living the present with you"
Sebek
Don't hate me for what I'm going to say… but your ex didn't even have a chance to say hello, Sebek was already on his shoulders asking them to leave if he didn't want them to face a duel.
Just kidding, not a duel… but it would give him their lesson if they didn't immediately leave the dorm.
No one without the consent of his young master Malleus could enter the residence. And speaking of Malleus… he spent about half an hour talking about his master and how he would be able to turn them to ash if they approached Diasomnia again.
And by the way to you too.
"Incredible how a person thinks they had the right to appear like this out of nowhere, how could you be with a person like that?"
Oddly enough, the day passed like nothing, even at bedtime Sebek acted as if your ex had never shown up.
But… during the early morning, a heaviness on your stomach woke you up from your dreams. Sebek was huddled behind you, his head buried in your hair, his arms across your belly.
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twst x reader#riddle x reader#trey x reader#cater x reader#ace x reader#deuce x reader#leona x reader#ruggie x reader#jack x reader#azul x reader#floyd x raeder#jade x reader#kalim x raeder#jamil x reader#vil x reader#rook x reader#epel x reader#idia x reader#malleus x reader#lilia x reader#silver x reader#sebek x reader
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October the 31st, the day I disappeared
Written for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House challenge. I hope you like this A/B/O version...
Summary: A celebrity haunted house for charity will be open one night only, Halloween night. You spent days trying to get a ticket online for the event. Thanks to a bad day on Halloween, you get there only a minute before the line closes. You’re the last person to go in and thinking that’s either really bad (everyone is tired or would be in a hurry to see you out) or really good (maybe you’d get some extra time with the one you came to see). You are never seen again. You select the set of the celebrity you’re there to see. When you get too close, you step into another dimension - their world – and there’s no escape. (I used the given summary…)
Pairing: Alpha!Curtis Everett x Omega!Reader
Characters: Gilliam, Edgar, Ofc Jake, unnamed ofc’s
Warnings: angst, language, a hint of blood, mention of deaths, scenting, true mates, smut, unprotected sex, mating bite, dub-con (if you squint), possessive alpha
October the 31st, your world…,
“Come on, hurry up, Jake,” you groan, rolling your eyes at your boyfriend. He doesn’t want to go to the haunted house to look at guys who look better than him. “I was at that motorboat show with you too.”
“I wanted to look at boats, not other guys,” Jake rolls his eyes, stopping right in front of the house. “Can I not wait outside? Go and look at those wax figures and get all riled up for me.” He runs one hand over his crotch, and you sigh, asking yourself why you are with a guy like him.
“Yeah, you wanted to look at the boats but ended up ogling the hostesses. Don’t think I didn’t see you leave with one of them,” hurt you look at the house once again. The clock strikes five to midnight and you know, it’s Jake who cheated on you more than once or your favorite celebrities tonight. “You know, stay outside Jake. I’ve got this.”
You run off before Jake gets the chance to argue – not that he would want to enter the haunted house. “I’ll wait here, smoke a cigarette, and imagine you blow me off.”
Disgusted you run toward the door, showing your ticket to step inside the haunted house just in time.
The clock strikes midnight when you stroll toward your favorite character.
“Curtis Everett,” you swoon, looking up at the man you admire so much. “I saw your movie at least twenty times. I still can’t believe you didn’t make it.”
“Step closer to have a look,” the man who validated your ticket offers. “Don’t be shy.” Hesitantly you look at the man, shaking your head.
“No, Sir. I don’t think the owner wants us to touch the wax figures. I wouldn’t dare to risk I ruin it. I can watch him from afar but thank you, Sir,” you decline his offer as polite as possible.
“No worries, young lady,” the man chuckles, getting a device looking like a remote control out of his pocket. “You don’t have to watch him from afar any longer.” An uneasy feeling spreads through your body as you realize there are no other visitors around.
When you entered the haunted house, at least half a dozen girls were swooning all over Chris Evans's characters. Some men admired Carol Danvers and others stormed toward Sebastian Stan's characters.
Now suddenly everyone is gone, and you wonder where they all went to. Or should you rather ask what happened to them?
“What do you mean?” You gasp when the man’s eyes start to glow in the dim light of the room. He’s mumbling words in a foreign language, a dark smirk on his lips.
“Don’t be afraid, it will only hurt for a moment. I’ll get your soul and your body will turn to dust,” you look around the room, now seeing the dust in front of all the wax figures. Your heart hammers when you step backward, back bumping into Curtis's chest.
All you can do is to close your eyes and wait for your end. The song your mother used to sing to help you fall asleep comes to your mind and you start mumbling the words. The man’s eyes widen, but you can’t see it when the words your mother taught you slowly calm you.
“No…no…I can’t lose control,” you feel hands grasp for you, souls screaming your name when an arm wraps around your waist, dragging you backward. You scream in terror, fight the embrace as the room starts spinning.
“Don’t take her soul away from me,” the man screams, dashing toward you but it’s too late. Whatever grasped your body drags you into another world with rules of its own…
“Is she one of the front enders?” You hear voices close to you. Your mind is still clouded with darkness and fear. “Girl doesn’t look like she belongs to the tail, Curtis.”
“She doesn’t belong to them,” Curtis’s voice much closer now, his fingers graze your neck. “Now go and check the section. I can’t let anyone get her."
“Curtis, she could be a spy,” humming the tall alpha leans over your body to sniff at your neck, dragging his nose along your pulse point. “I’ll be right back.”
“Go, tell Gilliam we found a girl,” your eyes slowly flutter open when the alpha kisses your skin. “There she goes, little omega.”
“I…I,” Your eyelids flutter shut when you pray this is all a nightmare. His breath hot in your neck, his scent surrounding your senses the alpha brings you out of your prayers. “I swear that I’m not part of Wilford’s plan. I…”
“Who are you?” A knife pressed to your throat forces your eyes to meet Curtis's darkened blue orbs. “If you are not part of the plan you can answer my question.”
“You will not believe me,” lips quivering you look up at Curtis, knowing he will not trust anyone not coming from the tail end.
“Try me,” he’s sliding his hand over your chest, gasping when you push your breast into his hand. “I want to know how you got this far. We control the water supply section.”
“I know,” your shiver, feeling his thumb pinch your nipple, slowly rolling it. “I will tell you how I ended up here, but you’ll believe I’m crazy.”
“I want to hear it, omega,” Curtis’s hand slowly moves down your chest, fingers curling into your crop top. You shudder when his fingers reach your pants. “Tell me about it.”
“I visited a celebrity haunted house for charity. I got the tickets online and the only person I wanted to see was you, or rather the wax figure they made,” you gasp when his fingers deftly unbutton your pants. “Suddenly everyone was gone but a strange man. He mumbled words in a language I didn’t understand. Then I felt the wax figure behind me wrap his arm around me…that’s all I think.”
“Online? That’s impossible. Everything and anyone outside the train got destroyed. There is nothing left,” Curtis dips on hand into your pants, fingertips grazing your clit. “You’re crazy or a liar.”
“I still got the ticket, alpha,” you grind against his hand, slick slowly soaking Curtis's fingers. “You can have a look. I swear this is not my world. I don’t know how, but I think that I ended up in an alternative universe.”
“Alternative universe,” humming the alpha makes quick work of your pants, drags the fabric down your legs, along with your soaked panties. “You’re crazy.”
