#Good Stock Strange Blood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaedomi · 9 months

Text

THEIR DELICATE FLOWER

SUMMARY . flowers come in assorted colors and produce sweet nectar. as a result, flowers attract various kinds of butterflies, even the so-called deadly ones. pt. 2

CHARACTERS . THE BLACK AGRICHE (minus Fontaine)

WARNINGS . YANDERE, female child reader, platonic, ooc, violence, death, unhealthy relationships, everyone somehow finding a way to terrorize reader, the agriche family as a whole (if i missed any, kindly alert me)

WORDCOUNT . 5.8k+ / MASTERLIST.

YOUR MOTHER was already a laughing stock and a huge disgrace to The Black Agriche. Due to this, she was confined to her room, away from the disgusted eyes that followed her form with every step she took. Her reputation further decreased when word spread in the household that she gave birth to a baby girl… a sickly one at that. Was she trying to ruin the image The Black Agriche carefully built for years!?

When LANTE found out, he was beyond livid. The disdain he held for your mother was very evident as the slightest hint of her has him in a sour mood and heads rolling. Still, he gave her a chance to redeem herself; birth a worthy child was all he commanded. However, the ending result only proved that she was indeed a useless woman.

Nobody could have stopped him from what he did next, not even the wails and desperate pleas of his other wife that knelt helplessly on the ground. Unleashing his bloodlust, your mother was brutally killed. The only ones spared were his other wife and you, as he deemed it foolish to judge you as a newborn. Perhaps your state was only temporary and as you grew older, you would impress him.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Although you weren’t sick, you grew to be a rather fragile individual. The littlest pressure has you crumpling in pain, wheezing breathlessly. A disappointment, really. Nevertheless, he kept giving you another chance to prove yourself. When you fail, he gives another and another, and another, and another-

It was then he realized how lenient he has been with you out of all people. Why he hasn’t diced you into a pile of meat as he claimed each time was beyond him. Every time you made a fault, he found himself scrambling for a reason to excuse your deplorable actions. It was unlikely of him and bothered him to a large extent.

Having enough of the confusing emotions you struck within him, an order was sent out, requesting your presence. Understandably, you were petrified as it was not common for the Head of The Agriche Family to express interest in seeing anyone out of the blue. And with an amused smirk, he watched as you nervously eat the desserts brought by the servants before dismissing you from his private room.

He continued doing this, either inviting you to the room or seeking you outside, the extreme feelings he experienced deepening with every interaction he held with you. Eventually, it escalated to a point where he didn’t want you to leave his side. He soon concluded that he will never understand what aspect of yours drew this uncharacteristic side out of him. And oddly enough… he was at peace with it. Maybe your mother was capable of doing good. Hmm…

Effortlessly, the killer of your mother lifted you from your seat. A touch meant to be comforting caused shockwaves of discomfort and fear to travel up your spine. His expression was unreadable, scrutinizing gaze never leaving your form. Eyes resembling the crimson red of blood, the picture was forever burned into your memory.

“...How strange.”

Unsurprisingly to most, SIERRA was the best friend of your mother. Looking past the horrible rumors that lingered inside the household about your mother, she decided to befriend her. And boy, was she relieved, discovering that your mother was nothing like the rumors had stated, no, your mother was just a sweet, harmless woman. The moments spent were very wholesome and a change of pace from the insanity that lingered in the household.

Though… everything went crashing down when your mother became pregnant with you. Don’t misunderstand Sierra… she was overjoyed over the announcement of you. What frightened her so much was that your mother fell terribly ill and without much reason. When your mother expressed her concerns about your health, Sierra also felt dread, wanting nothing horrible to happen to you. While it’s not related to health, Sierra knew what it’s like to be worried about your child’s well-being; she knew it all too well. Bless her kind-hearted soul, she hoped your mother would never experience the pain she was put through.

But, it appeared as though her prayers and hopes were all for naught as you were born sickly and frail. And aware of the monstrosity that will arise afterward, her heart shattered into a million pieces. Still, her knowledge of this evil pattern will never emotionally nor mentally prepare her for the disastrous event. Oh, she hated how powerless she was. Her screams, wails, and pleas were futile, having to witness the execution of her beloved friend at the hands of her husband. Why must the people she loves suffer so much?

She was left alone in the room, sobbing into her palm. Had it not been for the soft wails of your newborn self, she would have remained there on the ground, allowing the coolness of the tiles to seep onto her skin as she wept to her heart’s content. Frantically leaping to her feet and momentarily pushing her grief aside, she scooped your bundled self in her arms, listening to you calm down as a woeful frown etched itself onto her lips. Blinking away the stray tears in the corner of her eyes, she hugged you closer to her chest, rocking you slowly. She might as well enjoy what was left of her beloved friend.

History surely had its cruel way of repeating itself. As you aged, you developed a lovely personality; innocent and pure, contrasting the sadistic and aggressive personas the rest of your family members owned. Why it destroyed her the way it did was because your traits were on par with her deceased son, Ashil. Just what did she do to relive such a nightmare?

By some miracle, Lante seemed to favor you tremendously. The stress that was lifted from her shoulders was refreshing. …It was especially difficult to ignore how extremely clingy Sierra was toward you. Every hour of the day, every second, Sierra insisted to be by your side, never allowing you a moment of isolation. Even so, her clinginess will never compare to how overprotective she was. God forbid if you got injured in her sight, or somehow managed to sneak away from her watchful eyes for too long. She will fall into hysterics, holding onto the little thread of sanity she possessed as she smothers you with overbearing attention.

You almost screamed in terror at the figure looming above you. Thankfully, your brain reacted quicker as you identified the figure as your stepmother. What mostly unnerved you was not the fact that she most likely might have been watching you sleep, but how… lifeless she looked. You didn’t know she was able to make such a face. Quietly, you called out to her which successfully snapped her out of her trance. Wordlessly, the woman sunk to her knees and wrapped her arms around your small body, stuffing her face in your torso. Regardless of your utter confusion as to why she visited you in the dead of night, you returned the gesture, spurring her to tears. Doesn’t look like she’ll be leaving anytime soon…

“...It could have been you as well…”

When Sierra says she’s going to stay with you, she means that she is staying with you. She does a good job of it as well, much to your dismay. But her whimpers every time you tried to run away always filled you with guilt, grounding you next to her. And thus, due to Sierra’s stubbornness to leave you alone, this is how MARIA met you.

It was a bright and sunny day, the flowers were in season, and birds were chirping merrily… it was the perfect condition to host a tea party! What better way to relax under this glorious weather than to enjoy tea and desserts with her favorite guests? So excitedly, Maria sent invitations.

Sierra was one of the last few to arrive. When Maria went to greet her, what she wasn’t expecting was two instead of one. Honestly speaking… Maria did not care for both you and your mother. Yes, she has heard of the gossip of your mother circulating among the Agriche Wives, and yes, she has heard the talk of your birth. But for someone who has never seen you or your mother before, there was only so much fuel she could add to the fire.

Her eyebrows were raised as Sierra timidly states that she brought someone along. Since Sierra was mostly alone, it was a surprise to her. Though all questions died down in her throat when she caught a glimpse of you.

The umbrella that was tightly grasped in her hand fell to the ground, her jaw slackening as she stared at you with blown eyes. …Was it even possible to be more beautiful than Sierra and her daughter combined!? You were just as pretty as a flower!

Not much explanation was needed, she immediately fell head over heels for you. Forget the fact you came uninvited, come relax and have some tea! Squealing with a skip in her step, she snatched you from Sierra's side, ushering you to a comfortable seat where she and all the ladies present fussed over you. …You left with a stomach bursting from sweets that day…

Unfortunately, gaining Maria's affection means you're subjected to her bizarre actions. If you had Sierra visiting your room in the dead of night, you had Maria visiting your room at the crack of dawn. You've woken up to her beaming face far too many times to count…

Braiding your hair, dressing up, and playing pretend are Maria's favorite activities with you and they always end with her pinching your cheeks and kissing them before she leaves. She really wanted to lock you up for herself, a cute little doll all for her to admire, pamper and cherish.

Maria was very cheerful and a bit eccentric, so you mostly felt at peace in her presence. …But that all changed when you stayed at a party longer than you should have. What you saw was like a wake-up call for you, unless they were Sierra, no matter how sweet they make themselves appear, they were still an Agriche, dehumanized, and evil.

You suddenly felt the dessert you ate creep up your throat as you stared at the servant's corpse... what was left of it, at least. The spoon you used to eat the treat slipped from your fingers, falling onto the table with a loud rattle. Your second stepmother, the murderer, was unbothered by it all, a devilish smile occupying her doll-like features, calming dishing out orders for the servant’s body to be fed to the beastly creatures that resided inside the mansion. At the sight of you, her sadistic smile morphed into one filled with pure adoration. She made her way to you giddily and squeezed you into a hug, uncaring of the evidence of her killing smearing all over your body. Frozen, you just stood there as she lovingly pressed a sweet kiss on your cheek.

"My! Aren't you such a Cutie Pie!"

The first time she saw you, she only gave you a glance… before she almost stumbled over as she did a double take. Once she regained her composure, in quick, long strides, ROXANA closed the distance between you both, firmly placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. You flinched, nearly shooting off the ground. The hallways were pretty much empty, so where the hell did she randomly emerge from?

Her stare intimidated you as her eyes were practically glaring holes into your body. It remained that way for a while, her hand on your shoulder as she stared, you, too scared out of your mind to even breathe properly. Soon, her hard stare turned soft, her reddened lips curling into her iconic smile.

Do you know how long she has waited to see you? The answer, she’s been waiting for years. The Abysmal Flower is a book that was offered to her by a school friend in her previous life… to which she initially detested reading because of the triggering contents the novel entailed… but she got past that. Because of all the dark themes, your character was an abnormality in the novel so to speak, especially when you were a member of The Black Agriche. The Black Agriche was known for its criminal activities… Fraud, Theft, Drugs & Poison, and most importantly murder, taking away lives without batting an eyelid.

You didn't belong with that, choosing peace as a method rather than violence. You were just a poor unfortunate soul inside a den filled with savages. It was a custom tradition in the household to eliminate those who stood outside their reputation as it displayed signs of weakness. But you remained unharmed by their gruesome acts. You see, the book portrayed you as possessing this indescribable charm where people feel more inclined to protect you than to harm you. Clearly, The Black Agriche was under this so-called charm of yours. It also extended to the novel’s heroine, Sylvia, who despite hating The Black Agriche, fell in love with you because of your angelic nature, viewing you as a younger sibling. Sadly, blinded by her rage and sorrow over the news of her brother’s killing, she wiped you out with the rest… falling into deeper despair after realizing she destroyed you as well.

Admittingly, Roxana held a grudge over Sylvia and the authors for that stunt. You were her favorite character by far and had so much potential. So even though the alarms blared loudly as her mind registered that she reincarnated as an Agriche and the trials that come along with the name, she was buzzing from glee now that she had a chance to see you… years after.

But after that ‘incident’ and the daily nuisances, she ought to handle for survival, the thought of you slowly slipped from her mind… until now. While no one will stupidly lay a finger on you inside the household, the same cannot be said for some outside the household. The Black Agriche has made quite the amount of enemies, after all. You being the favored one, including your predicament will make you a big target of these enemies. Thus, Roxana does her best to add extra security to your life.

Whenever she gets the chance, she will constantly check on you. If not, she will simply send one of her butterflies to always be updated about your whereabouts. Don’t you see? Whatever she does, it’s done in your favor… So, please enlighten her as to why you appear to be so antsy around her. She hasn’t done anything wrong, has she? She didn’t know you had a dramatic side… but, oh well, that’s endearing too.

She was nice to you, very very nice. For some reason though, it scared you more than it flattered you. You were unsure of why, but your instincts always screamed at you to avoid the blonde. She hasn’t done anything for you to fear her, only spoiling you with exquisite gifts and jewelry. But after what happened with your second stepmother… you didn’t want to take chances. A gloved thumb distracted you from your thoughts, gently caressing your cheek. Lifting your gaze, you peered into reddened hues, an emotion you were unable to decipher swirling in them. She smiled at you fondly, cooing even. Placing your hands on your lap, you smiled back, ignoring the nauseating churn in your stomach.

“Did I perhaps do something wrong? No? Then you don’t mind staying longer with your Big Sister, right~?”

Roxana’s extreme adoration for you had JEREMY torn between anxiety and anger. It’s already bad enough that he had to share his sister’s attention with the god-forsaken Blue Pedelian but now a whiny baby has come to steal the remainder of his spotlight!? He’s NOT happy. I mean, he was there longer than both you AND him. Though, it seems that his sister favors you more than the horny dog… Not that it makes it any better. It’s still annoying.

Jeremy has mentioned this several times to his sister, mostly about you. It was obvious he was jealous, but his complaints stemmed deeper than jealousy, it was fear that his sister will leave him if she attaches herself to others. Growing up in a loveless household was beyond excruciating and his sister, being the first one to treat him like a human and not a weapon, he continuously yearned for her affection. He didn’t want to return to what it was before, and if denying his sister interactions with others stopped that, he’s all in for it. Reassuring words from his sister, however, washed away the little panic inside him.

Still, it lingered on his mind, you. His sister doesn’t mention anyone just like that; if she does, it certainly isn’t to that extent. She’s always smiling, her eyes glitter in excitement, and she rambles on and on, very unusual for her. At least you make her happy… Nevermind. He’s still bitter about the whole thing.

In time, he finally asks his sister if he can meet the person that caught her eye. It could be anyone, considering the ungodly amount of siblings he had and since she was heading to where you were located, he might as well tag along too. His sister’s hesitation didn’t escape his eye, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Looks like you held more value to her than he first presumed…

After contemplating her answer for a while, she gave in, beckoning him closer with a finger. As they walked together, she told him you were the shy type, and it's highly advised that he doesn't do something to overwhelm you. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not… but he felt as though there was a subtle threat underlying her words… Soon enough, they arrived at your bedroom doors.

What did you look like? What kind of person truly are you? His sister paints you a good light, going so far saying you were an angel descended from the heavens. But what if there was a dark side you skillfully concealed? That you were just another savage under the disguise of an innocent? It’s not like he doubted his sister’s judgment… just simply concerned for her well-being.

Well, he'll be damned. And slightly ashamed too. Look at you… you were so frail… and gentle too. The way you touched Roxana and spoke with her, (god, your VOICE!) was so soft, musical, and pleasing to the ears. He kind of flinched when the conversation held between you and his sister switched to him, his sister gesturing to him with a hand. His heart warmed, seeing how your big-doe eyes looked at him, the beautiful hue of them twinkling with curiosity.

Most recoil from his touch but, you reached out to him, interlacing your tiny fingers with his. He noticed how your hand trembled, looks like Roxana was correct, you were the shy type. Even so, you overcame your anxiety to greet him! Him! The final blow was the sweet giggle that escaped your lips, swinging your hand in his. Forget Angel, you were Heaven Sent.

It was very silly how easily he fell under your control, but can you blame him? When was the last time someone treated him with genuine kindness and affection other than his sister? He visited you a lot after that, to your surprise. You thought it was a one-time thing, but here he is, bringing spoils and stuffed animals every day. At that point, you had to ask for another room to store your gifts from him… Jokes and banter are common between you two, him doing most of the interaction, pinching your cheeks, and tickling your sides. Jeremy… turns out to be more childish than you, who is a child, and that said something. It amazed you when he’s on the verge of falling onto the ground and crying out whenever you declined his time with you.

Then there were instances that he was similar to a cat, cute and loving to the people he cherishes, pissy and hostile to others when they come near his cherished. What you hated about him was his ugly jealousy streak and the damage he brings with it. It can annoying when someone you like doesn’t spend much time with you as you’d like, but was it really worth bashing their head into the floor?

You walked hand-in-hand with your brother who hummed merrily. As for you, you were in a state of shock, silent as your mind tried to process what had happened prior earlier. Why did he… kill the servant? They were being nice to you were they not? It was just a lovely fresh-picked flower they wanted to gift out of the goodness of their heart. To you, you thought it was the prettiest one you’ve ever seen so far, the vibrant color palette reminding you of yourself. Mesmerized you were very close to taking the pretty thing, your chubby hands reaching to clasp at the plant. In the BLINK of an eye, the servant was no longer in their spot, the flower soaking in a puddle of blood on the ground, and your hands outstretched. The liquid was also splattered on your face, little droplets spluttered on your dress. In front of you was your brother, an enraged face overtaking his features. And underneath his boot was… the servant that offered the flower to you. What just happened…? Shrugging off how your irises dilated as he came closer, he knelt to the ground, scooping the flower from its puddle. And with a beaming smile, he patted your head, giving the bloodied flower to you instead.

“They’re out of their fuckin’ minds if they think I’d allow them to taint you.”

After your encounter with Roxana, she basically took over the role of bodyguard away from Sierra. Then you appreciated Sierra more, for mingling in Roxana’s presence had you stiffer than a board. The evening was a stormy one, the raindrops harshly beating against the roof, the low rumbles of thunder, and the faint flashes of lightning. For some odd reason, Roxana wanted to take a walk with you in this weather. You didn’t want to, but one word of hers led to another, and now you’re here. Too bad you were too scared to speak up.

Suddenly, she told you she had to run a small errand. It won’t take long, she insisted, and just like that, you were left “unsupervised” in the middle of the hallway. When you wanted to be left alone, you didn’t mean it like this. The hallways were eerily vacant and your room was nowhere nearby. The setting didn’t ease your growing anxiety; it was straight out of a horror novel where anything was capable of jumping you at any given moment. So… imagine how your soul left your body when you glanced over your shoulder, only to make eye contact with a face.

Gasping loudly, you spun around and stumbled backward, your small hands clutching at your clothes. Hair dark as the night sky, eyes red as blood… How did your father manage to silence his footsteps…? And most importantly, what could he possibly want from you…? The deep frown he wore is a bad sign… Did you finally manage to push your father over the edge!?

The distant sound of heels hastily clacking against the floor trickled into your ears. Shortly after Roxana came into view, panting heavily as she shot a firey glare at the figure in front of you followed by a trail of threats. How did she have the courage to do that!? Did she not fear your father’s wrath? More so, why was he not responding? And who is this DION!? Too confused to study your fear of your sister when she lifted you into her arms, you wrapped your arms around her neck staring at a smirk creeping on who you assumed to be your father’s face.

The days continued smoothly (as the routine with Lante, Sierra, Maria, Roxana, and Jeremy occurred too often to be considered strange) and you lived your life as best as possible. But that was just the calm before the storm…

Jumping from your seat, the porcelain cup slipped from your hands, shattering on the ground and spilling the milk. Your heart was hammering in your chest and your skin grew ice cold. Maria, Sierra, and the women present at the tea party also freaked out, the former rushing to both of your sides as they attempted to soothe your panicking self.

But that was a mistake for as soon as Maria touched you, you broke down into a fit of tears. They were confused, you were fine seconds ago! Was it perhaps the milk you drank with your biscuits that caused this!? Well, that certainly wouldn't slip by!

However, was that the answer to your panic? No. Someone was… watching you. It wasn't a normal glance… but rather one that instilled apprehensiveness in the hearts of numerous, and unfortunately, it was geared toward you. Left, right, and back, you frantically looked around, trying to identify who it was the person that had you so distraught. But, you couldn't, which made you cry harder and flail your arms about.

