#you either have your favorites come back again and again and get butchered more each time
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You Call It Madness But I Call It Love
Chapter 5: The Man, The Myth, The Legend
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter five of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)
Word Count: 2.5K
Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Drug Use, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Possible spoilers for season three.
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!
Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
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Present Day
"Hey'ya Kitten!" Legend smiles wide when he opens the front door of his apartment. "Where have you been baby? How's retirement?" He leans forward for a kiss and you turn your cheek to the side.
Always the flirt.
"Exciting. Is it alright if I come in?"
"Of course! I always have time for my favorite hero." He ushers you into his home.
It was one day after Agent Butcher and Hughie had dropped by your apartment looking for information on Soldier Boy. One sleepless night later you realized that the only way you were going to find Countess was through Legend. And despite his flirtatious attitude, you liked your former handler.
The apartment looks the same as it always has. Memorabilia from what he thought was the good old days hangs on the walls, a black leather couch sags in the center of the living room, and a red faded high backed armchair stands in the corner like a silent guardian. The smell of old cologne, pot, and alcohol soaks through the air and into your nose as you turn to examine the inhabitant.
Legend looks decidedly older. Sometimes you forgot that you didn't age the same way other people did, but then you'd meet someone from the past and it would remind you all over again. He's wearing the same smoking jacket with patched elbows, sunglasses, and ascot, that you saw him wearing over ten years ago. But Legend was classic.
"You hurt my feelings by not calling." He breezes having a seat on one of the couches, and fluffing more of the offensive smell through your nose, but you don't make a face. "What's it been ten years?"
"Something like that." You smile tightly and sit down on the armchair.
It wasn't that you didn't like seeing Legend. He might have been a crazy son of a bitch, but he was a good handler. He knew everything about everyone and he helped you get through Ben's death, not to mention he helped you create your new life when you broke away from Payback.
"You want some?" Legend holds out a mirror where a single white line of cocaine sits. "Or are you still sober?"
"I never did cocaine. And yeah, I'm still trying to stay on the wagon."
"Don't know how you do it."
"Me either." You say it partly to yourself, because it was true. You didn't know how you got through the past 40 years without a drink. Before, it wasn't that you partied as hard as Ben or the others did. It was more the drinking than drugs you imbibed in. Yes, you'd smoked the occasional blunt, but you didn't want to lose control if you tried anything stronger. You didn't like losing control, you prided yourself on keeping it together.
Ben had lost control more than once, and each time he'd show up at your apartment just like he had when he was a kid and he was hiding from his father, falling asleep beside you like nothing had changed. You never understood how he could be so vulnerable when it was just the two of you, but when he was in public he was different. Sometimes you hated that, because in those quiet moments you saw the boy you fell in love with, but when you were out in public you saw the man he became.
You remember all the times he lost control. The worst was when he threw a car through a house when trying to stop some kids in the street and killed an older man. Ben hadn't gone to the funeral, but you had. You sat on the back pew and watched the family mourn. Only a little boy in the front row had noticed you, and you had offered a kind smile, before walking back through the streets and leaving an envelope of cash in the family's mailbox. You knew the money couldn't replace the person they lost, but you couldn't think of anything else to do.
"So, are you here because you want to come out of retirement?" Legend snorts the line on the mirror without looking up. "Might be a good thing."
You laugh to yourself. "I like retirement too much to go back to Vought. Too wild out there nowadays with the supervillains and all that Compound V bullshit." You lean back in the armchair, crossing your legs in front of you.
"I could make you a star!" He looks up at you. "You're still as sexy as ever."
"And you're still a dirty old man." You tease, rolling your eyes at him and earning a chortle from Legend. "I don't think my powers are cutesy enough for television. I’m not like Starlight.” You snort thinking about the current blonde member of The Seven that had become America’s Sweetheart, a title that you were happy you never wore.
"Who said anything about your powers babe? It's all about the body."
"Legend-"
"Fine, fine." He shakes his head. "I saw your last art show, very nice. Bought something for the country house."
"That's very kind of you." You smile with pride. Your last show had been a series you titled "Moods of the Forest," which meant that you had camped out under the stars for a solid month up North drinking in the silence of the woods. It was a nice way for you to clear your head and catch up on your reading, but it had done little to ease the thoughts of the past. "Those were some of my favorites. It was hard to part with them."
"You're very talented." He compliments.
"Thank You. I'd hope so. I've been painting for almost 90 years." Your memory flashes back to when Ben gave you paint for your birthday and the months that followed as you practiced. All the days you spent painting in the park and along the streets of Philadelphia, sometimes with Ben following behind and teasing you, but you knew he loved how much you were painting, loved how much you enjoyed the gift. The happiness and warmth of the memories is doused by a bucket of cold water as you remember the last time you saw him. The echo of the last words you spoke to him and the words he shouted at you ringing in your ears.
The chill sobers you and makes you remember why you were here talking to Legend.
"I have something important to ask you." You look up at Legend. "Do you know where Crimson Countess is?"
Legend doesn't answer immediately. The spike of his pulse with the mention of Countess' name is loud in your ears. "Did you want a scotch? I think I need one." He avoids your gaze.
"Legend-"
He stands from the couch and moves over to the table in the corner that has a collection of multicolored bottles that you wish you could drink from, but you restrain yourself. You hear the sound of the glass being poured and as he turns he takes a sip as if rousing the courage to tell you.
"Y/n if this is you finally going after her, now might not be the best time." He swirls the glass in his hand, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides. "I thought you were past all that-"
"It's not like that I-“ Your lips press together in a tight line, considering your next words. "Some men came to my apartment the other day looking for me. They were asking me about Ben."
"You told them you were dead right? The story we came up with?" Legend looks worried.
"Yeah. Don't think they bought it." You shrug.
"Did they give you their names?"
"They said they were with the CIA. Agent Butcher and a guy named Hughie-"
"Butcher? Dark hair, British accent, asshole?" Legend's glass pauses half-way to his mouth.
"Yeah. How did you-"
Legend sighs. "He used to be with the CIA, was on a task force that was used to hunt down supes. I helped them find a few over the years."
"Hunt them down?"
"Butcher's got a bone to pick with supes. Homelander especially." Legend sits back on the couch nursing his scotch.
At the mention of Vought’s most popular hero you pause. You didn’t know too much about Homelander, just that he emerged as Vought’s Golden Boy a few years after Ben died and he was supposed to be indestructible. You wondered if he was as indestructible as you.
“Homelander?”
“Did something to his wife.” Legend waves a hand like it doesn’t matter. "But they were asking you about Soldier Boy?"
"Yeah, they wanted to know about the relationship I had with him and how he died-" You foot taps against the ground, fighting the urge to pour yourself a drink.
Legend looks worried. "Maybe you should get out of town for a few days-"
"What?"
Can Butcher really be that dangerous? He didn't seem like much the other day and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle me. Most supes couldn't.
"Not because of Butcher, he's a dick, but I mean everything with Soldier Boy." Legend takes a sip from the glass. "If you start thinking about him again, you're going to be in the same place you were last time."
Deep down you know he's right, ever since Butcher and Hughie showed up on your doorstep, Ben was all you thought about. The hole you dug yourself into when you and Ben fought and then he died was deep and dark, and it was already beginning to open under your feet.
You didn’t know if talking to Countess would help close it, but maybe you needed closure, maybe you needed to hear it from her how he died. The last thing you wanted was to go to Stan Edgar. He'd already shown up once, but you thought you had convinced him with your story. Occasionally he would show up to one of your art shows, browsing through the canvases, and asking you about the inspiration of them. You never liked when he showed up in your life, because after all these years he hadn't changed, he was still a snake obsessed with power and being on top.
"I know." You sigh, clutching your hands together in your lap. "But I want to talk to her. Maybe it's time. There was always something that unsettled me about how Ben died and she's the one who saw it. Plus Noir isn’t very talkative these days, Gunpowder is dead, and I’d rather drink cyanide than listen to those two TNT idiots.”
Learning that Gunpowder was dead was a shock. You'd lost contact with him, but you thought it was suspicious that he died so soon before Butcher and Hughie came to see you. You knew that Gunpowder was still doing his rounds in the gun expos and conventions, boasting about the good all days and preaching about the dangers of gun control.
It was ironic for him to be against it when you'd personally seen him kill several people who pissed him off and for no good reason.
If anything he shouldn't be allowed near a gun.
When you knew him he was still a kid, but even then he was already adopting the ridiculous macho attitude that Ben had.
Must have stuck.
"I still don’t think it's a good idea." Legend finishes his glass of Scotch. "But let me find it.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me kitten. I don't think I'm doing you a favor." He grunts moving through the apartment, while your eyes trace the photos. Several of them were of Ben at movie premieres, another showed the whole Payback team, and finally just Ben and Legend. He was wearing his ridiculous helmet, the one you used to tease him about. You always thought it was a shame that they covered up his handsome face.
You had a box of photos under your bed that held similar images, but most of yours were of Ben and you not wearing your supe suits. The ones from your childhood needed to be handled with care, but you enjoyed looking at them, before you saw the hardness in Ben's eyes and the set of his jaw. Those early photos showed you the boy you fell in love with.
"Here." He hands you a slip of paper that holds his untidy scrawl as you stand from the chair.
"Thank you." You turn to go, but stop. "Should I be worried about Butcher?"
"I'd stay out of his way. He kills supes for fun."
"But if Ben's already dead then what does he want?"
Legend shrugs. "Can't be good."
"Great."
"Just be careful." Legend puts his hand on your shoulder. "I know that everything that happened with Soldier Boy really threw you-"
"I know. But I have to know. I have to hear what she has to say." You sigh looking up at him. It touched your heart that he cared so much. Legend never got close to his clients in the past, but for some reason he was always more willing to help you. It was him that talked you out of the hole when Ben died.
"Okay."
"It was good to see you. Take care of yourself." You try not to see the weariness in his eyes, the way the wrinkles have grown and stretched over the years, how the gray of his hair has spread. One listen with your supe hearing meant that you could hear his blood pumping through his veins, but it wasn’t at the same vigor as it once was. It was difficult to see age on the people you knew, the day that you and Ben both figured out that you weren't aging anymore had been bittersweet. You were happy that Ben wouldn’t die either, but it meant you’d lose your family. However, Ben’s inability to age meant that you weren't alone.
You frown to yourself. Sometimes you’d thought that meant something, that the universe finally threw you a bone and it was some cosmic sign that you and Ben were supposed to be together-
What a crock of shit.
But despite his death the past few years you hadn't been alone even though you had expected it.
"Good to see you too kitten. Don't be a stranger."
When you finally make it to the street below, you kick your leg over your motorcycle, but pause.
I could just go home and work on my pieces for my next show. Go home and pretend those men never showed up and forget all about Ben. The guilt and anger that rises with his name is familiar, but you brush it away. This might be the only chance I have of finding out what happened to him. You think about Countess and the scrap of paper in your pocket. But it won't be easy.
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Building Blocks. Ch. 2
A Butchlander fanfic
a/n: took a while but i managed to write something, updates will be slow but thank you for reading, not proofread I die with this as i ease myself into this again.
edit... forgot to add link to prev chap:
tags: slow burn, romance, dadlander, drama.
Sypnopsis: au where Becca stays with Butcher and passes Ryan as Billy's and is Billy who has to deal with Homelander after the death of his wife
Chapter 2
The woman stared at the vial with incredulity.
He hadn’t invited her in to talk simply handling her this vial on his driveway, naming it ‘Compound V’... something she had never heard before– before asking her to leave and keep low, he didn’t offer explanations simply asking for her hand in case he had to do disappear with Ryan on a short notice, whatever had happened it had him on edge and anxious to get her away from him as soon as possible either for his or her own safety she guessed. So she forgave his rudeness for whatever this was, had him hearing specters in the grass– It certainly wasn’t because he wanted to clean up the place for Ryan based on his appearance clean clothes but dirty hair, the smoke coming from the chimney was the only unusual thing she noted
“What’s on your mind?” She asks, unable to stand his troubled expression any longer.
“I don’t know if am gonna be in trouble.” He smiles weerily– but I’ll need to keep him distracted if I hope to get away from him.”
“Him?”
“Homelander…”
“What does he have to do with any of this?”
“You need to leave Mallory.”
She should’ve found a way to keep an eye on him, but she took the vial and left. Sensing a peculiar unease in his voice that didn’t often come from him.
“Is a bit warm to have the fireplace lit up.”
Butcher meet the Supe in his living room almost having a heart attack on the spot, he looked away trying to calm himself while hoping the Supe had been too self-absorbed to notice but Homelander had just chosen not to care, having more pressing matters in mind.
Seeing he’d brought a gift box, Butcher studied his appearance, it look rigid yet desperate to appear approachable– boots had been polished and oiled, his gloves tucked under his arm, the flap of his suit down to reveal patriotic red, and his hair had been re-touched overnight there had been more brown on his undercut last time, now it had an almost strawberry tint blending into the browns to appear more natural if he had to take a guest, even brushed to the side lightly, Butcher scoffed finding it all quite funny that he would do all of this to look so artificial– no sterile instead of just looking like whatever his normal self was, perhaps all celebs were like this Butcher thought, yet he did found the present a bit charming.
“I thought I would bring him a present.” He said softly.
“I was burning some stuff…” He picks a couple cushions off the ground, kicking a dog’s toy to the side– what’s in the box?”
“A baseball glove– it’s my favorite sport. I want to share my passion, I guess.”
Butcher examines the rather fancy wrapping of the box, there’s layers to it allowing decorations to be tucked in the sleeves, and for the life of him, he can’t find much tape on the sides of it, even the paper had a visible thickness to it that screamed excessive… that said ‘I want to impress you’ in cursive.
“I thought… well my assistant thought it would be a nice way to get to know each other” from one of the paper sleeves he pulls forward a set of tickets– there’s a Yankees’s game next week.”
“I don’t know” He has one look at the tickets– ‘Legends Suite’?? Those are great, no…”
“I thought of getting a private suite but I was discouraged”
Butcher took a deep breath trying to ignore the sparkles from the gift and back to business.
“Look… I… I don’t think you can just come in and tell him you’re his dad, his mom just died, he’s going thru a lot, mate.” He said softly, trying to sound as gentle as he could thinking of the burn scuff marks on his hardwood, hoping it wouldn’t be him, he had a handful of guns hidden across his living room but he knew that it wouldn’t do a thing against the blond– I… think we need to slow down”
“Work friends.”
“What?”
“You work for the CIA, I’m a superhero, we worked together on some cases and we are friends. I came today to give you my condolences and try to cheer you up, and then once Ryan is comfortable with me, I’ll do the honors.” He takes a step closer to Butcher pressing the tickets against his chest– eight guns all over the house… that’s a nice rifle in the closet… packs a hard punch. Try it, find out what’s gonna happen to you if you do.”
Butcher can only scowl at the man.
“We can work together, William. I want this to work out for the sake of my son… but don’t test me.”
“You’re not very good with people are you?”
“I’m a professional actually.” His eyes flash red for a brief moment but his charming smile never fades.
“Come back later. When we’re having dinner.”
“Why? He’s a minute away?”
Butcher walked towards the entrance standing by the red door to catch a glimpse of his in-law’s honda accord driving down the road as it emerged from the trees and shrubs.
He turned in a panic, to see Homelander had followed him half-way.
“You stay in the living room!” He screamed with panic.
Homelander paid attention to the man’s heart rate hoping he would just have a heart attack and die, but as the car moved closer he realized it wasn’t Butcher’s heart rate that he could hear drumming in his ears, but his own.
He wished he had a mirror and somebody to check his teeth, he wanted to make the perfect first impression, and as those light steps hopped off the honda, he could heard a voice in his head yelling, telling him to check his posture, to smile, to breathe calmly and by god to not curse in front of the child or cry, or blurt out something that could only scar him.
He hated the story they were gonna sell him, he wanted to run to him and tell him, he was his father, he wanted to rid of Butcher and take his place beside him, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t risk being rejected by him, when he had this man in his life already, a father that had loved him and protected him, and who at least hadn’t thrown him out, he had at least heard him– he almost wished Saunders was here, if she was he could simply seduced her and take them away from Butcher.
It would’ve been easy if Butcher was a woman, no pretense where the baby came from from the get go, he could’ve lowered himself to seduce the grieving widow if he had to.
As he smelled the anxiety rise from inside of him, he blushed at the thought.
“Feeling better, Billy?”
The older man whose eyes looked more tired than Butcher’s spoke first, after urging the kid to let his dog take a leak before coming inside the house.
He stared at his son-in-law, watching those swollen under eyes, he reeked of mouthwash and his clothes looked crinkled, nervously looking past him to catch a glimpse of Terror or Ryan.
“You really made yourself a fool. You weren’t the only one grieving and you had to make a scene in front of your kid, fucking shameless Billy!”
“I don’t need this, Wayne!” He squeezed his fists– thank you for looking after him, but mind your business.” He spat
“She was my daughter too.” He could’ve growled at him, he looked away with a huff before he could say anything else, both men trying to hold their rage and grief back, both eyes stinging as they looked at each other– feed the kid will ya? He didn’t wanna eat anything and barely got him to have some oats.”
“Thanks for taking care of him, I’ll get some chinese.”
His tone was overly polite and just as aggressive, both men didn’t wish to mingle any further, now without her they didn’t need to be friendly, just amiable enough to not push the other away.
Ryan emerged right on queue, he looked anxious as he let the old stubby dog pull on his leash, barking cheerfully, picking up speed as he saw his dad, his brown locks messy and his eyes just as exhausted as the ones on his pops, Ryan slowed down telling himself to keep smiling not ‘cuz he wanted to but for his father’s sake.
“Hi there scamp!” Butcher doesn’t hesitate taking him in his arms, lifting him up as if he was still a babe and light as a feather, squeezing in to make sure this is not but a dream, and from afar the younger man wished that was him.
Ryan said goodbye and it almost felt like it would be the last time he would see his grandfather something was off about his father, something that smelled wrong, his dog barged in wobbling straight to his food bowl barely noticing the supe in the living room, not that he could say the same about the boy.
His eyes glued themselves on that man, lifting his head, begging to be let go as he traded incredulous looks with his father.
“Dad, why is Homelander in our living room!?”
“I… we…”
“I’m a friend of your dad, from work!” His voice was forceful and rehearsed, irking Billy from the get-go– is nice to meet you, champ!”
Billy kept him close, never letting go of him, hand cemented on his son’s shoulder.
“You know Homelander!?” He said with a childish excitement.
“We met on a case. Top-secret.” he winks– he’s here to visit.” Butcher spits anxiously brushing his hair in a soothing motion.
“I heard about your mom… your dad has been such a good friend of mine, I just wanted to see if you— he was okay.” His voice is so fake it goes back to being believable– here I got you a present.”
The kid took a second to process it, looking back for permission before taking the ornate box into his hands. He waits for a nod before tearing that wrapper off, his excitement shortly dwindles as he finds the leather glove and white and red ball.
“Thought we could go watch a baseball game.”
He looks at the tickets only recognizing the Yankee’s as a big name team and nothing else. Homelander can almost taste his anxiety. This was not what he envisioned, it was completely wrong, voices yelling at him asking why the child wasn’t running after him or why he wasn’t jumping with excitement at his sight! He was the world’s greatest everything and the kid just seemed confused. The kid offered a polite smile and said thank you, taking his present and placing it neatly on the coffee table, as Homelander tried so hard… begging himself to not cry, that voice soothed him telling him he had missed the moment their fingers grazed each other.
“Can’t believe you know Homelander, dad.” the kid took his phone out– can we take a selfie none of my friends will ever believe me!”
That left a bitter taste on his tongue, his first interaction was no different from a paid one, he obliged putting his finest smile, his bitterness washed away as he felt those brown locks tickle his chin, as he took a scent of hypoallergenic detergent and dove soap, the little bit of sweat behind his ears, he could feel how warm his boy was, it was short lived but it lingered… etched on what little skin he’d touched, it soothed him, it made it so real, he could burst.
Ryan was his own… he wasn’t a figment of his imagination… he was flesh and blood, he looked healthy… he was tall and his teeth were straight but above all– he had his eyes and a chirpy voice.
“Mister Homelander needs to go back to work, he was just stopping by, right?”
“...William…”
“lol he called you William” he giggled– thanks for the present!”
“No problem, my pleasure. So do I pick you guys up for the game or meet you at the stadium?”
Butcher tensed up, knowing he really had no choice but to give him an answer, unable to kick him out.
“What do you think buddy? Wanna go check it out? They’re good seats.”
Ryan studied his father’s face seeing how forceful his calmness was, Ryan who only wanted to erase that drunken mess from the other day, looked towards the Supe and how his eyes glistened as they waited for a response.
“Why not!” He said cheerily– I’ve never been to a game before.”
“That’s settled! Now why don’t you go take this to your room and let me and ol’ Homelander have a chat.” Butcher could scream.
The kid isn’t oblivious to the sudden tension between them, brushing it off to bad timing.
“He looks a lot like you.”
Homelander comes back to earth as he’s spoken, giving Butcher his attention once more.
“He… goddammit Becca…” He sniffed, covering his face behind his palms, sinking on his couch as he processed it all– please leave… I’ll be there. I bet you won’t leave me the fuck alone otherwise.”
“I’m glad we are on the same page there, William.” His voice is oddly soft– he’s a lot taller than in the pictures… he doesn’t like baseball does he?”
“You might’ve well invited him to go watch Golf!”
“I can… I can get some other tickets… soccer, you guys have a passport right?”
“He doesn't, we never left the states and am not taking a bloody plane to go watch a match with a stranger.”
“I’m not a stranger! I’m Homelander, the most famous person in the whole world! Can get you a copy of my biography if ya like so you can get to know me.” He says with a sneer– can I stay for dinner then?”
Butcher can only describe his emotion as exasperated.
“I was joking…” He says with his prettiest smile showing his fangs as he pretended not to be hurt– see you next week.”
He lingers at the door, despite his eyes looking into the gardens Butcher can tell he’s listening to those behind him, he’s gone and all that remains is the wide open door.
The days go by excruciatingly fast, in a blink he’s in front of his bathroom mirror trimming his beard, it had been a while since he had bothered to keep tidy, ashamed to have looked this disheveled during his wife’s funeral, outside his bathroom door is Ryan who seems to be more well put than he is talking about wanting to check out some spots while they are in New York if they can after the game sounding so normal it scared him– kids were resilient creatures he said to himself, but he worried that the boy was pretending to be alright. The in-laws had visited, M.M. and his family had stopped by and even help clean up (more like Marvin had simply not stopped himself once he spotted a few too many dirty plates for his taste) he couldn’t say the same about himself until this moment.