“I told you that you won’t believe me, Curtis,” his lips press against yours, claim your soft pillow in a surprisingly gentle kiss. There is hunger hidden behind his eyes, but he doesn’t want to unleash the beast he released at the beginning of the revolt. “I don’t know how to get back.”
“You won’t,” Curtis states, ripping your top off your body to reveal your braless chest. He groans, head dipping to suckle at one of your nipples. “You’re mine now.”
“Yours?” you cry out feelings his hand slip back between your legs to toy with your clit. He’s slowly running his thumb around the swollen numb, bringing you to the edge of an orgasm. “I can’t be yours. Jake, he’s…”
“I will not let you go,” you whimper, body craving the alpha. “I knew the moment I woke behind you that you’ll be mine. I could scent you.”
“Behind me? This is impossible. How can you…” Realization hits you. You didn’t end up in the world of Curtis Everett from the movie you know. “Edgar is still alive. This means things didn’t end up like in the movie.”
“We are not in a fucking movie,” he grips your hands, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, to hold you to the ground. “You’re in my world now. I don’t care if you came from the front end or another dimension. No matter what – you are mine now,” his teeth sink into your neck right before he slips two thick fingers into your slicker channel.
You should be afraid, should fight his touch but your secret fantasy comes true and you can’t deny the alpha your body or obedience. Not with his mark on your neck.
“You don’t understand, Sir.” Jake pants, fighting the cops who deny him access to the haunted house. “My girlfriend, Y/N. She went inside that house like four hours ago and never came back. I can’t reach her phone.”
“Sir, we must ask you to remain calm. We are looking for all the visitors. All we found inside the house was dust in front of the wax figures.” Panicked Jake looks at the haunted house, screaming your name when he realizes he lost you forever.
“Y/N…Y/N…no…no,” he sniffles. “I’m so sorry for being an ass tonight…or like ever…”
“Mine, that’s who you are,” your clothes scattered all over the floor of the train, your face pressed into his dirty coat you kneel, shivering in anticipation. “I will not let you go.”
“I can’t stay,” Curtis doesn’t listen to your words. All rational thoughts left his mind the moment he caught your scent. “I need to go back. There must be a way.”
“There is no way you’ll leave your alpha,” you close your eyes when the tip slips inside. “I haven’t had a woman like you in ages…or rather never. You smell like hope.” His hips snap into your ass and you fist the coat, crying out at the wide stretch. “You feel like heaven in this hell.”
“Please…oh-god,” he sets a pace you can’t match. His hands touch every inch of your body. There is so much desperation in the way he takes you it breaks your heart. “Curtis…”
“I want to know your name, beautiful.” He whines, lips pressing against the mark he left in a haze. “You feel so soft against me, so pure.”
“Y/N.” You choke your name out, mind clouded with lust. “I swear I didn’t lie to you…alpha.” Curtis groans at your words, holding you to the cold ground, now speeding up.
“God, I wish I could fill this tight cunt, but not now. When we took over the train, everything will change. I’ll get you round soon,” Curtis purrs. “I want you to cum for me.” You teether on the edge, ready to let go.
“Curtis,” a breathless moan leaves your lips when his cock rubs over your g-spot. Curtis pulls out to flip you onto your back. “Please don’t stop…”
“I won’t…never,” he’s forcing his way back inside of you. His dirty face buries into your neck and just now you feel his sticky skin and that his natural alpha scent mixes with the smell of dirt, blood, and death.
Tears run down your cheeks when reality catches up with you. This is not a nightmare, nor a fantasy. Curtis Everett, the guy from a movie just claimed you.
An alpha you don’t even know moves on top of you, cock spreading you wider than Jake ever could. You lose a part of yourself when you come undone, nails digging into his back.
“That’s it, Y/N,” his teeth sink into your neck again, this time he draws blood and you cry out, feeling his knot swell. “I lied,” he growls when his cum floats your belly. “Gonna knot you now…”
Curtis didn’t let up for almost two hours until he finally brought you to his hideout in a corner of the water supply section.
“Mine,” his lips travel down your shoulder, nibble lightly at your soft skin. “So soft and warm.” You wish you could enjoy his touch or that you can feel your bond form.
“I want you to tell anyone you ran from the front end. That Wilford tried to make you his omega, but you caught my scent, ‘mega. I can’t have them question you.”
“Curtis, I need to find a way to go back. I can’t live in a movie,” he fists your hair, forces you to crane your neck to reveal the mark he left. “Alpha?”
“I’m sorry to tell you, but you were lost the moment my teeth sank into your neck,” he smirks against your skin, erection pressing into your ass. “If only you would’ve run to the next section, omega. You could’ve gone home as long as you had your ticket.”
“What?” You gasp, struggling to get up. “No…no…you are supposed to be the hero…”
“In my world, you eat or get eaten. You asked me why Edgar didn’t die, well…” Curtis snickers, into your neck, not missing your body starts shaking. “It’s because we run the train. There was this nice man. He came to us, offered his help if we give him something in return.”
“The souls…the man was talking about souls,” you sniffle, hiding your face in the palms of your hands. “How could you do this?”
“We agreed and he sent us two or three people a year on Halloween. The poor bastards ended up dead, slaughtered by people of the front end. I never had to kill anyone. I just didn’t help them,” Curtis whispers into your ear. “You are different, Y/N. I scented you and knew, you’ll be mine.”
“He screamed and acted as if he can’t get my soul…”
“It’s his game, Y/N. He likes to play with his prey. This time, he got played, though. We found the sigils he pained on the walls of the train and removed all of them right after I dragged you into my world. There is no way back.”
“I’m stuck…with you…”
“No such words, baby. I swear you’ll have a good life by my side. It’s not the life you chose, but it’s the one you’ll learn to love…”
One year later, Halloween...,
“There is nothing you can do?” Jake looks at the haunted house, stomach twisted in knots. “It’s been a year and none of the victims got found. Now they open it again as if nothing happened. Twenty people disappeared in one night.”
“Sir, I’m sorry,” the officer sighs. “I lost a friend too, you know. I wish I could stop them, but there is nothing I can do. I hope, one day we will find out what happened to our friends.”
“I do too…”
“She’s so beautiful…” Curtis watches you lie on his bed. Your belly filled with his baby you sleep peacefully. “I knew she would adapt soon enough. “Maybe one day she’ll accept I did this for her.”
“I don’t think she’ll believe you,” Gilliam sighs. “This was not the way we wanted to win the revolution. Using that monster to get rid of most of the people from the front end. Keeping a few hostages to work for us.”
“They did the same,” Curtis argues, eyes never leaving your sleeping form. He rarely lets anyone get close to you. Most of the time you must stay in the room he stole from Wilford.
“Did you listen to your words, Curtis? We do the same and that makes us monsters too. The only difference is – we should’ve known better…”
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#October the 31st the day I disappeared#JsHauntedHouse2020#JTargaryen18′s Haunted House 2020#angst#smut#a/b/o#true mates#dubcon#curtis everett#curtis everett x female reader#curtis everett x you#curtis everett x reader#alpha!cutis everett#alpha!curtis#snowpiercer
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Fabric Softener༄ mark l.