You knew the situation was very bad that the noise caught the attention of Lante, summoning him inside the greenhouse where the tea party was hosted. He was disgruntled, unsure of what to do. He didn't train himself to be a proper parent, so how should he know how to tame a crying child no less?

The best option he thought of was to carry you to your bed quarters and your stepmothers quickly complied, Maria whispering sweet nothings into your ears as she carried you, and Sierra lurking not too far behind.

There was some fun in isolation, you thought, as you found solace in the confinement of your room. Whenever you tried to stay outside in the company of others, so did the feeling of being watched return, the dread worsening the smaller the crowd gets. The feeling always disappeared when you were alone in your room, or by yourself… hold on, did you just hear your bedroom door lock?

This man was not your father. It made sense now why your sister treated him with disrespect. If he was not your father, could he possibly be one of your siblings? Though he looks like him, a carbon copy you think, he was sure far worse than your father in personality. Dull, apathetic, and very sadistic. He had no regard for life either as he shamelessly killed the maid assigned to you in front of your eyes. Even when the blood splattered on his face, he showed no emotion, maintaining eye contact with you. Could he be the one that was watching you all this time? Why did he wait to approach you when you were alone? Have you upset him in some way? Was he going to slaughter you next? All these questions ran through your head, unknowingly letting the tears gathered in your eyes run down your cheeks. This caught his attention, the smirk you remembered him having on your first encounter spreading on his lips. Kneeling in front of your bed, uncaring of how you trembled in his company, he reached out a hand, rubbing his finger tenderly against your cheek. It was sick how he found satisfaction that he evoked such a reaction from you. A teardrop fell onto his finger and he brought it to his lips, tasting it. What was meant to be salty, the flavor burst with sweetness in his mouth.

“I wonder what other reactions I can get from you.”

Weak… Fragile… Gentle… Pure… Innocent… How are you surviving in this god-forsaken household? It’s even more amusing to witness the same man, her father, protect what he firmly strived to kill. And that’s how GRISELDA formed a great interest in you, the youngest of The Black Agriche. She remembers clearly, a conversation she held with one of her younger half-sisters years ago, the person responsible for knocking her out of her top three rankings. Smiling happily with her fingers interlaced underneath her chin, she promised to show her something that will greatly humor her.

You may not have been the ‘thing’ her sister was referring to, nevertheless, it was not an unwelcomed one. Ah, she wonders, how long has it been since she has had that spark of interest? The day her sibling died in front of her eyes, feelings such as love became foreign to her. But, you? You restored these lost feelings of hers from first sight. She was stupefied when it happened, her body overflowing with spontaneous bursts of energy.

Truth be told, she had an eye on you for the longest while now, aching to meet you in person at least once. But, curse her hectic schedule to hell, leaving her no choice but to satisfy her curiosity about you from the little stories told by her other half-siblings. For the first time, she had felt a sense of ugly envy… Will they know of it though? No.

Fate was cruel to her, she thinks. First, to take away her sibling she loved, and second, to present, oh, such an ethereal gift, just to keep it away from her arm's length having to watch down on you from the villa’s balcony, scurrying about with her other siblings. For now, she’ll keep it that way, looking at you with a sober expression from afar, but still offering you exquisite gifts to make you aware of her existence.

It was another gift that seemed to spawn alive onto your dressing table, probably from your anonymous gift-giver. You had asked your siblings, including your stepmother who would occasionally step inside if they were the ones responsible, to which they all responded with a ‘no.’ You wondered if it were a servant that did it, but after what transpired with the previous one, you doubted anyone outside your family will be willing to take such a risk. This time, the gift was sitting in a glass vase, filled with water. In the vase were the flowers you adored with the lovely aroma. Happily, you whiffed the scent. Picking up the note that came with the gift, it read, ‘These flowers reminded me of you. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do… Sincerely, Griselda.’

“Don’t die on me, Little Sister. I won’t allow it~”

You were very confused to see a red-headed girl on her hands and knees, panting heavily for air. She was shaken too, a sickly color to her pale skin and the cold sweat that ran down the exposed parts of her body. But as you caught the dim red glow in the corner of your eye, as well as the faint sound of wings flapping, you were able to put two-and-two together; the girl was most likely tormented by Roxana’s infamous killer butterflies.

You pitied her, knowing what those butterflies were capable of, one almost biting your finger clean off your hand in one instance. But, that was just a sole butterfly you dealt with, she must have encountered several. And from one victim to another, you approached her shaking form in the hopes of comforting her.

Though… it seems she didn’t appreciate the sentiment… the fiery stare she gave you in response shut you up quickly and almost made you lose your bowels right there. Screaming insults and curses, she sprang to her feet and shoved past you, storming off to where she wanted to go. You just stood there in your spot, wide-eyed with your hands on your chest. Well, that’s what you get for roping yourself into situations that didn’t concern you…

From her outburst, you didn’t anticipate seeing her again, nor do you think she would want to see you. So her interrupting the tea party with yourself in the garden the next day startled you. Overcoming your shock, you smiled at her and invited her to join you and enjoy a couple of biscuits. She stuck her nose into the air and gawked at you as though you’d grown two heads… but still agreed. You did most of the talking, shortly learning her name, CHARLOTTE, and her exchanging haughty remarks here and then. It was a decent event…

If only you knew what exactly your brief display of kindness unconsciously resigned yourself to. Charlotte… was awfully demanding. After the tea party, Charlotte appeared by you very frequently, ordering that you drop whatever it was you were doing, and spend time with her. It could be one of the most important things you had to handle and she would not care. You could be with one of your siblings and she would not care. You could be sick and worn out, she will NOT care. If she wants to be with you, it will be now, no time for discussion. Just TRY to say no, it won’t do you any good. You said yes a lot, mostly because of your fear of what she will do if you deprive her of what she desired. She already made you petrified with a glare, how much worse will it be once she reaches her limit and lashes out? You have no ability to defend yourself when the time comes, so why should you cause trouble? Give in and avoid the unnecessary problem.

She was shaking with fury, hands angrily pulling at her puffy pigtails. How dare they…? HOW DARE THEY!? Are they stupid!? What do you mean you can’t spend time with her!? YOU BOTH ALWAYS SPEND TIME TOGETHER AT THIS TIME! WHY was she and him getting in her way of being with YOU!? They have to be stupid! While she went through an internal crisis, you clutched at your clothes, tears pricking at your eyes. Her green eyes were practically glowing with wrath from the hatred she harbored for your older sister and brother! She was also on the verge of snapping, that you can tell. She was losing all of her morality the longer they denied her what she wanted. You would have excused yourself long ago, but when she’s like this, that’s not the ideal option, for she may do something regrettable to you. Stepping behind your sister, your ears twitched at the sound of a whip cracking, inclusive of a butterflies’ wings, indicating the start of a full-on brawl.

“GO AWAY! Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something!?”

And finally… YOU! How do you feel about your family's attention to you? You never saw how other families interact with their kin… but you knew that what your family was doing was wrong. It was dangerous and obsessive. Would you tell them that? No. Unless you wish to suffer a fate worse than death by confronting them, you will keep your silence until all the odds are in your favor.

They were the butterflies, your mannerisms and kindness as the sweet nectar and color that attracted them, and you, their delicate flower.

©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

#🥛━ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐄 #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #twtptflob #twtptflob x reader #manhwa x reader #manhwa x you #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #child reader #female reader

2K notes · View notes

get-shiggy-with-it · 8 months

Text

*bg3 spoilers ahead*

word count: 1.5k

content: canon typical violence, Astarion x gender neutral!reader

What if you could hug Astarion after he finally kills his master? (set after the option where he does not ascend)

“Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.”

—

“But I'm not above enjoying this.”

—

The body fell to the ground with a rather disappointing thud—muted and squelching into a heap at his feet. It was, of course, a glorious moment still; Cazador dead by his hand, the light fading from his monstrous eyes. It was just that, well, Astarion had envisioned it would all play out with much more spectacle than the altogether clumsy manner his centuries-long tormentor crumpled lifelessly to the bloodied stone.

There ought to have been more of a flourish, he thought maybe foolishly. Something befitting of the dramatic climax when his freedom was finally secured for good.

Cazador had loomed so large, seemed so above, reigning over him for centuries—controlling every aspect of his being that he might as well have been a god for all Astarion could refuse him. Ultimately, he had expected him to die like a god as well. Not like a man.

Astarion had envisioned the hall echoing with the finality of his hollow corpse hitting the floor. Like the satisfying boom of great castle gates slamming shut on that portion of his life forever. This creature who ruled him, boot on his neck for hundreds of years, vanquished at last.

Above all, he expected satisfaction. A flood of it flowing through his cold veins and bringing warmth to his long dead skin. That the elation of it might bring him back from the brink of his undeath, however impossible that may be.

And he did not get that.

Shocking.

Instead, Astarion’s knees banged painfully to rest on the ground amidst his bloody handiwork rang out in the chamber. The sound of his bones jarring in his ears.

The air felt thick and cloying, a dank weight in his lungs that constricted like a snake, leaving a growing tightness in his chest. Astarion sat for a moment—still waiting for the rush of fierce joy that never came.

Which was strange, he thought distantly. He felt very distant now, somewhere between floating and tethered horribly to the ground, the magnitude of it all crashing down was suffocating.

It would stand to reason, he had assumed, that at the end of it all—when his freedom had been secured for good—there would be a sort of immediate relief, like cool water to a burn, like the blissful ebbing of pain after a healing spell. Though apparently that did not stand to reason at all as now it seemed more as if he’d thrust the raw wound of himself straight back into the flames. There was no wave of elation as he stared from far away at his hands that still clutched the blade, as tightly as when he dealt the killing blow.

So Astarion sat — feeling something slip away from him, leech out and stain the floor like the blood of his former master. And in all the empty space left behind, something else began to grow in him. Something which he knew must have always been there lurking under the weight of his rage and waiting to be released.

The tightness in his lungs culminated in the familiar sensation of a stone stock behind his tongue. His mouth filled with coppery spit as he fought through the pain to swallow it back. His throat felt as though it had been torn to shreds, burning as his eyes began to sting and something roared in his ears.

Astarion wondered from a place outside of his body if someone was weeping—the sound of it barely audible over the pounding in his head.

It wasn’t until the strangled reverberation of a sob, wrenched from his gut and leaving him flayed open as Cazador, tore through the chamber walls again that he realized it was he who wept, who wailed shamelessly in anguish. His head fell back — fanged teeth bared in a snarl, face contorted with the ugliness of a grief long since buried in the coffin he’d broken out of years ago.

The dull constant pulse of vengeance pushing him ever onward after his escape had gone. In its place an awful throbbing ache that bloomed, growing in intensity like a knife to the skin of his back, a twist of the blade for every year he spent in Cazador’s possession.

He’d done it.

He’d slayed the beast.

He’d won his freedom.

And now he was left with all this pain that had driven him. That he’d clung to desperately so he would not give up. With no place left to put it all down.

Nothing more to do with it but feel.

Though he took some small pleasure that the creature who had planted this seed laid before him now, just as small and broken as Astarion had been.

Good, he thought — spat in his head. Another shout bubbled up in his chest, clawed its way past his fangs that scratched the plump flesh of his lower lip, scarred over years of self-inflicted bites.

His knees ached where the harsh stone bit into them, his head spun as everything blurred around him with the moisture beaded in his eyes.

Slowly, as if moving through honey, the world began to shift. The cavernous ceiling tilted down, down, down until his eyes were locked on the stone steps that led in from the hall. There was something warm and blessedly solid at his back - covering him where he was bare, enveloping him slowly into its sturdy, gentle embrace. Bringing him back to his body.

For a brief moment he thought maybe it was him that died. Maybe this was Death come to ferry him away. Wherever it was things like him went.

But he didn’t think death smelled so sweet or so familiar. The rich smoke of campfires permanently woven into soft linen and leather, the light notes of lye soap underneath the metal tang of well-worn armor.

Nor would Death have held him so kindly, cradled in a circle of strong arms.

You were knelt behind him in the bloody mess, pulling him to rest against your chest with a light hand guiding his head to your shoulder. It was a balm - your touch - a soft heat to the aching muscle of him. Behind you, Astarion could just make out the blurry outline of his companions and the soft shapes of the other spawn, drifting back down to the stone dias.

He couldn’t muster the energy to feel even a bit embarrassed by the way he turned in your grasp, the blade clattering forgotten to the floor as his nails scratched at your back, pulling you in closer, trying to crawl under your skin.

“I’ve got you,” your voice came out in a hush. It seemed to him you were saying it more to yourself, an assurance of sorts. But he took solace in the words regardless.

How long had it been since he’d craved this—the touch of another? Since that time he could no longer recall, since touch had been a comfort, since his body had been his own.

And now he longed to be fully engulfed, hidden away from the sting of the world, nestled safely between your ribs. As you muttered to him, he pressed his face to your neck which became increasingly wet with something that ran thinner and saltier than the sweet rushing of blood in your veins.

Astarion thought he might have said your name — a whisper as the flood inside him began to ebb to nothing more than a trickle. That you might have shushed him, petted his head like a dear thing. Brushed the tangled, silvery curls from his eyes and held him closer still.

“You’re safe now,” he heard through the ringing in his ears.

And Astarion—creature of the night, hungry beast, quick to bite and slow to trust—had never believed anything more in his life.

“It’s over,” he said.

And it was only partly true, but there was triumph in that still.

This, at least, was over and you were still there at the end of it all. He found the relief of that simple fact so staggering that he could do nothing to resist your gravity pulling him in.

A drifting, icy comet caught in the orbit of your celestially warm chest.

“Well done, I think you got him.”

And despite himself, Astarion laughed. More of a hoarse coughing, really, than anything else. You were chuckleing too, your shoulder bouncing under his cheek and there was the miraculous feeling of lips pressed briefly to the crown of his head.

“I should hope so,” he replied after a moment, reluctantly—though he would never admit it—allowing himself to be detangled from you and pulled to his feet.

He tried to think of some sharp-tongued quip to diffuse the tension in the air but nothing came. Your eyes were red rimmed when he met them, looking up at him with something that might have been pride.

And then the words came easily.

“Always so full of surprises, aren’t you?”

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion

1K notes · View notes

inhuman-obey-me · 26 days

Note

⚡️Solomon and mc please if you are still doing these.

"What good is this "great power" of mine? Absolutely everything slips through my fingers." - Solomon/MC

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were supposed to be safe here in the human realm. Safe with him.

“Solomon,” your voice is weak as you call out his name, lying in the middle of the room. Blood is seeping through the bandages tightly wrapped around your wounds. Your eyes flicker as you seem to fade in and out of consciousness.

Shit. That potion didn’t work either.

“Don’t speak. Don’t move. I’ll get you fixed up.” He does his best to keep his voice calm, swallowing the panic that threatens to take over. No, he needs to focus. He needs to find the right ingredients, he needs to measure precisely, he needs to find the damn spell or potion or whatever it is that will undo the damage that’s laid claim to your body.

Books go flying off the shelves, circling in a dizzying array around the sorcerer as pages flip rapidly. He had taken you to one of his secret abodes spread throughout the human realm, all stocked with various magical items and artifacts along with numerous grimoires and journals he had collected over centuries. A treasure trove for any occult enthusiast – but currently, an archive of desperation.

“There has to be something here. It’s a complex curse, but it still seems to be human-made, though with some demonic assistance, so,” he speaks his thoughts aloud, talking more to himself than to you, “I just need to find what can neutralize it.”

Surely he can find it. Solomon has never met a curse that he couldn’t eventually break, faced a foe he couldn’t manipulate, discovered a spell he couldn’t replicate. The air fills with the noise of a sorcerer gone mad – the clinks and clanks of vials and bottles, the continuous flutter of pages turning, the hiss and bubbling of items being thrown together, the scrape of metal against glass, of chalk against wood and the crackle of fire.

“This one should work.”

It didn’t.

“Okay, maybe this one.”

Another failure.

“This one has to be it.”

No.

“Please.”

Solomon slumps beside you after his latest attempt, his face in his hands and his deep breath turns into an exasperated yet muffled yell. His hands travel up his head, fingers tightly gripping at his hair as a hiss leaves his lips.

Solomon the Wise. Solomon the Witty Sorcerer. These names and more had plagued him for so long, were ones he at times embraced and gloated over. He had been the most powerful human in existence, continuing to obtain more and more power so that he could show the angels and demons that they couldn’t control him, control humans. It wasn’t without sacrifices, without pain and hardship. He still lost so much.

And now, he was afraid of losing you.

There was no other choice. He was going to have to call upon the demons for help.

“What good is this great power of mine?” His voice nearly breaks, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. “Absolutely everything slips through my fingers.”

“Not everything, old man.”

Solomon jolts up, eyes wide as he looks to you after hearing your shaky voice.

You let out a low groan, shifting in place before slightly propping yourself up on your elbows. “Come on, you didn’t think I would go down that easily, did you?” You wince. “Have some faith in your apprentice. I’m basically as strong as you.”

Your name leaves him in a near-sob as he scrambles up and throws his arms around you. “Oh thank the stars, you’re okay.”

“Ow,” you respond, but sink into his embrace. “I’m not touching a strange statue again for a good while after this.”

“I’m sorry,” Solomon releases you, checking over your wounds to ensure that you are now healing. “I should have known, I should have stopped you, I should have –”

“Solomon.” You stop him, brushing some of his wispy locks from his face. “It was an accident. You can’t always be there watching over me. And if it wasn’t for you, I would be in a lot worse shape.” Placing a hand on his cheek, you gaze affectionately into his eyes. “Thank you.”

He swallowed his protests. It was true that you were on a path to quickly overtake him as the most powerful human sorcerer the world had ever known. He was going to have to get used to you getting into dangerous situations, used to you wielding such power and the responsibility that came with it. He was no longer alone in carrying that burden.

With a sigh, Solomon rests his forehead against yours. “Looks like I’m going to have to make a lot more protection charms.”

#this one also got away from me...woops #anyway here's some solomon angst #obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me solomon #om! solomon #obey me solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #om! solomon x mc #om! solomon x reader #obey me fic #obey me angst #obey me drabble #writings #4000 follower celebration #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos

332 notes · View notes

mistyresolve · 1 month

Text

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 6)

Word Count - 3k

Summary - TF 141 has regrouped at their safe house, and in the past two weeks they have been of trying to figure out their next move. Doc and Ghost finally have a little talk about their night together.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn

A/N - hi

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3 ❤︎ Part 3.5 ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 7

Masterlist

The two of you were back in the garage the next morning. Ghost getting up significantly earlier than you did; leaving you to wake up alone and slightly chilled from the morning air.

There was also a delicious ache between your legs that wasn’t normally there.

Ghost was servicing one of the armoured vehicles to make sure it was ready to go when the squad needed to move. It’s matte tan painting normally nothing significant but you couldn’t help but feel some sort of familiarity with the vehicle. While taking stock of your medical supplies you stared at the lettering on the side of the vehicle trying to pinpoint where you had seen it before.

“Riley,” you called out, eyes still locked on the bolded lettering on the side of the hood. He paused what he was doing to look up at you. With narrowed eyes, you said, “Why do I feel like I’ve read about this ATV before?” You recalled reading about a vehicle being swiped from a convoy a few months ago in one of the weekly newsletters the military put out.

“Uhh,” you could’ve sworn there was a slight blush underneath that mask, “Yeah, we stole it. Wasn’t our intent at first, but figured it would be a waste of an opportunity if we returned it.”

You made your way to the stool beside him, “‘We’ as in?”