Mallory gave him a call and asked him ‘what was his fucking problem?’ whatever he had given her, she’d ended up being called to speak with not just the head of the CIA but the department of Homeland security, she was now without doubt being watched, told to keep quiet and some more.
Calling Butcher was dangerous hence the burner number, he couldn’t see a single suspicious car outside, it would be hard to hide when there was only miles of greenery.
He took a sip of whisky trying to wash away the anxiety of being washed, disconnecting the house phone just to feel safer.
Ryan made no mention about how low the radio volume was, about how quiet he was on the way there, trying not to think of the endless bickering and chatting between his parents, his mother’s scent lingering in the air, her dried coffee tumbler still on the cup holder, an abandoned sweater still in the backseat that filled the space with fading vanilla kisses, Ryan tries not to notice the ghostly whispers in the air, louder than the aircon and the quiet music.
He speaks very little, just grumbling about traffic and parking, complaining until he’s left the car wondering if the parking fee had been too steep for he had never bothered before.
“I can’t see him…” Ryan whispers tugging on Butcher’s shirt.
His cheeks were red knowing he had never once bothered to organize any of this, he simply showed up, not wanting to believe any of this was real, the tickets certainly looked real and the bustling crowd grew bigger and bigger, just a sea of branded clothes and loud people.
It feels hot and heavy as it presses on his shoulder, jolting awake as his body is pushed back effortlessly.
“William you came.” he sounds so happy it hurts.
He hadn’t expected to see him like this, taking a minute to process his appearance, the oversized baseball bomber jacket did very little to hide his thin frame, he expected the padded suit to have been merely ascending his physique not inventing it, Homelander mellow smile died quickly as he felt that man’s piercing gaze on him.
“Wasn’t sure ‘bout the traffic so we got here early, didn’t we?”
“I was gonna say my meeting ran late.”
Both men stared at each other awkwardly, waiting for the child’s response.
With a smile from the boy they both took that as their sign.
He watched from behind as Homelander stood closer and closer to Butcher, how he directed him across the building as if he knew every turn and nook of the stadium, how friendly he was being with him, how much attention he was giving him and his father.
For a game that he had no understanding of, he would admit it was nice that the supe was a walking wiki, both Ryan and Butcher expend most of the time listening to his explanations, it didn’t come off as somebody enamored with his voice, but as someone who wanted to share and they were happy to hear him, it made Homelander’s heart tingle as they asked him to explain what just happened before them or why people were booing upstairs.
Ryan and Butcher could only guess what was going on in his head but he was not scary at all.
he was nice.
“Thanks, I think the kid liked it.” he turned to him as they waited for Ryan to come out the toilet– it was good to get out of the house.”
Butcher didn’t want to admit he’d had a good time even if it was all gibberish to him.
“I got us some dinner reservations…”
“Normal people get full after some steak topped fries and fried chicken subs, sorry but I think we have to pass–
“You and me tomorrow.”
“Bit too early for a rebound.”
Homelander blushed, realizing how it had come out as.
Butcher tried to brush it off with a chuckle turning awkward as he realized this guy wasn’t his buddy so not used to his banter.
“Discussing Ryan! As if you’ve be so lucky.” Homelander fixed his jacket– I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow night. Also tell your friend Mallory she has nothing to worry about, just tell her not to be nosey.”
“I gather this Compound V shite is–
“Shhh... Hope you like Indian.”
“I’m english mate I sure luv me a tikka massala…”
“Good.”
#my fic tag#homelander#billy butcher#billy butcher x homelander#butchlander#personal#cant believe it took me almsot 3 montsh to write this
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‘Till We Bleed Out - 3.
Vampire!bucky x reader AU
Part 3 of this series.
Run-through: Your car breaks down on a deserted road on a rainy night. You have no other option but to seek shelter from the nearest house you could find; the mansion, which happened to be the talk of the town for its mysteriousness along with its equally mysterious owner, Mr. Barnes. The universe can be tricky sometimes but the fact that you found yourself at that mansion’s doorstep at that time was no simple coincidence. That one night changes everything forever - quite literally. True love, past lives and creatures from folklore; turns out it’s all real.
Themes throughout the series: vampire!bucky, fluff, smut, angst
“Calm down, sweetheart.”
He must’ve noticed you were on the verge of losing your mind. How could you not? You had so many questions. So many things you couldn’t wrap your brain around. What was the meaning of all this?
“What is this?” you pointed at the painting; scared, nervous and baffled.
Bucky walked further in, careful as to not make any sudden movement which would make you even more of a nervous wreck than you already were. “I’ll tell you everything, doll. Just calm down, alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m right here with you.”
You looked up at him in surprise. “Nothing to be scared of? There’s a painting of me and you dating back to 1872. That was almost a hundred and fifty years ago. But I met you just two days ago. None of this makes sense, none of it adds up. And that doesn’t bother you?” you sounded more sad and confused than scared. This isn’t normal. None of this is. “Who are you?”
Despite knowing that someone else in your shoes would be screaming bloody murder and running for their lives by now, you stayed put. Despite the confusion, you felt protected. Something inside you knew no harm would come to you while Bucky’s around. But the rational side of you couldn’t afford listening to that side of you right now. Right now your brain needed concrete answers, not reassurance.
“No. It doesn’t bother me.” He walked over and held you gently by the shoulders. “And if you let me explain, it won’t bother you either.” One look into his eyes and you felt yourself calming down already.
“Make this make sense.”
After he got you to sit down, in that very room, he began explaining.
“I’m not exactly human, Y/N.” His first few words earned him a nod from you.
“I figured that out a few minutes ago.”
He continued. “And neither were you, in your previous lifetime.” That sentence shocked you. You didn’t know what was more surprising, learning that there was indeed a lifetime before this one or the fact that in the previous one, you and Bucky knew each other. “We were both vampires.”
“Oh my God…”
He paused for a while, trying to be as slow and as careful as he could be with his words. “We were married, you and I. And we were happy.” He said so and waited for your reaction.
Your eyes watered and he noticed. “I’m… I was your wife?” you asked and he nodded. You thought back on all the things he told you about his wife; those were all about you. Your heart felt like it was being torn in two. “And I died.” he nodded again. “How did I die?”
He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes to the dark carpet beneath his feet, that memory was always the hardest to revisit. “Our families were not exactly… friendly. Yours hated mine, and vice versa so our marriage was not something they could bear.” He let out a dry chuckle. He continued, a strange fire in his eyes; burning hot hatred. “They kept trying to break us apart,” he smiled, sadly, “but we were strong. Together.” He looked back up at you. “Until one day…”
He stopped talking. He ran his fingers through his hair, he was hurting. You felt the intense need to just get up from the couch you were sat on, and walk over to where he sat and just comfort him. Maybe hug him and tell him it’s all okay now. But you remained seated, you couldn’t move.
“Bucky… I need to know.” You figured it was a delicate subject but you needed to piece it all together. You were a mess at the moment.
“We were returning home and we were attacked. By hunters.”
You sat up straighter. “Hunters?”
“Vampire hunters. Two different parties. Each anonymously hired and sent by our own families, ordered to have each of us killed. But you know, back then hunters had rivalry against each other as well. And ironically, the groups of hunters our family hired were not exactly seeing eye to eye with each other.” He let out another dry chuckle. “Upon reaching our home, they all forgot their initial purpose for a moment and began butchering one another instead, in the name of looming enmity. And you and I got caught in the crossfire. ”
He paused. If it were physically possible he would’ve shivered at the memory; so tragically vivid in his mind. You waited for him to continue. “But some of them also remembered that they had been ordered to kill us both, so our front yard quickly became a battlefield.” He sounded bitter, angry. “We fought them off for a while but we were terribly outnumbered. I was wounded, so were you, and I tried to reach you but…” he trailed off, took a deep breath and continued, “they got to you first.”
You tried to find the right thing to say but got nothing. Bucky spoke up again. “I was helpless. I couldn’t move. I had to watch as they… took you away from me.” He finally looked up at you and you were in shock. “Those sent by your family, what was left of them after the massacre at least, fled. Those sent by mine finished their job.” The look of hurt on his face was unbearable. “And I begged them. I begged them to kill me too but they just left me there.”
You felt a weight on your chest. That was brutal.
“You died at our doorstep.” He still remembered the last few moments he held you before you left…
-
He somehow managed to get up and stumbled on his way to you, bullets and sharp stakes pierced all over his body as well as yours. You weren’t gonna make it, and he knew but he still begged you to stay.
“You can’t leave me. You promised.” He cried, cradling your head on his lap. “Don’t leave me.”
He watched how you used the little bit of energy left to choke out a few words. “I’ll find you again. Someday. I promise…” your body was getting heavier and heavier. Bucky felt like he was dying too. “I love you, Buck.”
And with that, you closed your eyes forever. He sat there, your lifeless body in his arms and he screamed and yelled and cursed the universe. He was wounded, he would be healed by dawn. But you wouldn’t. He survived the attack that day, but part of him died along with you too.
-
You cleared your throat. “How do you… how did you know it’s me? How can you be sure? What if I just look like her?” you looked up at the painting and he did too.
He gave you a soft smile. “Chamomile and lavender tea is your favorite. You like red roses. You have a fear of deep water but you love the beach. You have this weird obsession with snakes. You love red wine. You could practically live in a library. Thunderstorms comfort you. You get a lot of déjà-vu, more than anyone you know. Also, you surely have a birthmark on your back, below your left shoulder. It perhaps hurts sometimes and you don’t know why, because regular birthmarks don’t hurt.”
Your eyes widened more and more as he spoke, but you gasped when he mentioned the birthmark. “How do you know that?” Very few people knew of your rather strange birthmark which tingled, burned and hurt sometimes.
“You were staked through the heart from the back. It left a mark on you.” He answered. “Forever.”
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to soak all this new information in. This was a lot to take in.
You cleared your throat again. “I was a vampire.” You stated. Bucky nodded. “I married you.” He nodded again. “I can’t- how do I-,”
“Hey, it’s a lot to take in. Take your time. Go to bed if you wish to.” His voice sounded so soft.
Oh you couldn’t sleep, not with all this. You shook your head no, you had questions. “How long were we married for?”
“Almost a century.” His answer made your jaw drop.
“How old are you?”
He chuckled. “250. Give or take a few years.”
“Oh my God,” you sighed, genuinely surprised. You thought back on all that he said earlier, about your families, and asked, “You said our families were against our relationship.” He nodded. “Well, where are they now?”
“Gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “After you left, I was unhinged. My memories of the couple of decades after your death is a little blurry. Apparently I went seeking revenge. But our friends found me and brought me back to sanity before I was gone completely and they told me that I had destroyed each and every last member of both our families.”
“You killed them.” It wasn’t a question.
“They deserved it. They took you away from me.” He sounded so broken, and hurt that you could feel your heart burn inside your ribcage.
“When you say ‘our friends’ you mean…” you trailed off not knowing how to put it.
He nodded. “Other vampires, yes. Most of them at least.”
“This is so crazy.” You mumbled, looking down at your lap. This was too much to handle all at once. Bucky got up from his seat and walked cautiously over to you.
He sat down on the edge of the wooden coffee table right in front of you and held his hand out. You placed your hand in his without a second thought. “You always had faith in the universe you know. You used to tell me that one single lifetime isn’t going to be enough for all the love that you and I have for each other. You used to always tell me that you’ll find me in the next one as well. And you did. You kept your promise. You’re home now, to me.”
You felt a tear slide down your cheek. Those words sounded so familiar. Bucky reached out and wiped the tear away. “I… I don’t remember. I mean, I’ve lived a whole life not knowing you were until just a few days ago and now… all this?”
He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly. “It’s almost dawn. You haven’t slept well. Get some rest, we’ll figure it out. We always did.”
You couldn’t argue. You needed to not think for a while, so you just nodded and got up. He didn’t follow you as you made your way to the bedroom and threw yourself down on the bed. You closed your eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep.
The next day, you spent most of your morning in the room; unable to leave the bed. Each time you thought back on all that was revealed to you last night, your head hurt. Wanda was kind enough to come in and leave you your meals. She didn’t say a word, just polite smiles. Bucky came by as well, each hour or so to check up on you. You weren’t ready to talk yet. He understood.
You spent the rest of the day looking out of the window, into the vast backyard. The weather was still gloomy, much like your mood.
After dinner, Bucky came by again. With tea this time. You gladly accepted the cup, remembering how it helped you sleep better the other night. Bucky was about to walk out but you stopped him.
“Stay. Please.” You said, your voice a little strained because you had cried earlier, unable to understand the wave of emotion which washed over you. He rushed to sit next to you, on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been having dreams.” you confessed.
“What kind of dreams?”
“About you. About us, together. About ballrooms I’ve never been in, about people I haven’t met. And this house, ever since I got here it feels like I’ve... “ you trailed off, unable to find the right words. Or maybe the words were too crazy for you to utter them out loud.
He finished your sentence. “Like you’ve lived here before?”
“Yes.” You nodded.
He smiled. “It’s because you have. This is your home, our home. Those aren’t dreams, they’re your memories.”
Another tear fell down your cheek. Well, that made sense now. That would explain why your ‘dreams’ were so detailed.
Bucky stayed and talked to you until you felt sleepy. He kissed you on the forehead, whispering a ‘goodnight’ once you got under the covers and was about to walk out of the room but you stopped him, yet again.
“There’s something else.” you said.
He stopped right at the door and turned around to face you, “Yes?”
“The day I got here, when you opened the door, I…” you reminded yourself that he deserves to know, “I felt this pressing need to tell you that I finally found you. I didn’t understand what that meant then.”
For the first time in a long time, Bucky genuinely smiled. And it was breathtaking. His smile was gorgeous, contagious. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.” He left.
You fell asleep rather quickly. And dreamt, again...
Kisses under a grand chandelier. Blue eyes, laughter and wine. Pure bliss.
“We should get going, sweetheart. It’s late.” Bucky whispered, holding you close. “And I can’t share you any longer. I need you all to myself now.” He kissed along your jaw, making you giggle.
Home. At last. Only just as you got down from the carriage, you realized something was wrong. Pain, pain everywhere.
Bullets, stakes, sticks, stones - everything hurt. You heard someone screaming as you were being dragged away from Bucky. It was you. You begged for mercy, but you didn’t receive any. Then suddenly, a spot on your back burned. It hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced. You realized you were being staked through the heart, and it was too late. You couldn’t fight back.
The pain, although excruciating, was replaced by fear. Fear of having to leave Bucky behind. Bucky… where was he?
Your vision got blurry, you fell to the ground. You tried to call out for him but no sound came out of your mouth. You were fading away. But then you saw a pair of dark eyes which slowly turned blue and teary.
“Don’t leave me…”
“I’ll find you, I promise.” All the years you spent with him flashed in front of your eyes. Your wedding, and the decades of pure happiness which followed. “I’ll find you…”
You woke up gasping again, covered in goosebumps. You had a terrible headache as it all came to you at once; memories of a forgotten lifetime. You struggled to breathe; it felt like being hit by a violent wave and being pushed deeper beneath the surface. Your birthmark burned hot. And your lungs felt like they were on fire.
You sat there in bed, breathing hard and fast as you remembered everything. You realized you had tears streaming down your face. It was all too much, but you kept searching for more. And the more you looked the more you found. You felt like you were about to pass out.
1802, when you first met Bucky. Married in 1808. You died about 90 years after that. You remembered. You remembered it all now. Your cruel family, and his. The bloodshed of that night. And how you died at the doorstep of this mansion. This mansion… your home. You knew this place like the back of your hand. This is your home.
You’re home.
You called out, not too loud, knowing he would hear you still. “Bucky!” you held back sob. How did you survive all these years? Without him?
“Bucky!” you called out again, crying out loud this time. You heard his footsteps running down the hall. And your heart raced.
You had been so close to your home this whole time, so close to Bucky, in the same town. You just didn’t know.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes au#vampire!bucky#bucky smut#marvel au#sebastian stan#bucky barnes x you
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Somethin’ Warm to Come To
Pairing: Billy Lee x dark!Fem Reader
Words: ~2.9k
Summary: There’s a new girl in the big house, but you’re Billy’s favorite.
Warnings: DARK!!!!!!!! Explicit language, explicit sexual content (f receiving oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, forced voyeurism), violence (implied character death, mentions of killing and butchering animals for food, f to f violence), definite psychological torment, smoking, SMUT!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!
A/N: I am definitely going to hell guys, this proves it. Please avoid if you’re one of my soft sweet babies! Thanks so much @sweeterthanthis for giving this a once over to make sure I didn’t go too overboard! Also, I know it’s pretty heavily implied in the movie that Billy’s partners are underage but we’re gonna say everyone here is over eighteen.
Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!!
You hummed softly to yourself as you worked on slicing the vegetables for the stew you were making for dinner.
Heather and Autumn were helping you in the kitchen, the two younger women working on butchering the chicken you had slaughtered earlier as you gave them instructions over your shoulder. Billy was still out, taking care of some problem one of the families on the commune was having, but he’d promised he was going to be back before the sun set.
It was your night, one of the two Billy set aside every week when it was just the two of you, the other women sent to their side cabin while you got lost in each other. You didn’t mind sharing him the rest of the time, but you were his first and his best, the queen of his little kingdom.
You turned to look when the screen door opened and sighed in exasperation when Rose came flowing in, eating an apple that she must have picked from the tree in the yard.
“Hello Rose.” You said, putting the cut up onions in the pot before moving on to the carrots. “Where have you been all morning?”
“Just walking around.” She said with a shrug, perching on a stool as she watched the three of you work. “It’s gorgeous outside.”
“I could’ve sworn I asked you to take care of the laundry.” You murmured, shooting your eyes towards the basket you had set by the back door.
She rolled her eyes at you before tossing the apple core in the bin and standing up to stretch lazily. You could feel the other two women tensing up behind you at her attitude, sensing your anger that the youngest woman seemed oblivious to.
Rose has only been with you a few months, and you were still a little pissed at Billy for bringing her into your delicate little ecosystem. She was lazy and stubborn, but so pretty and Billy just had to have her. At least she was good in bed, a little selfish though.
You’d almost slapped her last week when she refused to help keep the sheriff off Billy’s back when he was over for dinner. You had been buttering that man up for years with Billy’s sweet young wives and she almost blew the whole fucking thing until Autumn stepped up. She’d had the audacity to suggest you take care of him yourself and Billy had to hold you back to keep you from doing something stupid.
“I’ll do it tomorrow.” She said with a light laugh as she slapped the counter rhythmically. “Where’s Billy?”
“Taking care of something with the Hendersons.” You told her, chewing the inside of your cheek to keep from yelling at her. “They’ve been having trouble with coyotes getting into their chickens.”
She just snorted as she sauntered into the kitchen, inspecting what you were doing with minimal interest.
“Fine.” She said, hopping up onto the counter next to where you were working. “I think I’m gonna join you guys for dinner tonight.”
You heard Heather let out a gasp behind you and felt her and Autumn go completely still as you continued slicing.
“That’s not up to you.” You seethed as you tossed the carrots into the pot.
“I think Billy will be fine with it.” She said with a wicked grin. “He’s always so happy to see me.”
“Not up to him either.” You growled, stabbing the knife into the cutting board with a vicious thrust as you grabbed a hand towel.
“What, you jealous?” She teased you, kicking her feet lazily. “Not my fault Billy’s getting sick of that dried up snatch.”
You felt a wave of calm wash over you and stared at her for a beat before grabbing the back of her head and slamming it into the corner of the wall.
“Get out.” You said flatly to the other two women who were giving you terrified looks. “Now.”
They scurried out the back door without a second glance as you stood over Rose, who was holding her face and whimpering as she rolled around on the floor. You cocked your head as she tried to crawl away, grabbing her hair and yanking her up as she yelped in pain.
“C’mon sweetheart, let me see that pretty face you’re so proud of.” You cooed, a mocking look of concern on your face as you bent to look into her eyes.
She sniffled as she pulled her hands away from her face slowly. You tutted once you got a look at her, blood streaming over her chin from her nose and mouth.
“Not so pretty any more.” You said with a grin as you straightened back up.
She yelped as you slammed her face into the counter twice more until she finally shut up, dropping her to sag to the floor as you moved back to finish the stew. You frowned when you noticed the spray of blood across the front of your white linen dress but eventually shrugged before setting back to work, ignoring the crimson pool that was spreading across the tiles.
Billy walked through the door two hours later and grinned when he smelled the food. As much as he enjoyed having one of the pretty young things share your bed, he really loved having you all to himself.
“Hey sunflower.” He hummed when he walked into the dining room, wrapping himself around you and pressing his lips to yours as he wrapped his hands in your hair.
“Hey stardust.” You murmured happily against his lips. “I made your favorite.”
“You’re my favorite.” He cooed, rubbing his nose against yours before turning to take in the meal you’d set out. “Oh, what happened?”
Rose was tied to a chair at the opposite end of the table, her face purple and swollen as she cried around her gag. Billy noticed the blood splattered across your dress as you moved to slice the bread and he sank into his chair.
“Rose here wanted to join us this evening.” You said nonchalantly as you served him. “So I decided to make an exception to our alone time.”
“Shit, she mouth off to you baby?” He asked, his palm running over your thigh absentmindedly as he pulled you closer.
“Just a little.” You muttered as you sank into his lap.
“Well fuck, honey.” He purred as you tore off a piece of bread and brought it to his lips. “That’s no good.”
“I know. I fucking told you this would happen.” You hummed as he took a bite of the bread, his hands slowly dragging your skirt up to your hip.
“Yeah, I’m sorry sunflower.” He murmured before nuzzling into your neck. “Dunno why I didn’t listen to you.”
“Mmm, I forgive you stardust.” You moaned as he slid a hand between your thighs. “You really should eat your food though before it gets cold.”
“I’m only hungry for one thing, and it’s always nice and warm for me.”
You laughed lightly as he tossed you onto the table and wrenched your skirt up until it was gathered around your waist. He tossed your knees over his shoulders and started to plant soft kisses on the insides of your thighs.
He burying his face at the apex of your thighs and you moaned as he mouthed hungrily at your sex. You buried your fingers in his chestnut locks as his tongue swirled through your folds and he growled into your core.
“Fuck, Billy.” You whined when he wrapped his arms around your legs and pressed himself even further into you, shaking his head softly to bury his face even deeper in your folds.