↳ Having a boyfriend who happens to be an idol isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, in fact, sometimes, it’s quite the opposite.
pairing: idol!mark x reader
genre: fluff, angst
wordcount: 1942 words
Request 30: Mark + “I wish I’d never met you.” (27) + “You’re an asshole.” (137) (A2F)
— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.
Of course you knew what you were getting yourself into when you and Mark started dating a few months ago. There’s no denying that Mark is an incredibly busy man. Any time you try to contact him, there always seems to be something preventing him from coming to see you. With shoots, rehearsals or just the arduous hassle of going anywhere with a swarm of fans constantly on his tail, Mark barely has any time left to spare for himself, constantly caught in the dizzying world of being an idol.
And of course you understand that. You understand that so well. But it’s so… frustrating. It’s so frustrating only being able to look at your boyfriend’s face from the screen of your dimly lit phone, it’s frustrating to consistently read the phrase, ‘I’ll talk to you later’ and never get a text back, it’s frustrating how Mark seems almost disinterested in you nowadays.
You know it’s incredibly selfish of you to have these thoughts, but no matter how hard you try to smother them, they always find a way to resurface, picking and tearing at you slowly—torturously—from the inside out.
What if he’s just intentionally blowing you off? What if he doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if, what if, what if: those spiteful words keep taunting you.
The last time you saw Mark was what? A month and a half ago? You see your damn cousins more often than you see your own boyfriend at this point.
You sort of wish you had someone to relate to, but who can you possibly divulge this information with? Tattling to someone that you’re dating Mark Lee will only burden him, and again, while you understand, the thought pains you. Burden.
Are you only making Mark’s life harder?
And even when the front door shuts and Mark’s arms snake their way around your waist, that all too familiar yet all too agonising smell of fabric softener and faint sweat floods your senses, you can’t find it in you to be happy.
Mark leans into you from behind, his shoulders loose as he inhales deeply, his nose buried in your hair. “Hey, it’s been a while.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” You shrug Mark off, straightening your loose shirt. You don’t mean to sound bitter, but your tone isn’t exactly the kindest.
Mark’s soft footsteps seem deafening as he stands before you, firmly rooted in his spot and a prominent crease in his thin brows. “What does that mean?”
You hold his willful gaze for a moment before you look away, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides. You walk past him towards your bedroom, slightly bumping his shoulder. “Nothing, Mark. It means nothing.”
You can audibly hear Mark following after you, his steps morphing from light ones to more forced and heavy ones. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Yeah, of course I am,” you say, “but I shouldn’t get my hopes up because you’ll be leaving in like an hour anyway.”
Mark laughs incredulously. “Excuse me?”
You swivel on your heel, facing Mark once again yet not daring to fully stare him in the eyes. “Yeah, and you’ll ghost me for two months again.”
“Ghost you?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “I was busy. You know that. We just had a comeback recently.”
You frown. “Well, you could at least have called me.”
Mark sighs in exasperation. “I was—”
“Busy. Yeah, trust me. I know,” you deadpan.”
“Well, what do you suggest I do?” Mark challenges. “Since you’re being so demanding.”
“Demanding?” you hiss. “Calling me back and texting is doing the bare minimum, Mark. I can hardly call you my boyfriend.”
“So, what? You want me to spend all my time on you? Slack off on my job, disappoint thousands and drop my source of livelihood? Is that what you want from me?”
You’re fuming now. A raging fire has ignited, lapping at your insides, wreaking havoc and burning down anything in its path. It fills your lungs, the smoke ashy and dense, suffocating you and cutting off your airways. It clouds your senses, hindering your sense of judgement and all those emotions that you’ve kept in check for this past month finally break free, spilling from your lips with no remorse.
“That’s not what I meant! God, Mark, you’re infuriating.” Angry tears blur your vision and you have to physically restrain yourself from swiping at them with the back of your hands. “You’re - You’re being unfair.”
“Me? Unfair? You’re one to talk,” scoffs Mark. “It’s not like I haven’t been trying to clear up my schedule to see you! You’re making me sound like the villain here! If anything, you’re in the wrong. God, I can’t believe how self-centered you’re being! I wish I’d never met you.”
You’re stripped of the air in your lungs. “What the hell did you just say?”
“Wait,” Mark’s outraged expression crumbles, “no, I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” Your stomach plummets and the room around you spins. “You’re an asshole.”
Your feet move on their own volition. Your shoulders are heavy, weighing you down, yet your feet find no trouble in dragging you across the floor, bringing you to your room. Your mind is fogged, your shoulders are slumped and the pit of your stomach churns. Something has gotten hold of you and its grip is relentless, grabbing and twisting with everything it has, refusing to even allow you air to breathe.
Mark’s cold fingers wrap around your wrist, coaxing you back to him, desperately attempting to reverse the damage he’s done. “Please, hear me out. I was just frustrated, I didn’t—”
You shake your head. “Just leave me alone, Mark.”
Mark tries one last desperate attempt at making you stay, his eyes pleading, his gaze sincere and vulnerable. You turn away.
His grip on your wrist loosens. “Okay.”
“Okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than Mark.
Suddenly, even your own room feels asphyxiating. You fall into your mattress. It smells like fabric softener.
You can’t help but cry.
There’s a soft, rapid knock on your door. Oddly, even the knock sounds unsure.
You ignore it, hugging the covers closer to yourself and keeping your eyes glued on your phone. Though your gaze is set on the show playing, your mind wanders, preoccupied with other thoughts which you have tried to dissipate, to no avail.
There’s a short pause, before there are more knocks this time—louder ones. You scowl, tossing the crumpled and used tissues in your palm into the bin, one missing the mark completely. It lands dejectedly beside it.
“What is it?” you spit, menacingly.
“Can I come in?” Mark’s timid voice is muffled through the door.
“No.”
“Please?”
You bring your knees up to your chest, arms tightly wrapped around them. After what had happened, a bit of time had made you feel a little bad for what you had said. Well, perhaps more than a little. But that doesn’t mean Mark hasn’t done anything wrong either. You think you were being reasonable, expecting at least a call once in a while is far from being greedy, and you know you’re not wrong on that one.
Your door creaks open and you hear the shuffling of Mark’s feet as he inches closer and closer to you, waiting for you to do something. Does he think you’re going to bite him? What the hell’s taking him so long?
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, uh, can I sit next to you?”
You grunt lowly in response and Mark audibly heaves a trembling sigh of relief. He takes a seat, crossed-legged beside you with enough distance to let you know that he’s still a little hesitant.
The consistent hum of the show’s soundtrack playing from your phone is the only thing that pierces the strangling silence between you two. You stare at the moving blurs, unable to focus on what’s happening. You pull on the material of your pants awkwardly.
“Uh,” begins Mark, eyes darting to the stray, crumpled tissue near your bin, “were you, uh, crying?”
You glower at him. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Mark swallows dryly and you roll your eyes. The screen of your phone goes black as you switch it off with a click. You lay back onto your pillows, your hair messily crowning your face. You screw your eyes shut, crossing your arms over your chest. A dull ache persists there and you gulp. Your eyes are still swollen.
The mattress dips beside you beneath Mark’s weight. You turn your body away from him.
“Babe…” he sighs. “I’m really sorry for what I said.”
You don’t offer him the pleasure of a response. Instead, your body goes rigid.