“Soap and I…” he thought for a second, searching for the right word, “commandeered it on our way into an active combat zone. In the report, we said it was a hostile.” he shrugged. Everything here was stolen, sure, but it was mostly little things like rations and ammo; which he had mentioned took forever to compile. The other vehicle was just a modified truck. This was an Oshkosh MPAP; equipped with a turret, and bulletproof windows, and was worth a million dollars.

And these goons just took it.

Despite his seemingly nonchalance demeanour, there was clear pride in the set of his shoulders. You also knew he and Soap chuckled about it on their way here to stash it.

“What did Price have to say about it?” you inspected the manual for the ATV to see all it came with. There was a hesitance from him and you lifted a brow at him, “What will Price have to say about it?” you reworded the question, getting the sense that Price doesn’t know.

“I doubt he’ll even notice,” Simon set back to work, reaching for something and tightening it with a wrench.

The rest of the squad arrived later in the morning and Price undoubtedly noticed. In fact, he pointed right at it, eyebrows raised but didn’t say a word.

Soap pretended to be just as shocked, “How did this get in here?”

Ghost did a good job of redirecting everyone’s attention, “We’ve got almost a week's worth of food reserves.”

Gaz swung his gear over his shoulder heading towards the makeshift barracks, “You leave any hot water for us?” he asked Ghost.

“Nope,” he shot back dryly, failing to mention there was never any hot water to begin with. He shoved a finger in Soap’s direction, “You better get in there next. I can smell you.”

“It’s a musk,” Soap retorted, feigning offence.

“Go stand downwind of me,” Ghost strained as he looked an ammo crate into one of the trucks.

You couldn’t smell Soap from where you sat but you were sure every one of them smelt like a little ripe from all the traveling. They looked weary from it.

A strange feeling of unspoken uneasiness hung overhead all of you. Everyone was purposefully avoiding the obvious fact that we didn’t have a solid plan.

When Gaz returned from his shower, he had a strange look on his face. A mix of annoyance and embarrassment. He had pulled a a pack of cigarettes from his pocket throwing them to Soap, “You win,” he said bitterly.

“Really?” Soap caught the pack, immediately putting one in his mouth. He turned to Ghost, “You’ve just made me a very happy man.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ghost looked genuinely confused. He glanced at you with questioning eyes, wondering if you had any insight into their exchange.

You offered him a subtle shrug.

Price was talking quietly with Laswell outside the garage. With dark bags weighing down his eyes, accompanied by a frown, Price looked uncharacteristically tired. Knowing him, he probably didn’t get the best sleep last night. It was us against the world right now, and since he was our captain every single one of us was looking to him for direction. It was a lot of pressure for one man. But there was a good reason he was Captain. He was level-headed and experienced. This probably wasn’t the first time he found himself in this situation either. This was just another Wednesday for him. For all of them.

Except you.

You don’t belong on a task force like this. You weren’t even sure you were meant for the medic life anymore. Lord knew you couldn’t save anyone when it mattered.

Your teeth sank into your lip as you pondered your life choices so far. The hair on the back of your neck began to tingle and when you looked up to see Ghost watching you from across the room. His eyes revealed nothing before he dragged his attention back to Soap.

Price called for a meeting after everyone was a little more settled in, “We’ll need to lie low for the next few weeks. Keep our footprint to a minimum,” Price took a seat on the bench next to you, swiping a hand down his face, “Laswell said that the brasses have been keeping it tight-lipped about our situation. So either they don’t know and someone is working on this alone or they do know and don’t want it getting out,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Which one is worse? I don’t know.”

If they do know we risk giving ourselves away by trying to make contact. This was going to be a waiting game.

We were in this alone and the thought of the world being completely oblivious to our disappearance was frightening. The idea of your family never knowing what happened to you left just as fast as it came.

“Until we come up with a plan?” Gaz sneered, his eyes hardening making it evident it was hardly a question.

“How long will that take?” You asked, your knee bouncing in a clear show of anxiety.

Laswell cleared her throat, eyes peeking over the laptop she was sitting in front of, “I’ve got a few contacts on US soil who are doing some internal investigations. I won’t be able to exchange information with them as often as I’d like but they’re good at what they do,” She assured, this usually perfect braid falling loose down her shoulder. “I trust that they’ll be able to find some leads.”

“How long with that take?” Ghost repeated your question.

Laswell huffed, “I have no idea.”

“Let’s aim for a few weeks at the very least,” Price said, lifting a fresh unlit cigar to his mouth.

“We’ve only got a week’s worth of food,” you exchanged a look with Ghost, who was already looking at you, his dark eyes unreadable. Before the rest of the team got here he had donned his mask, making it all the harder to gauge what exactly he was thinking.

“Ahh,” Laswell flipped her laptop to face the rest of us. You leaned forward and squinted at the bright screen with multiple windows pulled up, “There’s a little townlet three hours from here with no military presence. We can go into town to stock up when the time arrives.”

Two weeks. Two whole weeks passed and Laswells weren’t any closer to finding out who Specter was, and everyone was getting antsy. She did, however, discover that we have all been flagged as deserters.

Price and Gaz were out doing recon every morning, and every time they came back with the same news. Which was no news.

You and Ghost had gone into the little town Laswell aforementioned nearly every day since that first week. You spent most of your time at one of the schools there. It was a symbiotic relationship where you were providing medical services wherever you were needed in exchange for more medical supplies. All the while Ghost went off on his own sometimes coming back with food other times with information on the movements of the military. “For your safety” he wasn’t able to tell you who exactly he was meeting with for this information.

You were cleaning the wound of a smaller child, her dark hair and wide glassy eyes flitting to everything that moved. Considering how her wound looked a week ago she was healing well. In a few more days there will be nothing left but a pink scar. You couldn’t understand each other because of a language barrier but there was mutual respect between you two. She couldn’t have been older than 10 but her eyes showed she had seen more than her years. Her eyes would sometimes glaze over and would stare far beyond what you could see. Her mouth would loosen and she would murmur to herself. A prayer, you were later told by a woman who spoke English. It was unsettling to see someone so young so grown.

That’s what growing up in a warzone will do to you. You chastised yourself, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Here,” you secured her bandage showing off your work to her. Her delicate hand grazed it, her face void of emotion. With a slight bow of her head, she left. You watched as she disappeared back out the school door.

You felt someone take a seat beside you, her identity easily discerned by her scent of pepper and rosemary. “Her mother would have been so devastated to see her like this,” she spoke softly, her accent almost undetectable. She was one of the teachers at the school, and also the one who let you use her classroom as a makeshift station when she didn’t have any classes.

She seemed like a great teacher, artwork and previous school projects lined her classroom walls.

It didn’t go unnoticed that she was using the past tense. Your mouth opened and closed as you fought to find the right words, “She’s too young,” too young for this kind of life. Too young to be seeing death. Too young to be this broken.

“Is anyone ever old enough?” She began helping you pack your supplies, offering you a new medical kit for today’s services, “We are having trouble getting shipments in so this is going to be the last time we’ll be able to pay you back.”

You tilted your head at her, “What do you mean by troubles?”

She smoothed out the wrinkles from her shirt, “They’ve put up checkpoints at every roading leading in and out of eastern borders. It is almost impossible to get transport trucks through,” Her blue eyes had grown tired in the last few days.

You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. If there is anything I can do to repay you, anything at all, let me know.”

She smiled and shook her head, “You’ve done more than enough,” she leaves you to turn her attention to a group of students coming in for her next class.

Ghost returned to the school a few hours earlier than he usually did, his pace hurried, “Grab your stuff. We’re getting out of here,” he panted like he’d run the entire way back to the school but he was already moving to pack your supplies back into your pack.

You looked up at him, eyebrows knitting together, “What’s wrong?”

“A convoy was sighted three hundred kilometres to the east,” he didn’t wait for your reply before he slung ur pack over his shoulder and strode for the door, “And they aren’t insurgents.”

Which means they’re American. And they couldn’t know we were here. They would take us all back in, and the last thing we wanted was to be getting into gunfights with our own.

Ghost opened your door for you, “Get in.”

You gave him a side glance before stepping up into the truck and letting him slam it shut behind you. Apart from the sound of the rocky road underneath the wheels and the whir of the engine the ride back was silent. You watched out your window, turning thoughts over in your head, debating whether the conversation you’ve been wanting to have with him but never the time, was worth it.

Since that first night, nothing more has happened between you too. There hasn’t been the time for a conversation about it. Let alone actual sex. Still, a conversation needed to be had at some point. You wanted to know what he was thinking. He was always difficult to read and never shared his thoughts and feelings with anyone.

“What’s on your mind?” Ghost spoke first, sensing your hesitation, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“A lot,” you tried laughing but it came out more like a sigh, then shrugged, “I guess mostly…about that night,” you started off.

His eyes widened before he quickly turned to face the road again, “Go on.”

“We haven’t discussed it, or… haven’t really had the time to explore what it means. If it does mean anything. Don’t get me wrong,” you caught yourself, “There really isn’t a worse time for something like this,” it wasn’t like things had grown awkward between the two of you in the last few weeks, but you weren’t sure how you were supposed to be feeling. Or how he was feeling. Doubt had crept into the corners of your mind in the last few weeks.

Maybe it was just a distraction for him.

Your breakfast soured in your stomach at the idea.

The clouds overhead began to turn a sombre grey, bringing with it the threats of a storm.

Beside you, he’d grown impossibly still. His shoulders were taut with discomfort, “If you’re going to say it was a mistake just do us both a favour and say it.”

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, “Was it–” you swallowed, “Was it a mistake for you?”

“No,” he spoke with conviction, “No, it wasn’t.”

Just as fast as the air left your lungs, they were filled, “Ohh,” you released a sigh, your head falling back onto the seat.

“Once we get ourselves out of this we can talk about it all you want, but–”

“But, now isn’t a good time,” you finished for him, agreeing with the statement.

“I don’t want you to think I used you like some sex-crazed caveman,” he shifted, the light of the day dwindling as we rolled down the road, the shadows from the trees creeping closer and closer to the truck.

“I dont…” you started but he was already pulling the truck over to the side of the road.

“I need you to know that the moment we get back to society that this,” he unbuckled his seatbelt and gestured between the two of you, “Isn’t going to end. I care for you but I need you to stay alive. So, I’m deciding for us to put things on hold because neither of us needs the distraction. It wasn’t a mistake. Do I wish I had waited until I was able to fuck you in a real bed? Kinda.”

The first few drops of rain splattered onto the windshield, fat and heavy.

He released the strap on his bulletproof vest to his chest and reached for my hand, “Feel this,” he brought my hand, dwarfed in his, to his racing heart. The heat radiated off his body, “That is what you do to me. Every time you look at me, or speak, or enter a room. I feel like I can’t breathe around you. I’m terrified of you, and the possibilities that come with you,” he squeezed your hand, and he took in a shuttering breath, “And when you look at me like that,” his voice dropped and his eyes searched yours before bringing your hand lower, where you felt his member hardening.

Your cheeks heated and you felt your own heart quicken its pace.

The sounds of the rain became a rhythmic beat as it began to downpour, and without the windshield wipers to wipe away the downfall it was nearly impossible to see to the outside.

He let out a low, agonizing sound when you gave him an experimental squeeze

His attention flicked to the clock on the dash, his eyes darkening, “If I had been a smart man I wouldn’t have told Price we were leaving early. So if we take much longer it’ll raise questions,” he pulled away from you, slowly, like it was taking every sane part of him to do so, “And I’m sure you don’t want that.”

You shook your head. You did not want to talk with Price about your extracurriculars.

He took one last look at you, “Fuck sake,” he lifted the bottom half of his mask and pulled your lips to his. It was a chaste, desperate, open-mouth kiss. One where his hands dipped your head back to gain better access. His thumbs cradled your jaw, his fingers curling in your hair.

It was just like the last time you kissed him. He was all fire and heat. He was explosive.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were wet and rosy, his eyes half-lidded, “Promise me you won’t go anywhere?” he said lowly.

You couldn’t help the sheepish smile, “I’m here.”

His Foresight - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎ @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx ❤︎@mymommmy ❤︎ @crunchlite ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums ❤︎ @xheera ❤︎ @lockleywife ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod fanfic #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #modern warfare fanfiction #task force 141 #simon riley x reader #cod ghost

168 notes · View notes

willgaham · 11 months

Text

SUCCESSION 2018-2023 the roy siblings + quotes

3.02 / franz kafka, letters to milena / 4.09 / dawn lundy martin, good stock strange blood / 4.10 / marie howe, the teacher / 4.09 / vievee francis, forest primeval / 4.10 / anne sexton, a self-portrait in letters / 3.09 / @tullispink

1K notes · View notes

author-morgan · 1 year

Text

Title: Iā Zaldrīzes's Prūmia Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: Promises are not idly spoken and Aemond proves he's a man of his word. Warnings: typical Westerosi shenanigans

THE DOORS OF your bedchamber creak and groan as they open without ceremony, but you already know who the unannounced and uninvited guest is at this hour —Prince Aemond Targaryen. “A gentleman would have knocked,” you tease as he makes his way across the room to where you sit at your vanity, following the trail of your discarded clothing —stockings, petticoat, skirt, bodice, and stays.

Aemond steps behind you, his hands resting at the base of your neck, fingertips lightly pressing into your collarbones. He bends at the waist, pressing his nose into the crown of your hair —still half bound up from the evening’s festivities— and inhales the sweet fading scent of rose and honeyed blood orange. “You avoided me tonight, sīmontan,” he notes.

“Only to appease my father,” you tell him, watching his expression shift from mild ire and annoyance to curiosity in the reflection as you comb through another braid. Lord Wylde thinks himself a perspicacious man, and surely when it comes to the realm's affairs, he is, but he’s nigh blind to his daughter’s heart and longings. He expects you to take a husband soon —and quell the whispers that entertain the servants of the Red Keep and the court for good.

Expectations mean entertaining would-be suitors with pleasant conversation and clumsy dances during feasts instead of gossiping with Princess Helaena and her brother, Aemond. “We’re not children anymore,” you remind him. He is a prince. You are a lady. Neither you nor he can escape the responsibilities that come with each role.

“No,” he agrees. The days of childhood and innocence are long gone —he likes to think his childhood ended when Lucerys Velaryon took his eye. But even if childhood has come and gone, it feels like few things have changed between you and him. And maybe that’s what causes people to talk when they see the prince absconding from your chambers early in the morning or when you both return at indecent hours having stolen away on horse or dragon back.

Aemond sits next to you on the vanity bench and plucks one of the silver combs from your hair. Having him so close after the feast and your father's words gnaws at your heart in a new and strange way. You do not wish to be parted from the prince, but you cannot give yourself false hope either. “How much longer can we carry on like this?” You ask, voice wavering, and for maybe the first time, Aemond realizes the toll of his affections —of the life you both lead in private. “Sneaking around whilst my father and your mother try to make suitable matches for us.”

“I’ll tell mother there’s only one match she need make then,” he tells you. He called you his princess as a boy, but when Vhagar accepted you, he knew —it should have been enough to make your father and Alicent realize too. Aemond wraps a lock of your hair around his finger and tugs on it gently. “You’ll be a Princess of the Realm. What father would not wish that honor upon his daughter?” Then he leans closer and whispers in your ear. “Our sons could be kings.”

“Planning to depose your brother already?” That earns you a quiet laugh. He’s made it no secret that he is better suited for the throne than his lecherous brother. “It matters not, though.” You unwind the last of the braids and glance down at the brush in hand. Aemond’s pursed lips fall, his brow furrowing. “In the end, I am but the daughter of a minor house,” you remind him, “unfit for such a prestigious match.” Queen Alicent Hightower will pursue a union between her second son and a daughter from one of the Great Houses of Westeros —not the daughter of a lesser house from the Stormlands. House Wylde has nothing to offer the Crown save for love and loyalty.

“I don’t give a shit about prestige,” Aemond bites, his tone sharp and expression harsh. He’ll not tolerate hearing you patronize yourself, nor the thought that anyone other than him would get to decide who is worthy of his love. The harsh line of his lips softens, as does the furrow between his brows. He shifts, taking hold of your hands —thumbs running across your knuckles. “Nyke jaelagon ao.”

Freeing one of your hands, you reach around him, undoing the clasp of his eyepatch. He catches the leather piece and places it next to one of your hair combs on the vanity. The blue of his stone-eye glimmers in the firelight —you’ve never loved that shade of deep blue as much as you do now. Aemond closes his eye when your fingertips meet the start of his scar, tracing downward, over where his eye should be, and across his cheek. He conceals his sapphire eye while at court so as not to frighten the ladies. But you had been among the first to see him after his return from Driftmark —the wound fresh and stitches swollen. Aemond hadn’t wanted you to look upon him, not after hearing whispers from others, but true friends did not abandon one another so readily.

You tilt your chin up and lean closer to him, heart racing. There’ll be no going back after tonight, one way or another. “Then make good on your promise and take me,” you breathe. It’s a promise made a lifetime ago and one you nor he has ever forgotten.

Aemond inhales before he seizes your face within his hands and lurches forward, lips seeking yours —hungry and zealous and loving. You sigh into his mouth, fingers twisting into his silver-white hair. He tastes of smoke and wine and everything you could ever dream of in this life.

THE SPACE NEXT to you in bed is empty and cold when your lady’s maid, Lyra, comes to wake and prepare you for the day. She says nothing about the state of your undress —only offers a meek smile when she realizes you wear Prince Aemond’s tunic. People in the Red Keep like to speculate about your and the prince’s relationship, but only Lyra knows the truth, having stumbled upon you and Aemond in bed, wrapped up in one another. It had been innocent enough then, but now without the high neck of your linen shift beneath a blue-green dress, the world would be able to see the scattering of dark lovebites on your neck —and speculation would turn to scandal.

A posted guard announces your arrival, and Helaena looks up from her embroidery and offers a faint and fleeting smile. “Good morrow, Lady Wylde,” the princess greets. You arrive later than usual, and Helaena’s already broken her fast with her brothers, sorely missing the pleasant conversation which often quells Aemond and Aegon’s tempers.

“Good morrow to you, princess,” you reply, dipping down into a quick curtsey before taking a seat across from her. Your unfinished embroidery is left on the low table, a poor attempt to create the sigil of House Wylde —a blue-green maelstrom on a golden field. The curves and lines are not straight, and instead of neat swirls, it looks more like a patchwork of yellow and blue thread. “We’ve apple tarts still from breakfast,” Helaena notes to break the looming quiet. “Made sure my brothers did not eat them all.”

You thank Helaena for her thoughtfulness, then turn your attention to little Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, swaddled in pale linens and still fast asleep in their bassinet. Helaena often reprimands you for spoiling them, just as she does their uncle. It’s astounding such pure little beings had come from Aegon’s loins. “Aemond was looking for you,” she says, suddenly —knowing something was off with him this morning. “He’s gone to train now.”

“Did he say why?” But Helaena does not answer, only offering another quick smile.

Ser Criston Cole glimpses you as you descend the stairs to join the others watching the prince’s training session. “You have an audience,” the kingsguard knight says, pushing away from a stalemate. Aemond always garners an audience when he trains —it makes for a bout of good entertainment on droll days, especially when his opponent is Ser Criston. But now the one person Prince Aemond always looks for arrives —and it’s the only audience that matters to the young prince. He spins the hilt of his training sword, then drives the blunted sword into the ground and turns on heel.

You step to Aemond, hands clasped behind your back and head tilted to the side —appraising his disheveled appearance and the sheen of sweat on his pale brow. “Helaena said you wished to see me, my prince?”