You felt him grinning as your pussy clenched against his face, your arousal soaking his mustache and chin as he lapped at your clit. He held your legs open as he thrust his tongue inside you and you let out a wail.
“You taste like heaven, sunflower.” He purred as he gazed up at you through his lashes. “You wanna fuck my face while that little bitch watches?”
“Mm, yes. You know me so well, stardust.” You said, biting your lip and grinning as you peeked over your shoulder at Rose, your smile growing even wider when you saw tears leaking down her cheeks.
You started to grind against Billy’s face as he curled his tongue inside you against that spot that made your toes curl. His fingers pressed into your hips so hard they were going to leave bruises as you fought against his grip to clench your thighs around his head.
“Shit, right there.” You sobbed, your legs quivering with strain as your body went rigid before your release flowed into his mouth.
He groaned as you came around his tongue, your pussy fluttering wildly as you planted your free hand behind you to keep you from collapsing back against the table. You slowly relaxed as you came down, tugging Billy’s hair softly to tilt his head back and grin at him as you watched him run his tongue over his lips slowly.
He stood up between your legs and cupped your cheek as he gazed at you before bending to press his lips to yours softly. You sighed with content as you tasted yourself on his lips, tracing the curve of his mouth with your tongue and sliding his loose shirt down his shoulders.
“Hey! Open your fucking eyes!” He hissed over your shoulder as he snapped his fingers at Rose who had screwed her eyes closed and was trying to turn away. “You wanted to be here, so now you're gonna watch.”
He stepped away from you and prowled towards the opposite end of the table, ignoring the muted pleading that was coming from behind Rose’s gag. You swayed your legs lazily as he started to drag her towards where you were waiting. He slammed the front of the chair down dangerously before slotting himself between your thighs again.
You purred as he slowly undid the buttons on the front of your dress and bent to brush his lips over your collarbone. His hands moved to your waist after he slipped the sleeves down your arms, drawing you closer to him as his mouth traced the column of your throat.
Your hands moved between the two of you as he moved his face to run over your breasts, your fingers working quickly to undo his jeans.
“Fuck, flower.” He groaned as you drew his cock out and wrapped your hand around him, swirling your thumb through the precum that had collected at his tip. “Wanna feel that perfect cunt of yours around me.”
“Yeah? I want to feel that pretty cock of yours split me open, baby.” You teased as you lined him up, reaching out to slap Rose across the face when you saw her closing her eyes again. “Eyes open, bitch.”
He slid into you slowly with a low groan, leaning his forehead against yours as he watched you closely. You mewled softly as you felt him fill you up, your pussy fluttering around him once his hips met yours and you adjusted to his girth.
Your eyes rolled up into your skull as he drew out of you halfway before thrusting forward again, his hips slapping on your thighs as he drove into you roughly. He ducked his head and sucked a bruise below your ear as his arms wrapped around you, on hand trailing up your back to wind through your hair.
The soft sobbing sounds from Rose really spurred the two of you on, Billy’s thrusts becoming more vicious as he let out a feral growl against your throat. You dragged your nails over his back as his tip nudged against your cervix, making your vision white out for a second before you let out a shriek and came around him.
“Fuck, god you feel so fucking good.” He groaned as he followed you when you collapsed back against the table, pressing his chest to yours as he fucked you through it. “Like you were fucking made for my cock.”
“That’s cuz I was, stardust.” You cooed, wrapping your legs around his waist and arching your back to meet his thrusts. “We were made for each other, all this other pussy is just icing on the damn cake.”
He grinned before kissing you deeply, hooking his hands under your knees and drawing them up to loop over his shoulders as he sank into you even deeper. You whined as he ground against you, rubbing his pubic bone into your clit and making your breath hitch in your chest.
“So damn beautiful.” He murmured as he watched you fall apart. “Can’t believe this stupid cunt thought she could take your place.”
You bit your lip and your entire body spasmed with the force of your orgasm, your release squirting across Billy’s stomach. He buried his face in your neck and let out a low growl at the feel of your pussy clenching around him.
Your legs unwound from around his shoulders as he slowly pulled out of you, giving you a teasing grin before he flipped you over and slammed back into you. He brushed your hair out of his way and bent to press his lips to the back of your neck as he leaned his chest on your back, sinking his weight on top of you as his cock dragged against your g-spot.
“You close, flower?” He cooed, nipping at the shell of your ear. “I want this bitch to watch me fill you up.”
You turned your head to the side and beamed at Rose as Billy’s cock twitched inside you and his tongue traced the curve of your ear.
“Yeah, I’m real close baby.” You purred, arching your back to meet his hips as he buried his face in your hair.
He wrapped one hand underneath you, snaking his arm between your breasts before pressing his fingers to your throat and giving a gentle squeeze. His other hand brushed your hair from your face softly and cupped your jaw, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip until you sucked it into your mouth with a moan.
You gasped when he suddenly straightened, pulling you up with him as he knelt with one knee on the table and the other foot planted on the floor.
“Do it honey.” He groaned as you nipped at the pad of his thumb. “Wanna feel that pretty pussy cream all over my cock. Show this stupid cow what she thought she could steal from you.”
He sank his teeth into your shoulder and you let out a low moan as your whole body tried to arch off the table. You wrapped your hands around his forearms to anchor yourself as stars exploded behind your eyes, your voice leaving you in a hoarse cry as a wave of ecstasy crashed over you.
You felt Billy swelling inside you, his thrusts starting to become erratic as his own end loomed. He stilled his hips suddenly and groaned in your ear before he was filling you with warmth, his spend coating your satiny walls in thick ropes that started to leak down the insides of your thighs.
“Oh, that’s my good girl.” He cooed, holding you close to him as he relaxed, leaning back on his heel as his lips traced the curve of your neck. “My perfect little sunflower. Love you so much, honey.”
“Mmm, love you too, Billy.” You hummed, sinking back against him as his fingers ran over your skin. “What d’you want me to do with this cunt?”
He pressed his lips against your cheek in a warm kiss before untangling himself from you slowly. You groaned when his softening cock slid out of you, a soft wet sound accompanying it as his seed ran down your thigh in a slow trickle.
Billy stood up and walked towards Rose slowly, frowning as he watched her sob around her gag and fight her bonds. He gripped her chin harshly and turned her face towards him, looking closely at the bruises you’d left all over her pretty face.
“Disgusting.” He spat, releasing his grip on her chin and letting her head sag against her chest as he wiped his cock off on her skirt. “Should’ve been happy with what she had. Get rid of her baby.”
You beamed at him as he prowled to the kitchen to grab a cigarette, ignoring the renewed screaming that was coming from Rose’s mouth. You followed after him, grabbing your carving knife off the counter before heading back to the dining room.
“The west garden bed needs some new fertilizer anyway.” You said, hefting the blade and cocking your head at Rose as she knocked the chair over in an attempt to flee.
“Whatever you want baby.” He murmured, taking a long drag when the screaming finally stopped. “I’ll let you help me pick the next one.”
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The Sun Sets With You
Chapter Three: Beneath the Oak Tree
Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.
Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader
Rating: M
Warnings: Strained parent relationship, death of a parent, grief, anxiety, it’s gonna get a little fluffy in this one!
W/C: 3.9k
A/N: So I'm honestly really proud of myself for this chapter, there's a little something that I wrote while I was in Ezra's mind & I still can't get over it. I hope you all enjoy! As always, thank you all so much for the love & support!
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Chapter Two || Chapter Four
~APRIL NINETEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN – AFTERNOON~
At the day’s end, you begin your trek back to the house, the heels and balls of your feet aching in a bruising way with each step. The sun creeps lower and lower behind you as you walk and you can feel the warmth of its rays hugging your back. There was a time you would enjoy watching the sunset, when you would stay in town the few extra moments to revel in its beauty and its promise to you that, although darkness will soon creep in, the sun will rise again and bring with it a fresh beginning.
Now, though, your newly appointed duties force you to neglect your favorite time of day. Right after closing the shop, you headed over to the butchers shop for the cheapest pound of beef, cut up into chunks as requested by Pa, and began walking. Not looking back at the town or the sunset, but not able to look forward either. Muscle memory takes over your legs, the map in your mind leading you straight home and all other directions you may have anticipated moving towards are erased completely now.
As you walk up to the farm, you see Mr. Prospect far into the fields, digging weeds from the Earth diligently with the hoe in his hands. You gander upon him for a moment, slowing down your pace just to glance a little longer than might be considered appropriate. He’s discarded his jacket and his white shirt looks dirtier now, the sleeves rolled up to his biceps to reveal his tan arms. They’re not overly muscular, but you know they must be strong with how hard he’s working the fields.
You misstep while your head is turned to Mr. Prospect, the toe of your boot catching a fairly large rock in the dirt and it causes you to trip. You stumble, but regain your balance quickly and feel the flush of embarrassment flow through you, your head now facing forward with the front door to the house in your sights. You take another peek at Mr. Prospect, his attention still focused on the dirt, obviously not having seen you fumble and you thank whoever above that he had not been looking your way.
Once inside, the aroma of vegetable broth is swirling through the air; Pa had already begun the stew, thankfully, relieving some of the responsibility from you. You walk into the kitchenette and set the wrapped beef down onto the only free counter, then you remove your bonnet and bag, hanging it on the wooden hook and turning to place the lockbox back inside the safe.
You turn back to the kitchenette, unwrapping the paper to reveal the raw meat within and you dump it into the boiling broth with the vegetables. A simple stew; you’ve no spices besides pepper and fresh rosemary from the garden and the meat was already salted by the butcher, but it was always a favorite that Ma would make. Yet, when you try to cook it, it never comes out with the same taste anymore. As if Ma had put her own love into it and it was another part of her you just would not have anymore.
After some time, the stew is finished, the broth thickened and the vegetables and meat cooked through to tenderness, and just then, Pa walks into the house. He walks as if the weight of the Earth rests on his shoulders and he breathes deeply, trying to regain the air in his lungs he had lost from the hard work of the day. You stand in the kitchenette, waiting for him to move from the frame so you are able to greet Mr. Prospect as well, but Pa shuts the door behind him.
“He did not wish to join,” Pa says simply.
“Did he explain why?” You ask.
“He said he did not want to impose. I did not press the matter; if he chooses solitude, I will not force his hand,” Pa replies as he sits down at the table.
You keep quiet, deciding not to further discuss the subject so as to not upset Pa and you ladle a helping of stew into a bowl for him, carrying it along with the basket of rolls to the table. You set it down in front of him and after he says his silent letter to Ma, he begins eating. You serve yourself some stew as well and sit down at the table. You and Pa eat in silence, as usual, but there’s a nagging thought in your head that will not subside. As much as you try to throw it to the wind, your curiosity gets the best of you and as you stand to grab your dishes, you find the courage to confront your father.
“Pa?”
“Hm?” He grunts, packing his pipe with tobacco.
“Why did you not inform me of Mr. Prospect yesterday?” You ask quietly, hoping he will not be upset with your questioning.
“I did not see the need to. Not until I had a chance to speak with him myself.”
“I could have helped, Pa. You could have sent him to me and I could have spoken with him,” you continue as you move to stand closer to him. He sighs deeply.
“No.”
His quick response comes out cold, a spat in the face more like, and you immediately take offense. Clearly, Pa still sees you as a child and, like a child, he expects you to bend to the laws he has established in this house. Your pulse races, the grown woman within you takes over your mind and you feel the urge to fight for your position. It breaks your heart; you were used to fighting for yourself in the town, but now you find yourself fighting against your own father.
“Why? Do you not trust my judgement? I’ve put my work in for the farm like you and Ma have before me,” you reply in a firm tone.
“Because I am the owner and I will hire whomever I see fit. Enough of this.”
He nearly barks at you, like the Bakers’ dog that would frighten you as a child whenever you passed its territory, and you feel that same terror rush through you now. You try to see reason, but no acceptable excuse comes to mind. Perhaps he did not feel as though you have earned his respects as the young lady you are. Whatever he thinks of it, you feel it may be best to settle the subject. For now.
“Yes, sir,” you say softly. You turn to the kitchenette, place your soiled dishes in the basin and walk back to the range, serving a helping of food into another bowl with a spoon and setting a roll on top. “I will go offer some stew to Mr. Prospect.”
“Leave him be, daughter. If he wished to eat, he would have joined us at our table,” Pa says with a furrow in his brow.
“Perhaps he is intimidated, Pa. Afraid to sit and converse with us after the town has already been so unfriendly. If he wishes to be lonesome, I will respect it. But I will not let him go hungry simply for his preference.”
Before giving Pa another chance to argue, you step outside and shut the door behind you. You take a moment to yourself once you are far enough away from the house. A crushing feeling sits on your chest, pressure building and building and you take deep breaths in an attempt to calm your rapidly beating heart and quiet the ringing in your ears. You allow yourself to feel the cool breeze from the night flow across your face and closed eyelids as you find your center again.
You had hoped Pa would see you as an adult by now, not a helpless child. The loss of your mother only matured your soul more than it already was previously. You wonder what Ma would think, if she would agree with Pa or with you. Only more sadness courses through you, though, as you remind yourself that you will never know the answer.
Finally regaining your strength, you walk towards the barn, bowl in hand and heart drumming nervously in your chest. Why? Why so anxious? What is it about this mysterious man that has you feeling like a schoolgirl again? He was absolutely an intriguing – and rather handsome – man, far different from the men around town, as well as friendly, so why had everyone else been so disconcerted by him? You truly must have a different set of eyes, then, because you only wish to know – to learn – more.
You reach the ajar barn doors and knock on the wood softly to announce your presence. There is some shuffling from within until Mr. Prospect pulls open the door, his gaze full of pleasant surprise to see you standing in front of him.
“Sunflower,” he grins. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I apologize for interrupting your rest, but I figured you might be hungry after today,” you reply and hold out your hand with the bowl. He glances down at it, quickly looking back up into your eyes.
“I couldn’t, miss, I would feel as though I am taking advantage of your kindness.”
“Nonsense,” you scoff and his eyebrows twitch amusingly at your rebuttal. “It is the very least we can do since we are not able to pay you much. ’Sides, I’ve already served you; I would be more offended if you were to decline now. Otherwise it will go to waste and that will not sit right with Pa. Or with me.”
“Very well, Sunflower. I would hate to disappoint, so I will accept. Thank you very much,” he smiles and grabs the bowl from your outstretched hand, his fingertips lightly brushing your palm and a slight tingle from his skin on yours trickles through your hand. “May I ask you to join me?”
“I’d best not linger; I’m afraid I’ve managed to upset Pa tonight and I’d rather not cause him any further distress before sleep,” you explain, pushing past the temptation to say yes.
“I am sorry to hear that; I hope my being here hasn’t caused any controversy between you and your father.”
“Not at all, it has nothing to do with you, Mr. Prospect. Rest easy,” you smile.
“Thank you, dear Sunflower. Both for the ease of mind and also for this meal; I cannot wait to taste the flavors that have charmed my nose with its temptatious smell.”
You giggle softly at his statement; he speaks so differently, his own elocution, it seems. You bow your head slightly at him and take a turn to leave, but a lingering curiosity prompts you to speak.
“Mr. Prospect, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” he grins while he waits.
“Why do you call me ‘Sunflower’?”
“Do you take offense to my endearment, miss? I do apologize-”
“No,” you shake your head, offering a small smile for your expression to match your acceptance of the name he has bestowed upon you. “I must admit I quite like it. I was only curious.”
“It is because you glow as one; bright as the sun, yet gentle as its petals. Though, its beauty would diminish greatly were it next to you in comparison.”
Your neck, cheeks, and ears burn; an almost overwhelming heat you have not felt since little Morris Clark snuck a kiss to your cheek as children in the school play yard. Though, there was nothing childlike about the sensation rushing through you. His words make you smile; a genuine smile you forgot your face was capable of producing.
“I… I hope you enjoy the soup. I-I will be back for the bowl and spoon in the morning,” you stutter and attempt to hide the jubilant grin on your face by biting your lip. “Goodnight, Mr. Prospect.”
“Sunflower?” He calls out as you’re mid-turn, causing you to stop at his beckon. “Please, call me Ezra.”
Your smile breaks wider across your face and Ezra grins back, nodding slightly as he watches you consider his proposal. You take a breath to calm the thumping of your heart.
“Goodnight… Ezra.”
“Goodnight.”
~APRIL TWENTY-FIRST OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~
Sundays were your favorite days. No, not because of church, but because it was the only day of the week where you were able to close the shop early enough and have a spare moment to yourself. While everyone was busy praising God, praying to Him to prove they were holier than the rest of the town and repenting for the sins they committed during the week (just for them to start fresh on a new batch the next morning), it was the day you found your own escape.
You intently watch the clock ticking on the wall until the work day comes to an end and you quickly rush to the door to flip the sign, guaranteeing no other customers would make it through. You head back to the counter and carefully examine the ledger and count the coin from the day to assure each sale has been accounted for. After checking it once, you go through it again to reaffirm it’s correct and close the book.
You gather the coins in your hand and place them in the velvet bag, tying the string at the opening and setting both the bag and the book into the metal lockbox. You turn the small key, place the box in your bag, and nestle the key within your breast pocket.
You hurriedly make the trek back to the farm and you see Pa rounding up the chickens for their feeding. In your haste, you notice belatedly that you had not seen Ezra in the fields, but convince yourself he may be busy elsewhere. After a brief announcement of your arrival, you walk through the wooden front door, the floorboards creaking underneath you as you walk straight to the black safe next to the fireplace. You place the metal box from your bag inside the safe, closing it once again and heading back outside.
“Pa, I’ll be back in time for supper,” you call out as you stand under the apple tree, searching for the shiniest and reddest apple from its leaves to place in your bag.
“Be careful, daughter,” he replies as he throws more feed into the dirt. Considering how strained your relationship with Pa became, thankfully, he still respected your weekly ritual without any argument.
You wave and walk away from the farm, in the opposite direction of the town and towards the hills. It’s a mere five minute hike until you make it to the small landing at the base on the other side of the hill, letting the sounds of the flowing river fill your ears with delight. It is your own personal haven; no other person has found this place and you privately claimed it as your own, even marking your initials into the large oak tree that dwelled there.
As you make your way through the pine colored grass and up to your usual sitting area, you see the outline of a man sitting under your tree. Your brows furrow in confusion and you feel momentarily disappointed upon the realization that your secret place has been found by another, but you don’t dare be outwardly perturbed; how were they to know this was your own private sanctuary to escape the gloom of what has become of your life?
You continue in a steady march, not prepared to let your resting spot become someone else’s easily. Your mother taught you manners; you knew how to share. That did not mean it had to please you, but as long as they kept to themselves, you rationalize, what’s the harm? Maybe it was another lost soul finding comfort in the calming atmosphere of this place. An unavoidable grin stretches across your face, however, when you step closer and recognize the choppy cut of hair atop the man’s head. You catch a glimpse of his profile and his discernible nose and conclude it is the traveling man that has so intensely piqued your interest.
“Good afternoon, Ezra,” you address once you’re in range of his hearing. It catches him off guard and his shoulders jolt slightly, clearly unexpectant of anyone else finding this place.
“Sunflower,” he beams when his eyes meet yours as you stand under the shade of the tree. He moves to stand to properly greet you.
“Please,” you hold a hand up to stop him. “May I join you?”
“It would be a true delight,” he responds and resettles himself on the ground.
You smile sincerely and are pleasantly surprised to find it comes naturally and with ease in his presence. You lift your dress slightly from the ground and carry your weight to your knees to rest on your bottom, bending your legs to lay beside you. You sigh contentedly as you smooth out your skirts out around you.
“What brings you here? What about the fields?” You ask.
“Your father relieved me of my duties for the remainder of the afternoon. He declared: ‘Every soul should rest on the Lord’s day’.”
“Yes,” you chuckle. “That sounds like Pa.”
You do not press the subject of his religion, knowing first-hand how irksome it is when others comment on your lack of worship and you do not wish to cause Ezra any further discomfort by intruding on his personal preferences. A moment of silence passes between you two; the river flows and splits across different shaped rocks and boulders embedded into the dirt below the surface, creating a relaxing tune, gladly welcomed by your ears.
“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” You ask, turning your gaze to his. To see his peaceful face, full of heartfelt content of the surroundings, you think it may not be so bad to finally have a friend to share it with.
“Indeed; lovelier so with your company,” he smiles.
You feel a strange occurrence within you, a sudden spike in your pulse that makes your fingers and toes tingle, much like when they ache at the end of a long day. Yet, in this moment, you welcome it.
“I usually come here alone,” you say quietly as you fiddle with the strap of your bag.
“My apologies; if you’d prefer, I will find a different location of rest,” he frowns slightly, afraid he has imposed on time you prefer to spend alone.
“No,” you say quickly. “Don’t fret. Besides, this is the only place the children do not come to cause chaos.”
“I see,” he chuckles breathily, a sense of relief rushing through him that he has not upset you. “Perhaps we can share, then?” He questions tenderly in a hopeful wish released to the air.
“Yes,” you nod. “I think I would enjoy that.”
He smiles, his eyes gleaming along and you cannot fight the slight, arrhythmic thumping in your chest at the sight of his glee. Another moment passes without a word spoken as your heart paces normally once again and you look over at Ezra, his fingers busy fiddling with a small book.
“Whatcha got there?” You ask. He looks at you before meeting your gaze to his lap.
“Oh...” He looks at the brown, leather bound booklet in his hands. “A journal for my thoughts and compositions alike.”
“It’s nice to write down your reflections. May I hear some? Unless they are too close to your heart, then I do not wish to pry.”
“I’ve not read these aloud to anyone since my youth, dear Sunflower, but it would bring me great joy if you were to listen,” he says softly and you turn your body to face him, providing your utmost attention.
He smiles, chest rising profoundly with each nervous breath he takes as he opens his book, turning the ivory pages with the pad of his index finger until he lands on a scripture to read, clearing his throat before he begins.
“The vast expanse of the Green went on in each direction farther than the eye could see. The emerald of the leaves above coalesce into the umber of the earth below, both hues combining in the moss bound to the wide and tall bodies of majestic trees.
“The sunlight rained through the leaves, its rays bathing the ground I walked on and bringing the small buds of flowers to life with each step I took. The morning dew kissed the delicate fronds, single droplets meeting their lovers akin and they became as one, rolling away from the home they shared briefly and freefalling in blissful adrenaline until they met their demise in the dirt.
“I immersed myself in the environment, years upon years of the knowledge of rebirth all around, and I breathed in the crisp coolness of the air and life surrounding me. I long to become the moss on the tree, the buds in the dirt, the dew on the frond. To fade away into the Green and be born again.”