“It was awful for me to say it and I regret it so much.” He continues despite you being adamant on paying no heed to his words. “I’m an asshole and you were right. The very least I could do is call you back, and you deserve so much more than the very least. It’s selfish of me to expect that you’ll be satisfied with having a boyfriend who’s barely your boyfriend, because nobody would. I shouldn’t have gotten so unreasonably angry at you, and I should have listened to what you had to say before lashing out on you like that. I’m sorry I treated you like shit and I’m sorry that you have an asshole for a boyfriend.”
Mark wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. The air is dense with repentance and apprehension.
“Can we talk?” asks Mark quietly.
You flip onto your other side, facing Mark and staring up at him, your puffy eyes glassy with fresh tears which threaten to spill. Mark’s expression shatters at yours. You allow him to snake his arms around you and pull you into him.
“Baby...” he coos, smoothing down your hair as you tremble and wail into his chest. You fist the tear-soaked material of his hoodie with all your strength, your knuckles becoming a ghostly white. Yet again, all you can think about is that tender smell of fabric softener. “I’m so sorry. I’m a dick.”
“Yeah, you are a fucking dick,” you sniffle, “I hate you. Dick.” You peer up at him, your burning cheeks wet with tears. You chew on the flesh of your inner cheek. “I’m sorry too. For being inconsiderate.”
Mark shakes his head, a few strands of his silky hair falling into his eyes. “No, it’s okay. But thank you for being understanding.” He gently swipes your tears away with his thumb. “I love you.”
You nuzzle your face into his hoodie once more . “I love you too.”
The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, basking in each other’s presence and warm embrace. Mark takes the opportunity to scatter fleeting kisses all over your head.
“Do you wanna get something to eat?” asks Mark.
“I don’t have any leftovers to heat up.”
“I can cook something.”
You snort. “You can cook? Really?”
“Okay, we’ll just order takeout then.”
The end of Mark’s sentence fades into a yawn, and you can’t help but yawn alongside him.
“Can we just take a nap?”
Mark hums. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
“Goodnight, Mark.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
And just like that, the embers of your argument sizzle into nothing. They become the remnants of a once wrathful fire. The room is warm. The glow of the early morning sun pours through the cracks in the blinds. Mark holds you closer to him, his soft snores and your even breathing being the only sounds in the room.
It smells like fabric softener.
#toaster requests#nct fluff#mark fluff#nct angst#mark angst#mark lee#nct mark#nct dream#nct u#nct 127#nct imagines#mark imagines#nct oneshots#mark oneshots#nct x reader#mark x reader#nct drabbles#mark drabbles#nct blurbs#mark blurbs#nct scenarios#mark scenarios#nct timestamps#mark timestamps#nct fics#mark fics#nct reactions#mark reactions
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Ruby quietly moved Emma’s bug into the garage behind Grannys, out of sight. M’s held Emma while she sobbed into her friend’s lap, and M’s stroked her hair, comforting her.
Ruby texted August quickly, letting him know they had it handled but not to tell Killian where Emma was laying low until they helped her figure it out.
August texted back, “Did he cheat on her?
Ruby: No, a shitty misunderstanding but M’s and I witnessed the entire thing
August: Is she ok?
Ruby: Would you be if you thought your boyfriend cheated on you in a bar full of people when you catch a flight home to surprise him?
August: He better fix this with her, don’t let her run. Understood?
Ruby: Yeah, TTYL
Killian called August and was sent straight to voicemail. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” He screamed sinking to his knees. His phone vibrated.
August: She is safe, but I told you man, let her go if you don’t want her. Don’t make me come there, Jones.
Killian: Did she call? I swear it wasn’t what it looked like
August. I know. She is safe, that’s all I can say.
Killian: Wait who called you? Ruby?
He got no response. He just tore his clothes off and showered, climbing into their bed holding her pillow as he thought over how the fuck he was going to fix this, Emma would probably never forgive him. The thought of that was so painful, it was almost unbearable.
He scrubbed his hands over his eyes, wiping the leaking tears, fucking Milah. Always fucking up everything, leaving people shattered in her wake like the bloody plague.
Anger bubbled up in his chest, and he put on clean clothes, going to sit in the shop and smoke, he stayed there all night, until the dawn shown through the garage glass, and his pack lay empty on the desk.
Killian hung the closed sign on the door of the shop and went upstairs to clean himself up. If he was going to find her, he needed to not look like absolute rubbish.
Emma woke up sandwiched between Ruby and M’s in her old bed at Granny’s, her eyes feeling swollen, her throat raw. Emma crept out of bed, and into the bathroom, and brushed her teeth, washing her face.
She was grateful for her friends, she had never had that kind of an experience without August, but she knew Ruby was right. Killian didn’t cheat on her, and she did get some satisfaction that the woman she punched was Milah. But it didn’t mean she was ready to face Killian yet, or anytime today.
She left her phone off, and booted her laptop up, emailing her boss that she caught a bug on the plane, needing a day off.
Ruby sat up, “Em, you ok honey?” she asked.
Emma shook her head, and Ruby beckoned her back to the bed. Emma laid back down and both women held her while she fell back asleep.
Ruby tip-toed out of the room locking it, and M’s said she wouldn’t open today, that she would stay with Emma and help her figure out the plan. But Ruby couldn’t go missing, she had to buy Emma a little time.
She made her way downstairs freshened up and found Killian sitting at the counter. Ruby didn’t acknowledge him, just slid him a cup of coffee and leaned back against the counter.
“You look like shit dickhead” she said.
Killian looked up at her, and Ruby almost broke then and there. He looked awful, up all night she would guess, crying too.
“Where is she?” he asked in a clipped tone.
“I don’t know Jones” Ruby lied.
“Ruby, where the fuck is she!” he banged his fist on the counter, the coffee sloshing out of the cup.
“Damnit Jones, stop. I don’t know” she said.
“You called August?” He asked her.
Ruby nodded, “a text.”
“You saw everything, you know I didn’t, couldn’t cheat, I wouldn’t ever cheat on her,” he said sounding defeated.
Ruby leaned forward, “I saw, and yeah I know. But she didn’t, I told her, but give her some time Jones” and patted his hand.
“If I find out you are hiding her Red, so help me god” he growled out.
Ruby leaned in, “I will beat your ass in heels any day of the week Jonesy. Don’t push me on this,” she said lethally.
Killian sat up, pounded the coffee, and stood.
“Where are you going?” Ruby asked him.
“To fucking find her,” he said.
Ruby waited until the door shut, and let out a breath of relief. Emma tip-toed down the back steps, and M’s whistled for Red.
“Clear” Ruby called out.
Emma came in, and Ruby was wiping the coffee off the counter.
“Em he is going to find you, if you are leaving, you’ve got to do it now while he is out looking for you. Or I can go grab your stuff, just tell me what to do here” M’s said.
Emma shook her head, “I don’t know. I just need some clothes, I can sneak in but I need you to keep a lookout for me” she said, and M’s nodded.
“Go through the alley, he won’t be looking in the alley. Climb up the fire escape outside your bedroom” Ruby said, and Emma eyed her.
“Why do you know all this?” Emma asked.
“I slept with Liam a few times, Jones doesn’t know,” Ruby said sadly.
Emma’s eyes widened. “Go!” Ruby said.
Emma and M’s slipped out the back door and sure enough, she was able to get in, their bedroom window unlocked. M’s stood hidden watching. Emma slipped in, her pillow balled up, the loft reeking of smoke, and her heart broke.