Mindlessly, he reaches for a lock of your hair, twisting it around his finger. “I always wish to see you,” Aemond replies, softly and hushed.

“Flattery will get you everywhere and nowhere, Aemond.” You grip his wrist lest he forgets himself and the others watching with eagle eyes and loose lips.

“Mm” —his lips quirk upward, and his gaze dips downward, tracing the line of your jaw and neck— “let’s hope for the former then, my lady,” he breathes, a heady lilt to the words. You like to think yourself immune to his tricks and sweet words, but the flush of warmth painting your cheeks says otherwise. Aemond smiles in earnest and glimpses his waiting opponent over his shoulder. “May I ask your favor whilst I best this old knight?” He asks, just loud enough for those closest to hear.

“I’ve no favor to give,” you tell him, amused —you have no crown of flowers, ribbon, or handkerchief to present the prince this day, only yourself.

But that’s more than enough. “A kiss then,” Aemond muses, already leaning closer and expecting you to acquiesce his request, “from my fairest lady.”

You press a hand to his chest, fingers toying with one of the buckles of his gambeson. “Only if you win.” A kiss is a precious thing, and you dare not give one away so freely before your titled peers. Aemond steps back and recovers his training sword, then turns to face Ser Criston.

Three more rounds come to pass. One ends in a draw, the other with Aemond knocking the kingsguard knight’s sword from hand, but in the final contest, Criston claims victory.

The gathered lords and ladies clap and cheer, slowly filtering from the training yard now that the spectacle is over. You lean against a training dummy, watching as the two combatants and their page boys come to rerack the training weapons. “It’s good of you to knock him on his arse from time to time, Ser Criston,” you remark, making your way toward the knight and prince.

Aemond glares across the training yard, but you only smile sweetly for him. In truth, it soothes your heart and mind to know the prince is trained by one of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms —and one of the few battle-hardened warriors who resided in the city at that. “Even princes must be humbled, my lady,” Ser Criston replies. “A duty I take no pleasure in.”

You reach for Aemond’s arm. “Walk with me,” you say, smiling up at him. He obliges, knowing your company will be the sweetest balm for his wounded pride. You mean to steal him away to the godswood of the Keep but passing members of the court all seek to stop you and the prince for polite conversation —a question about King Viserys’s health, an offhand remark about the unusually warm weather.

Many in the court believe you to be a good match for the prince regardless of birth status, though they’d never dare speak such improper opinions aloud. And all the while, Aemond presses his hand against the small of your back, his thumb rubbing circles, mindlessly, through the linen and silk of your summer dress —always touching you somehow, as he is wont to do, and uncaring of whoever may see.

It takes time to converse with everyone so as not to be seen as impolite, but the halls of the Red Keep give way to the godswood. Aemond stops beneath the weirwood tree and peers up at the red leaves, suddenly lost in thought and memory. “If you could go anywhere” —his gaze flits down to you— “where would you go?” He isn’t sure what he wants to hear you say.

“Se hūra,” you answer, needing little time to ponder an answer. You’ve everything you want here in King’s Landing —family, friends, the love of a prince— you needn't go anywhere else save the impossible.

“You’d have to fly to the moon,” he muses.

You step in front of Aemond and reach for his hands —twining your fingers with his. “But you have a dragon.” You could take me. If any dragon could reach the moon and stars, it would be Vhagar, and Aemond would take you without question or hesitation. He does not say anything, but there’s a glimmer in his eye, and then he frees one of his hands, the backs of his fingers skimming across your cheek. Aemond exhales softly, leaning in as you tilt your chin up, standing a little taller. It’s a small kiss, just at the corner of your mouth, nothing more, nothing less —for propriety’s sake. But before he can part, you turn your head, noses brushing together just before your lips do.

It’s a risky decision to display your feelings for one another so openly, but the prince is long past caring, and you’re nigh to that point too. A cool tingle crawls up your arms when his hand cradles the back of your head —fingers lacing into your hair. Aemond nudges your nose with his own, and on instinct, you both tilt your heads, finding a better angle for him to kiss you slowly, lazily. And then he grabs your waist with his free hand and pulls you closer to him, breathing in your little gasp. “Ñuha sīmontan,” he whispers upon parting. Then he releases you from his gentle hold and steps back.

You cannot keep him to yourself this day, he’s promised to tend to his mother before continuing his studies with the maester, and you must return to Helaena’s company as her favored lady-in-waiting.

AEMOND KNEELS BEDSIDE and wakes you with the cool brush of his fingertips against your cheek. “Come to bed, jorrāelagon,” you murmur, catching his mismatched gaze of lilac and sapphire in the dim firelight of the dwindling sconces. But he makes no move to join you; instead, he offers his hand —and his heart.

Rousing, you don a dressing gown and cloak and follow your rogue prince through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep and into a courtyard below, where Ser Criston waits with a saddled black destrier. The kingsguard knight passes the reins to Aemond with a curt nod before taking his leave to return to his post at the Queen’s door. Aemond helps you up into the saddle, then mounts behind you and takes the reins, turning westward. It’s common for the two of you to steal away for the night, but seldom do such trysts occur without prior thought. You glance over your shoulder. “Where are we going at this hour?”

His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back flush against his chest. “Se hūra,” Aemond replies, a gentle whisper in your ear.

King’s Landing fades on the horizon as you ride to the south and towards the Kingswood. He slows the horse to a halt at the edge of a clearing surrounding one of the largest oak trees in the swath of forest. Burning lanterns hang from the lowest branches, and an altar bearing miniature stone likenesses of the Seven stands before the great trunk.

Aemond eases you from the saddle, then dismounts himself and offers the crook of his arm. You glance around and to the stars and moon above —the clouds from earlier have parted to a clear night sky— before looking up at the prince. A flutter starts in your belly, and your heart begins beating faster. It isn’t, you tell yourself. He wouldn’t break tradition so easily. “Is this where you disappeared to earlier?” You query, wondering how many days and nights he’s spent planning this moment, but he does not offer an answer.

When you reach the altar, he steps before you and takes your hands. “I like to think I am a man of my word,” Aemond starts, and you can see the nervous twinkle in his eye. “I would make you mine tonight,” he tells you. “Now and forever.” He promised when you were only children that you’d be his princess one day, and again when you were both of age and realized simple friendship could not account for the way you loved one another. The tears pricking at your eyes are ones of joy, and you smile for Aemond before embracing him, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

From the shadows, Septon Eustace emerges, a marriage cape draped over his arm and a lantern held aloft in the other. Part of you refuses to believe this is happing —you’ve scarcely dreamt of something so sweet as this moment. Eustace bows his head. There is no need for ceremony or rambling to appease the masses. Tonight it is only two young lovers, desperate and eager to speak the sacred vows before it is too late.

“We are here to join these two as man and wife in the sight of the Seven,” he begins, looking between you and the prince and the carved figurines of the Seven on the altar. You grip Aemond’s hand, fingertips pressing into his wrist. “One flesh, one heart” —his heart is racing, just as yours is, almost in sync— “one soul, now and forever.” And forever shall come too soon.

“Cloak the bride, my prince.” The septon extends his arm, offering the black cape emblazoned with the sigil of House Targaryen, embroidered with silver thread and shining ruby eyes. “Bring her under your protection.” Aemond takes the cloak and steps behind you —his uneven breaths fan across the nape of your neck— draping the heavy fabric over your shoulders. The new weight makes you stand taller, as a princess of the realm should.

Septon Eustace lowers his head as Aemond returns to your side and reaches for your shaking hand, but his touch nigh instantly soothes your nerves and heart. “In the name of the Seven, I seal these two souls” —the septon wraps a red silk ribbon around your joined hands— “binding them as one for eternity,” he states, taking a step back. “Now look upon one another and say the words.”

You glimpse Aemond, gaze following the sharp line of his jaw, before shifting to face him. “Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger,” you and Aemond say in unison, gazes locked and unfaltering —his cold gaze softens, reflecting the lanterns and stars. You take a slow breath before reciting the vows you’ve only ever dreamt of speaking. “I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days,” you proclaim. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days, Aemond echoes.

“It is done then,” the septon says, bowing his head as he unbinds the silk ribbon. “I wish you both happiness and good health.” Eustace looks to Aemond. “My prince” —then his gaze flits over to you— “princess.” A flutter of wings stirs in your belly hearing your new title, another promise Aemond had made good on. And then Septon Eustace takes his leave.

Alone, you reach for him and rise on your toes to bestow a kiss just below his sapphire eye, along the scar cutting across his cheek. “Husband,” you call him, giddy with the thought and what it means for the future.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours, lips curved into a smile. “Say it again,” he breathes, the words a soft caress against your lips and cheek. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hearing his name and titles in your soft, lilted voice.

“Valzȳrys,” you whisper, remembering the Valyrian word for ‘husband’ —you came across it while reading a book about the traditions of Old Valyria with him in the library.

“Ābrazȳrys,” he calls you. Another title added to an ever-growing list of endearments: Wife. Princess. My love. Rose. Aemond cups your face in his hands and brings your lips together. The kiss is sweet and soft, not lesser, or more than any other you’d shared in secret, only now, he is more than your dear prince.

IT’S NOT DIFFICULT to keep your marriage to Aemond a secret. You both carry on as you always have in the eyes of the court, but your husband takes to the secret passageways of the Red Keep to spend the evening and night hours with his new wife —always gone by morning, though. No one, save for Lyra and perhaps Helaena, suspects a thing.

And so your father continues his search for a suitable man to marry his daughter. He calls upon you to take lunch in the gardens with him and hear the good news. “You’re to meet Humfrey Swyft in a week's time,” Lord Wylde announces. House Swyft is a knightly house of the Westerlands, sworn to House Lannister. A good name. A good house. A good match. But as your father speaks, your heart begins to race —pounding in your ears like the war drums of the Giants. “He has asked to seek your hand in courtship.” And marriage.

“I cannot accept this match, father,” you tell him, eyes downcast and gaze focused on your hands —folded in your lap. Lord Wylde’s brows settle into a deep furrow. He raised you as a proper lady of the court, talented in womanly affairs and always dutiful. Despite your newfound happiness, it is still painful to be a disappointment to your father and house.

“I am wed to another.” Your voice trembles as you speak the truth, and your father’s face turns red with anger. But you go on. Lord Wylde is a devout follower of the Seven, and perhaps it will ease his heart and curb his temper to know you had not done something so reckless on a whim. “Septon Eustace and the Seven will attest to my vows.”

“To whom are you married, daughter?” He knows the answer already, deep down —and knows the whispers which entertain the servants and other members of the court about his daughter and the prince are true. You look up from your glass of sweet wine, seeing Aemond approach through the hedges —a prince come to rescue his lady wife— and give a quiet sigh of relief.

“Me,” Aemond says before you can speak his name. “And we did so with the Queen’s blessing.” You look to your husband, just as surprised as your father upon hearing it. Though, at least it soothes your heart to know Good Queen Alicent looked upon your union with her son favorably.

“You need not worry for her happiness or prosperity, my Lord Wylde.” Aemond rounds the table and reaches for your hand to kiss your knuckles, his lips pulling into a smile against your flesh. “I will honor her as all good husbands honor their wives.” His cool gaze flits from your father back to you, a new, unspoken promise shining in his eye. Now, always, and forever.

High Valyrian Translation: Iā Zaldrīzes's Prūmia - A Dragon’s Heart Sīmontan. - Rose. Nyke jaelagon ao. - I want you. Se hūra. - The moon. Ñuha sīmontan. - My rose. Jorrāelagon. - Love. Valzȳrys. - Husband. Ābrazȳrys. - Wife.

[House of the Dragon taglist: @batmomphd / @beelanie / @certifiedlittleshit / @crispmarshmallow / @crvshnburnn / @dollvi3e / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @fictionaldistraction / @gallimaufrea / @hc-geralt-23 / @holysmokesblog / @idkjj04 / @instabull / @javisjeanjacket / @katie007123 / @ksziggy / @lady-stark-winter-rose / @lillianastras / @lostingoogletranslate / @lucyhotchner / @midnightmuze / @mikariell95 / @misskatiewrites / @moonlightsspirit / @moshpot24x / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @m1ndbrand / @nenelysian / @nerdy4itall / @newtsniffles / @notbrookie / @paprikabadger / @purestxblood / @qhbr2013 / @safe-within-the-stars / @sandronebabyy / @sapphirehearteyes / @savagemickey03 / @schniiipsel / @singular-itae / @thewintersnoozer / @watercolorskyy / @xcallmetaniax / @xinyourdreamsx / @xxgarden / @23victoria ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my House of the Dragon taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #aemond stannies #my writing #setting: sometime before Viserys died and Aemond does *that*#if my high valyrian is wack im sorry #im trying to build my own dictionary for it

1K notes · View notes

fushipurro · 1 month

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Chapter 2 - Synched Spirits

<- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter (wip) ->

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, cowboy!au, fluff smut & a bit of angst in between, guns, mentions of blood, pet names, creampie, anal, threesome (f/m/m), gangs

☆ Word Count: 5.4k

“So, you must be Clementine then, huh?”

The palomino huffs back, examining you with big brown eyes. Her ears flicker with interest, no doubt curious to the strange new human holding taking her by the lead to the other end of town. You can’t blame her for being wary, you’d feel the same if your beloved companion left you for another so you can only imagine how she and your Valentine are feeling right now.

She’s not the only one cautious of you. It’s hard not to miss the many townsfolk eyeing you down, what with how last night went. Between the robbery and your duel, everyone’s on high alert for the foreseeable future.

One would like to believe they’d be more grateful you didn’t outright kill the guy. Maybe they wouldn’t care so much if you were a man instead of a natural born, gunslingin’ woman, but sucks to suck. That drunken fool is lucky you decided to be nice and let him off with just a mangled hand. Had it happened after Valentine was stolen, the results would have been much different.

You hitch Clementine up outside the gun store, pushing past the door and greeting the shopkeeper. They’re about the only person so far today not afraid of you, but in all fairness, he’s the one with a dozen guns an arm’s length away.

“Lookin’ for anything in particular, Ma’am?”

You hum in response, scanning the available goods displayed out across the various shelves. There’s plenty of ammunition for a good price; wouldn’t hurt to replenish your pistol stocks after that duel. You decide on a few, bringing them over to the checkout counter.

“I’ll take these and…” Glancing up behind the clerk, there’s several cabinets containing an assortment of larger weaponry. A little voice creeps up from the back of your head offering a wonderful idea. “…maybe a rifle, depending on what ya have.”

He turns his back to you, unlocking one of the many units. Across the empty counter in front of you, he places down a few options, naming them as he goes, “Rolling Block, Varmint, Springfield, Bolt Action…take your pick.”

You’re instantly drawn to the Rolling Block, a girthy beauty that screams power and fine craftsmanship. “How’s the firepower on this one?” you ask, lifting the weapon up to better examine.

“You won’t find much competition with that one,” he tells you, and that’s exactly what you like to hear.

If someone dares to so much as think they can get away with stealing your horse, then you’re sure as hell going to track them down and put a gaping hole right where their heart should be. That black-haired outlaw better watch his back if he knows what’s coming. Once all is said and done with, Calamity Jane will be needing a new nickname after you usurp that throne.

“How much?”

“$187 even, Ma’am.”

Tch, that’s steep. And more than you have on hand thanks to the rest being buried in Valentine’s satchel.

You sigh, begrudgingly looking over the rest of the artillery. “How about the rest?”

“The Varmint here is our cheapest at $72 if you’re goal is hunting rabbits and other small game; otherwise the Springfield is our next cheapest at $120.”

You replace the Rolling Block in your hands with the Springfield Rifle, trying it out just like you did with the former. It’s lighter in weight with less range on the scope, but the clerk assures you that with some express or high velocity bullets, distance won’t be an issue.

“I’ll take this then.” You pass a billfold to the clerk, seething once again over why you’re doing this to begin with. Money’s hard to come by in this day and age, as far as legal opportunities go for someone like you. So help that bastard if he finds the rest of your stash and decides to take that for himself.

Leaving the store with your new weapon in hand, you’re quick to notice a gathering of lawmen outside the Sheriff’s office just across the street. A dozen uniforms with an equal number of horses all geared and ready to go.

“Who’s the Sheriff around here?” you call out, approaching the group.

“That would be me, Miss.” The crowd parts, making room for a young, white-haired man. “Sheriff Satoru Gojo. How may I be of service to you on this lovely day?”

You scoff, This guy? He’s clean as a whistle. Even the star on his chest could be mistaken for a mirror with how much he’s shined it.

Any other time and his equally bright smile might feel akin to fresh rain in the New Austin desert, but currently, it’s more like greeting the sun after a wicked night in the saloon.

“I’d like to know what’s being done about those thieves from last night.”

His blue eyes wander your figure up and down. Curious, but invasive. “You’re not with the bank, are you?”

Does it look like I’m wearing a suit or a fancy dress?

“My horse was stolen by one of those bastards and I intend on getting her back. Today,” you hiss impatiently.

Giving attitude to a man of the law may not be the smartest decision lest you desire a night behind bars, but to be fair, you have every right to be pissed given the circumstances. Had they have been competent in their line of work, then the criminals wouldn’t have gotten as far as they had or even been able to leave town in the first place.

It’s infuriating.

And the nonchalant nature of this man only pisses you off further.

“You’re in luck then, Miss…?”

You reply to the man with your name, sternness evident in your tone.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he remarks, earning a glare of disapproval from you that he shrugs off with a laugh. “My deputies and I are heading out on a lead if you want to sit tight inside.”

You place a hand over your hip, all nice and sassy with your face anything but. “I’d rather come with y’all than sit on my ass.”

Satoru takes the lead of a pristinely clean cremello stallion, its fur almost as perfectly white as the hair on its rider’s head. “I won’t stop you, but…” He pauses, hoisting himself up and over the saddle effortlessly, showing off those long legs of his. “…it could be dangerous.”

You pat the gun holster attached to your hip, just another way of showing that you’re anything but the normalcy ‘round here. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

The rim of his darkly colored cattleman hat dims his facial expression as he hunches down over the horn of the saddle, but not the light coming from that toothy grin stretching ear to ear.

“I don’t doubt that for a second, I’m aware of the duel that occurred last night.”

“Good, so then you know I mean business,” you warn, not once wavering from the eye contact with Satoru.

He outstretches his hand, beckoning for you to accept. “Of course. You want to ride up here with me then so we can get going?”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you respond, pointing your thumb behind you at Clementine. “This girl will do just fine.”

“Didn’t steal her, I hope?” he teases in an effort to lighten the situation. It doesn’t necessarily work as you roll your eyes the moment your back turns on him. From there, you and the rest of the deputies mount up to leave town, destination unknown.

You hunker back from the rest of the posse, allowing the mare to instinctively follow while you take in the surrounding sights. You had come to this town from a different path than the one you’re marching on now, but given the view, you’ll for sure find yourself adventuring out here again in the future. The settlers here picked a beautiful spot to build the city of Valentine on. In the distance lie snow-kissed peaks and plateaus in nearly every direction, a wide-open prairie, and now the freshwater stream trailing at your side.

The stream runs clear as crystal, giving you an easy view of all the trout and pike that call it home. Measly shadows darting around in search of food and the ducks swimming along the surface. Sunlight catches on all the ripples, reflecting a dazzling lightshow of effects.

“So… what brings you to our fair city?”