He takes a deep breath as he closes the book, grazing his fingers along the cover as if he is praising it, thanking it silently for the blank canvas it provides for him to express himself. His words move you, the meaning behind his composition striking a chord within your heart and, suddenly, you feel a small bead of water rolling down your cheek. As you bring your finger to your eye to wipe away the first tear you have shed in many moons, Ezra looks over at you and catches you in the act.
“Are you alright, Sunflower?” He asks with concern laced in his voice. He would reach out to comfort you through physical touch were he not afraid to overstep and offend you.
“Yes, I’m fine,” you brush off before flashing a soft smile at him. Though, he is not convinced. “It’s beautiful; you have a raw talent for composing. It sounds like a lush place, nothing like around here. What is ‘the Green’?”
“A never-ending stretch of greenery and tall trees. At times, I can faintly smell the aroma of the dirt, muddied by the rain.”
“Where is it?” You ask, a slight hope forming in your heart that you may be able to visit someday.
“Ah, it resides only in my dreams, I’m afraid. A place my subconscious has manifested for me to visit during my slumber.”
“It sounds heavenly,” you add in a whisper.
Ezra is stunned; in his youth, he has composed small poems and sonnets such as the one he just recited to you and each time he dared to share them with anyone, he always got the same response. Classmates teased him and called him a freak or queer and he never felt any desire to share his work again. Yet, with you, your gleaming eyes directed to him with such intrigue, he felt compelled to share once again. And the response this time warms his heart.
“It can be. Then again, it feels quite lonesome as well. Such a colossal stretch of land, yet I am the only one there.”
“It must be my own desire to be free of prying eyes and ears that makes it sound appealing. I did not consider how it has been for you during your travels. Forgive me, Ezra,” you say, your eyes shining with guilt and he looks deeply into them, a touch of gold streaking in his irises as the sun flashes across his face.
“You have nothing to apologize for, dear Sunflower. I understand your desires. If I had also grown in a town such as this, I would gladly welcome a visit to the Green.”
You nod your understanding, but a twinge of guilt hits you as you consider how poorly Ezra must have been treated when he first arrived. You do not wish to ask and ruin the peacefulness of this moment, though you vow to keep it in mind to ask at a later time. For now, you will enjoy your company with Ezra under the large oak tree, heart happily beating in your chest with someone to finally share time with.
Chapter Two || Chapter Four
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Norray halloween week Day 1: Ghosts!
If curious, below are some random info about this Teacher/ghost AU
Ray got a gun and he can use it. The ghost gun isn’t able to touch, much less physically hurt anyone, but it replicate the sound of a real gun, which contributed a lot to how low priced his haunted house rent has become. It nearly gave Norman a heart attack the first time he heard it.
After being dead for a while, Ray learned how to turn visible and invisible at will and play around small objects such as paper, shoes and butcher knives. He can control up to 4 small objects at a time or something relativaly heavy like a chair if he really concentrate. The more he got the hang of controling and moving small objects the lower his house rent become, rarely getting aggressive but still able to physically hurt people. On All Hallows Eve he can posses people’s bodies and get out of the house he haunts, but he always ends up back to his empty ‘home’ when the night is over.
Ray is an incredibly fast learner. Just by observing the people that visits his house, he learned a decent amount of modern english and understand the basics of how tecnology is a thing now -he wished this advanced tecnology was invented when he was alive. It would make the of lack of food and nutrients less of a deadly nightmare in open sea.
As a pirate, Ray used to be the one in charge of doing most of the bloody work and take the night watch, protecting his captain’s back from both outside and inside forces. He was constantly alert, borderline paranoic. But as the years in death passed, he grew more calm, very patient. He usually don’t mind new people in his house, happy to learn more modern english and befriend the guests willing to tolerate him. If a new guest cross a line however, Ray will do his best to scare them away. Hurt them or kill them by manipulating knives if he sees fit.
It’s very rare for adults to see Ray as anything other than a nonsense they have no energy to deal with or a warning sign for their crumbling lives, so he usually hang around kids. The childish company mellows him with time.
Ray is from a time where death was common and getting hurt was inevitable so what people consider pretty serious is something Ray considers mild “Why are you being so dramatic about seeing some bone? Be grateful your hand is still attached to your wrist after you slaped your daughter. If it wasn’t for her wishes you wouldn’t have legs to run away.”
Norman is considered a genius and have countless prizes under his belt. He wanted to go to the moon when he was a kid but because of his weak health, he knew he would not be acepted in the space program. He decided teaching was the next best thing later on, accepted as a teacher in a prestigious school while still young. He enjoys and understand all subjects but love history the most, unable to deny it was hard and frustrating to teach a whole class of teens at times but still liking his job. Having one student that was genuinaly interested in his class was more than enough to make his day.
When Norman first started teaching, he felt more responsable than he had his whole life. It wasn’t a bad feeling per see, but it made him anxious so he called his little sister Cherry once a week to ask her questions about her teachers and make sure he was doing a good job.
Norman may not be the funniest of teacher but he’s still a favorite for his palpable cares for his students. He does not make the subject easier than is requested but he put a lot of effort into making people enjoy their world history, teaching with passion and seriously answering any questions, no matter how silly or joking it sounds. He’s understanding and try his best to help those with dificulty with the subject, always giving people second chances, having lost countless nights of sleep correcting re-writen essays after deadlines and turning his test questions into podcasts for students with adhd, aware the big historical excerpts are fundamental for answering the test but too hard to focus, specially with limited time.
The lambda crew are problem children. Norman went the extra mile to save Barbara and Zazie from failing classes even outside history and left Vincent startruck with his wide knowladge about not only world history but a ton of subjects he could be teaching too if he wasn’t overworking himself. Norman is both happy to inspire the squad to study hard and also very awkward by their blind admiration.
The teacher had a firm “ghost don’t exist” mentality, which is one of the reasons he brought the haunted house in the first place. He had chalked Ray up as an halucination from his sleep deprived brain, having the rotten luck of buying the house right after a bad guest owned. The ghost got more annoyed than usual from things as insignificant as Norman keeping the lights on for too long, putting music Ray doesn’t vibe with, or just acting unfairly cute, to more personal matters such as Norman studying about Ray and his family lives. They used to have a distant and bad relationship but once Ray noticed Norman had only admiration for history, being genuinaly kind when trying to talk instead of mocking his existence, Ray apologised. Norman was still wary at first but they quickly hit off, enjoying to learn what the other had to offer and matching in wits.
When Norman catch a fever or a bad cold Ray gets wary. He know, on some level, that medicine have evolved a lot, but he remenbers way too clearly how serious even the weakest of diseases could get if not imediatly treated. He always stick by Norman’s side when the teacher sneezes, not taking his eyes off him. Usually Norman keep working when he catch a cold, so Ray learned to float Norman’s grading papers out of his reach when coughing joined his sneezes. Floating a paper is enough to get Norman to take a break most of the time, but if the get stubborn Ray will stop playing nice. Just lower his voice to comander mode and order “Rest. Now. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.” and Norman does what he’s told, it’s very unconfortable to have a gun in the face and he does feel very tired.
When Norman is seriously sick, not just coughing but stuck to his bed. Ray freak out and fear for his life. When it reached this level, most of his crewmates died or had to be thrown in the sea to not infect other. Yes Ray know it’s not as bad anymore, but even when he observed guests, they rarely got sick, and when it got bad they where taken to a doctor. Norman lives alone so he got no one to feed him and bring him blankets or take him to the doctor if he lies for hours in bed. Ray was all the help he would get and he is fucking dead, he can’t measure his temperature or take care of him properly. Ray does tries his best though. He concentrated a lot to float heavy blankets and pillows towards Norman. Imediatly fetching any pills asked of him and doing his best to make him tea. It isn’t tasty, but Norman still appreciates his care.
Ray is the first to fall in love, he think “If only I could kiss this fool and hug him, I would do it on the daily. I wish he was alive back then... He would love meeting Emma...” at least once a week but a big part of him is just “Forget scurvy! Norman would die of cold or malnutricion before he reached 10. Thank god the helpless bastard took his sweet time to be born.”
Ray cannot touch any eletronics, he can’t even come close without phones, computers, and tvs turning to statics, so Norman buys an illustrated book about the Red Mane Pirates for Ray to see his crew again. He know is not perfect but is the best he can offer whenever Ray expresses missing his family.
They read together. Norman occasionally teaching a new word to his ghost and Ray correcting any historical inacuracy. It’s fun.
Norman finds an illustration of an alive Ray sleeping in the mast waaay too beautiful. Ray snort at the romantized draw, disolving into laughter by how Norman failed to hide his blush.
It became a habit to read history books together and tease each other. More often then not, it lead to a history class and way to much sass on both ends.
“Wait, so there really was a world war? I heard about it from old guests but I thought they were exagerating when they called world war! And what do you mean 2? There was a second one??”
“How did miss the second one? It was HUGE, quite horribl-”
“You were not even alive when it happened.”
“Tecnically, you weren’t either Ray-”
Ray is a bit scared of how attached he got to Norman, knowing eventually the man would die. He hopes it will take a long time, and that once he had a painless death, he will become a ghost too, but he doesn’t really believe Norman will ever turn into a ghost. Ray knows not everyone that dies became a ghost. Since someone as compassionable as Emma -even if she was forced to have blood and dirty choises on her hand to survive the merciless seas- was not cursed to became a ghost, he was confident someone as kind as Norman would dissapear from Ray’s afterlife once he died too.
More of this AU here
.
And since you reached the end of this text wall. You can have this bonus Norman being awkward/excited about their growing friendship.
#norray#the promised neverland#tpn norman#tpn ray#norray week#norrayweek#i still can't draw adult BUT THERE WAS AN ATTEMPT#i don't know much about history so guyhiluojikço#NORMAN SLEEPING POSE WAS SO HARD TO DRAW HOLY SHI-#but i love this au#yiouhoji freaking ship week anxiety tho
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forever & always. ➤ tom. h.
Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)
WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her. i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.
The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away.
The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person.
In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed.
The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be.
They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again.
But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier.
You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small.
You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second.
The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash, wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire) but a name - Harry Warden.
1997.
Valentine's day.
Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened. For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed. Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden.
No copy cat killer version of him, neither.
So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters, buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with love in their hearts and a smile on their face.
Today was Valentine's Day, once more.
Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself.
Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs got decomposed, rotting corpses, instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings.
It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as a threat. Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable.
A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay as they read the paragraph out loud all while shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.
Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards.
The recent two cards had said; From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near! And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot.
Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you.
Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps.
It could have very well been the same man all those years ago.
That's what they were saying.
(Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song.
She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.
(Of course, there was more.)
(The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.)
Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs.
"We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully."
"Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N) turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs.
She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason. Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was.
(Y/N) was trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge.
With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things.
Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel. She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse.
"I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital."
(Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name, the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead!
She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up.
Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face.
"Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received has said he's been missing since two days ago. He can be anywhere. More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.
Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off.
"This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.
“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless."
The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's.
The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same. She instantly regretted not doing so now, however.
She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her.
The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'.
(Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard.
"(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice.
And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere. She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself. Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open.
There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself. He looked up, surprised she had answered the door. Giving her a weak, lopsided smile, Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping.
"(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle.
"Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was.
"I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N).
(Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks.
"Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant.
"Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together."
Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet. "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out.
"I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything. Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door."
And, yeah, okay, he was right.
"Tom..."
"(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes. "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?"
(Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice.
Everything was too much of a coincidence.
Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up.
Now that she was thinking about it....
There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum.
Three days ago....
Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne.
If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner.
Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.
She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her.
A promise is a promise.
When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too.
"I love you too."
Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot.
"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.
"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips.
"Oh, I'm going to."
"Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs."
Tom grins and (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom.
Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.
#Tom Hanniger x reader#Tom Hanniger x Y/N#slasher imagines#slasher one shots#slasher x reader#Jensen Ackles x Y/N#My Bloody Valentine#Jensen Ackles x reader#Slasher fanfictions#Jensen Ackles fanfictions#Jensen Ackles imagines#Tom Hanniger imagines#Jensen Ackles one shots#my works#Tom Hanniger one shots#Tom Hanniger fanfictions#Harry Warden x reader#Harry Warden x Y/N#cierra's stories
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Love Through the Ages (Tim Drake)
Summary: Love like baggage needs to be declared.
a/n: This is part two of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots. Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans. I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself.
Warnings: Everyone is dramatic.
Masterlist
Series Masterlist.
You watch the rusty green of the warehouse wall disappear behind a spray of orange paint. There is nothing more satisfying than watching paint make old things new.
A whistle interrupts your reverie, making the can slip from your hand. You swear, the harsh syllables echoing in the empty air. The can bounces down the scaffold and lands in someone’s hands. Tim’s face gets sprayed with a mist of orange. He makes a noise and rubs at his face. You bark out a laugh and he grimaces at you. The begrudging fondness obvious on his face.
He waves at you, eyes still stinging from the paint. Giddiness flourishes in your chest. “I knew I’d find you here!” He shouts in a dialect of Mandarin that you hadn’t heard in ages.
It takes you a moment to understand him. You’re honestly extremely rusty. It takes you another moment to realize that it made no sense for him to find you. “How?” You shout back in Romanian.
Tim shakes his head, throwing his hand over his shoulder. “Open canvas.”
You snort, looking down at him. Tim’s breath catches as he stares up at you, your smile. You’re haloed by sunlight. You look like an angel descending from heaven.
Tim’s forced to pick up his jaw when he hears your voice again. You’re tapping your watch. The words are lost to him.
“What?!”
You shake your head, strands of hair coming loose from behind your ear. “I asked...” You shout in a coarse frawl. “... Isn’t it a bit early for you to be here?”
It was.
He was only 30 minutes early. No big deal.
He shrugs. “I just wanted to watch you paint.” He says, trailing off. Oh God, Tim thinks. Does he sound lovesick? Is Cassie right? He pushes the thoughts down, opting to look at the building instead. On the side of the building was an immaculate portrait of the Red Hood rendered like a saint, haloed in golden light and surrounded by your orange marigolds. It would look at home in any grand cathedral. Your talents never ceased to amaze him.
“Should I ask why you’re defacing a building?”
You turn back to the building picking up a can of yellow paint. You tilt your head. “It’s a massive improvement, yes?”
Tim looks around. The pavement is littered with wet trash mixed. The buildings were rusted. Everything else is covered in grime. “You’re rude… but not wrong.”
You preen, electing to ignore the first half. You turn back to your canvas before Tim can get another word in. He knows he’s lost you.
“So, why *the* Red Hood?”
You look away from the portrait, setting the can of yellow spray paint. It sprays your sweatshirt and Tim laughs. You stick your tongue out at his face flushing. You liked this sweatshirt. He gave it to you the last time you had meandered into Gotham. “Why not? We’re in the Bowery. He’s like a saint here.” You snip, switching to Russian. Ok, that made sense. You toss your sweatshirt into Tim’s face. The fabric is lousy with the smell of paint and of 5-hour energy drinks. It was an improvement over the pungent odor of garbage.
He tries to rub the orange paint on his face away before he tucks your sweatshirt beneath his arm. You’re still looking down at him, wry amusement on your face. “I’ll paint your beloved Red Robin when I get to China Town. Heard he was quite popular in those parts.”
Tim’s heart flutters. He stutters out his next question. “Why are you using spray paint for this type of illustration?”
“Kon said I couldn’t do it.”
Tim snickers, “As if Kon could tell the difference.”
You frown only realizing your mistake. You curse under your breath. Tim doesn’t stop laughing at you. “Shut up!” You snarl.
Tim dodges the next paint can you throw but the next one hits him square in the face. You grin triumphantly. Tim raises a middle finger at you and you giggle in response. You feel bad, seeing him wince in pain. You’d buy him apology tea later but for now, you clasp your hands and call out to him sweetly. “Sorry, Timmers!”
Tim, equally as mature and well aware that you’re only half sorry, blows out a breath, muttering something colorful before shouting back: “we should get going if we wanna eat out after looting the museum.”
At that, you launch yourself off the scaffolding, your body feeling weightless as it falls. Tim drops your sweatshirt as he holds his arms out to catch you. He catches you easily. You two spin as you wrap your arms around him.
“You are certifiably insane.” He laughs. His nose smooshed against yours.
“And so are you.” You snort, hugging him.
He hugs you back. You hum so softly into his hair that Tim wouldn’t be able to tell it from a breath if he were human. Tim holds you close, hugging your waist tightly. He doesn’t really want to let you go. You don’t either. You and Tim stand there for a bit when you hear his cell beep.
“Why does your phone sound like a pager?”
“Because Babs told me how to.”
“That literally explains nothing.”
“I’m not taking crap from the gremlin who had ‘Baby Shark’ as their ringtone for 12 months. WILLINGLY.”
You pout at him, your face so close to his. Tim’s only half paying attention to your defense. To be fair, it basically boiled down to ‘it isn’t that bad’ and ‘Bart’s ringtone is worse’.
After a short shopping trip and a cab ride later, you arrive at the museum in fresh clothes and less paint on his face for Tim.
“All the World’s a Stage. They botched it! The nerve! The barbarity of it all. It's just like when they botched ‘Words with Friends’ or ‘In Ice We Trust’ or even ‘Tomcat’. That last one was pretty much gift wrapped for them!” You say throwing up your hands nearly hitting Tim and whatever poor bastard was unlucky enough to be behind you.
“For someone who isn't invested in modern media, you're getting fired up.” Tim chuckles, eyes flickering behind you. You had managed to miss the people behind you but you do have a rather conspicuous space behind you.
“They had such good material to work with” you say, gesticulating wildly. “And- and they butchered it.”
“You need a 5 minute breather?” Tim asks, resting a hand on your back.
“Shut up,” you laugh.
Tim grins at you as if he had no idea what this ultimate betrayal feels like.
Determined to prove him wrong, you say : “C'mon, Timothy, you ranted like this when they botched the star thingy.”
“It’s Star Wars, you heathen.”
“Star. Thingy.” You repeat, crossing your arms.
Tim squints at you. You know he’s not gonna blow up at you but somehow that’s scarier.
“You can pay for your own cab later.” He grumbles.
“Star. Thing-Y.”
Tim turns to leave. This always worked. Always without fail, you grab at his hand, lacing your fingers with his. Tim tries not to smile.
“Fine.”
“Was that so hard?”
“It was excruciating actually.”
“You're being dramatic.” He says, showing the woman behind the ticket counter your passes.
“Excuse me, I left all my drama in the Renaissance.”
“Oh really?”
“Ok not really but admit that both Andromeda and Stars, Forgive Me have better writing.“ You bite out.
“I- That’s unfair,” he says. You raise your brow in response.
“...”
“Fine,” he sighs. “But admit that Andromeda should have been named ‘Space Whores’.”
You squint at him then smile. “Oh abso-posi-tute-ly.”
“Have you seen this dirty old hockey mask?” You ask, tapping the glass as if the hockey mask would react if you just agitate it enough.
“What is that?” Tim asks, looking over your shoulder. His brows crinkles when he sees the mask. “How is that romantic?”
You hum. “Ask the curator?” You suggest, looking around. He was usually out and about. He could never sit still even if he tried. You lean down narrowing your eyes at the plaque. “Says here some dude called Jason terrorized 3 kids over summer.”
“That’s very romantic for our Jay to do.” Tim says, crossing his arms and switching to Cantonese. It was a weird habit but you knew why. Apparently for all Jason’s skill in languages he somehow could not get a handle on Cantonese.
“Not that Jason.” You say, smirking.
“You sure?” Tim asks, leaning closer to you.
You snicker, “As in character as that would be...”
“True,” he says, edging closer and closer to you. You rock on your heels nervously at the proximity. “It’s a shame, I thought there would be a machete to match too…” You can feel Tim’s breath on your cheek.
“OH LOOK AT THIS.” You say twisting away and pointing to a black and white photo. Tim’s hands leave his sides to grab for you, to pin you to his chest, but he has enough self control not to. Instead, he follows you.
“It’s just a man and a woman in business suits. Yanno something you can see in any metropolitan city.”
“Yes but,” you say, tracing a nonsensical pattern into the air, “I’ve heard a story about this, they were both extremely rich and heads of their companies, went from enemies to lovers - my all time favourite.”
Tim looks closer at the photo of the man and woman with their backs to the camera just holding hands along the NYC sidewalk. It’s cute. “I thought your favorite was lovers to enemies.”
“Well of course, it is! The drama, the absolute tragedy. It’s better than any trope in existence. But I love that this is just black and white. You don’t need anything else to indicate they’re in love with each other.”
Tim is all too tempted to point out that that likely wasn’t intentional, that it was a limitation of the time, but the look in your eyes robbed him of his breath, so he swallowed his thoughts.
Your eyes rove over the room frantically in search of something.
“So is there any reason you wanted to go to this exhibit instead of watching lavalantula 10 in theaters?” Tim says, tapping another case.
You turn to look at him, shock etched into your features.“10? We've seen lavalantula 1 through 9 in theaters? Why did I agree to that?”
“Cus you love me?”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Probably not.”
Tim gives you a hurt look.
You scowl at him. You have no idea why everyone thinks he’s the nice Wayne sibling. He is a manipulative little shit who plays you like a fiddle. And yet here you are falling for it. An absolute buffoon.
You grumble an apology under your breath before continuing. “This is more cultural Timmers and lord knows we need more culture.” You wave sarcastically.
“I think we've lived enough culture.”
“it cannot hurt to experience more Tim,” you snort. He rolls his eyes. You grab onto his arm and look up at him bright eyed. Two can play it at that game. “Please Tim....”
He scowls at you. “Fine-”
“Yes!”
“-but you owe me a movie marathon.”
“Fine. Fine,” you nod, “just don’t pick something dumb.”
“I just got the new star trek box collection.” He beams.
“You could just shove me into a grave.” You sigh dramatically.
Tim grins. “The Renaissance called-”
“Oh fuck you, Grackle.”
He snorts and you hate that you fall in love with him more every time he laughs.
You cross your arms giving him a hard look. “Fine but we have to have an intermission of my choice.” You say, offering a hand.
“Deal.” He says, shaking your outstretched hand.
“Great, you've just agreed to watch the Great British Baking Show with me.” You say smug.
Tim curses himself.
"Are you still looking for that one painting?"
You tip your body back to look at him, your eyes wide and startled. It takes no time at all for them to shift to their usual angry shape. "Yes," you say quietly. It's Tim’s turn to be startled. Your hands curl into a fist. "It wasn't done and those bastards took it."