She grabbed a small duffle and threw only necessities in, she could buy new stuff. She had her laptop and charger, and anything else she would need for a few days, but grabbed her shampoo and conditioner, her running gear, and scribbled a note leaving it on her pillow.
“I’m not ready to talk. - E”
She slipped out the window and down to M’s hiding spot as they made their way through the alleyways back to her room.
M’s headed to the boutique and Killian was perched against the front door. She gulped and eyed him.
“Killian please move,” she asked.
“Funny, you didn’t listen to me begging you last night to get out of the way, to go after her,” he said.
“Where is she M’s? Just tell me, is she ok?” he pleaded.
M’s lied, for like the third time in her life. “We caught her last night, we told her the truth, and she said she needed time. She came out of your loft, and drove off” she said quietly.
Killian leaned over the glass of the counter, “M’s where is she?” he gripped her arms gently and asked again.
“Killian seriously, leave her be. She will come back when she is ready, but a thank you for telling her the truth would be appreciated” she snapped and pulled her arms from his grip.
Killian eyed her. “You two know where she is. Don’t you?” he asked.
“Killian, I do not know where Emma is right now,” she said, not lying but not telling the truth. Emma could be anywhere right now, she thought.
Killian nodded at her. “Just tell her I love her, to come home, that it wasn’t what she thought. But just tell her I love her, I need her M’s” he said and M’s nearly cried but steeled herself nodding.
“I will,” she said and he walked out the door.
Killian walked to the garage and headed up to grab his car keys off the dresser. He saw the note and smelled Emma’s perfume.
“Swan!” He yelled out, but he was alone, again.
He dialed August and went straight to voicemail. He called Scott, and he heard his voice come through in a low tone.
“Scott, please” Killian begged.
“She isn’t here, I am not supposed to be talking to you, Killian. But all I know is that Red told Auggie last night she was safe. If she shows up, I will tell you, but she isn’t here” Scott said grimly.
“Did August tell you not to talk to me? Why isn’t he?” Killian asked.
“I don’t know man, he just said we had to let Em have a say,” he said.
“Have a say? In what? Leaving me? Killian asked desperately.
“I don’t know Killian, honestly. I know you didn’t invite what happened, I know that. So does August, but he will choose her, and if Emma needs time, he said he would never push her, she has been hurt too many times, and he wouldn’t risk her pushing him away” Scott said.
“You’ll text me if she comes there?” He asked.
“I will, but I will not admit that I helped you to Auggie if Emma doesn’t want to see you, man. I have to protect her and you too, that’s what family does. We cant break trust” he said.
Killian nodded, “Thanks Scott” and hung up.
He looked at her note. He heard the door buzz, and he ran down to the front door.
“Milah, what the fuck are you doing here?” he said glaring at her.
“Who was the blonde Jonesy? Hmm? Your new piece of tail? I want her fucking name” Milah shouted.
Killian dialed Graham. “Get here to the lot now, I have a trespasser,” he said hanging up.
Milah’s eyes went wide, “You have to be fucking kidding me. I fucking lived here” she shouted and slapped him.
“You never lived here, you left a fucking toothbrush, and you are a fucking cesspool of rubbish, tearing people’s lives apart” he spits out.
Graham flew through the gates in the cruiser and got out. Eyes wide, he looked between the two of them.
“He hit me!” Milah yelled pointing at Killian who rolled his eyes.
Graham looked at Killian, and Killian shook his head.
“That never happened, and the person who did hit you has already left town, no trace of her” Graham said to Milah, and Killian’s eyes widened at that.
“You can leave, or I can arrest you and process you for trespassing. Your choice Milah” Graham said.
“Fuck you both!” Milah said storming off the lot, letting the gate clatter shut.
"Have you seen Emma?" Killian asked him desperately.
Graham shook his head, his mouth in a grim line. "No, I just want that pile of trash out of town. I don't even want her knowing Emma's name" Graham said and pulled Killian in for a hug.
"She'll come back Jonesy. She is just as crazy about you, as you are her," he whispered, and Killian nodded.
Graham took off, saying he was following Milah, making sure she left town. Killian nodded in thanks, and he saw a flash of blonde hair and took off running.
He saw the woman enter the diner and ran as fast as he could calling her name. Everyone including the woman turned to look at him as he barged in yelling her name, and it was a woman much older than Emma, and Ruby rolled her eyes.
“Granny watch the counter” and she walked out, grabbing Killian by his arm and dragging him back home. She pulled the gate shut between them. “You’re on house arrest until you get your shit together jones,” Ruby said and walked away.
Ruby went in the back way and knocked on the door in the code they agreed to, Emma opening it quickly. Ruby crept in and locked it behind her.
“He is losing his fucking mind Em, you gotta talk to him tomorrow. Scared our neighbor Ingrid, chasing her into the diner calling your name. The guy is hallucinating, literally losing his mind” Ruby said.
Emma looked down, “I know, I know. I will go tomorrow, ok? I need one more night, I need space, to clear my head,” she said.
Ruby nodded. “Milah showed up at the shop today,” she said, and Emma looked up at her in surprise.
“Killian called Graham, Graham gave her the choice of being arrested for trespassing or to leave town. She also cracked Killian hard enough to leave a handprint on his face” she said.
Emma sat down, her hands over her eyes. Why was she torturing him, he didn’t do anything wrong, Emma knew this. She trusted him, even after this. But what if she was wrong, she had been wrong before. Ruby locked the door behind her after she dropped that bomb. She needed August.
“Hey, sunshine,” he said.
“Hi,” she said numbly.
“Facetime call?” he asked her.
“No. I just need to know what to do here Aug” she said.
“Do you believe him?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said.
“Then why aren’t you home in your bed, having him prove to you how devoted he is to only you?” He asked her.
“I needed space, I mean I have been wrong before…” she said quietly.
“And you are wrong now. Tell you what, pop a zzzquil, get some actual fucking sleep, shower, shave, and go home. Let him apologize, be an adult, and let that man worship you the way he always does” he said.
“You haven’t spoken to him?” she asked surprised.
“Nope. Scott did, but briefly. He is mainly worried you left town, and he won’t know how to track you except through me. Red isn’t giving you up, surprisingly Mary Margaret didn’t crack, and you are a ghost. He has no idea where you are, imagine if you were in his shoes Em” he said.
“I’m going to bed,” she said.
“Night. Love you” he said hanging up.
Emma snuggled into the blankets, as the rain began pelting the windows. She naturally reached out for him, but he wasn’t there. When the first crack of lightning hit she texted him. She wanted to go home.
Killian was going crazy, he tried her phone again, and it rang, and went to voicemail. He opened the google maps app, and her location sharing had been turned off to him. He went upstairs to the loft and pulled out a bottle of rum, sitting on the couch. He turned on the princess Bride and proceeded to drink half of the bottle.
He woke up sometime in the middle of the night, thunder clapping outside, and waking him. Emma hated storms, hated thunderstorms when she was alone, he blinked a few times trying to focus his eyes and grabbed his phone.
“We can talk tomorrow. I love you. E.” It was an hour ago.
Killian sat up, he was still half drunk. She loved him. She was coming back, fuck. She had to be close by. He got himself in the shower and cleaned himself up, chugging a mug of coffee down. He brushed his teeth and cleaned the whole apartment. The lightning ripped through the sky.