You turn to your opposite side where Satoru and his majestic stallion ─ Mugen as you’ve come to discover its name to be ─ are nestled up at your side, stirrups annoyingly clashing with utter disregard for personal space.

“Do I need a reason or permission to come?”

“Well, no,” he pouts, “but as Sheriff I like to know who all is coming and going.” He further invades your bubble by leaning over in front of your line of sight, leather scrunching with every motion. “Besides, you’re an interesting change to the usual visitors. How could I not be curious?” he adds pointedly.

You sigh, giving in to his questioning. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy after all, compared to the horse thief you’re eagerly waiting to meet later. Satoru’s merely caught you on a bad day is all.

“I’m just a traveler like any other,” you drawl, a seldom undertone in your voice. “I used to call Tall Trees home, but that’s long in my past.”

“Bear country, huh?” He whistles out of surprise. “No wonder you’ve got the balls of one.”

“You could say that.” An amused huff leaves you. “Hunting bears is what ensured our survival up around Aurora Basin,” you explain, looking off in the direction of the mountains you at one point called home. “Had to watch our asses at all times to avoid Brumas or Lobo’s pack always hanging around our house.”

“Brumas?”

“Yeah, she’s a local legend in those parts. ‘A giant clad in golden fur.’” You exaggerate with your hands the sheer size of the bear. “Many doubt her existence, but my dad and I saw her firsthand one winter while hunting elk. Barely made it out intact but we made sure to leave her with a memorable scar on her face.” The memory of that day pulls the edges of your lips upwards.

“It's kill or be killed,” the words of your father sound in your head. “Either you stand your ground and fight back, or you won’t survive in this world.”

As they say, there’s always a method to the madness. Grizzly hunting as a kid is what geared you up to take no shit from others today. Especially for a lone woman carving her way through the frontier, you need to have the balls of a bear as the man next to you so sweetly described.

“Yikes,” Satoru grimaces at the fierce display of your nature stretching across your face. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Help me get my horse back today in one piece and you won’t have to worry.” You wink.

“By my honor as Sheriff of Valentine, I will get your steed back.” He pulls a semi-auto pistol from his belt, twirling it around his finger like you’d find in those animated photographs big cities always show off. The cocky cowboy, slick as could be with the metallic extension of themselves. “I’m the strongest, after all.” He winks back.

You have to hand it to him; he knows how to make an insufferable day a little less so; like a chaser you’d have following some throat-burning liquor. All it took was just some conversation and fond thoughts to get you back in the right mindset.

A pungent smell wafts your way sooner down the path, the luscious greens of the shrubbery abruptly turn to charred remains covering the expanse of land before you. A thin boundary of life and death.

“Forest fire?” you question rhetorically at first, but Satoru offers an answer.

“Kinda, we’re approaching what used to be a town by the name of Limpany.” He pauses, exhaling a discontent sigh. “Burned to the ground last year along with the rest of what you see.”

Kinda?

“Do you know how it started?”

There’s another brief pause, enough to shift the atmosphere in an awkward direction. You aim your head at Satoru, finding his downcast expression and a bittersweet smile. He brushes his fingers through Mugen’s mane, finding comfort with his trusted familiar.

“Since you told me your story, I’ll tell you some of mine,” he begins, taking in a focused breath. “My best friend and I were once deputies together, our sights set on becoming the sheriffs of a town no one would dare mess with thanks to our presence.” A flicker of remorse passes through the depths of his blue orbs. “We had a job that went sideways, and it wasn’t the same for us after.”

“How so?”

“I went on to become sheriff like we originally planned, but Suguru started to pull back and decided on going home to Limpany for a while.”

A pit in your stomach forms, giving you a sinking suspicion as to where this story could go. Considering his mood, the destination ahead, and the reveal of someone important to his life, there appears to be more to this as a whole than just a bank robbery. Nevertheless, you allow him to speak freely.

“Suguru discovered some serious corruption going on in the town by its people. In response, he ended up decimating nearly the entire town in one night, sparing no one. From that day forward, he became a wanted criminal in the eyes of the law.”

You wonder what could have been so severe to require that much lethal force, but at the same time if you were in his shoes, you might make the same choices. It wouldn’t be that far off on things you’d do considering how you decided to get back at the men who stole the lives of your parents.

Now here you are sympathizing with the man you’re hunting for your own personal vendetta. Oh how the tables have turned once you see the other side.

“I take it this Suguru is your gold thief?”

He sighs, “Unfortunately, that looks to be the case.” As you already expected to hear.

The town comes into sight, and with that, an end to your conversation. You’re surprised to see that despite the raging inferno that had occurred, buildings remain standing all along the settlement. Crumbling and disregarded, but still feasibly sturdy.

Smoke still hovers in the air as nature has yet to blossom and overtake the land once more. Maybe once spring has truly set in, new life will occur in its wake. So far, It’s quiet, but that may not necessarily be a good sign. Satoru orders his men to disperse throughout the town, going door to door in search of any signs of the gang.

The two of you hitch your horses out front of what used to be the Limpany Sheriff’s Department. The lettering on the building has long since faded from the flames but remains legible to a degree. Next door however is a jailhouse that stands without issue, and scarce of any blemishes. While Satoru is occupied with the main building, you decide to check out what lies beyond the iron door. There’s a click as you pull the safety of the gun, cautiously opening the door and ready for whatever lies inside.

Come to find out, it’s empty. The eeriness of the room sets off a trail of goosebumps down your spine. There’s smoke damage on the walls inside, but elsewhere nothing is damaged as far as you can tell. One of the locked cells houses two adult skeletons shackled to the wall. The bones of their wrists still nestled between the cuffs. The cell across somehow felt more ominous. The door is opened, leading to an empty room which in itself isn’t a cause for concern, but the scattered loot tells a different story. You bend down to pick up once such piece.

Is this… a child’s shoe?

Your eyes widen.

No doubt that one, but multiple children were being held in this very cell for reasons unknown. Is this what Suguru had come home to find…?

“Surprised? I know I was when I first saw this.”

His voice startles you, causing your sudden turn to meet him. “Satoru, what is this?”

“Corruption,” he answers bluntly.

What a cruel world this can be to live in. And with that thought, you can’t blame Suguru for crossing that threshold of sin.

A commotion sparks up outside, drawing both of you to the door. “Sheriff, come quick!” One of the deputies calls out. You get up to follow Satoru out as the two of you are led to another section of town where lawmen have quickly begun to circle. “It looks like they camped here and left this morning! There’s fresh hoofprints everywhere too.”

“Mount up!” Satoru shouts confidently, “They couldn’t have gotten far, let’s not waste any more daylight here!”

You’re about to whistle for your horse off muscle memory when you immediately have to remind yourself that she wouldn’t be able to hear your call.

They don’t prepare you for these things.

Valentine is all you have left right now. Losing her is like losing family. As much as you find yourself resonating with Suguru, the fact remains that you’re heartbroken without her. Hopefully she’s safe and the two of you will be reunited again soon. You brush the thoughts, running off with Satoru before galloping off with the rest of the posse.

The roads outside Limpany aren’t the most well-travelled, so for any decent enough tracker, the thousand-pound impressions in the dirt are easy enough to spot. There’s evidence a wagon or two may have joined the group, all leading down the Dakota river towards the Upper Montana. Trees quickly become scarcer as you enter this new area thanks to logging companies, making it easier to see everything in front of you but at the same time, everyone can see you as well.

The group stops short of a tree line near the river to use as cover. Up ahead lies a small home and barn to match looking all too lively and full for its size. A fatal flaw in their attempt at laying low, but one you’re thankful for. Pulling out a pair of binoculars from your satchel, you investigate the scene. There’s a long, gray-haired man and another shorter bald guy walking around, weaponry in hand, and several more interesting characters around. Among the dozen horses grazing from their posts, none are Valentine.

“Are those the men we’re looking for?”

“Looks like it,” the white-haired man sighs, tightening the grip on his own pair of binoculars. “I see some other wanted faces the Outlaw Killer was looking into.”

“The Outlaw Killer?” you scoff, quirking a brow. Interesting title that speaks for itself.

“Yeah,” he snickers. “He’s a crazy bounty hunter. You’d know him if you saw him, I’m sure. Grouchy asshole that only ever wears black ─ hell, I think all his guns and even his lasso are the same color.” He rolls his eyes and an image of the blacked-out stallion and its flirt of an owner came to mind from the night before. So much for a bad temperament.

“Good to know,” you hum, raising your new rifle from its holster, taking aim at the gray-haired man first on instinct.

“Woah woah woah, what are you doing?” Satoru’s urgent voice fills your ear.

“What’s it look like?” you calmly reply, “I’m gonna pick them off one by one.” The safety clicks just as the man reaches out with a hand on the barrel to low the gun.

“I’m itching to get this done with as much as you are, but I’d like to arrest them, not kill.”

You click your tongue out of annoyance, “What’s your plan then, Sheriff?”

“Let’s just get a little closer and see what more we can learn first. It won’t do us any good if they’ve stashed the gold, and I doubt they’ll tell us anyways.”

He has a point, sadly. For now, you’ll just have to go along with it. You lean on the reins with a tap of your heel to guide Clementine. “Have it your way, but just remember that I’m not the one wearing a silver star.”

“Hey if this goes well, I’m more than happy to give you one.” He smiles, following your lead with the rest of his men. Once again, he’s got Mugen right up at your side, hunched over the saddle to see your face. “You’re just the kind of attitude we could use; that and I’m enjoying your company.” You roll your eyes but the faint smile tugging at your lips gives you away all too easily.

Being a deputy isn’t something you’ve had in mind before given your sense of exploration and all, but another way one could view it is imagining it as a means of settling down somewhere. An ever-growing supply of work paired with using your favorite set of skills to earn money; all and all giving you stability and a place to call home if you ever decide that’s what you want in life.

It's worth thinking about if he’s serious. A second option to consider on top of Kento’s.

To avoid spooking the gang, you and the rest of the posse tie the reins of your mounts to some trees a few yards back from the tree line closer to the homestead. From there, it’s all about maintaining a stealthy approach. Plenty of shrubbery dots the property, so even with the lack of tall standing trees, you’re able to keep as low a profile as you can without inciting a shootout. The rest of the men can have their fun with their hunt for gold or apprehending dangerous individuals. Your first and foremost objective is securing Valentine.

Since she’s not outside, one can only assume she’s in the barn out of sight. It’s a good size, but in desperate need of some TLC as you learn the moment some rotted wood snaps cleanly off with a simple tug. You crawl through from the back, entering the structure into a bed of hay. Looking up from the ground, you quickly find that it’s not just you stuck in a 12x12 box.

A familiar tobiano paint stands proudly, turning his head in your direction. Beautiful black and white markings cover the gelding with a splash of white on one side of its face revealing a sole blue eye. The other eye is a rich shade of brown, surrounded by black fur.

“Good boy,” you whisper to the horse, hoping to not frighten him or anyone else that may be inside to your presence. He eyes you back with a huff and some widened eyes, but thankfully their ears move in attentive patterns rather than that of aggression.

You measle around to the front of the stall, managing to swoon him with your pets between soft whispering coos. “I should steal you and show him how it feels. You want that, big guy?”

A high-pitched whinny pierces the air, drawing your eyes to your long-lost Valentine one stall over. She stomps her foot aggressively, but her warning comes all too slow before the stall door flings open. Before you can reprimand yourself for being snuck up on, let alone draw your gun, the opposing force already has their own aimed nearly point blank.

“My, I didn’t expect anyone to check here first, let alone wish to steal Uzumaki from me?”

You turn slowly towards the man you’ve been wanting to see all night and day. The same silky-haired bastard that made off with your mare. He stares you down the iron sight of a Cattleman’s revolver, holding a salacious grin as he takes amusement in this whole ordeal.

“I think it’s only fair, seeing as you stole my own horse after your little escapade in town last night.” Unlike his suave tones, your voice is laced with the venom of a diamondback rattlesnake. Just because he has you cornered, doesn’t mean you’re any less dangerous than a pit viper itching to strike.

The sound of gunfire alerts you both to the events unfolding outside the shabby walls of the stable, all with the shouting of a dozen men. The sliding door to the entrance of the barn opens with a bang, and the outlaw is quick to draw up a second revolver at the new arrival.

“Suguru, put your guns down.” Satoru says, trying to mask the hints of pain and grief beneath a stoic demeanor.

On the other end, Suguru is cheerful and keeps his sight set on the other with a cheshire smile. “Satoru~ long time no see.”

You clear your throat, reminding the two of your third wheeling presence. “Nice reunion and all, but you’re outnumbered here.”

“That may be.” he pauses, rolling his head in your direction once more. “But I’m holding the guns here so it’s up to you both to decide how you want to walk out of here.”

Funny how things ended up working out after that.

Between some more bickering, monologues, thundering hooves, and dwindling gunfire, who knew a simple suggestion to “kiss and make up” would lead to you being sandwiched between them in one of the empty available stalls occupying square bales of hay to use as surfacing.

Straw digs into your back annoyingly, but the pleasure of two cocks in either end transition you to a state of euphoria. Muffled whimpers fail to escape, instead warping around Satoru buried deep in your throat. It’s long, veiny, and curves in all the right directions. His hands find comfort over the mound of your breasts, kneading into the flesh with each thrust.

You can’t see it, but those breathtaking blue eyes look in awe of your figure adorned with a sheen of sweat and the sight of Suguru’s cock disappearing into your perfect little pussy. “So pretty,” he purrs, noting how you’re glowing brighter than any star could hope to achieve, silver or not.

Suguru’s hands brand the dipping of your hips with a bruising grip, rutting into you with his especially girthy extension. Each jerk of his body hits right into a sweet spot bringing you ever closer to undoing the knot at the base of your core.

They both momentarily pause as you begin to unravel, choking out cries that leave Satoru reeling with pleasure from the tightness of your throat. Suguru feels it too. Your gummy walls encasing around him in erratic motions. The two of them aren’t far away from their own release.

The sounds each make only serve to keep the wings of your pussy fluttering for more. Irresistibly charming, and all the more passionate given the shared history they share, and you now caught in the middle.

Suguru leans forward over you, cupping Satoru’s cheek to draw him closer, crashing their lips together in a messy embrace. That one action forces each to come undone, painting both ends of you so perfectly white. They pull out, savoring the whining noise you release from the loss. The black-haired man takes a moment to admire how you clench around nothing and the cum gushing out like a waterfall of love.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Suguru asks, and both Satoru and you simultaneously answer positively making him chuckle all low and honey-like.

“You’re doing so well, but we’re not done just yet…” Both men exchange a look, as if reading one another’s mind. Soulmatism at its finest. “Well, Satoru?”

“It’s been too long, Suguru,” he responds gleefully. Satoru then proceeds to lift your tiring body up and onto his lap, making you straddle him as the other comes around into your view. “Ready for more, princess?”

“Less talk, more stuffing,” you scoff, taking it upon yourself to line his tip with your eager cunt, graciously accepting him into the depths beyond what Suguru could reach.

“You heard the pretty lady, Satoru,” the other whispers into his ear, nibbling the lobe as he slowly thrusts up into the man. The slick coating his shaft that you provided just moments ago make for a smooth entry, earning a deep fulfilling rumble from Satoru.

His fingers slid up your thighs and over the curves of your body, pressing into the plush to bounce you on him. You saw plenty before of the cobweb of veins that marble his cock, but feeling the ridges trailing along your insides leaves you breathing out such sinful sounds. He works it like the most formal of fountain pens, writing poetry on velvet walls that could put even Shakespeare to shame.

“Fuuh-uck,” you murmur, burying your face in the crook of Satoru’s neck, shamelessly letting him contort your body however he desires. Your arms wrap tightly around his neck and hair, locking him in against your bare chest.

“Now now, don’t go hiding yourself,” Suguru says between disheveled breaths, trying not to let his pace falter as he urges your face up. He overtakes your lips, mixing sloppy kisses with nips across your bottom lip.

Satoru uses this chance to pepper your open neck with marks fashioned all in his name, biting down with more force each time his lover hits that sweet spot inside. He can feel not only his own chest tighten, but his balls as well.

Suguru breaks the kiss, but only to push the two in front of him down. The weight of Satoru comes down over you, taking your mouth against his and soaking up the taste of all the combined flavors. Suguru unleashes powerful thrusts into Satoru that force him in and out of your own body as he chases his high.

“You missed me this much, Suguru?” He gazes over his shoulder, smiling as he tries to form cock-drunk words. “S-so much more aggressive than usual, f-feels good.”

“Not a day goes by where I don’t see a reminder of you.” You can just barely make out the seldom, yet saccharine face Suguru makes, your own vision clouded with a hazy white. “It’s just like the old days with o-our new friend here.”

“Our princess here is taking us so well, isn’t she?”

“She is,” he says, and you feel feather-light touches come over your thighs that attempt to coil around Satoru for closeness. “You’re such a good girl, I bet you want to cum, don’t you?” You feverishly nod, unsure how much longer you can hold out.

“Come on, baby.” A finger moves over your clit drawing star-shaped patterns until that’s all you’re able to see. “T-that’s it,” he drawls, following soon after.

Hot ropes of cum spill out inside you once more, making a beautiful cocktail of three. Suguru mercilessly ruts into Satoru until he himself finishes, savoring the feeling he’s long since missed and relishing in the new ones you’ve brought him.

Satoru’s body relaxes leaving you trapped underneath. You take the time to brush your fingers through his hair as you come down off your high, feeling yourself ground to the Earth in the process.

Suguru pulls out, leaving a chaste kiss to you both. His delicate fingers push the hair of your face, admiring the beauty of your afterglow. You close your eyes, soaking up the feeling of one another, completely oblivious to anything else.

Well, almost oblivious.

“It’s been fun seeing you again and meeting such a lovely new woman,” Suguru starts. You open your eyes and Satoru as well to see Suguru dressed and mounted atop the tobiano. “I’ve got to get home before my daughters begin to worry. See you around sometime.” He winks, galloping out of the stable before either of you can say another word.

Satoru stands up, exhaling a defeated sigh. The plan to arrest Suguru ended up with the two of you being detained by love. Both his gang and the gold are long gone to wherever his hideout lies.

Satoru helps you up, cleaning you off as best he can before readying the horses, and yes, that means yours too.

Valentine is home, back with her family.

You.

As you sit atop her on route back to the city of Valentine, you feel a discomfort in your clothes and the crunching of parchment to follow. The source of which is a pamphlet courtesy of Suguru, detailing drawings and hints on how if you’re interested, you can use these clues to find him and his camp of outlaws.

And so, a third opportunity for your future presents itself, but that’s for the future. For now, the only thing on your mind is a steak dinner. Here’s hoping the Butcher has finished his job.

☆ Notes: KFC breakup – saloon edition

Fr this chapter was hard for me to write. I love satosugu but I’m not confident in writing them just yet :( I cursed myself so many times and had to close to document. march weather also has got me not feeling too well so that sucks.

I was kinda stumped how to transition from gunpoint to dickpoint in a way that wasn’t so dubious or noncon so I hope you don’t mind me just skipping straight to the action :3 threesome smut is hard to write for me

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk au #cowboy!au #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #nanami kento #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

101 notes · View notes

notchainedtotrauma · 8 months

Text

The old people don't like it but we like it because we live there as our selves enacting imprint selfhood.

from Good Stock Strange Blood by Dawn Lundy Martin

#Dawn Lundy Martin #Good Stock Strange Blood #here is melancholy #surrounded by vulnerability

4 notes · View notes

theprettynosferatu · 6 months

Text

Unit Commander John Heinlein was a simple man. Above all, he valued order. Order kept the world safe, functional, understandable. Everyone and everything had its proper place and proper role: like different organs in a body, they all contributed to the overall health of society as long as they did what they were supposed to do and didn’t get any stupid ideas. In that gigantic body, John Heinlen was a fist, and stupid ideas were what he punched into oblivion. Reality was simple, and if it wasn’t, the higher-ups pointed him to the complication and he pummeled it back into simplicity.