Tim reaches out to put his hand on your shoulder.
You cast your hands up to the sky dramatically. "The barbarity of it all!"
Tim smiles, letting his hand fall to his side. You would be ok.
You two walk on as Tim rants about StarGate could have had a bigger fanbase if it hadn’t excluded so many people. You add StarGate to the list of things to not remember.
You stop.
Your heart presses a bruise in your throat.
Framed in wood laden in ivy and marigolds is a painting that was painfully familiar. Even unwashed, you can still see the bright reds of rose petals, the wild greens of the women’s skirts, the brilliant oranges of marigolds, and the blinding whites of cobble stones. The image was a practice in entropy made into perfection. The chaos of Valentine's day in a small town square reduced and captured in an infinitesimal moment.
Damian told you that people had started calling them Warsaw’s Faceless Sweethearts. You hated that. A part of you wants to scream. You want to tell them that this wasn’t for them. This painting was made for one person and one person only.
You’ve been staring at it too long. Tim looks at you. You’ve known him too long to not know that he’s worried. That he’s feeling that stupid surge of protectiveness he always does when you go quiet. It’s in the cautious way he reaches out to you, slow and steady the way you approach a spooked animal. You want to lash out at him but he’s your Tim. Besides, too much of your mind is trapped in the painting, in the white gazebo, in between the couple who’s stuck in the moment before a kiss.
Tim stands closer to you, his fingers lacing into yours with centuries worth or practice. He looks at the painting. “This painting looks familiar.” Tim says for the lack of anything better to say. It was yours. He knew that with only a few seconds of looking.
“I… I don’t think so,” you say clumsily, “that’s definitely not the painting I’ve been looking for. Yup that one looks completely finished. Yup definitely.” You tug at Tim’s arm.
He gives you a look, staying perfectly in place, before turning back to the painting. His gaze draws low. In a glass case sits scraps of paper lined with charcoal. It takes an embarrassingly long time for Tim to realize that they’re sketches the artist did. Tim recognized the baker, the blacksmith, the seamstress, and even the constable. Most glaring of all he recognizes your marigolds. His eyes drift to the sketches of the couple in the gazebo. They were numerous, haphazard and unsatisfied. You were clearly frustrated with the groom’s face. Tim wonders who the poor guy could be.
In the corner of the page in the center, he sees it. “Wait… is that me?”
“NO!”
“Is that you?” He asks, pointing to the figure next to his. In the sketch, your lips are brushing against his. Tim’s lip tingles trying to replicate the sensation.
You’re frozen stiff. You try to pull your hand away. You want to bury your face in them. Scratch that, you wanna be buried six feet under. Tim doesn’t let go of your hand.
“That’s the umbrella you lost back in London.”
“I lost a lot in London, Timmy.”
“Well...” Ok. Yeah, you did. Hence why he can’t get you to London even with the promise of letting you ‘improve’ Buckingham palace. But that isn’t the point. “(Y/n), this is gorgeous.” He says, turning to you. You look at him stunned and scared. He squeezes your hand.
You shake yourself out of his grip. Tim lets you. He knows when to back down.
You step forward leaning on the rope separating you from your work. “I told you it wasn't finished.” You say, glaring at the painting as if willing the colors to move.
“What happened?” He asks, bumping his shoulder against yours.
You bump your shoulder against his. “Warsaw.”
“I don’t follow.”
“That little town in Warsaw. It was kind of hard to finish the painting when soldiers were setting fires to houses. Ok, they didn’t do it directly but there was smoke.”
“Yeah kind of.” Tim agrees, smiling sadly. He looks back at the painting. “I want to keep it.”
“What?” You blink not quite following the shift in conversation.
“Darling, I think we should have it. It’s ours after all.” Tim says holding your hand in his. Your mind is bouncing between too many things. He called you darling. He’s holding your hand. He’s smiling so sweetly at you. You’re addicted to that look in his eyes, pure unadulterated adoration.
You cover your face with your free hand, feeling the smile on your face go uncomfortable wide. You feel something on your forehead, a kiss like a raindrop. It comes again and you feel like you’re going to collapse.
“It’s yours..” He trails off hesitantly. “..if..” You look up at Tim, waiting with bated breath. Tim squeezes your hands. “...if you’ll be mine. ”
@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bungunz, @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red
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Captive
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This is what happens when one of your tumblr sisters @moon-ascendant teases you with a picture of Daniel Gillies as Wing commander Hayes from Occupation Rainfall just to show you his hands and active the heck of the hand kink 🤤🥵 while chatting. Love ya! I have not watch the movie. I’m just going from the synopsis of the story.
English is not my first language.🤷🏻♀️
Bolds thoughts: sorry that’s my style of writing
Warnings SMUT like real SMUT complete SMUT be freaking gentle this was torturous to write. Lord knows I love to read them but writing them is a completely different thing entirely. So if you’re younger that 18 please look away my darlings.
Kudos to the gif creator , that giff was used for the facial expressions and the yummy eye FUCK Vibes Hayes gives the female reader.
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Y/N couldn’t think of a worse situation . At the moment she was held captive in an Australian military facility, underground in a secret lab where gruesome experiments were done to the alien invaders. She led a mission to free the captives and ended up being one. She was stripped and left in nothing but her underwear her hands were tied and her arms were up placed on some sort of a butchers hook , behind her a concrete wall. Tired and beaten up she waited for the commander of the facility . Since she didn’t talk to the officers they summoned the man himself to whom they referred as the beast. She was anxious but not scared . Her arms hurt from the uncomfortable position they were placed in .
Then footsteps could be heard from the corridor. The comander was close , coming to interrogate her and possible torture her. She would not give the wanker the satisfaction of making her talk , she’d rather die. Beeping sounds were heard and her breath hitched on her throat as the door whooshed open. In came the one person she never in a million years expected to see. So this was their leader Special Wing Comander Hayes .They had history. ‘Bugger’ she thought . Hayes brown eyes locked on hers and spoke to the rest of the men in the room. “Leave us”.
“But sir she’s dangerous” the soldier interrupted . Big mistake Hayes gun was out in a flash hitting the man with it on his face blood splattering everywhere from the soldiers nose.
“If I can’t control this little sheila then perhaps I do deserve to die. Now fuck off”. He went to the control console shutting the monitors down. Once the soldiers were gone he turned to Y/N and by god he had never look more handsome . This man made the uniform look like a sin she desperately wanted to commit. “My Ohhh my Y/N” he started. “Fancy that ... what are the odds of me finding you here of all places”.
“Fuck off Hayes”.
“Tchhh tchhh tchh”he reprimanded with his tongue. “Language mate , I see something’s never changed” he smirked. “Now listen very carefully baby . This could go either fairly easy where you tell me who’s leading the resistance and what is their location? Or things could get ugly up to where I have to get it out of you by any means necessary and we both know that I don’t want to do that, not to you luv. So what do ya reckon eh? , come on talk to me”. He stood in front of her as her chest heaved frustrated.
“I’m not talking Hayes. Do what you have to I’m not a traitor and a coward like you”! She shouted.
His hand found her neck swiftly and gave her a hard squeeze “You wound me mate” . “Look whose talking about traitors THEY invaded US , THEY are killing US why do you help THEM ? he asked upset squeezing a little making her harder for her to breathe then releasing his hold a bit enough for Y/N to catch her breath.
“Not all of them are bad , what you are doing here is wrong , there has to be another way to defeat them . Not like this Hayes please listen to me I” she spoke while taking gulps of much needed oxygen.
“You can what ? Help me? My duty is to my country and if I have to torture and kill the lot of them bastards he paused I will”. “I’ll ask one last time luv tell me who’s your leader? Don’t make me hurt you”. He ran his gun over from her cheek to her breasts . She recoiled.
“Fuck you”! Spitting to the ground disrespecting him.
“Fuck me ? ... Fuck me?!” Hayes snapped he pressed her to the wall with his body . The hand on her neck moved to her dark locks, his long fingers tangling on her tresses pulling her head back hard while his gun pressed to the underside of her left breast. “You want to try that again luv? , I’m going to give you one last chance”. He snarled. Y/N remembered what those big calloused hands could do as he jabbed his gun to her side again and pulled her hair simultaneously earning him a moan not from pain or discomfort but from lust.
“Is this ... he paused “is this turning you on mate?” He smirked
“Hayes let me go ... I don’t have the information you seek Please .. please I” she gasped her panties were gone. His gun disappeared and soon his fingers were at her core .
“God”! She moaned “Hayes please”.
‘Fuck this interrogation’ he thought he’d missed her and she was here vulnerable and ready for him to take her to heaven. There was something about having her like this arms up hands tied that he could not resist. He sped the movement of his fingers making Y/Ns eyes rolled back into her head. ‘Fuck the mission he’s mine’ she was close. Suddenly her vision blurred and white appeared before her eyes as she came on his fingers her body shaking violently. He brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean ‘Fucking delicious baby’ he ran his tongue through his lips before taking her mouth with his own. His slippery tongue fought with her for dominance eventually winning. Y/N threw her head back hissing as his lips found her breasts . His beard scratched her light sensitive skin as he took a nipple in his mouth and suckled.
“Untie me” she begged .
“No”
“Please let me touch you”
He almost gave in ... almost “No” making her growl and curse pulling at her bindings.
Y/N heard his zipper come undone making her look down to his trousers . She had never been so glad to hear that sound. She looked up at him and the look on his face made her cum right then and there. He was so intense.
With little effort he grabbed her by the back of her thighs and hoisted her up against his waist . His length was warm and hard ready to take her. Y/N wrapped her legs around him and leaned forward to kiss him. He sighed into the kiss. He could feel her trembling with need as his fingers greazed her lower back , his tongue intertwining with hers, relishing in her sweet taste. He couldn’t wait any longer and with a hard thrust he swallowed her moan. He was finally in and it was blissful. Hayes set a fast and brutal pace hammering her against the wall and Y/N enjoyed every single second of it. He pulled her hands from the hook and place them behind his neck . She met his thrusts pressing her forehead against his as they panted into each other’s mouths. “Hayes”... Y/N whimpered he knew she was close so he lowered his hand to her core again and started to rub her clit. She moaned into his ear as her thrusts became desperate trying to keep up with him but failing .With a few more movements of his hips she screamed his name for the whole facility to hear . Feeling her walls convulsing around him sent the wing comander over the edge whispering her name fervently over and over again. Coming down from his high he pulled out slowly hissing in the process. “Sensitive comander”? Y/N whispered making him chuckle. “Something like that mate” he took her arms off from around his neck and looking into one of his pockets he produced a knife. “What are you doing”?! She got anxious. “Hush now lass” he cut off her bindings he steadied her .“Get dressed and go I’ll cover ya”. Y/N’s eyes widened “Come with me Hayes”. “No luv I’m into this way to deep , I’ve made my bed no way I’ll back out now” .He grabbed her face and brought his lips to hers one last time. Once dressed she turned to leave when he held her hand .
“What?”
“Take my gun” he put the firearm on her hands.
“You cannot give me this , I can’t” her eyes full of tears.
“You have to and make it believable” he nodded.
“You can’t be serious Hayes ...no” she looked at him refusing to do what he commanded .
“Now my luv you’ll have a window of 60 seconds before I tripped the alarm. Do you understand?”
“Y/N”! he shouted .
“Bugger” she said angry.
“For what is worth... I love you” he gave her a small smile.
“See ya comander” she said before hitting him with his gun on the face cutting his right eyebrow open and aiming at his arm shooting on the forearm.
“You bitch!! ... Fuck”!
“I love you too”she ran from the room hoping she could find the exit before he tripped the alarm.
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There you go a little fluffy towards the end. 😁 Please my smut writing needs some serious refinement but hell I did it weeee!!🎉🎉. I don’t know what happens or have seen Occupation Rainfall , I just couldn’t resist Daniel in a uniform 🤤🥵. I tried to keep the Australian in it lol, I dont know anyone from there so I apologize in advance 🤦🏻♀️. I hope you enjoy. Like , reblog , leave coments. I adore them. Toodles until next time my darlings.
@hellotvshowtrash @moon-ascendant @moon-child-writer @multifandom-girlie @eternityunicorn @elejahfanfic @mikaelson-emma @dumble-daddy @nikmikaelsonswife @lady-salvatore @soul-revoir @maldita-world @satedbond @xxwritemeastoryxx @elijahs-wife @lokis-favorite-follower @petrova-banz @umaficwriter @raemikaelson @ronniemikaelson
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Demon Angel AU: Bought and Sold
I had an idea, so I went ahead and wrote it for @whumptober2020 day 20 for the prompt “field medicine” and “medieval”. Hope you like it!
Summary: The demon plans the angel and his escape after learning the angel will get sold and sent to a rich family´s rarity zoo after he shows signs of being too exhausted to heal the demon properly to harvest his horns.
Tag list please tell me if you´d like to be added or taken out of it!: @as-a-matter-of-whump @orchidscript @haro-whumps @giggly-evil-puppy @grizzlie70 @rosesareviolentlyread
CW// captivity, slavery, winged whumpee, waterboarding, stress positions, bone sawing, magic exhaustion, manhandling, noncon bondage, whumpee hunted as pray, whumpee turned whumper, catching poles, cages, muzzles, convulsions, inaccurate field medicine (sorry!), forced bathing, implied noncon, blood, auditory and visual hallucinations, thralling and slightly gorey stuff at the end.
It had been a few months since they had arrived to the circus. The routinary wake up call in the morning where the demon was grabbed by the back of his shirt and had a muzzle with bit shoved into his mouth to then be dragged to the river close by for a quick “bath” that was essentially, just submerging him in water and rubbing away the blood and sweat from the day before, was exactly like any other day.
The demon was then seized and brought to the “Demon´s lair”, where he would be thrown into a cage inside the patch of woods until a costumer came. When that happened, the sound of a hornet and the door lifting would be his signal to run.
The demon ran everyday, tried to climb the trees or find something pointy enough to reap the leather binding his numb arms on his back and the muzzle covering half of his face, or tried to jump over the wooden walls, but it wasn´t that the only thing he had to worry about. The demon stopped dryly upon facing a human with his wooden pole with rope on one end. His tail swished in distress behind him, as the bulky human stepped forward and the demon stepped back.
He had had enough humans fishing him by the neck and digging the rest of the pole into his back, forcing him to step into the “trophy cage” to know not to understimate the stick.
The trophy cage was small and he would get stamped on his thigh by the human that caught him to prove they, among a group of three had caught the demon. They would then be asked if they wanted to bring a pair of horns as memento of their victory over the demons: a pair of his horns.
If he didn´t get caught, on the rare days that happened, they would hang him by his ankles or his arms for a while, just so they would be too sore and uncomfortable to properly run away the next day.
There were days where the demon felt hopeless about escaping someday. When he got frustrated from getting away from the gods and their angels to end up captured yet again less than two months later.
The angel, Sann, would sometimes reach to him through the cramped cell with his wings tightly pressed against him, still wearing the clothes that barely covered any skin. On those nights, where the demon leaned into that friendly hand, he heard the angel tell him they had ran away once, so they could do it again.
The demon braced himself from tearing up, because they would burn the angel if he touched his tears. So he just quietly sniffed them back and tried to believe him.
The only times he would see him was at night, more often than not, knocked out until the humans took him in the morning or was too tired to talk and fell asleep on his wing cocoon, the others would be when he was inside the trophy cage.
The demon would see flashes of him flying through the barred cage and the tall tents. Doing acrobacies in mid air that looked similar to when he was above in his homeland, but the feeling to which he flied to, was entirely different.
There was no soul on it, there was no joyful laughter making company to the beautiful dance Sann did on the sky when he first saw him through the small window of his cell, even before Sann first came to visit him at the dungeons.
How long had he observed Sann to know the closed turns were his favorite trick to do back then? How many times had he laughed when he saw those three pairs of wings work, and has seen the angel splat into the trees because he didn´t know the terrain so later he would come to him asking if he could help him take off a stick out of his wings?
In his defense, he was just too interesting to take his eyes away.
He felt a sense of dread when he was pulled out of the cage and forced to walk back to the starter cage. Leaving Sann behind as two poles, one around his neck and the other pinching him in the back, dug into his skin.
How much he regretted he didn´t notice when the hunters came that night and how much he wished he could give him back that freedom to enjoy flying.
The demon was pushed forward and snarled at the human, receiving a painful poke to the side of his abdomen.
“You damn beast should behave like your winged pal. Now, that one knows his place” the human shouted as he digged the pole on his neck getting a pained groan that made him stumble and choke a little on the rope before the human pulled him straight again.
“Such a shame we won´t have him anymore” the other human commented in a sigh. The demon perked his ears and tried to turn, but the pole dug deeper.
“Keep walking” the man growled and the demon obeyed shoving away the anger coiling inside him. Anxiety began tro brew as the two humans continued to talk.
“So that´s really gonna happen? I thought the ring master was more interested in exploring the capabilities of his healing. There´s good coin there…” the man said in a langid voice.
“Oh, he was, but the angel is getting sick or something. It takes too long to make this one’s horns grow again. The Butcher was getting in trouble because he wasn’t providing enough, so he talked to him and Sir decided to put an advert for him” The demon almost stops on his tracks, but he knew better.
The Butcher had certainly hit Sann when he had stopped healing him mid horn before he collapsed on his side and his body squirmed in violent spams. It took him a few minutes to come back to himself.
During that moment it was the only time he was allowed to get close to him and touch him in the Butcher´s presence. The other humans screamed, thinking the demon was doing that to him and tried to hold the angel down, but when the demon used his tail to smack the humans away and hissed to leave him alone, the humans only watched the demon rept to the angel whisper through the muzzle that everything would be alright.
They stared in awe at the demon as the angel came back to himself still shaking even after the convulsions stopped. Both creatures nuzzled each other´s face before inevitably, they were ripped apart. The demon in for another beating.
Of course they would think it was him. Humans didn´t know anything about the rarity´s that occured to them and came to demons for the answers to the questions they barely could formulate and then blame them when it didn´t go as planned.
What happened to the angel, was mere exhaustion, the demon knew, he would have to rest and stop healing him for at least four months if they wanted to continue their wicked business.
The demon continued muttering through the muzzle until the angel opened his eyes again. But even then, his eyes crossed just right when the Butcher straightened him up by the hair and fell flat inconscious into the ground.
With how often it had been happening lately, he had been put into his cage for a while, shows were suspended but instead, he was forced to sit perched up on his cage´s swing and look pretty for the visitors. Wave at them through the nausea he would tell him later he felt all day. He wouldn´t mention it either, but some of his bones and ribs were damaged too because of the human handler´s attempts to keep the angel still.
Without being able to heal it, the angle experienced neverending pain.
“Apparently some rich family´s daughter decided to buy him to form part of her rarity´s zoo” The man said, tuning the demon back into the conversation unfolding before him. “Some of their men will come get him tomorrow night” The demon´s heart skipped a beat as he was shoved inside the cage in heavy panting. The human freed his neck from the rope, yet, he wasn´t relieved in the least when the human kicked the wooden cage “If he´s not around guess we won´t have any use for you anymore, beast” the man´s canines showed as he smiled and patted the cage “Can´t wait to finally have the chance to hunt you down. For real this time, little pest”
The demon kicked the cage as the humans laughed walking away.
“As if I will let a human do that” he spatted in the solitude of his cell before he heard the horn yet again and the door lifted. He still ran in stampede, but this time, he ran to his hiding spot above a tree. By now he had run through the space enough times to recollect enough rocks with his tail and smash them on the ground with just the right amount of strength to sharpen them. He didn´t have much time to experiment with durability, but as the months passed, the large river stone had become quite the sturdy knife. Polished and sharpened enough to cut through his tail, the signs of it, healed by the angel every night.
He grabbed the knife and carefully made a cut through the leather bindings on his arms, stopping right when he felt skin. It was enough overture to give way for the knife to enter and small enough to pass inadvertently.
But now, when he jumped down the tree, he ran through the obvious traps he had fell on the first few times, avoiding the most invisible ones, the bastardous, ankle breaking claws on the ground that would give out his position once he screamed and fell in pain until “the hunters” came to kick the shit out of him or even, hold him down with their poles or seize him. So in that state, he was less of a threat to try to inspect the odd demon that kept a somewhat human form.
He hated the humans that would do that the most. So he stayed a few inches above the ground now, trying to jump from branch to branch.
He wasn´t captured after that, every hunter lost and he was sent to hang next to the Butcher´s tent. This time, there weren´t horns cut up, even if Sann was better, they had sold out tickets to the “great last hunt”
Supposedly, the hunter that got him first the next day, would get to keep him and do to him whatever they pleased.
The demon tried not to think about it and keep the knife working inside the leather keeping his arms together. This night hanging upside down was exactly what he needed. Despite the ache on his ankles and the blood rushing to his head, his hands didn´t stop cutting until they cracked and his arms, numbed out and achy and possibly mismatched as he pulled them forward with a loud crack that forced him to bury the screech on his throat. He cracked his shoulders before bending to cut one of his ankles before the second, careful to not make any noise as he straightened up.
His arms were free finally, if just a bit too heavy, but finally he could lift them up to feel the buckles wrapping around his head, heavy metal padlocks hanging from three different places. He put all his strength in pulling the knife and cut off the leather straps around the edges of his head, slightly cutting one of his ears in the process before he felt it loose and threw it to the ground with a slam.
His chin was a drooling mess and his jaw was so sore without Sann’s healing, but he felt his fangs free, sharper than the knife on his hands or the Butcher’s saw. He passed his tongue over his lips. He felt his muscles aching to run and smash, his claws twitching to be dug into human flesh.
He had been fed everyday for the last months just once a day. Always having Sann put the disgusting gooey putridge between his lips before he ate too because of his useless arms. Whatever was on the bucket had never tasted quite like real food but sufficed to satiate their stomachs for a while.
Suddenly, he heard steps behind him. Heavy, familiar and blood thirsty.
The demon’s pupils became an edge that fixed on The Butcher’s voluminous figure as he set himself in an offensive position. The Butcher passed his hand over the horns hanging from his belt, the very first ones he chopped off his head with a laughter so low it sounded more like an animalistic growl.
The Butcher had never talked to him directly, but his voice, low and deep, sent a shudder down his spine.
“Very well, Pest. I had planned to take you to the young lady who bought the bird, when I caught you tomorrow, but this is perfect” the Butcher stretched his hand towards the bone saw and the fear installed on the demon´s head almost overthrew him, making him hiss and growl as his hair spiked and his tail swooshed irritated “We can just get started now”
The demon bared his fangs and twisted the knife on his hands, adrenaline running through him as the man walked closer, sure to win.