Emma laid awake, every clap of thunder and flash of lightning set her teeth on edge. She wanted to be safe, to go home. She looked outside, she was going to make a run for it.
She threw on a pair of leggings, and her tennis shoes, she didn’t have a coat but peeked outside, the next flash bright enough to light the whole street up. She had to run fast. When the thunder subsided to a rumble, she ran out into the pouring rain, running hard towards home, toward him.
Killian watched the sky. It was nearly purple, and the lightning flashes, set the whole loft alight, it was the worst storm they had roll through in ages. He hoped wherever Emma was, that she was ok. He knew she had to be fucking terrified on a night like this.
Killian heard the gate whip open out front, clattering against the fence with enough force to snap it. He ran to the window. She was there, she was trying to get home, he flew down the steps and threw the shop door open. The lightning clapped, thunder rumbling, and he ran toward her stopping a few feet from her.
“Emma” he called out, and the sky lit up again, thunder booming.
She stared at him for a moment, eyes rimmed red, and ran into his arms. He picked her up, her legs locking around his waist, and he ran inside, slamming the door shut with his foot, bringing her upstairs.
She was trembling against him, he buried his face in her neck, her long wet curls drenched, and dripping puddles on the floor. He walked them to their room, sitting on the edge of the bed, and began to cry.
Emma was crying too, every clap of thunder causing her to tremble harder. Killian just sat there holding her, wrapped in each other as they cried.
She came home. He leaned back, cupping her face, and rested his forehead against hers, “I'm so sorry Emma” he said, tears still running down his cheeks, their hair dripping down their faces, each of them soaked to the bone.
He smoothed her hair back, her arms and skin felt like ice. “We have to get you warmed up, he said setting her down and rushing to turn the shower on. He took his clothes off, and he helped peel her out of hers, dropping them wetly to the floor, her lithe body trembling.
He picked her up and carried her into the shower, and stood with her under the hot spray, warming her up, his arms wrapped around her as she shivered.
“What do you think you were doing?” he whispered, keeping his face buried in her neck. “You could have been hurt,” he said, tilting her chin up.
“I was going to wa-wait. And the storm started. I texted you b-but you didn't respond, and the storm got really bad, I wanted you, I wanted to be home” she said her teeth chattering, and he gripped her tighter, rubbing her back, letting the warm water heat her through.
“You could have been hurt, gods. You can't do that Swan, you can't go out in bloody mayhem, you could have called me, I would have come wherever you were to get you, just never do that to me again. You could have died” he said and her thin arms wrapped around his waist hugging him tightly.
“I'm sorry, I know. I know what happened, I knew you would never, I just didn't know what to do. I got scared, I wasn't trying to punish you, I just needed time. I was going to come back earlier when I heard you chased the new lady in town, and August said you were going out of your mind, and I wasn't trying to make you that way. I swear, I just needed a breath, to make sure I wasn't wrong. I am sorry” she said.
Killian shook his head, “She means nothing, she came at me, and then you were there. I thought she had stolen another piece of my life. Ruby and M’s wouldn't let me near you, August hasn't spoken to me, Scott said you were ok, but I didn't know where you were. You disappeared on me, and I didn’t know what to do, I was going insane” he said, sounding desperate and broken.
Emma surged forward, her lips chasing his and he sighed pulling her closer, gripping on to her tightly. Killian ran his hands over every expanse of skin he could reach, kissing up the column of her throat as she moaned his name.
He picked her up, and her skin smacked against the tile wall. Killian angled his hips, Emma steadying herself on his shoulders. He let her slide back down the tile, and he guided himself inside of her. Emma whimpered at his entrance, gasping as he seated himself fully within her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her nails digging into his skin. Killian hissed as her nails dug in, and bruised her lips in a punishing kiss, the thrusts wild, and hard. It felt like he was trying to place himself so deep inside of her that they would never separate.
Emma let her tears fall, whimpering as he thrust into her repeatedly, her ankles locked around his waist, the tile backsplash her only support as he punished her with all the love he had inside of him.
Emma sobbed through it, through the pain of feeling unwanted, of feeling like the one thing she had come to trust wasn't true at all, the pain she caused both of them from her fears and insecurities, for it all. As he pounded into her relentlessly, it felt like all of the hurt, and pain she had been warring with the last few days slipped away.
Killian was at war with himself, he was being rough with her, he could feel her trembling around him, her nails scoring his skin, the sobs wracking her chest as he tried to fuck away her pain, his pain, their pain.
He moved swiftly, sitting on the bench of their shower, and with her balanced on his thighs, he leaned back cupping her jaw, attacking her mouth, leaving marks all over her porcelain skin. He was never letting go of her now that she was home.
He gripped her hip in one hand, leaving his mouth fused to hers, swallowing her cries, tasting her tears, and his, and he rocked her back and forth. He was pushing them both closer to release with each thrust until he felt her clench around him.
He felt her nails digging deeper into his shoulders, and when he heard her cry his name, he let go, letting her drag him over the edge with her into a blinding abyss.
They sat there in their embrace until the water ran cold, and the steam was long gone. Their tears subsided and he couldn't stop kissing her. He kissed her as the lightning raged outside, and the power went out blanketing them in darkness. He kissed her as she trembled in fear of the storm, and gripped him tighter against her.
Emma shivered in his arms, and he lifted her off him slowly, missing the heat of her already. He grabbed a washcloth and wiped them both off, and wrapped her in a towel, helping her out into the dark bathroom.
Emma toweled off quickly and squinted in the dark, navigating their room to crawl in their bed. Killian crawled in beside her, his front to her back, and gripped her possessively. Emma felt him still hard, rutting against her, and she didn't know if she could take any more.
“Killian I can't'' Emma protested softly, and he kissed her neck with so much gentleness she couldn't deny that she craved the closeness of him too.
“I know. I just want to be inside you Emma” he murmured, and Emma understood because she felt the same way. She arched, giving him access, and he gently pushed through her swollen folds. She moaned softly at the intrusion.
Killian groaned, and wrapped her tightly against his chest, cupping her breast and his hand possessively holding her stomach against him, just wanting to feel the warmth of her surrounding him after feeling so lost. He smoothed her curls out until he felt her breaths even out, and he fell asleep.
When daylight peeked in through the curtains, she realized they had shifted at some point, no longer connected. The alarm clock on their dresser blinked, power was back on. She rolled over, taking in Killian’s unshaven face, his long black lashes fanned over his cheeks, sound asleep.
She quietly went to the bathroom, turning the shower on, letting the water heat up, and went to stand beneath the spray, scrubbing herself clean, and unknotting her curls. She heard the door open and she watched Killian enter the shower.
His blue eyes had circles beneath them, and she kissed him as he stepped into her, wrapping his arms around her. Emma reached up, grabbing the showerhead from its cradle, and held it over him, warming him up.
“I love you,” he said against her neck, and she nodded.
“I know, I am sorry. I love you too” she whispered, her throat feeling hoarse, and pressed her lips to his quickly.
He leaned back and his eyes locked on hers, “You did nothing wrong, and though I didn't either, I never want to experience this kind of pain again Emma, I can't. I don't think I can handle losing you” he said, gauging her reaction.