As usual, intelligence was spotty. Why exactly this club was a Stupid Idea, John did not know nor did he care. What the informant had revealed was something about women going against their conditioning, although they had not revealed how or why. It seemed patently ridiculous to John Heinlein. Conditioned women were happy, and they made their men happy. Simple, proper. Everything in its natural place. If Fulgrim’s was messing with that, it deserved to be squashed.

Looking at the rest of the Unit, he felt sending them was perhaps a waste of resources. If the informant was correct, they would be facing women and whatever deviants might be attending off-hours, if any; but it was not his call to make, and he liked it that way. His purpose was to punch, not to decide who deserved to be punched.

The six men stood in front of the gaudy purple door. As much as he wanted to kick the door down and be done with it, John played it by the book. He made the signal to place the breaching device and got into the correct position, ingrained in him by hundreds of hours of training. Still, no matter how many times the device blasted the door open, John always felt underwhelmed. Part of him seemed to expect a big thunderous sound, instead of the measured, barely audible “pop” designed not to alert the criminals.

Like a perfect machine, they went in, weapons ready. They were all running on autopilot, relying on their modified genetics and exhaustive drilling. It took only a few seconds for them to reach the same, obvious conclusion. No threats present. Instead, two women stood by the door, as if expecting them. John felt a deep revulsion, something primal stirring within him. It was wrong.

The women weren’t blonde. They weren’t smiling. They didn’t seem pleasant, or demure, or bubbly. In fact, they looked like wolves on the prowl. One had blood-red hair, a leather corset, fishnet stockings and boots that ended in the sort of spiked heels that could kill a man. The other was, to John Heinlein, even worse. She seemed shy, wearing a short skirt and trying to cover up… but her eyes spoke of a deep hunger, a devious intelligence and a depraved longing he couldn’t quite place.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” said the redhead with mock gratitude. “You see, I’ve been trying to train this sweet little creature right here…” she added as her hand went under the other girl’s skirt. “But I’m afraid she needs a bit of… male guidance. A strong hand to show her the way”

John frowned. There was something strange in the air. A subtle smell he couldn’t fully detect. As he turned to ask his comrades about it, he noticed Johnson shifting his weight slightly. It was a small thing, but utterly out of place for a man of their training. And he could tell the women saw it too. Slowly, seductively the redhead walked toward Johnson, leading the other girl by her wrist. It was surreal, unsettling. But they couldn’t just open fire on females.

“Johnson, step away from the females, now!”, barked Commander Heinlein.

For the first time in his illustrious career, the Commander’s order went unheeded. He watched in horror as the petite woman placed a slender hand on the soldier’s chest and, with a look designed to melt hearts and break down barriers at the same time, pouted like a mischievous child.

“Please, Sir. I’ve been bad. So, so bad… Won’t you teach me? I’m a very good learner… if I’m put in my place”

Meanwhile, the woman in the spiked heels had gone around Johnson, and whispered in his ear as her hand caressed his perfectly sculpted abs and kept moving downwards…

“She can be so good… we both can be so good… but are you man enough to show us you can handle us? Tame us? Mold us into your perfect good girls?”

Johnson was breathing heavily, paralyzed by a million conflicting impulses. He had a job to do. He was a soldier. He was…

And just then, he broke. Johnson grabbed the smaller woman by the neck, and in a swift movement turned her around and bent her over. He couldn’t see the devilish smile on her face, but John Henlein sure did. There was victory in that lustful look, a triumph only magnified when, cock hard as metal, Johnson railed her from behind as hard as he possibly could, his mind gone in a frenzy of half-formed sentences and grunts, the redhead woman rubbing her pussy as she now shouted encouragement.

“Do it! Pound that little slut! Show her what she really is! Fucking break her like the stupid fuckdoll she dresses as! Punish that pussy with your cock! Make her scream for me… make her beg! Make. Her. Yours!”

“Johnson!”, shouted Heinlein in vain. The soldier was gone, and all that remained was a beast, a bundle of muscles determined to conquer the females before it, to claim them and mark them as his. And worse, whoever was behind it all remained unseen, deeper inside the club.

“Fuck! Everyone else! On me! We press on!”

“What about Johnson?”, asked a rookie soldier by the name of Phillips.

“We lost him! Now, move!”

They stormed the place, kicking down doors- no time to play it straight, as much as it pained Unit Commander John Heinlein, for whom standard procedure was akin to a biblical dogma. With every hallway they crossed, every room they breached, the air seemed to get heavier, denser somehow. Sweeter, perhaps.

They entered a room covered in black velvet. It caused a strange effect, almost as if the walls themselves devoured the light. And there, sitting in the middle of the room, long legs crossed, was another female. Like the ones before, she didn’t look like the blonde, obedient women that had undergone the mandatory conditioning. Horror gripped Heinlein. This person went against every conceivable notion of what a woman should be. Clad in a leather corset and thigh-high boots, she stared the five soldiers down with a look of disgust and clear disapproval. Even the sight of their guns was to her just another gauche shortcoming, one in a very long list of inadequacies clamored without words by her deep, green eyes.

“Did I say you could come in?”, she asked.

The question was ridiculous. They were Soldiers. They didn’t ask, they acted. And yet, two of Heinlein’s men started moving their heads, something between shaking off a creeping mental fog and answering the woman’s question. No, she had not said they could come in.

“Get on the ground, and-” started barking Heinlein before the woman cut him off.

“No. it’s not your turn to speak. You don’t talk unless I tell you to, is that clear?”

Unit Commander Heinlein froze. Her tone, firm, in total control, was something he recognized very well. For a moment he was a raw recruit again, undergoing basic training. A part of him, a part of all Soldiers knew to obey that sort of utterance, that confident command. It was part of the crucial training that made any warrior more than a brawler. It was the core of discipline. He knew, at that moment, they were all in grave danger.

“Now, that sort of rude entrance needs to be punished. You all know it, don’t you my toys? But I’ll be kind…ish. How about you start by being a pack of good dogs and kneel?”

Heinlein felt his legs almost give in. He managed to stay on his feet… barely. He watched as most of his squad went on their knees, their eyes wide, fixed on that beautiful woman, seeking every ounce of validation she could give them. Ready to obey.

“Crawl to me, pets”

They did. With a few words, she had made them love her. Adore her. Obey her. Their sense of duty twisted, molded, corrupted. And Heinlein felt himself wanting to join them, wanting so badly to be one of her favorite pets… no, her very favorite. The alpha of the pack. Perfect for her. Obedient for her.

It took a superhuman effort to turn away from her perfect silhouette, her beckoning curves, her voice of absolute command and dominion. The last thing he saw before sprinting away from that goddess of a woman was his once proud squad almost fighting like dogs for the privilege of kissing her heels. How he hated the fact that he wanted to join them…

He tried to push it all away as he ran through hallways, deeper into the club, down stairs, through room after room. Deeper and deeper… the air getting heavier and sweeter… his mind getting fuzzier…

How long did he run? How deep did he go? He couldn’t tell. Different themes passed him by like a blur, and he felt almost as if he was just running in place, the facility moving around him, assaulting him with perverted ideas, digesting him like some monstrous organism designed to destroy everything that was right and natural in the world… but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Stopping, he felt, would mean the end.

And then, he stopped.

The woman looked like no one he had ever seen. Every part of her seemed designed to short-circuit his understanding of reality, his very core, and he found himself frozen before her, his brain trying to catch up to what his eyes were seeing. She looked like something out of some strange, fae world: she wore her hair in dancing ponytails, one dyed blue, one pink. Her makeup was a striking mixture of neon colors punctuated by tiny drawn hearts scattered over a face that spoke at once of innocence and mischief. She had a single fishnet glove on, mismatched thigh-high socks, a pink and black nighty that hovered between dark and slutty and the most pure chastity… Even her eyes, he noticed, refused to follow any notion of order: one was a deep blue, while the other was an inhuman, alluring red. She was something he couldn’t comprehend, and yet couldn’t stop watching. She moved with a strange liquid freedom, as if gravity and anatomy were vague suggestions she very much didn’t intend to follow. And her smile… he couldn’t quite place what it was: it was joyful, yes, but also shy and yet it had a hint of a predator somewhere deep inside it…

“Oh, hi!” she chirped and bounced out of her purple sofa. “I was fingering myself!” she declared, almost with pride.

Unit Commander Heinlein found himself unable to respond. This… being was not a woman. Not as he understood them, at least. And yet he could feel something stirring inside, something he had forgotten about long, long ago…

“Who are you?”, she asked, her face becoming almost a caricature of confusion before snapping back into a jubilant smile. “I’m Alara! Nice to meet you!”

She ran to him. Normally such an action would call for tactical evasion, or a well-practiced takedown. Instead, Heinlein found himself frozen in place as the girl hugged him. She smelled sweet, like the air around them.

“Are you okay, dude?”, she asked with a look of genuine concern.

“I… this establishment has been deemed… unsuitable and against the… proper conditioning of females… get on the ground, and…”

“Ooooh, the ground? I can go to the ground for you, Daddy! Or do you prefer Sir? Or Joe? You know what? Joe it is! Is your name Joe? You look like a Joe to me. So, the ground! Ass up? Or maybe on my back, legs open? Which one do you want, Joe?”

Heinlein, whose first name was most certainly not Joe, watched as the girl seemed to flow from one pose to another: one second she was on all fours, looking over her shoulder with an inviting smile; the next she was on her back, legs open, her eyes shocked like a virgin about to feel a man inside her for the very first time… then she bounced back to her feet and pouted.

“Come on, Joe, make up your mind! Or do you want me to take charge? Wait! I should have it… here!”. The girl beamed, brandishing a gigantic, double-sided dildo. “Want me to use this on you, Joe? Come on, give me a little something to work with here!”

“Please stay still. Do you understand the situation? You have been… altered. You’re not a normal…”

“Normal? Normal?! Joe, how boring are you? Seriously, how many times can you fuck a blonde big-titty bimbo before it gets so fucking samey? Fuck ‘normal’, Joe! Let your freaky self out to play for once!”

“I do not have a freaky self”

Alara tripped on her own legs and landed sprawled on the carpeted ground before shooting Heinlein a look that might as well have been directed at a two-headed alien, before turning into an expression of pure, profound pity.

“Oh, Joe… of course you do! We all have our freaky sides… don’t think for a second they’ve drilled yours completely dead. It’s there… I can feel it. And so can you, can’t you? Growing inside you. Getting stronger. Don’t you get tired of following orders? Of everything being always in the same place? Of loving the same woman? The world isn’t like that, Joe! People aren’t like that! We are insane, contradictory, fucking twisted messes… and that’s perfect! Come on, Joe… don’t you ever think about doing… the wrong thing?”

Her words dripped inside his head like honey, so much so that he didn’t notice her approaching him, rubbing him through his pants as she playfully made him so confused, so mixed up, so fuzzy and…

“Mmmm… tell me Joe… what’s that thing you’d like to do, that wrong, wrong thing you dream of in the dark, swearing to yourself you’ll never say a word of it?”

“Non-regulation shoes”

His mouth had spoken before his brain had even registered it.

“Oh, don’t like the uniform shoes?”, she teased.

“Uncomfortable”, he mumbled.

“So… why don’t you take them off?”

“On mission. Tactical shoes. Reinforced. Useful”

“Are you going to tactically kick me, Joe? Of course not! No one would kick pretty little me… well, unless I asked… but not with those shoes! Who’s gonna know, Joe? No one’s gonna spank you for letting your feet out for a bit! So… take them off!”

“Can’t. On a mission”

“Oh, for fuck’s- come here, you big dummy”

Alara lunged for his shoes, and made a big show of pulling with all her might. Heinlein watched her, entranced.

“A little help here, Joe? These fucking things are tighter than your ass! I mean, I’m just guessing there”

He moved as if in a dream. He released the lock on one boot, then the other. Alara flew back, boot in hand, before jumping up, holding the black boot in the air like a trophy.

“Victory! Look, Joe! You have one boot off and the world hasn’t ended!”

It was true. He looked down at his feet. He had gone against standard procedure. In fact, he had flat-out broken a strict, simple rule. No one was screaming at him. Nothing bad had happened. If anything, he was overcome by childish elation. Suddenly, his world had shifted. Rules were words. Only that. No more solid than millions of other words spoken every single day.

“Sooooo? How do you feel, you rebel?”

“It’s… good”

Alara smiled and bent over.

“I’m guessing there’s a rule against using a suspect as a living fleshlight, isn’t there? A rule against pounding pussy when on a mission? A rule against using little me as your own personal, depraved fuckdoll?”

“There are many such rules”

“And how do you feel about them now?”

“I don’t give a fuck”

Her screams of ecstasy echoes through the entire club. She pushed him further, and he only growled and, for once, did exactly as he pleased. Alara could only cum, and cum again in victory. Every act was a testament to her triumph. He used her throat, not caring if she gagged, if she choked. He slapped her face and she laughed. He spit on her mouth, grabbed her neck, took her tight asshole. He came once deep inside her, but it wasn’t enough. Alara knew the aphrodisiac in the air gave some… special endurance as well, and she intended to see exactly how long they could go.

By the end her clothes had been ripped off her, her tits were covered in cum, her pussy pumped full three times, her ass abused, her buttocks red with spankings, her makeup ruined. And by the end, he had become anything but a Soldier.

The following day a meeting was called at the highest levels of the government. An elite unit had gone into Fulgrim’s, never to return.

They would have to take drastic measures if they hoped to contain the corruption now growing in their city.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

185 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 1 year

Text

I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader

Part 5

18+Only, MDNI, implied smut, eventual smut, biker gang, violence, aggression, boxing, street fighting, alcohol consumption, slow burn, mutual pining, mature themes, angst, jealous!Eddie, first kiss, brief mention of what reader is wearing, mention of blood.

Word count: 8.4k

Series Masterlist

In part 5, a new situation blossoms between your roommate Katie and Robin Buckley, while you get up the nerve to give Eddie a call. Eddie gets questioned by the police (Chief Hopper) and you go to your first Fight Night, where the adrenaline-fueled dramas are plentiful. You and Eddie finally enter new and intimate territory.

I do re-read these several times, but it's almost impossible for me to edit my own work, so I hope it's not too fraught with errors.

“Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?

Can he do to you the things that I do?

I can take you higher.”

______

Around 8 o’clock the next morning, Robin and Steve were moving around the kitchen, bumping into each other like zombies, making coffee and dolling out the ibuprofen into each other’s palms. They both had the day off, but Wayne would be dropping Oliver by soon, and they had to get ready to be semi-functioning parents again.

Their voices were just below a whisper though, and their footsteps light as they tried to step on the parts of the old floor that didn’t creak, doing their best not to wake Katie who was asleep on the sofa in the living room.

Steve found Robin leaning against the archway that separated the two rooms, staring at the form of a body all wrapped up like a burrito in a red and white quilt, facing the back of the sofa, the top of her head the only visible part of her body.

They both had coffee mugs in their hands, steam rising from the freshly poured brew.

Steve nudged Robin with his elbow, his voice nothing but a scratchy murmur. “Should I wake her?”

“Don’t you dare,” Robin returned, quickly. “It’s her spring break, let her have a few more minutes.”

Steve put the rim of his mug to his lips and took stock of Robin’s smile as she watched Katie twitch in her sleep.

About a half hour after Eddie left the night before, you started to hit a wall as far as socializing went, and asked Katie if she was ready to hit the road. Katie, Robin, and a couple others were just setting up a folding table to play a game of cards, but you could feel your eyes drooping and knew you wouldn’t make it much longer.

“She can sleep here,” Robin said to you, but then realized she might have jumped the gun, fueled by her own enthusiasm for the idea. She turned to Katie, “if you want to, that is. You can stay here with me...on me...on our couch, I mean.”

Katie wasn’t one to casually “crash” at people’s houses; she loved waking up in her own bed. But, she was having an incredibly good time, and she didn’t want you to have to be forced to stay sober and wait for her, so she took Robin up on her offer.

You wondered if Katie might regret her decision in the morning, based solely on the fact that she was three sheets to the wind, and waking up with a hangover in a strange house is never optimal, but the intense flirting going on between her and Robin gave you all the reasoning you needed.

There were a few times you noticed Steve flirting with Katie, but she would always gravitate back to Robin; it was a fascinating triangle that you enjoyed being a witness to.

Back at the house that next morning, Robin let out a heavy sigh, and lifted her eyes to Steve for a beat before directing them back to Katie on the couch. “I think I’m going to need to take this one off your hands, Dingus.”

Steve swallowed a sip that was a bit too hot and clicked his tongue, the sides of his mouth jerking down. “Oh, I figured as much.”

Robin knew she wouldn’t get much of a fight out of him. Sure, he was attracted to Katie, but she was currently just one out of many crushes and conquests he had going on. The fact that he knew what it was like to kiss her, and been inside of her, made Robin jealous more than anything, but the second she felt her affection for Katie reciprocated, all bets were off.

“Besides,” Robin murmured just as they heard Wayne’s truck coming up the driveway. “She has already drooled on my pillow. It’s meant to be.”

Fully awake and playing possum, Katie’s nose was pressed against the back of the sofa, and a huge smile spread across her face.

----------

Later that afternoon, Eddie had a truck on the lift at his garage, wrenching away under the hood in his coveralls, hair tied back, Faith No More belting out from the stereo, when one of the other mechanics called over to him: “Munson, we’ve got company.”

It didn’t scare Eddie that the police were here, but it annoyed him. Getting questioned by Chief Hopper was standard procedure whenever the Coffin Kings were involved with something---whether Eddie played a part in it or not.

It just so happened that this time, he had played a part. He hadn’t been involved in the actual hand off at the Illinois border, but he rode as protection, hired muscle to bulk up their numbers to deter other gangs from trying to infiltrate their run. He never asked too many questions mostly because, in this particular situation, ignorance was bliss. The trade off had gone as planned, but an informant had tipped off the police about the delivery, and that’s what Hopper was there about.

“Hey, Jim, how’s the family?” Eddie came out to the parking lot to meet him at his bronco, leading with the standard polite banter they always started out with. Any other police Chief would’ve sent an officer out to ask these questions, but Jim did it himself as a courtesy because he liked Eddie, and he’d known the kid since he was in high school.

Hopper had on his tan uniform and hat, silver hair dusting his temples and mustache. “Oh, you know, the wife keeps me busy,” he grinned, referring to Joyce Byers. “All the kids have families of their own now, so the holidays are a nightmare.”

“I bet.” Eddie said it like he understood, but he had no idea what it was like to have a big, extended family.

Jim put one hand on his hip and asked about Wayne and Oliver, and then he took a deep breath before asking if Eddie knew anything about the run the Coffin Kings did the night before, and the stash of guns missing from a local warehouse.

Eddie creased his forehead like he was considering the question, and then shook his head. “The guys come here to have their bikes worked on, but I don’t get involved in that other shit. My days as a criminal on the run are behind me.”

Jim looked relieved by the lie. “I figured as much,” he shifted the brim of his hat. “I still have to ask where you were last night, just for the sake of the paperwork.”