A say ran through the lands closer to the demon´s domains, where unfortunate humans were the one hunted by them, just like he was: For fun and sometimes as appetizers.
“There´s a say in my lands” the demon spoke the human tongue in a hundred voices that drilled inside the Butcher´s head “The sun stole the demon´s true shape, so when night falls, the moonlight grants their true form back to wear and hunt”
A ray of light illuminated over the small demon and shifted, the Butcher stopped on his tracks seeing the monstruos shape it took, a sound close to broken bones, going over and over as the demon became something that made the Butcher’s jaw fall, that made the demon inhale the scent of fear demons craved.
The human in his desperation, in the irrationality of fear, swinged the bone saw above his head, screaming madly.
“As you wish” the demon spoke in a hundred voices behind the Butcher. The demon was pleased to see the moment his eyes widened in absolute terror seeing his gigantic form as the curtain to his tent closed. Catching the blood from the man´s neck from staining the dirt outside.
The Butcher didn´t understand what happened was an illusion at all. The demon licked his bloody lips, sitting over the fallen body of the human, a bite that punctured his throat was non stop bleeding.
“You don´t even taste good enough to be a snack” the demon let out as he licked the blood off his fingers, a claw mark on the man´s stomach digging dip into him. He lifted himself off and picked up the bone saw. Put a little pressure into the middle that ended up breaking it “Well, I will give you that. You at least knew you should have me muzzled” he said tossing the shards away “Word spells are hard to cast with a metal bar inside your mouth” the demon kicked away the muzzle with a huff, “wished I had something better than just words, but demons like me gotta use what they have” he looked down at the human laying on the floor “Now then…”
The demon took the horns hanging from the Butcher´s waist and took one of his assistant´s aprons for himself. Putting the horns on the pockets. He could make very durable knifes with them after all. One for him and one for the angel.
He walked out the Butcher´s tent, finally free to let the humans know who the real hunter was.
#demon angel au#writing#whump#non human whumpee#wing whump#winged whumpee#demons#angel#demon angel whump#fantasy whump#captivity#my writing#angst#hurt comfort#Seraphim!Sann#Demon!Albus#graphic content#tw murder#tw blood#body horror#mind control#waterboarding#stress position#bone sawing#magic exhaustion#whumpee turned whumper#catching poles#cages#muzzles#convulsions
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if i hold on to you, i’m only hurting me
Ellie & Dina Week: Day 1 (Ache)
Ellie reluctantly pushes the gate open to the lower garden, grabbing a set of tools from the basket as she sulks in.
Fucking farming rotation. Another day in paradise.
Ellie really doesn’t mind most jobs around Jackson. Even though she’s practically counting down the days until she can join patrols, helping do repairs on houses, or being assigned to the butcher shop aren’t so bad. However, farming rotation is the job she likes least.
Maybe it’s because of the level of skill required. You have to go through rigorous training to join patrols. Hell, it’s practically a full day of hands on lectures about horse safety before you can be assigned to stable duty. Sure, growing food is important - everyone needs to eat - but anyone can plant herbs and shuck corn.
The throbbing headache she woke up with certainly doesn’t help the situation either.
At least she is scheduled to work with Dina. That will make the morning go by significantly quicker.
However, as she approaches the group of half asleep teens receiving their assignments she is surprised to find that she has actually arrived before Dina, who is always the more punctual of the two.
“Morning Ellie!” Sandy, the head gardener greets her a little too happily for 6 AM. “You and Dina are going to be working on beds ten through twenty. The tomatoes need to be pruned and the hornworms are in full force this season.” She purses her lips as she hands Ellie the designated pest control bucket.
Ellie can’t stop the huff of air that escapes her lips. “Great.” She takes the bucket, devoid of enthusiasm, and gives Sandy a half-hearted wave before making her way to the first bed of tomatoes.
After she’s made it through a handful of the plants she hears the gate swing shut and turns to see Dina shamefully entering the garden, a good fifteen minutes later than she should have, hoping she might go unnoticed.
“Dina!” Sandy exclaims, “so nice of you to join us this morning.”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Even from across the garden Ellie can see the blood rising in Dina’s cheeks as everyone’s attention is turned towards her. The sight alone is almost enough to make her forget about the pounding in her head.
“Have Ellie fill you in on what you’re doing. And don’t forget your tools.”
“Oh, uh, right.” Dina has to awkwardly make her way back to the tool basket by the entrance.
Damn. Ellie doesn’t even bother holding back her smirk and raised eyebrow as Dina approaches.
“Well, well, well - so nice of you to join us this morning,” Ellie says mockingly and Dina rolls her eyes.
“You’ve been missing out - we get to harvest today.” She gently pushes the pest bucket into Dina’s hands, a few hungry caterpillars wriggling around wildly in the bottom.
“Oh yum!” Dina sighs as she looks into the bucket, her face screwing up in disgust.
“Ya know I’m sitting here, soaking up the sun of this perfect fucking day, and I’m thinking ‘fuck, Dina must really be doing something important to miss out on a morning as spectacular as this one, here, with me - picking hornworms off of tomato plants.’” Ellie returns to her position by the planter bed, and glances over at Dina with a spark in her eye.
“Which you really need to get a jump on by the way, or we’ll be stuck here later than everyone else.”
Dina is surprisingly quiet, just returning Ellie’s ribbing with an amused smirk. She takes up shop on the opposite side of the planter and dutifully gets to work.
Normally Ellie is on the receiving end of Dina’s badgering when it comes to tardiness - she’s a bit surprised Dina isn’t giving anything back. Regardless, she isn’t going to miss an opportunity to goad Dina for the role reversal.
“So what were you up to?” Ellie doesn’t drop the playfulness from her tone. “Saving Alex’s kitten from a tree? Helping Eugene patch that awful fucking hole in his favorite shirt? Teaching Jesse how to read?” She tosses a smug look at Dina, quite proud of that last suggestion.
“Actually…” Dina hesitates and lowers her voice, glancing down at her shoes “Jesse spent the night last night.”
Ellie can feel all the color leave her, along with her jovial mood, as she tries to hide her face behind the foliage of the plant in front of her. She is filled immediately with regret. God. Don’t be weird, Ellie. Don’t be weird.
Dina and Jesse had been something for a while now. She first noticed the way they would hang back from the group at town events, brush their hands against each other, and laugh even when the other didn’t do or say anything remotely funny. When Dina finally told her about her crush on Jesse she had to put on a smile for her best friend, before allowing herself to be envious of her other best friend.
‘It’s just puppy love.’ Ellie told herself at the time. ‘It won’t last.’
Some days she hates herself for letting her think those things. She’s knows it’s dumb of her to be jealous. It isn’t like she is under some delusion that Dina would ever feel that way about her, but it would certainly dull the ache if she didn’t have to watch them hold hands, or slip quietly away from the crowd, or...
“It was the first time, uh, you know…” Dina raises her eyes to try and meet Ellies, and a smile blossoms across her lips. Ellie can tell she’s happy. Really happy.
“Oh,” it comes out much more awkwardly than she had hoped. Fuck. She doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she certainly never wanted to think about Dina and Jesse’s sexual relationship.
“He didn’t have to be up early today… So uh, ya know, I didn’t want to be in any kind of rush either.” Dina blushes, and Ellie can feel the emptiness inside her stomach take over. Her headache is completely replaced with numbness and she has no idea what to say in response.
Ellie clears her throat and finally lets her eyes meet Dina’s, “Well, uh, priorities.” She does her best to force a smile on her face. “Guess I’ll have to give Jesse shit about making you late later.” She doesn’t know how to change the topic, but she’s hoping Dina will start talking about something, anything, else.
“I am sorry. That you had to get started without me, this job sucks.” She hesitates again, bringing her hands together and staring at them for a minute before looking at Ellie again.
“I really like him, El.”
Ellie wants nothing more than to flip a switch and forget about these gnawing feelings. To be genuinely happy for Dina.
“I know.”
But nothing is that easy.
#warm up yall#warm up#writing is hard#elliedina week#tlou 2#the last of us part ii#tlou fanfic#ellie x dina#my writing#high key wanna continue editing this but i also wanted to get it posted in time for day 1 so here we are
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Since requests are open, can we get headcanons of an male reader finding a way to free Aatrox?
[A/N: Hello my darling. Requests are always open, one thing I promised to myself when I created this blog is that I will NEVER close requests. I had no idea what came over to me when I was writing this. Thank you for making a request. You may ask again for more.]
Headcanons of Aatrox with a Male who’s Finding a Way to set him Free
You were but a simple librarian and he was a noble and valiant warrior, always present at every battle there is to be fought, marching together with his brothers in-arms.
Perhaps the elders were right when they said “opposites attract” for you two had barely any similarities, except for the love of battle and tactics.
He was a warrior and you were a librarian yet you two found peace, excitement, and love in each other. Whenever he would come back from fighting, it was like his two own feet had a mind of its own as he finds himself infront of the bookshop that you manage. He doesn’t waste a second nor a chance to scoop you up from the ground and lift you with seemingly no effort and even twirl you around. His heart flutters whenever you yelp in surprise but giggle and smile right after he has settled you back down to your feet.
It’s you, the reason why he keeps coming back; the reason why he keeps fighting. Yes, he was Shurima’s champion, the so-called God-Warrior, but you had given him a new profound strength that he had never felt nor heard of before.
He’s strong, both in mind and body, his medals are a proof of that but there’s just something about your hugs that makes him melt and find peace in. His favorite thing to do is to put his forehead against yours while his arms wrap around your waist and yours around his neck.
He would spend what little time he had before he would be sent off to fight again with you, either in your arms or in your presence. He’s very clingy, but perhaps that’s just because he missed you oh so dearly.
Aatrox would tell you about his incredible feats over a chess match and you would listen to it with stars in yours eyes, despite already hearing about it from the gossiping townspeople, and you would tell him of your time while he was gone. You always tell him that nothing of note really happens but even so, he insists to hear about it.
You never really worried about him on the battlefield, you knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He was an Ascended after all, so why worry?
But your heart dropped to your stomach when you heard the news from the gossiping townspeople. Aatrox had clashed and turned against the Ascended, his own brothers, the ones who he fought for and fought alongside with. It made you sick to hear how the people quickly changed their views on him, once praising him, but now, showing disgust while calling him names that should have not been given to him, given his status and achievements.
After days of feeling the need to vomit and worrying, you decided to ask someone about the full story. You can hear and physically feel your heart shattering as you take in everything. The word “Darkin” had stuck to your mind. It was an old Shuriman word which you have read about in a book.
The death of the Emperor was a surprise, yes, and it impacted each and every Shuriman but you never expected for him to react this way. But somehow, every fiber in your body is rejecting the mere thought of accepting that the Aatrox, who’s now wreaking havoc, is the same Aatrox you cuddled with and shared intimate moments with.
Were you crazy? Perhaps. A fool? Maybe so. But you just wanted to see Aatrox, the one you called the love of your life, and see that he was still very much the same and be reassured that what the townspeople were talking about were just nothing but rumors.
How you were proven horrendously and humiliatingly wrong. With wide eyes, you watched as he slaughtered his comrades along with innocent people, as if he was a butcher to pigs. You stood there, frozen, unable to move a muscle as you try to even take in the scene in front of you. It’s him. It’s Aatrox. It’s definitely him, you could recognize the armor he donned. But where were his wings? The beautiful ones that had wrapped around you on cold nights.
You could only gulp in fear as you instinctively took a step back and made a run for it, not even daring to look back, just wanting to get away from it all. Your heart pounded against your chest excruciatingly, like it wanted to burst out your chest and pop.
That same night, you could do nothing but only fall down to the floor, crying as you hugged your knees closer to you, curling up into a ball. Your heart was in near unbearable pain and it made you want to rip it out, toss it somewhere, stomp on it, and die. A shiver runs down your spine as you recall the events.
Was it really him? What happened? What changed? Why did Aatrox act the way he did?
Darkin. An old Shuriman word.
Perhaps the same book where you encountered first the word could have all the answers to your questions. “He simply went mad”, they said. If he really went mad, would you be able to snap him out of it and make him remember who he was? Could you free him from whatever he was suffering from?
Tears continued to well up in your eyes and then fall freely but hopelessly down your cheeks as you rummage through your things, even so much as entering an almost frenzied state at the library, desperately trying to find that one book with hazy eyes.
Your head falls with a sigh as you take a breath to steady the frantic beat of your heart. You take deep breaths, letting your shoulders slump in defeat and your forehead to lean on the shelves of the library as you stood there, sniffling-reminiscing.
It’s scary yet absolutely agonizing and gut-wrenching to have finally processed that a once champion of Shurima, an Ascended, a God-Warrior, had completely forgotten himself, his righteous conducts and his valiant deeds.
~ La Reina 👑
#runeterrankhaleesi#league of legends x reader#lol x reader#league of legends#aatrox#Works of Khaleesi#Her Majesty Writes#Her Majesty’s Works
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Self Care
Commission for @ago-fucks of miragehound/reader with reader getting pampered after working such long nights and being exhausted. They’re spoiled with lots of domestic fluff in the beginning and then lots of orgasms.
Reblogs > Likes. It cost zero dollars to reblog the fics you like :D
Relationship: Mirage/Bloodhound/Reader
Fandom: Apex Legends
Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader has a vulva, Mirage is trans and words to describe are cunt/clit/pussy, Bloodhound has a penis and words described are dick/cock, Ago’s headcanons and not mine so Bloodhound is written different!, Fluff, sex ofc, but otherwise nothin rough?, collars, mentions of safe words/signals but only cause it’s heALTHY
Words: 5k
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When you were in a relationship with two of the infamous Apex games legends, you learned really quickly that every day would be a new surprise. At least, in the beginning. Now comfortably having been together for a few years, you find yourself immersed in both of them in a familiarity that brings warmth to your chest.
Though their jobs may have been going into a mini battlefield and shooting each other up on a daily basis for the seasons, that didn’t stop you from working at your own job. Art was a difficult field to pursue. From the schooling to the finding a job part. You loved your job, able to chase your passion! Yet, you were still very worked to the bone and found yourself aching from hunching over your desk to work through these character concepts for an upcoming cartoon. Your legs ached with the need to move from their constant folded position and all in all you were just tired.
Thankfully, your partners were ever so careful with you when they were home for the season ends. Bloodhound was always first to lie you out for a massage, kissing over your jaw and neck or down the line of your spine with utter gentleness. Elliott was a good listener, letting you rest your head in his lap while he stroked your hair and you either whined or excitedly showed him the new concepts via your phone. Both were entirely supportive, but also concerned for your wellbeing.
~Rest under the cut~
So, you’d come home today. Tired and murmuring in a quieter voice as you rubbed at your eyes, nursing a migraine. Elliott had suggested a quiet movie, already knowing you’d fall asleep during it even if you tried to whine otherwise. And lo and behold, not thirty minutes into it, you’d fallen asleep on the couch. Head on Elliott’s thigh while he stroked through your hair, and legs thrown over Bloodhound’s lap who was lovingly stroking down your thigh to your knee, then back.
“They need a day of spoiling.” Elliott murmurs, low enough not to wake you but loud enough for Bloodhound to hum in agreement. Elliott traces around your ear, tucking your hair and smiling when you sigh and nose at his thigh in return. “When’s their next day off?”
“Mmh. Tomorrow, I believe.” Bloodhound murmurs in return, stroking up to your hip to gently fix your shirt back into place that had ridden up. Stroking back down your thigh and smiling softly as you squirm a bit. “Let us get them into bed and we can discuss something. I am sure they would like your cooking. If you are up for it.” With that said, they carefully move your legs off their lap, watching you snuggle closer to Elliott. Carefully, they scoop under your body. Powerful arms able to cradle you as they go to tuck you into bed.
--
When you wake in the morning, your senses are first assaulted by the scent of pancakes cooking downstairs. You grumble a bit, feeling warm arms holding you in bed and a solid body pressed against you. A small turn of your head into their neck proves to be a mini space heater and the scent of pine and cinnamon. You smile, nosing into Bloodhound’s neck and feeling a scar residing there. “Good morning.” You murmur tiredly.
You hear them hum softly, already awake and aware as their fingers trace up under your shirt on your back. Smoothing their warm, calloused hands up your spine then back down. “Breakfast is not ready yet. You still had a few moments of rest,” They start, moving a hand from your back to gently cup your cheek, drawing you from your warm spot so you may make eye contact. Brown eyes so deep they could be black peer back at you, forming half little moons as they narrow in amusement at your sleepy appearance. “Torskildir- you are lovely, my dear.”
You laugh at them instead, sitting up on your shoulder so you could kiss one of their scarred, soft cheeks. “And you, are incredibly sappy in the mornings.” Their smile only deepens at you, dimples forming on their cheeks and wrinkles at the corners of their eyes. Beautiful, you think.
When you two finally do crawl out of bed, with Bloodhound insisting that you dress comfy for today and that they both had plans for you, you obey and only change into lounging clothing. They stay without a mask as you two head downstairs, only to be met by Elliott who has a bit of batter smeared on his cheek but beautiful wild berry and wild violet pancakes made. Freshly picked by Bloodhound this morning. You near about tear up at both your partners’ sweetness, sharing a good morning kiss with Elliott and remarking that he must have tasted the ingredients before fixing them together. Which earns you a cheeky grin and a finger over his lips that Bloodhound rolls their eyes at.
Throughout the day they spoil you in little ways. You all three end up sitting down for a marathon of your favorite movies, complete with blankets and you napping partial ways through them. Attention of your hair being petted and your legs causing you to go into a tired little stupor every now and then. You occasionally peek open your eyes to keep watching, or to turn your head and receive much needed kisses from Elliott, his stubble tickling your face.
When lunch time comes around, you’re not too hungry from a big breakfast so Bloodhound settles on making a little something with fresh herbs and berries. Fresh mint and different flora add an aesthetic touch to the fruit salads that make them even tastier.
You’re spoiled even then, taking berries from Elliott’s fingers and playfully sucking on his thumb’s fingertip when he lingers too long. Relishing as his face turns three shades darker and he averts his gaze with a soft, nervous laugh as he draws his hand from you. Bloodhound, who had been watching from close by, snuggled deep in their parka for the cooler weather, had merely smirked ever so knowingly at you.
They meet Elliott’s eyes who offers a charming half smile as they have a silent conversation together briefly.
Once it reaches dinner time, you’re kicked out of the kitchen much to your whining. Muninn and Arthur are even kicked from the kitchen, but you’re sure it’s just to keep you out of it. Arthur is much more snuggly, bringing you trinkets he finds around the house with little hops and crooning at you if you pick them up and thank him. Muninn lingers near your head, much more interested in preening your hair and watching the movie on the screen that’s playing in black and white with soft jazz coming from it.
Occasionally you get up, hearing the birds hopping after you as an alert to Bloodhound who easily comes sliding out of the kitchen to guide you back to the couch with harmless scolding. Their parka has been long since discarded for the warmer kitchen, now in dark tactical pants that fit them just right and a tight black tunic. You want to run your hands over their scarred, dark haired arms, and you try to but they gently shoo you away with a soft kiss to your nose. “Later, beloved. Be patient.” Is all the promise they give you before heading back to the kitchen.
You curse that their little cottage isn’t an open concept so you could watch them. Left to hear them idly talking with the music playing from Elliott’s speakers. Occasionally you hear giggling and some soft sounds that sound suspiciously like kissing and you can't help but smile every time at the happy noises.
You were so lucky.
When you’re finally allowed into the kitchen, you’re guided to the dining table made by hand from Bloodhound. The whole kitchen is carved by hand as well, now looking like a proper home with little nick nacks from their ravens, Elliott, and yourself on the shelving. Some dishes need to be washed, but otherwise everything is rather picked up already.
You’re already excited to dive in. Elliott happily introducing his glazed porkchops that you like so much and hand mashed potatoes. Once again, another item grown in Bloodhound’s beautiful garden outside, but the meat was from a local butcher. Herbs for seasonings collected from their indoor garden sitting on the nearby windowsill.
Bloodhound, since berries were in season and plentiful, had made a blueberry pie. The cut work was beautifully done lain on top for the crust to be little cut outs of hearts. Elliott proudly exclaims that he helped, only for Bloodhound to make a pointed gesture to the little heart cookie cutter and Elliott having to defend himself. It WAS still helping, he’d whined!
Your laughter makes them both stop to stare at you with absolute adoration in their eyes that you see when you peek open your eyes and flush to your ears at the attention.
Dinner goes nicely. Elliott is a little magician as always, getting up at some point and showing off a magic trick involving making a decoy with himself to pull another decoy out of seemingly nowhere. Fit with both you and Bloodhound clapping for him and watching him bow at the waist all dramatically.
Bloodhound tells stories from their trips for the past week and why your freezer was stocked with a foreign meat. Not to mention their delight in foraging the fresh berries going around. They talk happily of their own garden as well, thanking Elliott for helping them set it up and get dirty today by collecting potatoes for dinner.
The clean up afterwards you’re not even allowed to help. You try collecting dishes like you would on a regular day and you’re shooed away. You at least put up a fit, a little pout and say you’ll just watch. Bloodhound tries to argue, but Elliott gently bumps them with his hip playfully. “Aw, come on, babe. You ain’t gotta deny them EVERYTHING. If they want to watch the show of ‘house spouse extraordinaire’ playing LIVE in person right now, who are we to stop them?” He then laughs a bit at his own joke before flexing his arms upwards, making his shirt rise to show his midriff and the dark patch of hair going up to his navel. You can’t help but shamelessly stare. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to watch THIS play house husband of the year?”
Even Bloodhound is staring at the little bit of flesh exposed. Elliott left standing like that until he finally figures out why no one is laughing or saying anything back when he catches both of your hungry stares. He scoffs out a choked laugh, cheeks warming and holding a hand flat up to the both of you in a gesture as if you two were hungry lions that he needed to ward off. “Alright you predators, you can look later.”
And you would. In depth. Pay close attention, you decide, thinking about looking at way more later. Not that you had any idea they already had plans for you later in the bedroom.
It’s Elliott who winds up leading you to the bedroom as Bloodhound finishes up the rest of the dishes. He guides you softly to bed, the sheets and furs on it tossed this way and that. Thankfully you three had a huge bed that spanned a whole wall of the room, courtesy of Bloodhound’s ability to build who said it was a tragedy that beds did not come big enough for a pack like yours.