Emma stepped back sitting on the bench giving him the space to shower, but not wanting to leave. Killian cleaned himself up, trimming his beard and brushing his teeth.
Emma just watched quietly, not knowing what else to say. She got out, and grabbed clean towels, laying one on the sink for him as she wrapped herself in her robe and brushed her hair.
She headed to the window at the front of the loft and looked down. She could see a few fallen trees, and Killian came up behind her, dressed in sweats and a soft tee. “We should talk,” she said, not turning to face him and he sighed, nodding against her shoulder.
He went to grab them a cup of coffee, and brought it to her, sitting beneath the soft throw blanket with her. He was anxious and exhausted, but he wasn't going to lose her, he wouldn't allow it.
“I went to the bar as I told you I was. Ruby, Graham, M’s, and Dave were there, everything was fine, and I went to the bathroom. When I came out, she was there waiting for me. I asked her what she could possibly want from me, and she said a roll in the sack” he laughed almost in disbelief.
“I said some not so kind words, but ultimately no. I didn't even need to mention you, because whether you were here in my life or not, I still would have said no. She caught me off guard with the kiss, and I heard you drop your bag, when I looked over and saw you, the pain all over your face, my heart broke. I wanted to hurt Milah for hurting you, for putting me in a position to even shake your trust slightly in me. But you beat me to it when you socked her, and your henchmen blocked my exit after you ran out” he finished.
Emma swallowed the coffee and nodded. “Ruby told me most all of that, M’s too. But it still hurt, god it hurt so bad. I trust you, please don't doubt that. What I did not trust was myself, and if I was willing to risk hurting myself by allowing you that much power over me, my happiness, my heart. That is why I left. I knew you didn't do anything wrong, or encourage her” she said quietly.
“So the self-imposed exile, driving me insane with worry, was because you were protecting yourself from me?” he said, sounding hurt.
Emma nodded. “I have never let my happiness be so wrapped up in one person, I never had that. I have had boyfriends, and lovers, but never have I let someone actually own my heart, to have that kind of power to destroy me entirely” she whispered avoiding his gaze that was burning on the side of her face.
Killian swallowed, absorbing her words. “But you are choosing us?” he asked bluntly.
Emma looked at him, her green eyes dim, and nodded.
A wave of relief swept through him, and he set their mugs down on the coffee table. “I choose you Emma, every day, every single thing I do, since the moment I laid eyes on you. I have chosen you, only you. You are everything to me, my love, my best friend, my whole heart. I choose you” he said and waited.
Emma’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at him, “I know. I just never had anyone choose me before, and I had to deal with that Killian, I had to deal with someone wanting me, choosing me, loving me entirely. It is fucking terrifying. I wanted to tell you something before this happened, I made a decision in New York, and I flew back to tell you before all of this happened” she said.
Killian rested his arm over the back of the couch, and looked at her, fighting to curl into herself and instead choosing to face him.
“I don’t want to do my job anymore, I don’t want to be apart anymore,” she said.
Killian’s eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t want to work?” he asked confused.
Emma sighed, “I don't want a job where I can get hurt, or have to travel at a moment's notice whether it be a day or for a week unexpectedly, I don't want it anymore. Every time I leave, the look on your face kills me, it breaks me to leave you every time I walk out the door not knowing if it was for a few hours, or a few days. I know it hurt you, and I don't want it anymore” she said, looking down at the blanket she was twisting in her hands.
Killian ran his hand over her hair, twirling an errant curl. “Emma, that is ok love. You don't have to do that anymore, I don't care. Don't work at all, or work with me, or do something on your own from here, consulting, or what August does. I know you can do whatever you want. But we don't need the bloody money, I just need you to be happy” he said.
Emma nodded, and curled into his lap, her head resting on his legs. “Where did you go?” he asked her softly.
Emma bit her lip, “Granny’s” she said.
“Bloody Ruby, I would have torn the building apart brick by brick if I had known,” he said harshly.
“Don't be mad at her, she was trying to do what was right for me, to protect me, to slow me down, and buy you time while I figured it out” she protested.
Killian grumbled, “and she got M’s to lie too? The woman hasn't held a secret in her whole life, and I show up and lean on her, trying to force it out of her and she doesn't crack at all,” he said, sounding surprised.
Emma laughed, “M’s was my lookout when I broke into the loft to get some stuff and left the note,” Emma said biting her lip.
“Oh, so now she is a liar, and encouraging breaking and entering?” he said, sounding amused.
Emma nodded and rolled to her back looking up at him. “They were trying to help me, protect me, protect you. I’m sorry” she said.
“Are we going to be able to move past this?” he asked her. Emma nodded and gave him a small smile.
“Does this mean you are going to take Graham up on his offer?” he asked and Emma shook her head. “I don’t think so, I don’t know. Maybe until I figure out what I want to do, and I don't know right now. But I have money, and I know you do, and that I have time to figure it all out, don't I?” she asked, almost nervous at what his response would be.
“Emma I told you, don't work, work from home, be a deputy, I don't bloody care, as long as I go to sleep with you, and wake up next to you. Having you within my sight at all times is just a possessive bonus, but I won't ever give you up, I am never giving you back” he said and tucked her hair back.
Tears leaked out of her eyes, and she turned in his lap, crumpling, as the words cracked her apart. Killian slid out from underneath her, and laid behind her, spooning her, and dragged the blanket over them. He held her while she cried, and he soothed her until she fell asleep in his arms.
Killian laid there, holding her, he should just ask her. Make her know this was permanent, but with a fucking ring he couldn't do that. How was he going to make her feel secure enough that he would never leave her? He wracked his brain, and nothing came. He finally conceded to the idea, he would just have to show her every bloody day and never stop.
When Emma woke up she was too warm. Her robe tucked around her, and Killian’s body heat radiating against her back. He was snoring lightly and she hated to wake him but she felt like her skin was on fire. She slipped out the end of the couch, and he didn’t seem to wake up. She quickly dressed and drank a glass of water.
Deciding to sit in her chair and read until he woke up. She didn’t read for long before he stirred on the couch, his eyes blinking open alarmed that she wasn’t still in his arms. He sat up and saw her, and she heard his sigh of relief.
“Hi,” she said.
He nodded at her, wiping at his eyes waking up.
“Want to walk over to Grannys and get my stuff?” she asked him, and he smirked at her.
“Absolutely.”
@sailtoafarawayland @omgmarvelous
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#emma swan#killian jones#ouat#ouat au#once upon a time#ruby lucas#august booth#mary margaret blanchard#graham humbert
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love you miles away [teddy jin x reader]
Summary: [Giftfic for a friend.] You're leaving for the holidays and require a big, strong man to help you lug your shit onto a train. Well, you suppose Teddy will do.
Genre: Romance, fluff
Date: December 25, 2020
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Snowflakes fall gently from the sky, illuminated by the setting sun and dripping orange skyline.
It was one of those nights where the cold bit into your skin just right.
A soft blanket of snow draped over the sleepy district of Yeongduengpo, tucking in it’s stony-faced homes and tinkering bell chime doors for a restful night.
You inhaled deeply, the chilly winter air cooling your skin and slowing your heartbeat. You could smell bits of the city when the breeze willed it, catching the tart scent of smog and cigarette smoke from wayward winds.
You turn away from the audacious city of Yeongdeungpo, it’s glimmering golden lights and sky-risen buildings growing stale to taste.