That next part was easy, because he didn’t have to make too much of it up. The barbecue went late and he crashed at Steve and Robin’s.

“They’ll confirm this?”

Robin knew the drill, he never had to wonder. He did have to admit though, the little white lies were getting to him. He wasn’t a fan of cops in general, in the first place, but Jim had always been decent to him. He was doing his best to move away from the outlaw world, but it had been a part of his life for so long, it had its claws in him.

Once the serious questions were over, they both relaxed back into the banter of two people who had known each other for over a decade and cared about each other as friends do. Jim headed around to the driver’s side of his bronco and Eddie kept pace with him.

“We’re hosting another Fight Night here this weekend,” Eddie told him, gesturing with a tilt of his chin to where they usually set the ring up at. “You should come, have a few beers. Bring Joyce.”

Hopper chuckled. “Joyce should get in the ring, she’d wipe the floor with all of you.”

“I have no doubt,” Eddie grinned, thinking about that tiny firecracker of a woman. “If I were a betting man, all of my money would be on her.”

Jim got in behind the wheel and shut the door, leaving his window down. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll check and see if my warden has other plans for me.”

They said their goodbyes, and Eddie stayed to watch him exit the compound, offering a wave as he went.

That night, Eddie came out of the shower and into the bedroom of his apartment enveloped in a cloud of steam, with nothing but a dark blue towel wrapped around his waist, and wet hair hanging down his shoulders. He gave the phone on the nightstand a cautious look when it started ringing, his mind racing with all of the people he did not want to hear from at that late hour.

When he finally picked it up just before the fourth ring with a suspicious and informal, “Yeah?” his heart stuttered in his chest to find out that the person at the other end of the line was you.

--------

“So, are you two a couple now?” You asked Katie once you got home from work to find her giddy about the new developments between her and Robin.

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Katie said from where she was at kitchen counter, washing lettuce for a salad. “But by lesbian standards, we’ll probably be moving in together next week.” It was a joke, of course, but there was also an element of truth there.

You sat down at the kitchen island to rest your chin on your fist. “I like you with Robin. Much better than Kelsey.” Kelsey was a long distance girlfriend that Katie had stayed faithful to for over a year before she realized that she was being cheated on mercilessly.

“Ugh,” Katie shivered at the thought. “You can’t even compare the two. Not even from the same universe.”

“What about you?” Katie asked as you slumped over with your coat still on and your bag over your shoulder. “Did Eddie break the seal yet?” She turned to raise her eyebrows a few times, suggestively.

“Please,” you barked a laugh. “At this rate, we’ll be in the nursing home before this escalates to dry humping,” as much as you were ready to crack jokes, the fact that he wasn’t jumping down your throat like every other guy made you like him even more. “I think he’s kind of shy, like me.”

“Wait, you’re shy?” Katie snickered.

“You know what I mean. Cautious, reserved: insert appropriate adjective here.”

“What is this, Mad Libs for dysfunctional adults?”

You let out a pensive sigh, your shoulders dropping. “Am I an adult? Because I haven’t felt this goofy over a guy I haven’t even kissed yet since I was a tween.”

Katie stopped what she was doing and dug in the front pocket of her jeans. “That reminds me. This is for you. It’s from Steve.”

With a tired frown on your face, you opened the lined notebook paper to see a phone number written in black ink, with Eddie’s name on top of it.

What were you so afraid of? He was just a hot, hard working, tattooed biker dude, with soft lips and kind eyes who you could absolutely see yourself falling in love with. What was there to be hesitant about??? Call him!

No...wait….

------------------

It took you a few hours to build up the courage, but you finally got settled on the wicker chair in your room with your Conair clear phone with neon insides balancing on your knee.

It was a while before he answered, and you were just about to hang up when his voice came on the line, stern and gruff.

“Yeah?” He didn’t sound glad to hear from you, but to be fair, he didn’t know it was you, yet.

You cleared your throat. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Mr. Edward Munson, please. Is he in the office today?”

Relief flooded through Eddie’s body, pumping refreshing blood into his heart when he recognized your voice. “He’s not here at the moment, you might want to try is vacation home in Greece.”

“I’m not here either,” you teased. “I’m calling you from outer space.”

Wet hair dripping down his chest, Eddie brought the phone closer and sat down on the edge of the bed, hard pressed to wipe the grin off of his face.

“I...called to let you to know I was thinking about you,” it just came bubbling out. There would be no pretense of hard to get here, you had no game.

The sincerity struck him dumb for a moment, but then, he wrapped one arm around his chest, tucking his hand into his armpit, giving himself an excited squeeze. “Yeah? Well, that’s a coincidence because I was just thinking about you while I was in the shower.”

Munson! *internally slaps forehead* Don’t tell her you were in the shower, god. She’s going to think you were doing exactly what you were doing which was jerking it to the thought of her being in there with you.

“I mean, when I got out of the shower, and saw your painting, I thought about you,” his eyes closed at the pathetic nature of that rebound.

You skipped over all of that and jumped to that next thing he just said. “You hung my painting in your apartment?”

He looked over at the painting in question, adjusting the towel at his hips. “Of course, silly. Where did you think I would put it? Above the bar at the Hideout?”

You fiddled the phone cord, twisting it around your finger. “I was thinking it would go in your coffin or tomb, wherever you sleep at night.”

He gave a low grumble of a laugh. “Oh that painting is definitely getting buried with me, I can promise you that.”

The conversation ebbed from talking about work, to asking about family. You learned that Eddie’s uncle Wayne was like a father to him, and that his biological parents were no longer a part of his life. This mirrored your loneliness at the fact that your father passed away two years ago and you weren’t close with your mother. You didn’t have the equivalent to an uncle Wayne though, but you wished that you did.

After a half hour or so, Eddie said, “hold on for just a second? I need to put some clothes on,” and your brain plummeted off a cliff to a really dirty place. Had he been naked for the entire time?

There was a dragging sound and a click as he picked the receiver up again, “sorry about that. I’m back.”

“I know it’s late,” you were trying to pull your thoughts out of the gutter, but they were rolling around in the mud, kicking their feet and giggling. “I should probably let you--”

“No, I mean, I’m not---” he stretched out on the bed and put his head on the pillow, his hand on his stomach. “Unless you need to go. I like the sound of your voice.”

“Well, you see, I don’t have any clothes on either. So, if you’re dressed, then I might as well throw something on too.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie stiffened, his eyes bulging wide for a blink. Was she serious?

“Clothes are so retraining. I want to be free, Eddie.”

He snorted and ran his hand up and down his belly. You were joking. But, now he was picturing you naked and his cock was growing. He reached down to palm it over his gray sweats, hoping to calm the beast. Phone sex was not out of the question, and he’d jump at the chance if you were down, but he was enjoying the soothing effect you had on him; it was the first night in a while that he felt relaxed and not pacing around the room, moodily spinning his wheels.

You were telling him the story of how you and Katie met, because he asked, and, as you did, he stretched over to flick the bedside lamp off so that he could close his eyes and let your voice wash over him in the dark.

“What about that fight thing Robin mentioned? Is that still happening?” You asked, and then you heard a soft little snort, as if he had drifted off to sleep for a second. You were snuggled down in the cushions of your chair with your cat Charlie in your lap, and your head snapped up. “Eddie?”

“I’m here,” he groaned in a whisper. “Sorry sweetheart, I don’t know what is happening to me.”

Sweetheart.

“Oh, I have a plethora of boring stories that will have you seeing sheep in no time, trust me.”

“You’re not boring,” he smiled against the phone. It was like you could hear his smile, day old stubble scratching against the receiver, a bit of saliva popping at the corner of his mouth. “You’re one of the most unique, interesting people I’ve ever met.”

There was a self-deprecating urge to quip, “well, then you haven’t met many people,” but you decided to just accept the compliment and move on.

He hadn’t planned on inviting you to Fight Night, only because it was a powder keg of testosterone and booze, and he didn’t think you’d be into it. He had grown up on the streets, thinking that getting into fist fights was the norm, but then in high school, Wayne got him into boxing, and he was grateful for the form, cadence, and stamina it afforded him.

Also, what if he lost the fight? Highly unlikely unless he decided to throw it on purpose, but did he want you to see that? Did you even want to see that? But Robin had already mentioned it, and he didn’t want you to think he didn’t want to see you.

“Yeah, the fights are Friday night, here at the compound. It’s pretty lame, actually. Lots of grunting and dick measuring,” he exhaled a heavy breath, his eyelids fluttering. “I would love to...take you on a date though, a real one. Somewhere nice.”

“It doesn’t have to be too nice,” you bit your lip, hoping he didn’t think you needed the full white tablecloth experience like some other women he knew. A cozy dinner and a movie was the type of scene you preferred. “You might be surprised at what a cheap date I am.”

“Back to The Hideout it is,” he clapped his hand to his chest, finishing with a throaty, warm chuckle.

You could tell he was fading away, and so you thought up a story to tell him; it was a personal favorite about a road trip you took with your dad when you were little. You knew any story would do because, after about 5 minutes, you heard his breathing get progressively heavier until there was a slight whistle in his nose at the intake of breath. So, you finished the story, and then held the phone close to your ear for way too long just to listen to him breathing.

“Sweet dreams my Eddie,” you whispered just before you reluctantly disconnected.

-------------

The next morning, Eddie woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in months. He had a solid 7 hours of sleep, which was unheard of lately, and it put an honest to god spring in his step. Of course, when he realized that the phone was by his head omitting a blank dial tone, he cursing himself for an early sleep to embrace him on that night of all nights. He’d just slipped into oblivion while you were talking to him, lulled to sleep by your sweet voice. He thought he had dreamed it, but now he was sure that you had said goodnight to him. Had you called him your Eddie? Maybe that part had been a dream, but not an impossible one.

--------------

While Katie had the week off, deservedly so, you were working overtime at the gallery to get ready for another show. Eddie called you on Wednesday night, but you got home way too late and had to hear his message on the answering machine because Katie was out somewhere with Robin. On Thursday night, you were there to answer his call, and the two of you talked for hours, even though you both agreed that you hated talking on the phone. Because of the new show at your gallery on Saturday night, the two of you made plans to go on an official date the following Tuesday, and Eddie told you he would pick the place, after asking a few questions about things that you liked.

There was still Fight Night on Friday to consider, but you got the feeling that the thought of you being there made Eddie uncomfortable. You had a strange protective nature that came over you when you cared about someone, though, and this nonsensical part of you want to be there to...make sure he didn’t get hurt? How would you manage that? You had very little to offer by way of physical strength, but you would, indeed, pull the fire alarm if Eddie looked like he was getting in over his head during the fight.

Robin and Katie and Steve were all going to be there, so you felt like it was the obvious plan. You even considered inviting Jeff because he was always complaining that there was nothing fun to do in town since he moved to the little hamlet from Chicago.

Also, you just really really missed Eddie, and wanted to see him. Tuesday was only a few days away, but it might as well have been a year.

----------

On Thursday night, Eddie fell asleep while on the phone with you again, as he told you he might, and you didn’t mind. Not only was he falling asleep, but he was officially falling for you and, for the first time in his life, he liked the way it felt. He got 8 hours of shut eye that night, on the eve of Fight Night, not realizing at the time how badly he would need it.

-------

The second Robin parked her jeep around the block for Fight Night, you understood why Eddie might not want you there.

It was like a carnival, but for booze, bikers, and strippers, complete with a DJ at a huge stereo system near the fence blasting out the song Only by Anthrax, and there were hot girls...so many of them...scantily dressed to kill, wandering around the property. White string lights draped around the fence, illuminating the walkway and there were also cast iron clad bonfires at every corner that groups huddled around. You weren’t even through the front gate yet, and you could already see two half naked women in the ring, executing a few pre-rehearsed wrestling moves for a bunch of howling bikers.

“What the hell?” Jeff murmured to you as three of the young, studly Prospect biker boys walked by, hair slicked back, wearing all leather. “Where have I been? Where did all these hot, dirty boys come from?”

He held onto your arm as you walked, hurrying up the sidewalk to the compound a few steps to catch up with Katie and Robin, both of whom were holding hands and taking turns leaning over to kiss each other as they walked. Steve was ahead of them, giving a signal to the bouncers at the gate to let them know that you were all with him before they let you in. He told you on the ride over that they had to have strict security at the event, and someone from the Coffin Kings, Westside Reapers, or Hell’s Belles (an all female MC) had to vouch for you, since the one time a rival gang showed up a few years back and there was a huge brawl.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you popped your face in between Robin and Katie’s pressed together shoulders just as they pulled back from another electric smooch. “No one told me this was basically a clothes optional event?”

Just inside the gate, as the three burly, bearded bouncers looked you all up and down, Robin turned and gave you a concerned look. “Eddie didn’t warn you about what a pussy fest this would be?”

Eddie had warned you, just not about that part specifically. You left the house feeling plenty cute enough in your skirt, fishnets and Doc Martens, but the fact that you had a shirt on over your bra made you feel extremely overdressed.

Eddie hadn’t even thought to mention the strippers and the arm candy and the groupies because he truly didn’t even give them a second thought. Since he met you, other women didn’t appeal to him beyond the casual acknowledgment of their attractiveness, and the whole scene just bored him damn near to death. Aside from a few exceptions being women who were taken by other guys in the club, Eddie could take any one of them up to his room at the drop of the hat, and that just wasn’t what he wanted anymore. The thrill was gone, as they say. He was up in his apartment doing some last-minute pushups as he listened to the crowd get rowdy down below. Steve called earlier to let you know that the girls were coming, including you, and for some reason, it gave him a nervous flutter in his stomach. He wasn’t too concerned about the other women bothering you, because he knew you had the confidence to handle your own. His worry had to do with the other dudes at that party and wanting to make sure none of them tried anything with you. Pity the fool who tried to make a move on you under his watch.

The parking lot of Munson’s Garage was huge, but that night it was still easy to bump shoulders with people as you walked because there were so many of them. There was a keg and two ice tubs full of beer, as well as the many flasks of hard alcohol you saw being passed around. You saw a beautiful woman with long black hair giving one of the bikers a lap dance, and then burst of cheering exploded in your ear as one of the women in the ring threw the other one against the ropes.

Steve was immediately manhandled by two of the tattooed groupies who could’ve been models and looked like twins. He gave a shy tilt of his head but a charming waggle of his eyebrows as they kissed his cheeks, rubbed his chest, and asked him where he’d been. Robin had one arm around Katie’s waist, and her other arm motioned for you and Jeff to follow them to get some beers.

You and Jeff both looked like the proverbial deer in headlights. Not even full-grown deer, but little baby does on wobbly knees who were looking for their mommy.

Jeff assessed the cans in the tub of ice. “Not a white wine spritzer in sight,” he muttered to you, but mostly to himself. “I am not excited for the beer bloat I am going to have tomorrow.”

“Your brave sacrifice has been noted,” you told him, reaching down for a can, while the girls chose to tap the keg. There was a small fee for the beer, and Robin threw some money in, letting you know she had the first round.

The music cut out suddenly as the women in the ring did a farewell pass around, picking up the cash that was being fluttered over the ropes to them. The DJ asked for applause for the girls, and then he announced the names for the first fight of the evening. According to Steve, the first couple fights would be mostly amateur hour, a few younger Prospects from the Coffin Kings, and a couple of the other gangs that were in attendance. After that, there’d be 3 main fights, all different weight classes, and Eddie’s was last. The fights were a mix of bare-knuckle boxing/kickboxing and mostly just for fun, but there was some friendly betting that went on, and there was always a chance for someone to get really hurt as the adrenaline ran hot. Eddie knocked his opponent out so hard last year, the guy confessed to actually seeing stars.

A tan, busty blonde in a red string bikini did a tour of the ring holding up the large card to give the official mark for round one. For the first two fights, you enjoyed the time with your friends, amused at how easily the beer was going down for Jeff, considering he supposedly didn’t like the taste of it. Robin introduced you to some of her friends who rode with the gang Hell’s Belles, and she introduced Katie once as her girlfriend, which was an accidental slip up, and she worried it was too soon, but, honestly, Katie liked it.

As the third and final amateur fight got underway, your eyes shifted up to Eddie’s apartment, and in that second, you decided that you couldn’t wait, that you needed to see him, you didn’t want to hold out until the end of the fights. You gave your beer to Jeff and told him to stay with Katie and Robin, and then you made your way over as Back in Black by AC/DC played for the first fighter walk-up.

The garage was locked up, and the porch to Eddie’s door was fenced off, but there were a couple of leggy girls in skintight dresses and stiletto heels hanging around just outside of it, near one of the fire pits, as if waiting for him. You excused yourself as you weaved around them, oblivious to their judgmental stares, angling with your hand to reach down and flick open the temporary fence gate.

“Excuse me, sweetie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The one who looked like Paris Hilton said, eyeballing your outfit.

You gave a broken laugh, confused. “I came to see Eddie, he’s a friend of mine.”

One of the other girls snorted, and Paris put her hands on her narrow hips. “He’s busy, sweetheart, but if you want to leave a message with me, I’ll be sure to pass it along.” She was not being sincere when she said it, in fact, the rest of them started giggling, mockingly so. They were all taller than you, but only because their heels put on another 4”.

She moved to block the gate, and before you could think of the next thing to say, the Paris girl was in your face again. “Like I said, sweetie, move along. There’s nothing for you here,” and then she flicked her hand a few times for emphasis.

Confusing your politeness for weakness was her first mistake. You took a step towards her, straightening your shoulders, narrowing your eyes on her obvious rhinoplasty. “I’m not going anywhere until I see Eddie.”

“Listen, bitch---” Paris crossed her arms and sent daggers from her eyes, just before she was cut off.

“Erika!” Eddie growled from the doorway; forehead clenched. “Move.”

Relief took the vise grip off of your chest at the sight of his face. Hulking in the doorway, he gave you a tilt of his chin, and then his attention went back to the Paris/Erika girl.

“Oh sorry baby,” Erika turned around, her voice high pitched, her demeanor completely changed. “I figured you didn’t want to be disturbed so I was---”

Eddie ignored her as he went over to unlock the makeshift fencing that he only put up for events so that he could have a space of his own. He had on a black muscle shirt with wide, scooped out arm holes so that his sides were visible and a pair of sweats. Heat radiated off of him and little hollow spot his throat glistened with sweat like he had just been working out, dark hair hanging long, passed his shoulders.

He held the short gate open for you, his back to Erika, as you scooted into the space. “You look good enough to eat,” his eyes traveled down your body and then back up to meet your eyes.

“In that case, I hope you’re hungry,” you replied with a coy grin. Your responses always caught him off guard and he blew a quick laugh out his nose. One of the guys in the ring got socked in the nose by his opponent and stumbled back against the ropes, dazed.

He locked the gate again and turned toward you, but you peeked around his body to make eye contact with Erika one last time. “Have a good night, sweetie,” you told her, flashing a fake smile.

The disgust and jealousy on her face was palpable and priceless.

You and Eddie hadn’t physically progressed beyond the point of brief handholding yet, but it felt like you hadn’t seen him in a month, and you needed to be close to him. You stepped forward, leaned against his chest, and pressed your cheek above his heart, ziplocking your body to his as your arms wrapped around his muscular frame, palms smoothing in circles on his back.

Eddie returned the embrace with a needful sigh. “Mhmm this is what I needed, right here,” he murmured, planting a kiss on the top of your head. The two of you just swayed there for a bit; he rocked gently, shifting his weight to each foot, taking you with him.