Softly, Elliott cups your cheek and thumbs over the soft flesh there as he sits next to you. You smile softly, leaning into his palm and already knowing what he wants. He was always much softer about his wants, almost anxious. “Are you up for fooling around tonight?” He murmurs with such softness, his thumb sliding over your bottom lip where you pucker to press a soft kiss to his thumb pad. You hum in agreement back to him, but he just laughs softly. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”
Your lips quirk up at his soft tone, peeking open your eyes half lidded to peer at him. Catching Bloodhound slipping into the room behind him to come approaching softly. “I’d like to, yes.” You offer full consent, watching when Bloodhound’s lips pull into a charming crooked smile, but their eyes scream primal.
“We want to pamper you.” Elliott continues softly, drawing your attention back to him. You can’t see Bloodhound, but you feel them slip behind your body to set hands on your waist, lips pressing warmly to the nape of your neck. Elliott keeps your attention on him, leaning in until you’re near nose to nose and your breath hitches at the closeness. Your own eyes flicking down to his lips and flicking your tongue out to wet your own. “You deserve it. You’ve been working too hard. You won’t have to lift a finger, baby.” His voice is so gentle, lower and almost a hum as he speaks.
Then his lips pull into a charming grin, eyes narrowing as he nuzzles his nose to yours. “Well. Maybe one finger, just a sec,” He moves as he speaks, pulling from you and making you whine. But, Bloodhound takes this moment to pull you back a bit into their lap, sinking their teeth gently into the crook of your neck from behind. It makes you whine faintly, reaching back to fist their coarse, dark auburn hair. They proceed, open mouthed kisses over the exposed flesh they can have at.
Elliott soon returns after a moment or two out of your sight. He has four different collars in his hands, you can hardly focus on him offering them to you when teeth nip at your ear. “T-the- the blue one.” You manage to get out, reaching out to take the light blue collar, the silver heart buckle making your heart flutter.
Thankfully Bloodhound separates from you long enough for Elliott to put it around your neck with utmost gentleness. Buckling it into place and tucking two fingers underneath to make sure you had enough room. You kiss at his retreating hand, eyes sparkling playfully up at him as he smiles back at you. “Alright, sweetheart. Safe words remembered? I don’t think we have anything too hard planned for you,” He pauses briefly to glance at Bloodhound, who must have shaken their head since Elliott nods back in reply as if reaffirming his words. “But, just in case it gets too much?”
“Red for absolutely stop, yellow for a break, green for keep going.” You reply, forming your hand signals for each. You snap twice on red, make a flat palm upwards for yellow, and thumbs up for green. Simple signals for you all to remember. Bloodhound hums behind you appraisingly, licking over where they’d bitten you before just above your collar and effectively distracting you.
Gently your shirt is tugged on from behind, pulling it up and over your head as Elliott leans in to you to press his soft lips to yours. You moan into the kiss softly as he cups your cheek, your pants’ waistband being toyed with by rough hands behind you. Bloodhound’s skilled hands tuck under the waistband to grope at your sex, palming at it and feeling how slick you already are on their fingertips through your underwear. They growl in your ear approvingly, sending a shock down to your core at the same time Elliott bites your bottom lip to draw a sound from you.
You’re soon being moved again, off Bloodhound’s lap to the middle of the bed where they urge you to undress. Elliott crawls up after you to rest by your head, having taken off his shirt to just be left in his sweatpants. Your eyes flicker up to him, catching the sharp-edged scars under his pecs and feel yourself longing to lick and suck at his nipples. You work the rest of your clothing off, shakily exhaling as you lie still and keep your thighs pressed together almost shyly.
“Always so beautiful, precious one.” Bloodhound murmurs, eyeing you up hungrily as their bare hands stroke softly over your thighs. They’re in their tunic from earlier and tactical pants, dressed down in their opinion. Their nails scrape over your outer thighs, down to tuck under your knees and gently spreading your legs. You allow it, going willingly as your legs part and they fit between your knees. They inhale deeply where they sit on their knees, eyes fluttering as their breath comes back out just as shaky. “As delicious as you are stunning, ástin mín.”
Your face flushes pink as they move to lie on their abdomen, warm hands gently holding open your thighs as they nuzzle between your legs. Your cunt flexes around nothing, even before they part you open and lick their way from hole to clit. You shudder, one hand coming up that is taken immediately by Elliott, the other coming down to fist Bloodhound’s hair as they press open mouthed, hot, sloppy kisses over your clit. Gently suckling and pulling on it as your toes curl into the sheets.
“Yeah, keep making that sound.” Elliott encourages when you let out a soft whine. His free hand not holding yours gently strokes over your cheek, pushing back your head when your head twists to bury yourself against his knee. He admires the way your lips part, idly wondering if you’d put your mouth to use too- but, no, this night was all about you.
He can’t help but let his eyes trail down your frame to Bloodhound, whose eyes are half lidded to peer up at your facial expressions. Their tongue flicks over your clit before they open their mouth obviously to drool over your clit, hot breath fanning over you. Elliott’s lips quirk in a small grin when you whine and squeeze his hand harder, undoubtedly fisting Bloodhound’s hair harder in turn. It only earns you a soft chuckle from Bloodhound who relents and drags their tongue over your u-spot to tease before sealing their lips back over your clit.
Elliott’s hand in your hair strokes back your hair from your forehead when your head twists the other way. Letting go of his hand so you can reach down and grab Bloodhound’s hair in both your hands to try and urge them. Your hips thrust upwards, desperately humping against their mouth as you begin to lose it. You can feel yourself drooling slick, eagerly licked up by the oh so talented tongue treating you.
It’s too good. With Elliott’s gentle praising above you and stroking of your hair, the way Bloodhound’s lips mouth and suck on your clit and pressing relentlessly against you, you can’t take it. You squirm and buck upwards, only to find Bloodhound pulling backwards.
Your eyes snap open, a confused whine from your lips. “I thought I was being pampered!” You cry out, your voice strained and breath panting. Bloodhound laughs at you, they can’t help it, nuzzling at your mound and breathing hot air onto you. You obviously pout, still throbbing and body alight, but they shush you softly.
“C’mon, Hound, don’t tease.” Elliott offers, coming to your rescue. You smile up at him in thanks, relishing in the annoyed huff you hear between your thighs. Bloodhound was always such a tease, but at least they get back to work. Nuzzling you open and fixing their tongue back against you. They’re slower than before, less focused on pleasuring you fully and just circling your clit with the point of their tongue. Motherfucker-
Right when you’re about to grab at their hair harder, they introduce a finger stroking over your hole. When you don’t say anything besides ‘please’ repetitively under your breath, they press it inside. Quickly followed by a second when you prove to be wet enough to take it.
With their fingers now scissoring and tongue focused back on you, it takes you maybe a total of thirty seconds before you’re cumming with a cry. Elliott is quick on you, leaning down to kiss you and swallow your soft cries. Licking into your mouth when you can’t seem to focus and taking advantage of your noises. Two of his fingers slip under your collar, gently tugging upwards and Bloodhound at the same time feels you clench and gush around their fingers more.
Absolutely beautiful.
Bloodhound is careful about moving their face from your legs. Only pausing to come back and press open mouthed, sloppy kisses over your clit or gently licking over you. Their fingers never stop, lazily petting upwards inside of you as their own hips grind against the bed to ease their cock. Elliott isn’t doing too better, parting softly from your kiss to gently suck on your jawline to leave a bruise. Moaning into your skin at your very taste and how wet he is himself.
You’re so unfocused from the dual ends of attention. Hips pressing up briefly every time Bloodhound teases you again and tilting your head to the side to allow Elliott more access.
It takes a few moments to regain yourself, but you turn your head just in time to peck at Elliott’s cheek, murmuring softly. “Want you to sit on my face. Please?” It makes him laugh softly, sitting back on his knees to look down at your pleading eyes, face all flushed.
“You know we’re supposed to be spoiling you, right?” He teases, bopping your nose with his index finger in the way that makes you crinkle your nose. You pout harder, more dramatic and he rolls his eyes, relenting as he wiggles out of his pants and boxers without much of a show. But, you and Bloodhound still stare at the flesh exposed.
Elliott has trimmed body hair, always kept tidy unlike Bloodhound’s fluffy mess you enjoy so much. When his boxers are removed, you can see his own sex glistening and wet, hair darker at the slit of his cunt. His clit is enlarged from T, peeking a good amount from his lower lips and looking red from his arousal. You lick your lips eagerly, spreading your legs open and peeking down at Bloodhound who is already working their pants down to mid-thigh.
Bloodhound’s cock is the thickest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. As thick as your wrist, you think. They’re only about five inches long, but the thickness certainly made them a tight fit. Their hair on their body is never trimmed, kept fluffy and wild much like they are. It’s flushed at the head, their hand giving an obligatory stroke so their foreskin pulls back and reveals the shiny, juicy head that makes you drool.
Elliott and you stare shamelessly, watching as their eyes come up and Bloodhound’s cheeks warm to a rosy red. “Elliott-” Their voice warns, and he whines faintly but goes back to paying you attention instead. You only smile cheekily at Bloodhound until they threaten you with a lick over their sharp teeth and a quirked brow until you relent and spread your legs eagerly for them.
You all settle carefully into place, with you eagerly urging Elliott to straddle your face. One strong thigh on either side of your head and his hands flat against the headboard to grip it, peering down at you as you settle your arms over his thighs. You guide him to let you take more of his weight on, nosing at his large clit so you can lick at his drooling hole to tease him.
You’re quickly taken from your small power trip when you feel rough hands sliding over your thighs to draw them over Bloodhound’s waist. Your breath hitches, quickening as you pant softly over Elliott’s sex. He seems into it at least, petting your hair and cooing softly for you to take your time. But you interrupt with a soft squeak of, “Bloodhound-” As a warning, feeling the head of their cock slide from your clit down to your hole and back.
“Elliott-” They reply back in a soft tone, and you can already feel the face they’re making at the back of his head. Watching Elliott’s eyes focus back into reality as he makes an ‘oh’ with his mouth as if remembering.
“Hey, shh, okay look at me. You’ve taken them plenty of times, it’s not like they’ve grown an inch in the past...week? Week and a half?” Elliott reassures, stroking your hair back as you turn your head to kiss at his thigh. Your body is tensed, but slowly begins to relax the more Bloodhound strokes over you. Collecting more lubrication despite how strained their breath sounds. “Houndie, be slow.” He reminds.
“I always am.” They reassure in reply, soft as they pinch your thigh and make you jump briefly with a huff and a look only Elliott can see. They wait, patient as ever until you whine out ‘green’ with desperation. That’s when you feel their thickness pressing into you, ever so gentle and slow as they stroke over your hips and thighs. Strength held back as they grab onto you softly to work into you, one hand cupping your mound to thumb over your clit and making you squirm.
It’s not that they’re long, it’s just that they’re so fucking thick. Bloodhound’s dick was the fattest one you’d ever seen in your life, always a tight fit even with stretching. Your mouth busies itself, guided back to Elliott’s cunt with a help from his hand and a soft coo from him to get to work. Your mouth goes to his clit this time, suckling and licking over the thick flesh as your nose buries against his mound.
When Bloodhound is fully sheathed inside of you, you can hardly hear the way they growl over Elliott’s thighs acting as terrific ear warmers. That, and the fact Elliott can’t stop talking. Little encouragements spilling from his lips; “Yeah, like the way I taste, baby?” “Fuck you’re so pretty down there.” “Come on, make some noise.” He’s always been the more talkative partner. Unless Bloodhound was in the mood for control.
Your thighs are gripped hard as Bloodhound gently begins to thrust. You can feel the wetness slicking down your ass at this point, your own nails digging into Elliott’s thighs as you whine against him with pleasure. Licking feverishly at his heat as if he was the only thing keeping you sane right now. You’re more eager to give head, unlike Bloodhound who liked to tease. You work him up, peeking your eyes open half way to peer through your lashes just to watch his pretty face contort in pleasure. He bites his bottom lip, head throwing back when you suck particularly hard on his clit just as Bloodhound begins to pick up the pace.
Your thighs flex with pleasure, your noises muffled but still enjoyed next to Elliott. Though, you really make a noise when you feel their hips sharply thrust against you, slamming into your g-spot. Their thumb pressing to your clit and rubbing at it in time with their newly picked up pace, matching their soft snarls and huffing.
You hold desperate to Elliott’s thighs, lips parting and tongue lolling out as he takes your hair tight and begins to hump his hips desperately against your face. He fucks himself onto your tongue, using you like a toy as you’re fucked harder. You can only whine and huff your pleasures, not willing to close your mouth, not when Elliott’s eyebrows are knitted and he’s murmuring such pretty things.
Elliott cums first with a sob and his body locking up. One of your hands finally reaches up when he does cum, cupping his pec and thumbing over his perked nipple just to feel his clit jerk against your mouth as you suck hard on it. He locks up, squirting on your chin before you’re able to part your lips back open and lick eagerly at his hole to swallow whatever he gives you.
He has to move off you when you begin to go a bit cross eyed from holding his weight. Flopping next to you and curling against your side to nuzzle at your neck briefly. Murmuring about a shower that you acknowledge with a hum of agreement. There’s a mild pause of Bloodhound’s hips, just a beat when Elliott rolls out of bed and heads for the bathroom.
“My love-” Bloodhound’s voice is a low growl and your attention is immediately on them instead of Elliott’s fantastic ass. You quickly reach out for them, letting their weight cover you as they lean down, wrapping their arms around you to hold you close. You follow suit, legs wrapping around their waist, just tight enough to be comfortable but loose enough to let them move.
“Close,” You murmur back in a desperate tone near their ear. Nuzzling just underneath it as you flex your inner walls around them just to hear them snarl. They’re losing control, nails sinking into you as they get closer. Their hips begin to move again, humping into you like an animal trying to breed. “Cum inside of me, ba- ah- baby, please-” You whine out for them. Perhaps a low move, considering you knew it was such a big kink for them.
Almost a competition to see who could cum first.
You prevail when they hump into you a few times, swearing under their breath as they cum inside of you. Cock pulsing and jerking inside of you as they slam their hips as close to yours as they can. Only allowing small thrusts, more like grinding their pelvis to yours. You clutch at them, one hand on the back of their neck and clutching at their hair, the other around their back as you hold on.
You cum seconds after, body shaking and eyes shutting. Your breath is shuddery, exhausted.
There’s a quiet after that. Bloodhound waits inside of you for only a moment longer before slowly pulling out, spreading open your lower lips to selfishly watch their cum drip from you.
When they lower back onto their tummy and nose back between your legs, you’re pretty sure you’re in for a long night.
You deserve it.
#Miragehound x reader#Miragehound#Mirage#Bloodhound#Apex legends#Apex lemons#nsft#lemon#commissions#princess writing
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READ OUR INTERVIEW WITH ROLLING STONE HERE:
(full, designed article. But if you don’t want to follow a magazine layout, read the transcript. Art by @bloodydamnit)
TRANSCRIPT BELOW THE CUT
Red Rabbits: The Rolling Stone Interview
Featuring Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten, and the Red Rabbits Team
By Angie Rodner
On a chilly Monday, Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard are standing side by side, looking at something on Andrew’s phone in our New York, Rolling Stone headquarters. The rest of the Red Rabbits team, consisting of Dan Wilds, Seth Gordon, Renee Walker, Robin Cross, Allison Reynolds, and pro Exy legend/honorable mention Matt Boyd, orbit around them. It's an interesting scene to take in, to say the least. No matter what they seem to be talking about, they all defer to the two hosts without any of them seeming to acknowledge it.
I was lucky enough to sit down with all eight of them, and I’m not ashamed to say I’m a fan of the podcast and I’ve followed since Season 1. The story of Andrew and Neil (formerly known as Nathaniel Wesnisnki, the son of the Nathan Wesninski or the Butcher of Baltimore), and the revelation of their connection they’d shared as kids, was better than any true crime podcast I’d ever listened to.
Now, the team takes on what they’ve dubbed ‘The Case of the Newark 9’ for their second season. It’s a case based around the hunt for a man known only as ‘Steven’, who they believe is responsible for a series of kidnappings and murders of young girls in and around the Newark area. They’re joined by Robin Cross, a victim and survivor of Steven’s, who is helping them investigate the case.
I sat down with Robin and the other women of Red Rabbits first.
What’s it been like to work on this podcast together? Was it strange to go from looking for Neil, to having him in the studio, to watching him and Andrew form the relationship they have?
Dan: It was strange, because in all honesty, it wasn’t strange. Does that make sense? None of us knew about the meeting they had as kids, but when Andrew finally told us, everything made a lot more sense. Really, they belong together. It was much weirder when they first got back and hadn’t acknowledged what was between them yet. We were all just kinda like... are y’all not seeing what we’re seeing?
Renee: They got there eventually.
How have things changed from Season 1 to Season 2? The cases are obviously different, but they still involve missing children. What’s the atmosphere like around the studio?
Dan: Tense.
Allison: I’m not even there that often and I can still feel it.
Robin: It is tense, but there’s also a sense of urgency. We know ‘Steven’ has another girl now, so it’s like every day that goes by is another day he has her... Another day we either find him, or we don’t.
Mm... I can’t imagine how difficult that is. However, with that being said, the NYPD have made it pretty clear that they aren’t buying what you guys are selling. How does that make you feel?
Robin: I don’t feel anything about the NYPD. My anger is better placed elsewhere. I am angry. But the police didn’t listen to me when I was a kid and trying to tell them important information. Why would they listen to me now?
Renee: I think we all try and take our cues from Robin. Andrew and Neil are very careful to include her and get her opinion on certain things before moving forward. We’re not letting this thing with the NYPD deter us.
Speaking of Robin then, what’s it like for you to have her on the team? As one of Steven’s victims that is, there with you in the studio?
Robin: Oh no. Say nice things about me.
Dan: Girl. [ laughs ] Honestly, she’s amazing. She’s my little sister and I’m not just saying that. I think we all kind of feel that way. I’ve never known a person as strong and determined as she is and I know - see she’s blushing! [ laughs again ]- I know she hates it when we talk about her like this, but it’s so true. She’s family now.
Renee: She is, and I think she brings a really unique perspective to the case. We have someone here who’s directly involved, who lived through it and can give us some idea of what the other girls went through. I think most people would really love to have that kind of resource during an investigation.
Allison: For sure. She’s even my muse for my fall line. Everything is going to be deep colors and fun modesty.
Seems like you’ve been properly inducted into the team, Robin.
Robin: [ smiling ] It feels amazing...
Now, last question. Are you confident you’ll find what you’re looking for?
All as one: Yes.
Speaking with the ladies was fun. They were easy and connected and you can tell that there was a real sisterhood in the studio that day. It was refreshing to see women supporting and helping each other thrive in such a competitive industry. There was a lot of laughter between them, and it was such a joy to be able to share it with them.
-
My next interviewees were Seth Gordon, ‘resident TFN sound engineer/IT guy/anything to do with technology’, as he tells it, and New York Lynxes starting backliner, Matt Boyd. When I tell you I laughed throughout this entire interview, I’m being completely sincere. There was something about the way the two bounced off each other that had me smiling and understanding why they are both so well-liked.
You guys are best friends aren’t you? I feel a bromance in this Chilli’s tonight.
Seth: Bet. Matt Boyd is my homie and BFFL. Do people still say that? Anyway, we have matching necklaces and everything.
Do you really?
Matt: No, not really, but I’d totally wear one if he gave it to me.
[ laughing ] Matt, how did you even end up here? I know you were friends with Neil, but I feel like the details on that are kind of murky.
Matt: I hit him with my truck. [ My jaw dropped ] No, really! I hit him with my truck in Midtown Manhattan when I was driving home. He refused to go to the hospital so I brought him back to my place to make sure he was okay. He didn’t leave after that.
Seth: Because you held him hostage? That’s the way I hear it.
Matt: Oh yeah, for sure. He takes up so little space, why not? [ laughs again ] No really, I did convince him to stay, but I just felt like he needed a friend. He was obviously running from something and he was scared. I just didn’t know from what or why at the time.
And when you found out?
Matt: Honestly? I just about shit myself, but it made so much sense. All the little questions I asked myself early on, finally had answers.
I saw the interview you and Dan did with Essence. You guys look amazing together.
Seth: They are amazing together. It’s gross.
Matt: Yeah, and you and Dion aren’t constantly fawning all over each other.
Is that Dion hovering nearby?
Seth: Yep, that’s my man. He’s amazing and fuckin’ fine as hell. Can I say fuck in this interview?
Sure.
Seth: He’s fuckin’ fine.
Seth, what’s it been like for you, putting together the shows? There’s been a lot of audio that’s hard for us as listeners to hear, and I’m sure there’s more we haven’t even heard.
Seth: There is.
What’s that like for you to have to go through it all?
Seth: Really hard sometimes. There was some stuff in Season 1 we didn’t air that seriously gave me nightmares. It’s worth it, though. We found Neil and I think we’ll find Steven.
Are both of you confident in that fact?
Seth: Positive.
Matt: I think if anyone can find him, it’s Andrew and Neil. They’re determined and they’ll keep looking no matter what.
I believe them.
Andrew and Neil were my last interview of the day, and a more determined pair I think I’ve ever met.
Here’s the thing readers: They’re connected. It might make me a poor journalist, but I don’t know how else to explain it. At one point during the interview, Neil reached over to squeeze Andrew’s arm. At another point, Andrew reached over to squeeze the back of Neil’s neck. They were obviously a comfort to and for each other, and it almost seemed like they borrowed strength. It was intense and being able to witness it has been one of my favorite moments in my career.
So, let’s talk about this season before we get into everything else. You’re looking for a man you believe to be responsible for the disappearances of multiple girls in the Newark area. Do you feel like you’re any closer to solving the mystery than you were at the beginning?
Neil: Absolutely. We’ve gotten some really great tips and we think we’ve narrowed some things down. We don’t want to get too deep into what we’ve got at the moment, because we’re still investigating. But we’re confident in what we have.
What’s it been like working with Robin? I was able to interview her earlier, and she’s really something.
Andrew: She’s been the best resource we have. She’s incredibly strong and unbelievably quick. She’s taken this terrible thing that happened to her and turned it into fire, and it’s been amazing to watch. Most of the information we have comes from her.
The interview you guys did with her was absolutely chilling. I cried three times listening to it. How do you handle hearing these things? I feel like it’d be really hard not to take it home with you.
Neil: Yeah. It’s hard sometimes.