A train would be coming soon to whisk you away for the holidays, bringing you to a far more remote location and away from bustling pedestrians and honking streetcars.
“Come on, slowpoke! You’re going to make me late!”
A blond man trailed not too far behind you, arms and shoulders full of bags and luggage. He shoots you a look and you can’t help but laugh at his sorry state.
After all, you might’ve given him the heavier bags.
“Hey! I’m going to make us late? What the hell is up with all this shit you packed? Are you going on vacation or moving to Australia?”
You leave him to fume with a giggle on your lips, much to Teddy’s distaste. You had needed some help moving some of your luggage today, and you couldn’t think of anyone better than the guy who acted tough but couldn’t say no to save his life.
“Hey, slow down!” He cried out behind you, faltering a bit when passerbys turned to watch at the commotion.
He jogs and catches up with you, hair gleaming in the city lights.
“So what are you even going into the countryside for?” Teddy asks, adjusting the bag across the expanse of his chest.
You look away, careful to avoid letting your eyes linger for too long.
“Well, ya know. Just the annual family visit.”
He looks skyward, letting out a whistle. “Damn. At least you get to travel a bit, this shithole is suffocating around the holiday season. Too many damn tourists.”
Just as he says this, a sign flickers to life above your heads. You peer up at the neon glow above and snicker, gesturing to Teddy.
“Hey look, thirty percent off Subreme leather bags. You can get this one to replace the one Gray trashed in the rain last time.”
Teddy flusters, blowing hair out of his eyes and snorting. “Ugh, seriously? You’re intolerable. I should just dump all your crap on the floor and go home.”
You poke fun at him a bit more because you know he won’t despite his huffiness.
You had met Teddy long before he broke things off with Phillip Kim. His violent reputation preceded him of course, so you were shocked to catch him outside of a pet store, ogling newborn kittens in the rain.
Though you remained friends through his more voracious phase, you had always tried to coax him out of street violence. Your requests fell on deaf ears before his belligerence and haughtiness were vanquished by Gray handing his ass to him.
You hadn’t heard the details, but since then, Teddy had mellowed out nearly completely despite trouble seeming to follow him.
You sneak a look at Teddy. Despite his somewhat frail appearance, his arms bulged slightly under the weight of your bags. Of course it was no secret that lithe as he was, Teddy was definitely not scrawny.
In the backdrop of the candied orange sky, his pale blond hair gave an almost divine glow. The snow settled upon it readily, as if nature herself were trying to take claim to the starlight he produced.
Teddy was far too good a person to succumb to carnage, you had always thought this. His brash and rowdy exterior was utilized to scare those he deemed needed scaring, but and oftentimes you looked upon his elegant features and gentle nature, wondering how someone as soft-hearted as Teddy could land such dire hits in a fight.
You clear your throat and divert your gaze as he returns your staring with a questioning look.
“So what are you doing this break?” You ask, peeking at your watch.
Fifteen minutes until the train arrives.
“Not much. Same as usual. Maybe laze around and wonder why my friends use me as a pack mule."
“Oh you—” You lean over and try to grab a bag from Teddy, but he twists away from you with a smirk. You can tell he wants to laugh at you from the way his dark blue eyes curve, practically feline in it’s nature.
“We’re nearly there, don’t try and take these from me now!”
You roll your eyes and listen to the rhythmic beat of your luggage wheels upon the concrete sidewalk, savoring this moment with the mischievous delinquent.
Both of you come across the stairs leading into the station and make your way up, Teddy assisting with hoisting bags over the gate, though not without his share of whining.
“Ah, geez. I’m gonna be fucking sore tomorrow. You better tip me for this service.”
“Oh hush up you big baby. Don’t make me toss your present out the window.”
Teddy begins to retort but bites his tongue when he hears about the present. He becomes reticent immediately, lips pursing and eyes busy reading departure times on the electronic billboards.
You shake your head and smile to yourself, not missing the blush dusting his cheeks. His tough façade couldn't fool you for a second, he would always be just a touch too shy.
You recalled the times he asked your opinion on whether or not he had made new friends at Eungang, despite kicking ass beside them on multiple occasions.
You rub your hands together and blow warm air on them, condensation immediately catching on your fingers and chilling you even more.
“Come on, loser. We’ve got a train to catch.”
You grab his hand, still cold from the winter wind, and pull him along.
When you get to the platform, you find that the train has already been situated at the station, doors ajar and waiting for a few straggling passengers.
“Oh, shit. Teddy, my bags!”
You rush into the train and find an empty seat, dispensing your items into the overhead storage. Teddy follows close behind, dumping the remainder of your belongings on the train floor beside your seat, rolling his shoulders and enjoying his newfound freedom.
“Ah, that fuckin’ sucked.”
“Tell me about it.” You followed in suit, stretching out your back. “I’ve never heard so much whining in my entire life.”
Teddy sucked his teeth and reeled back, as if to punch you, then flicked your forehead instead.
“Ow! Teddy!”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll take all of this back outside.”
You rubbed at your head, thinking of all the ways to get back at the little punk until the intercom sounded static, then an announcement came on.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the train is now scheduled to depart. Please take your seats and keep all valuables by your persons. Thank you, and have a safe ride.”
Your eyes met Teddy’s and you almost thought he looked reluctant to leave for a second, then he sighed and began walking away.
“Thank god, I’ve had my fill for the day.”
Oh, the asshole.
You tailed him to the door of the train, “Teddy, your present!”
He stops just outside the door, situated on the platform.
“What? Oh, I nearly forgot.” He billows mist from his mouth as he speaks, lips pressed into a peculiar smile that ensured you he hadn’t forgotten for a second.
“Come here.” You wave him over, unveiling a wrapped gift from your pocket.
He scooches closer timidly, eyes searching for anything but you. “Thanks, I guess.”
You grin at his signature Teddy awkwardness. For every second he tried to hide how happy he was, you swore you’d strangle him in a hug.
When he’s finally close enough, you hold out the present to him. He reaches forward to accept it and that’s when you shift, pulling him closer and pressing his chapped lips on yours, warmed by the heating of the train.
His near-violet eyes widen, taking in your proximity, your hands on him, your lips on his own. Only when he begins to return the sentiment does the chime for the doors play, and you pull away just as the doors seal shut, chuckling when you notice his lips follow yours for a brief second.
You give him a cheeky grin from behind the door and point to his hands, still grasping the present.
“I’ll see you later” You mouth to him, then make a heart with your hands.
You expect him to fake a gag or even pretend to wipe his lips, but he reacts with nothing, only pressing his fingers to his mouth in disbelief.
You wave until the train pulls away, out of the station, and until you’re just a speck in the distance, the only thing warming Teddy being the heat still residing in his cheeks.
He looks down at the present and feels it crinkle in his grasp, tips of his fingers reddened from the cold. He looks around auspiciously for witnesses, and when he sees none, peels away at the paper carefully with agile hands, heartbeat still thrumming in his throat.
A pair of designer leather gloves sat inside, alongside a pink notecard.
“Something to keep you warm until I come back!”
You had signed off with little hearts and strange faces, a trademark of your strange personality that Teddy had come to endear.
“Sheesh,” Teddy huffs, holding the gloves to his pounding chest, already feeling hotter. “What a weirdo.”
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