Andrew, I want to touch on the interview Riko Moriyama just did with Kathy Ferdinand and your response. What was that like for you, hearing Riko wrongfully expose something like that on live television?
Andrew: It was… I was stunned, I guess. That information was supposed to be sealed. My name was redacted. So I have no idea how he even got details of the case.
You’ve talked before about being in the foster care system. It sounds like you had a pretty rocky childhood.
Andrew: Yes.
Neil, I know yours was no picnic either. Do you think that this kind of... shared trauma, I guess, is part of why you two work so well together?
Neil: Yeah, partly. When we met as kids, I think a bond was cemented. We both knew how horrible adults could be to children. But now that we’re older, I think more than a shared trauma, it’s a mutual respect for that trauma. We both have shit, you know? I told Matt this one time and I didn’t really understand how true it was until recently, but we both have baggage that we share. We take each other’s on to lighten the load for the other. But, there are times when it gets really fucking heavy, and I think recently we’ve figured out that it’s better to lean on each other when that happens, instead of trying to carry it all ourselves.
Why do you think Riko felt the need to call you two out like he did? I know he mentioned Neil possibly being manipulated into the relationship.
Neil: [laughs]
Andrew: I wish I could manipulate him into having better taste in music.
Neil: My taste in music is fine.
Andrew: It is absolutely not. And I don’t know why Riko feels the need to comment. I’d be interested to hear the reason. The things he said regarding Neil were ridiculous, and in his response, Neil has made sure to make that known. But the thing that really bothered me was his comments on mental health. He tried to basically call me unstable for seeking therapy and admitting that there came a point when I needed outside help. There are literally hundreds of thousands of people in this country who seek out therapy every year. There’s no shame in it and I’m unsure as to why Riko believes there is. Honestly, I’m shocked the Moriyamas haven’t released a statement. He’s their mouthpiece, after all.
Do you think they should apologize?
Neil: Yes.
Andrew: I think they should at least clarify. I’ve already heard people are planning to protest their new documentary and I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to give my money to people who think I’m less of a person because I struggle sometimes.
Speaking of struggle, let’s move back to the case. I know the NYPD has been giving you grief over your claims that the person you’re looking for is the same person that’s taken Haylie Clark. Robin, especially, seems completely certain. How does it feel to know law enforcement doesn’t have your back on this?
Andrew: Familiar. They’ve never had my back before, so why would they start now?
Neil: I’ve dealt with too many crooked cops to really take it seriously. I have no idea what their motivations are and to be clear, I’m not saying I think they’re crooked - I’m just saying that in my experience, the help doesn’t always come like it’s supposed to.
The rest of the team seems pretty confident in you two. They all said they absolutely believe you’ll be able to find him. Is it hard sometimes, not to lose faith?
Andrew: It’s hard all the time. But it doesn’t matter. We have to keep moving forward. We aren’t going to stop until he and Haylie are found.
I think that’s really commendable and I look forward to seeing that happen. Now, tell me a bit about the team. Neil, since you came in at the end of Season 1, how did you find the dynamic as an outsider?
Neil: I didn’t really understand it in the beginning. Not really. It helped having Matt at my back for months prior, but I’ve never had the opportunity to make solid connections with people. So when I came into the studio, to this group of people who had known each other since college, it was overwhelming.
Andrew: That’s funny, seeing as how they like you better than me.
Neil: It’s all the charm and charisma.
[ laughing ] And now? You all seem really tight knit.
Neil: Now, yeah. We are. These people are my family.
Andrew?
Andrew: Yes?
Neil: She wants you to say something nice about the team.
Andrew: Every single one of them knows my coffee order, and it’s truly amazing that they can do what the interns cannot. [ he looks over at Neil, who’s tilting his head and raising his brows ] Oh, don’t look at me like that. Fine. We have a really strong team. I wouldn’t be able to do what I’m doing without them. Seth works harder than anyone I know, Dan keeps us all in line with just a look, Renee is the only reason I agreed to do this in the first place, Reynolds has a lot of money and she’s not afraid to use it for a cause she believes in, and Robin is the most inspiring person I’ve ever met.
And Matt?
Andrew: Who?
Neil: The guy that kept me alive for months while you were hunting me.
Andrew: [ rolls his eyes and shrugs ] He’s fine.
-
My take away from the interviews was this: these people will do whatever they need, in order to find their perpetrator. They believe in their cause, they hurt for these girls, and they’ll find justice for them in the end. They’re family, that much is clear, and I can’t wait to see how this ends. I can’t wait to say that I was there when it’s over.
Red Rabbits can be heard on iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, and GooglePlay. You can follow the website at redrabbitspod.tumblr.com and twitter @redrabbitspod.
And as the Red Rabbits team always says, “Keep Searching”. I know I will.
#red rabbits pod#aftg#andreil#andrew minyard#neil josten#seth gordon#dan wilds#matt boyd#renee walker#allison reynolds#robin cross#article#media#rolling stone#interview
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I also love Eskel a normal amount, and I love the idea of him just being... Such a slut. Imagine free use witchers, where anyone can offer coin to a witcher for sex and they're expected to agree (they don't have to, but it's expected, and they usually do because it's easy money). Eskel does great, because he's charming and hits the balance of the thrill of fucking a witcher without coming across as actually dangerous to someone interested. (cont)
(cont) so Eskel pretty frequently gets lead back to someone's house, or fucked over a table in a tavern. Sometimes someone pays him for more than just a fuck. Sometimes they want to see Scorpion fuck him - and joke's on them, that's Eskel's favourite thing to do when he wants to treat himself. Sometimes someone wants to see how much he can take, and he finds himself getting stuffed with whatever his client has lying around the house
.
Warning: beastiality, dub con
It’s part of their trade they don’t talk about in the beginning, but they will accept offers of coin under the table to be taken to a room somewhere and fuck or get fucked. It’s mostly just nobles in the beginning, ones who can afford to pay absurd amounts of money so they can gloat about the time they slept with a witcher, but as monsters become more scarce and work harder to find they have no choice but to broaden their horizons.
Eskel’s spoken about it with Geralt and Lambert before, He knows Geralt charges a hefty sum, 300 crowns, to take him to bed purely because of his reputation, the only witcher to have survived two rounds of mutagens plus who wouldn’t want the butcher of blaviken groveling under their boot, or the white wolf crying out on their cock.
Lambert was more reasonable and changed his price depending on how much he thought he could swindle from someone, and he was good at it, playing off the annoying brat until people who had no intention of fucking him will hire him for the night just so they can beat him around a bit.
He has a different tact, in that he charges only a few crowns per client, Vesemir had berated him for it when he found out but when you were a witcher, a tall and imposing one with scars on your face highlighting that, he found he had to add a little extra incentive. He also came across as shy and half desperate for coin to get even the slightest farm hand to take him up on his offer, and when he was bent over and being fucked on the man’s cock that’s when he became more enthusiastic, begging them for more until he had enough and moved them so he could ride them how they both wanted to be fucked, quick and hard.
He soon earned a bit of a reputation for being a witcher slut and he wasn’t about to deny them, thinking back to when one guy paid 5 crowns to fuck him only for a group of his friends to join him and them all taking equal turns to ruin him on both ends before giving a pat to his ass and leaving. Honestly, as long as he was being fucked on the regular he didn’t care how much he was paid if at all, but he had his profitable evenings, namely after one guy fucks him in a corner of the inn, half the town follows until his pockets are filled with coin and by agreeing to let the land lord fuck him for a couple of rounds and again at breakfast he got free board for the night.
He earns most of his money though from the depraved fuckers who want to humiliate him, have him red in the face as he begs them to stop as they just laugh and continue. The ones who have him chase their wives through the woods (consensually of course, he’s not that desperate for coin) and when he catches them, pins them in the dirt to fuck into them like some deranged animal before their husband comes to push him off and ‘save the day from the mutant scum’. Or when they stap him down to the bed just to watch him squirm as they fuck him with different objects, a mirror handle, the hilt of his sword, one time an empty bottle of wine. It’s easy money, the only downside is that he doesn't get much out of it and often wonders back to town to see if he can find another client for the night.
Then there are those, either rich enough or enough of them to pool their cash, so they can take him to the breeding kennels, or out into the forest where the packs of wild dogs are, give him a couple of fingers for prep before letting the first beast mount him. He pretends to hate it, to cry out and curse just to encourage the jeers from the steadily growing crowd who throw more and more coins at him the more he struggles with each dog that mounts him. But Eskel likes getting fucked and whether that's by a human or an animal he doesn’t care, in fact animals are so much simpler, a brief flick of axii and he’s got a whole pack eagerly waiting to fuck him to make sure he never goes without on the path.
Even when he’s putting on the show now, there’s only a handful of beasts and most of them are already spent but there’s still coin to be earned and Eskel is still desperate for more. Once the dog on him knot deflates and he pulls away Eskel is able to do a quick axii, his audience none the wiser as he gets the alpha of the pack to drop its cock again, the dog panting as it sniffs at him before licking his hole, he pretends to flinch and whimper when it finally mounts him even as he rolls his hips back to encourage its cock into his hole.
His favorite thing to do though is get fucked by Scorpion, out on the path when it’s just them what else is there to do, especially when Scorpion is practically lipping at him all the time and the only way he can get camp set up for the night without being hounded by a horny horse is to suck him off first and then after dinner quickly work himself open before fucking himself on Scorpions cock. It’s made all the better when people who hire him for the night don’t take them to their room but instead back to the stables where a handful of coin is shoved into his hand before multiple people are pushing him about until he’s strapped onto the breeding bench.
He definitely enjoys milking his ‘hatred’ for it as he pretends to struggle and call out for Scorpion to stop as they lead him closer, the horses cock already hanging out of it sheath and in his head he can just purr out a ‘good boy’ as he struggles one last time when Scorpion is mounted on top of him, but the moment his cock presses into his hole he falls limp and groans as Scorpion forces him open on his cock.
Once Scorpion comes and pulls out he’ll be unstrapped and left to deal with the consequences, which usually means he’ll stay right where he is as he wriggles his ass still leaking Scorpions come, presenting it to him until finally the horse mounts him again and has him groaning on his cock. If he’s lucky he’ll get a third round from Scorpion that night and then in the morning they’ll leave for the next town which he knows has a reputation for their horse racing, maybe there he’ll get more than Scorpions cock.
#afterhours cw beastialty#afterhours cw object insertion#afterhours cw dubious consent#kinda but eskel loves being fucked so he doesn't really care#probably not what you asked for but here it is#kinda expect Eskel to go back to KM loaded after his sexcapades and geralt and lambert are like how the fuck because Eskels so cheap
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Hi!! Could you write about Arthur and reader getting caught in the act by, idk Abigail or Hosea?? It sounds so weird I know but my mind has gone curious during quarantine:)
This one turned out really hot, I almost forgot about them getting busted. I’m sure it’s super obvious. Happy reading, Anon!
(Chose this picture because he is sexy as hell!)
Warnings: smut, can... can y’all hear me? No? Okay, SMUT!
It’s just past noon and it’s already been a long day. You’ve been stuck in camp all day, courtesy of Susan Grimshaw. She went off on you last night for spending too many days outside of camp, hunting and scouting with Arthur. She claimed you weren’t helping enough in camp, so she said if you left for the next three days, she’d butcher you.
You didn’t take her seriously, of course, but you knew if you didn’t at least somewhat obey her, she could get very nasty. You sigh heavily as you rub your fingers raw on the washboard, scrubbing another dirty shirt. You don’t mind being stuck in camp, Horseshoe Overlook is a beautiful place. You also definitely don’t regret going out with Arthur so much lately.
The two of you have been having a secret relationship for weeks. He just isn’t ready to reveal it yet to the gang, as most of them still think he’s quietly in love with Mary. You were worried about that too until he got that letter from her just before your last outing and he took you with him to see her just so he could tell her to forget about him and leave him alone, that he wasn’t her errand boy.
Arthur’s a sweet man hidden beneath a rough exterior. You’ve never known anyone like him. He’s strong and fierce enough to protect you, but he’s also gentle and thoughtful. One of his first gifts to you was a drawing he’d done of your favorite flower, as he’d seen you picking them. You told him how much you loved the drawing and ever since he’s given you a dozen more.
You go out hunting with him a lot, and while you do a lot of hunting, you also use the time away from camp as an opportunity to be intimate with the outlaw. Not just sex either, though that frequently happens, but to just hold him and feel his arms wrap around you, for you both to be open and tell each other your thoughts. Despite the short amount of time you’ve been together, the two of you have already become extremely close. Of course, you were friends long before you were lovers, so it’s really not surprising.
The one thing you regret about the last hunting trip is that you didn’t make love to Arthur. Not that you wouldn’t if he asked, he just didn’t and you weren’t in the mood to initiate. Now though, something’s gotten to you and you can’t stop thinking about sex. You’re a bit uncomfortable, even now, as you feel like you just need a good round with Arthur to settle you down. He’s not in camp though, he left this morning to collect a debt from a woman named Lily Millet. You hate his debt collecting, maybe you’ll convince him to stop doing them. You know how much he hates it.
As the day continues, you only get more riled up and anxious. You can’t stop your mind from wandering to previous encounters with Arthur, especially that one day in Colter. You’d both been cold and stiff, and Arthur came up with the idea to use a small shed on the outskirts of the town to warm up. Despite the freezing temperatures, you two could have melted the snow in the whole town with what you did to each other. The memory of it doesn’t help you settle down now, it only seems to make it worse in fact.
You thought about taking a ride on your horse, but it wasn’t just the thought that Grimshaw might skin you that prevented you from doing so. If you go anywhere with that much bouncing, it’ll be agony, especially since there won’t be any penetration. You think about maybe going into your tent or by the river and taking care of yourself, but somehow you know it just won’t be enough. You need him.
Arthur returns not too long after you finish the laundry, which is surprising. That pile never seems to shrink. You watch him go and greet Hosea, praying he’ll make his way over to you. You’re sure he will, he always does. You wipe your sweating hands on your jeans, antsy for him. He’s talking to Hosea for too long. He needs to get his ass over to you.
Finally, you see him do his cute two-finger salute in farewell to Hosea and make his way over to you. You’re standing just behind his tented wagon, which is out of eyesight from the others. At least it’ll make good cover for you to try and convince him to help you out. As soon as he’s within feet of you, you leap on him, attacking his mouth with yours.
He chuckles against your lips and then pulls you away. “Hey, darlin’. What’s gotten into ya?”
“I need you, Arthur.”
“Need me for what?” You can’t tell if he’s playing coy or not and it’s infuriating.
“I need you,” you say. You’re not really sure how to say what you need so you make sure no one is able to see the two of you and then you get closer to him and squeeze the bulge of his pants. He quickly sucks in his breath, his hand tightening on your back.
“Oh,” he says, finally clicking in. He looks around. “Well, we can go to town, get a room-”
You shake your head and explain the problem with Grimshaw. He rubs his chin and looks around again. “Tent ain’t gonna work at this time of day.” His eyes wander over in the direction of the river. “Come on, I think I know a place.”
He leads you off into the trees. Once you’re not in sight of the others, he grabs your hand and walks faster. You’re shaking now, anticipating what’s about to happen. He takes you to the bottom of the hill, far enough away from camp that you won’t be heard and out of sight of the trail running by the river.
He finds a little nook in the vegetation, clear of rocks, and then he pins you against a tree.
“So you need me, huh?” he growls in your ear, his breath hot in your neck.
“Please, Arthur,” you say desperately.
He chuckles in your ear and starts kissing your neck. You tilt your head back, knowing you’re soaking your undergarments already. His hands slide down your back and to your front, undoing your belt and pants. He doesn’t even hesitate and rips your pants down, helping you step out of them. You can feel the goosebumps on your legs, and it’s unclear if they’re from the cool air or if it’s from him staring at your patch of hair as he kneels down. You wonder if he can see how wet you are.
He stands up and kisses you again, your hand going to his shoulder. His hands settle on your hips, but then one goes to his pants and he whips his length out. It’s only semi hard, so you start moving your hand towards him. He stops you by sliding a hand through your fold, making you gasp. God, you’ve needed that stimulation. Already, you feel a bit weak in the legs and he hasn’t even started yet.
“Damn, you’re wet. That for me?” he grunts in your ear.
You’re breathing hard. “Oh, Arthur. Please.”
He laughs softly in your ear and he slides a finger through your folds again. He’s teasing you; he knows that you need more pressure and more friction there.
“Arthur,” you whine. He smiles mischievously and then he starts pumping himself, his length growing harder. The vein running down his cock becomes more prominent as it grows stiffer. You start to drool a bit.
When he’s erect, he closes the distance between you, grabs your knee and wraps your leg around his waist. You groan as he does, and then he slides his firm cock into your opening, spreading your walls.
“God,” you groan. “Oh God.”
He kisses your neck and pushes himself as deep as he can. He sits inside you for a few seconds and then finally, gratefully, he pulls himself out a bit and then slams himself back in. He begins bucking, finally helping you to satisfy that craving. One of his arms is firmly wrapped around your back, pinning you to him so he can fuck you as hard as he can manage in this position, while the other hand moves from your knee to your rear, squeezing the cushioned flesh.
“Arthur,” you groan, “deeper.”
“Damn, girl,” he says. There’s only one way he can perform your request. He pulls out long enough that he can lay you down into the grass on your back. Then he spreads your legs, gazing at your pussy. His eyes go up to yours and he smiles. Without warning, he shoves himself back into you, making you moan.
As he thrusts, you lift your hips up to give him a better angle and he goes into you all the way to his girth. His head brushes your spot and then he decides to end you by sliding his hand into your folds, rubbing your swollen nub. It takes only seconds of him brushing it and you’re gone, your toes curling as you dig your fingernails into his back.
“Arthur!” you squeak, trying not to scream. He chuckles, still kissing your neck as he chases his own release.
As you pant beneath him, you don’t hear the telling signs of someone approaching until you hear them muttering.
“Damn fool of a man. Can hardly call himself a man! Worst mistake I ever made!”
You slap Arthur’s back, trying to get his attention to the approaching audience, but he doesn’t seem to hear them as he pushes himself in and out of you.
“Arthur!” you say with gritted teeth.
The voice is getting louder and still Arthur isn’t stopping. His hand even goes up your shirt and squeezes your breast.
“Arthur, someone’s coming!” you whine.
“What?” he says, pausing just long enough and you can hear footsteps.
Before he can pull out and the two of you can arrange yourselves into innocent positions, Abigail comes into view. Your stomach drops, but she isn’t faced in your direction. You and Arthur are in full view to her and there’s nothing you can use to cover your joined hips. You just have to hope that she heads off and doesn’t hear you.
Her back’s to you and she glares off into the distance. You and Arthur watch her with baited breath. Arthur starts reaching over to a bush to try and grab a thick branch to try and cover yourselves. He’s going to make too much noise, you know it. Before you can hiss in his ear to not do it, he grabs it and inevitably, the leaves shake and hiss.
Abigail, attracted to the noise, turns and her eyes land right on you two. “Oh God!” she screeches, turning away and clapping her hands over her eyes. Arthur quickly pulls himself off you and covers your legs as much as he can with your jeans, stuffing himself back into his pants.
“Abigail!” you gasp. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t think we’d get caught out here!”
You see her shake her head, her hand still over her eyes. “Sorry I came this way. John and I… I needed to get away from him.” She starts going back up towards camp, her face red.
“Shit,” you say. You didn’t even have the chance to ask her not to tell anyone. Arthur puts his hand back on your hips.
“You mind if we finish?” he asks after a minute. You know it’s foolish to do what he wants, but he deserves his release. You look up at him, slide your pants off your bare legs and then shove him. He falls onto his back and you grab his pants, ripping them down. His cock immediately points up as he smiles at you. You slide your hips over his, sliding him into you and sinking onto him.
As he begins bucking again, you reach down to him and rip his shirt open. You stroke his chest, it’s firm and hairy in just the right places. You run your fingers over his left nipple and his hands squeeze your hips. He’s getting close, but he’s staring at you hard, almost as though disappointed.
“What?” you ask, panting from his actions.
“We seem a little uneven, don’t we?” he says, gesturing to your shirt.
“Arthur, we’ve already been caught! We need to hurry this up and do some damage control.”
“All the more reason. I’ll go faster.”
You smile, kind of turned on by the idea that someone might see. You’ve never been into having an audience, but when it comes to having sex with Arthur, you don’t care the circumstance. You unbutton your shirt and then lift up your chemise, exposing your bouncing breasts. You take them both off, not caring that you’re completely naked now. His hands reach up and stroke your nipples. He starts thrusting harder and faster in response. He’s going so hard that you can feel yourself building up for a second release.
Suddenly he thrusts himself hard up into you, his cock shooting his seed into you. He pushes himself into you once, twice more and then pulls his softening length out.
“Arthur, I’m… I’m not done,” you groan.
“Thought you wanted to do damage control?” he teases.
“Just quickly, please. I can’t wait.”
He sits up a bit, keeping you on his lap. One arm tightens around your back while the other hand slides up into your folds. He starts rubbing your clit and his lips go to your nipple, sucking on it. You start grinding against his hand and he shoves two fingers into your clit. His thumb stays on your clit, pushing it and rubbing it raw. His tongue massages your nipple, his teeth grazing the firm nub.
“Arthur!” you hiss, your hands winding into his hair and pulling it a bit. His hand in your slit starts moving faster in response, building you up. A bubble of heat starts in the bottom of your ribs and then slides down to your hips. He rubs your clit again and then the bubble moves down to your opening and bursts. You push your hips against his hand and you tilt your head back, scratching his shoulders.
You’re panting hard when you finally come back down. Arthur slips your nipple from his lips and kisses you on the lips.
“That enough for now, girl?” he asks.
You nod. “For now. But I’m sure I’ll need this again tonight.”
He grins and kisses you again. “We can do that.”
You both get up and get yourself dressed. You dry yourself off with some harmless leaves. You and Arthur walk back up to camp, releasing your entwined hands when you get into view. You have to find Abigail.
It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s sitting near John’s tent, Jack playing nearby.
“Abigail, can we talk about… what you saw?” you ask, your face turning red. She grins up at you.
“I thought you and Arthur were together. Just didn’t think you were that far along.”
You sit down on the crate next to hers, making sure no one can overhear you. “Yeah, I just… needed some help. You know how it is.”
She just grins.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” you ask, holding your breath.
“Course not. But when camp ends up with another Jack, it’s going to become horribly obvious.” She winks at you.
#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x female reader#arthur morgan x reader smut#red dead fanfic#awkward asks
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