You tilted your head back to anchor your chin on his chest and he looked down to meet your eyes.

“I couldn’t wait till after the fight,” you admitted. “I missed you.”

When you declared your affection for him, even in the slightest way, it made his insides go all gooey and sweet, but it also made a part of him tense up, awareness of how lost in you he could get striking a healthy amount of fear in him. Putting his trust in someone, giving over his heart, had never gone well for him in the past.

“Yeah?” he used the tip of his fingers to push a few strands of hair off of your forehead, and then ran his knuckle down your cheek. “Well that’s funny, cause I’ve been missing you pretty bad too.”

The referee blew his whistle and called the fight. You and Eddie had a close view from the front of this place, and both of the guys coming down from the ring had swollen, cut faces, and one of them was limping. The DJ played Engine No. 9 by Deftones as they prepared for the main event fights.

“Who are you fighting tonight?” You asked as you slowly and reluctantly lowered your arms, and he did the same, but he kept one hand at your back, scooping you securely to his side, craving contact with you.

Eddie checked the crowd to see if he could spot the big redhead, but no luck; there were way too many fucking people there. “His nickname is Critter, he runs with the Westside Reapers. He’s a good fighter,” Eddie shrugged, and then he looked down at your concerned face, squeezing your shoulder. “but don’t worry, Princess, I’m better.”

“Hey War Machine,” a gruff voice came from the other side of the fence, near the garage. You both turned to see a tall, bald, older man in a Coffin Kings cut addressing Eddie. “Doc is ready for you.”

The guy wasn’t actually a doctor, but he was a medic, and he helped to tape up hands before the fights, and then tape up faces after. Eddie also needed to change his clothes and get all lathered up with Vaseline.

Eddie told him he’d be right there, and then his attention came back to you. “Wait for me after?”

You were smiling like an idiot at him, loving the hell out of his face. “Of course.”

You didn’t care if “after” meant 48 hours from now; you’d still be waiting there.

And then he kissed your forehead and went over to jump the fence.

---------

“Am I drunk, or is that guy really hot?” Jeff asked, nudging to direct your eyes over to a shy looking biker boy with a curly blonde pony tail and shockingly blue eyes. He had an absolute baby face, he couldn’t have been much older than 20.

“He’s definitely your type,” you assured him. “I think he’s been checking you out for a while, too.”

“Okay, so it’s not just my imagination?” Jeff balked, relieved that he hadn't lost his touch.

Just then, the guy lifted his hand in a covert wave, and Jeff mimicked it. “Oh my god, I love you for bringing me here,” Jeff whispered without moving his lips. “Besties for life.”

You bought the next round of beers just as the second main fight finished and it was about to be Eddie’s turn.

“Damn, I didn’t know I’d get this nervous,” you told Robin, looking down at your feet.

“It never gets easier to watch, I’ll tell you that,” she returned, agreeing with you, a smile in her eyes as she caught sight of Katie coming back through the crowd. But then her eyes shifted to see the genuine set of fear and concern on your face. “Hey, I know he’s kinda humble about it, but Eddie’s a beast, and he’s smart. He can take care of himself up there, don’t worry,” and then she rubbed her hand on your arm and it felt very warm and motherly.

Critter, the guy Eddie was fighting came out to a good amount of claps and shouts; he was a stocky redhead with his hair in a faux hawk, covered in really crude, homemade tattoos. He had on silky sapphire blue shorts and the word “REAPER” inked in large, old English letters across his upper back.

He bounced around in his corner, shaking his hands out, and working his neck.

Eddie came out to Walk by Pantera and everyone went nuts for him when they announce War Machine was entering the ring; arms all raised high, cupping hands around mouths to shout, a lot of fingers throwing up the symbol for devil horns. You wanted to be closer, so you pushed your way through the crowd, keeping your eyes on him as he came up the steps and climbed in through the ropes.

His chiseled but natural muscle tone literally glistened, accentuating the big tattoo on his chest, and now you could see that part of his was a menacing bat with fangs. Big tattoos on each bicep, and then there were a few on his forearms, and a couple designs on his thigh and back that you had never seen before. The other guy, Critter, had surprisingly skinny legs, like he spent his time training upper body and nothing else. Eddie’s physique on the other hand, was built for power at all angles. His shorts were black with a dark purple cluster of bats on one side, just like his tattoo.

You had never spent much time watching boxing, but for in the movies, and both of them had a “corner man” who helped to take care of them, and in this case, for Eddie, it was the bald, older Coffin King you’d seen earlier. Eddie had his hair tied back in a knot, and you watched as his corner man helped him secure his gloves as he bounced a little in place.

You got in as close as you could, not realizing at first that you were standing right behind Steve. You tapped him on the shoulder. “Is this guy any good?”

Steve looked at you over his shoulder. “Who? Eddie?”

“No,” for some reason, you were whispering even though the place was too loud for anyone to hear you. “The other one.”

He hitched his head to one side and brought his shoulder up. “Meh, he’s alright. Nothing to worry about.”

Once the fight started, Eddie wasn’t one to dive in for a kill; a big part of his advantage was how patient he was, and how well he was able to disconnect from his emotions. He had already scanned the crowd for you, knew exactly where you were, and his eyes would shift there from time to time.

Critter charged him like a bull, and Eddie stepped away so fast, the guy looked confused, like maybe he had suddenly elevated into the sky. The guy had a lot of energy and aggression, and those things alone had won fights before, so Eddie stayed alert.

Critter wasn’t great at keeping his guard up, and so Eddie lit a good one to the side of his head, and then a jab to the gut just before the two were asked to break apart for a minute.

“Do I know you?” A voice materialized at your ear. The ref had just told the two fighters to pause, and so you looked over to see who was asking.

It was another biker, but he didn’t look like he was with one of the gangs. He had an Ethan Hawke look about him. “I don’t think so,” you told him, eyes returning to the match.

“That’s crazy,” the guy kept talking, leaning closer to you, his stubble catching in your hair. “Cause I swear I recognize you from somewhere. What’s your name?”

For some reason, instead of telling him to buzz off, you gave him your name, and then he stuck his hand out to shake yours. “Nice to meet you, they call me Brick.”

Eddie was just getting ready to dodge a swing when he saw it: the dude leaning over, in your face, with your hand in his.

Critter made contact and clocked him a good one to the eye socket. Eddie stumbled back, blinking, his skull vibrating. It took him a second, but then he drove forward and caught Critter with a left hook, and then grabbed his head and slammed it into his knee---which was an illegal street fighting move, and the ref blew the whistle.

Your hand flew to your mouth with a gasp when Eddie got hit, but he seemed to recover fairly quickly and then went after the guy ten-fold, in a way that almost made you feel bad for Critter.

Suddenly, that emotionless, in control part of Eddie was slipping away, and all he could think of was how he didn’t want that guy to be anywhere near you. He wanted this fight to be over.

Critter caught him again because Eddie slipped his guard, and then he got a second one in the ribs for losing his concentration. He barreled down on Critter like a hammer after that, landing one after the other until the ref had to stop things and check on the other dude.

You hoped that the guy next to you finally got the hint that you weren’t interested in chatting, but he was still standing there, unnecessarily close, with his shoulder locked against yours.

“Do you live around here?” Brick continued.

You were just about to say it was none of his business when there was a lull in the crowd, and Steve heard his question. The flirtatious nature of his tone made Steve turn around to see who was talking.

He made eye contact with Brick and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Dude, get lost. Go find another girl.”

“Nah, I think I’m fine right here,” Brick countered, lifting his eyebrows.

The tension got thick real quick.

The fight in the ring started up again, but now Steve was turning all the way around to square his shoulders at Brick. “I said, get lost,” he enunciated every syllable with force, dark brown eyes glowing.

Eddie got jabbed in the kidney for pausing too long, and it was at that moment when he decided he was done with this shit. He took a giant step and cracked a tight punch to Critter’s jaw that actually made him spin half-way around in the air before dropping to the mat with a final thud. The ref blew the whistle, waved his arms like crazy, and then went over to make sure the dude was still breathing.

Eddie did not look happy as he jumped the ropes.

Steve hadn’t liked this guy at first glance, and now he was being disrespectful? Not happening.

Steve got up in Brick’s face, challenging him, chest to chest, and even though you were trying to back away as quickly as you could, the crowd behind you would not give. Brick brought his arms out to shove Steve back, and his elbow caught you in the mouth. You yelped as your head snapped back, teeth clamping onto your tongue, tasting blood, rocking on your feet.

Eddie was shoving people out of the way to get to you; he felt like things were moving in slow motion, like he was in some kind of nightmare where he couldn’t get to you in time and somehow you ended up getting really hurt. Finally, he was catching you by the arms and pulling you tight to his chest. Pieces of your hair glued to the stickiness of his skin as you clung to him for dear life. He took your face in his hands to find that your teeth were pink and a bit of blood was spilling from the side of your mouth, and a low growl escaped his throat. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, trying to wipe the blood from your chin with his thumb, but it only smeared, and angry tears welled in his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guy swing at Steve, but it didn’t land, and Steve pushed him back with extreme force. Brick stumbled back, but then bounced off the hands of the crowd and returned like he was shot from a rubber band.

The crowd was jostling now, buzzing with shouts and people turning to see what was going on. Your vision was blurry. Some of them were yelling to break it up, but some of them wanted it to escalate.

“Steve...Eddie!” Robin screamed as she scrambled to come up next to you and Eddie, breathless, Katie and Jeff close in tow, all of them stressed out. Actually, Jeff looked more amused than anything and you knew he couldn't wait to retell this story.

“Take her,” Eddie said to Robin, passing you off reluctantly so that he could take care of business.

Eddie put his hand out to catch Steve’s shoulder and stop him in his tracks. “I got this,” he said, eyes narrowing on Brick.

Just as intimidated by Eddie as most people were, Brick took a stutter step before lashing out with his best punch, only to have it effortlessly blocked. Eddie got close enough to grab him by the jacket, making a tight fist in the material, yanking him closer, and Brick tried to get a punch in, but he didn’t have much reach. Eddie’s other hand reeled back to make a fist and land a bare-knuckle blow with just enough force to clock his lights out. Brick’s eyes rolled back in his head as he went limp in Eddie's grasp for a second and then fell sideways, and a couple of leather clad Hell’s Belles stepped out of the way so that the pavement could catch him.

Eddie and Steve walked over to stand above him, and found that the guy was stunned, eyes rolling in his head, but he was conscious. He really did have a hard head; now it made sense why they called him Brick.

Eddie spit on him. “I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you,” and then he looked around at all of the eyes on them, and added, “someone get this piece of shit out of here before the cops show up.” And then there were hands coming out everywhere to drag Brick away and throw him in a dumpster down the block where he could think about what he’d done.

You were scared of what Eddie would do to that guy, but you weren’t scared of Eddie. When he was on his way back, you slipped free of Robin’s grasp and met him half way, rushing into his arms, reaching up to feather your fingers over his swollen cheek and eye that was soon to blacken. There was hair stuck to his cheek and you smoothed it away just before he took your hand and kissed the middle of your palm. Most of the crowd went back to socializing as normal, as if this had been just a casual thing that they were used to, and the DJ started the music again.

Sinking into heavy, adrenaline fueled breaths, he held your chin in his curled knuckle while his other arm went around your waist. He brought his face close to yours, and cupped your throat, noses brushing side by side, foreheads touching, exchanging oxygen through parted lips, like two deep sea divers whose lives depended on it. You had wiped the blood from your chin, but you could still taste the copper penny tang, and he moved his mouth to plant a kiss on the side of your lips, softly, a low purr omitting from his chest as he did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice cracking, lips grazing, as your hands sought each other, trying to get as close as you could. He pulled back to inspect every inch of your face, and then brushed his lips over your mouth.

“I am now,” you told him.

He took your hand and held it to his chest, sweaty and still viscous with petroleum, oblivious to the rest of the party continuing on around you.

You could feel his mouth hovering, wanting more, but hesitant, so gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed.

“I can’t feel a thing,” you confessed, referring to your bitten and numb tongue. “But, my mouth is bloody.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and there was a bit of an eager whimper on the intake of breath as his plump lips melted onto yours, moaning as he did so, tightening his grip on you, grabbing your face, aching, feeding on the air from your lungs and your bloody kisses as the rest of the world faded away.

----------

“She took them both to the grave

to the grave

a pair of souls become undone

Where were two, now are one”

- Bloody Kisses, Type O Negative, 1994

----------

Part 6

----------

taglist 💕 @unfocused81 @manicmagicmahem @dream-a-little-nightmare @ms1oftheboys @emxcast @falling-solar-system @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @nope-thanks @kelsiegrin

@tlclick73 @aysheashea @hellv1ra @bexreadstoomuch @kurdtbean

@seventhlevelofhell @stylesxmunson @ireidsmut

#eddie munson fanfic #eddiemunson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson au #90s au #1990s #eddie munson smut #older eddie munson #robin buckley #stranger things

464 notes · View notes

getmecakeordeath · 9 months

Text

For those who self h@rm by cvtting, here’s some tips for taking care of yourself from someone whos being doing it for 10+ years

•It’s okay, don’t think any less of yourself for relapsing. It happens and its okay. No one ever tells you that its okay.

•Invest in a person first aid kit, I’m a first responder so I’ve always been stocked up. You should make sure your kit has the following:

• sterile cleansing wipes (you can never have enough of these)

•Conforming bandages (you’ll need this for bigger cuts to help keep the gauze secure

•Microporous Tape

•Different size wound dressings

•Plasters of all different sizes (fabric ones work best I find)

•Kitchen roll (I know that sounds strange but it helps to stop the bleeding, where as tissue just falls to bits)

•Some wound closure stitches (butterfly stitches)

•Wash your hands properly before you cvt, it will help keep you safe okay

•Whatever your going to cvt with make sure you give it a good clean with a sterile wipe, I got some nasty infections from not doing this when I was young.

•After you have had your ‘session’ (at least that’s what I call mine) make sure that you treat your wound properly:

•Hold the kitchen roll to your wound until it stops bleeding.

•Clean the area with the sterile wipes thoroughly

•If it is small enough for a plaster then out that on there

•If not use the wound dressings, measure up to the wound ensuring that there is a good finger width between the edge of the cut and the end of the dressing

•Use the tape to secure it into place

•Hold one end of the bandage away from the wound before you start wrapping it (so you have something to tie it off with)

•Don’t wrap it too tight or it will be uncomfortable and you’ll want to take it off

•Change the bandage or plaster every day at least once (I know that it’s hard but if you don’t it might cause an infection)

•If you cvt too deep, it happens it’s okay I’ve been there, push firmly against the wound with a tea towel or any fabric you can get. If the blud is pouring out I’m going to need you to hold it against you wound as hard as you can and then a little harder. Call you Emergencey service number (999, 911 etc) they will talk you though what you have to do and get you help.

•Dispose of any blades you use, don’t use them twice it WILL cause an infection that can get into your blood. I bought pencil sharpeners on Amazon for very cheap. One use only okay? You don’t want to get sick over it.

•If you want to help your scars become less visible use Bio Oil I think that it works the best and really helped me with the ones on my arms.

•There are things that can help you with your urges or relapses.

•Some helpful apps that I would recommend are:

•StayAlive (I have had this on my phone for many years now and it has saved my life

It has saved my life on many occasions and if you find that you are in need of die help, you can show it to the emergency services and they will help you okay. We are trained in this.

•Harm less (It gives you motivational things whenever you open it, it’s 100% customisable and it can help you keep track of your relapses)

•Its okay to relapse, I’ve been though it many times, I recently just relapsed acted a 250+ day gap. Its okay and no one says it enough. You haven’t let anyone down, no one is disappointed in you, your okay.

Just some tips I’ve learnt over time, it’s going to be okay

#mental illness #tw depressing stuff #sh #self harmmm #tw selfhate #tw self destructive behavior #tips #safety #medicare #mental trauma #self love #self help #cutt1ng #twst

363 notes · View notes

xaphrin · 2 months

Text

Anyway I just spent all morning plotting out my next long fic, and uh... wow that outline is something. Hope it doesn't suck? Have a taste?

(Actually trying to see how people feel about this)

When Trigon finally conquered Earth it felt like the world had become a strange, tilted reflection of itself. Warped like the mirror in a funhouse, but somehow still the same. On the surface things continued as normal, people went to their jobs, the public transit system continued, and the stock market miraculously stayed stable. The conquering felt less like an ending, and more like a blip in the timeline. Most people assumed that after a few months it would all clear itself up.

But, underneath that facade of normalcy, there was a wound festering.

Dissenters quietly disappeared overnight. World leaders vanished on their way to summits. Pacifists simply ceased to exist. Slowly, like a small leak in a boat, little bits of civilization disappeared, letting more and more horrors fill the space until the boat started to sink and there was nothing left but accept the inevitable truth:

There was no saving what Trigon had destroyed.

And here stood Raven, at the edge of it all. She wasn’t supposed to exist. After her body had been used as a portal for Trigon, she had been left to die and decompose into the earth. Even her soul wouldn’t have found rest anywhere, since it was welcome nowhere.

“You good?”

Raven turned and looked at Dick as he stood next to her. “Not sure yet.” She gave a one shouldered shrug and stared out into the skyline.

The city still looked inhabited, but there was a soft quiet that rumbled in and around the buildings. Look closer and you could see shattered windows and the rust-colored stains of long-dried blood. Everyone ignored it. If someone had died, they had it coming. Keep your head down. Don’t stir up trouble. Those were rules, and they were meant to be followed.

Dick sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I got a message from my brother.”

Raven lifted an eyebrow. “A Robin?”

He nodded. “The last one, actually. He was there the day Batman was…” Dick trailed off, unsure of what to call the death of the last man he considered a father.

“Taken,” Raven supplied. The word didn’t feel like an end. It felt like a book with the last pages ripped out, so you never really knew the ending. “I thought he disappeared. Your brother, I mean.”

“He went back to the League of Assassins.”

Raven lifted an eyebrow, surprised. They were the one group of people who had managed to resist all of Trigon’s control, walking a very fine line of neutrality. She huffed out a soft breath. “And what does he want?”

“To join the cause.”

#damirae #I've started plotting and outlining things which is weird #but found it's easier for me to get my 300 - 500 words a day in if I have an actual plot and not just a ~vibe~#So... uh... I guess expect chapter one in a few weeks?

76 notes · View notes

pretty-red-garnet · 8 months

Text

Me And You

Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader • Prison • Angst/Fluff

Supposed to be a short drabble but I went on a little longer than I meant to…

It was just supposed to be an easy run. A grocery store that a past run group had stumbled upon. It was clear. They said it was clear. They said it was late, they couldn’t pick up everything that was there.

So Daryl and you had gone. You took a truck and planned to stock it full. It was supposed to be easy and quick, an excuse for some privacy for you and your partner.

It had started out fine. You and Daryl entered, him first, because he always entered first. He had his crossbow raised, you your gun, and you both cleared it quick. There was one or two strays, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

“Easy peasy,” you had joked, throwing some canned goods in your pack. Daryl hummed in response. You watched him as he checked the next isle, peaking at him between the bare shelving. He caught your eyes and smiled, those pretty blue eyes crinkling a little in the corners.

You wandered around to meet him and grabbed his hips, turning him around slowly. He let you, turning until he was facing you. You brought your arms up to rest on his shoulders, grinning when his fingers bit into your hips.

“This your plan all along?” He asked teasingly. “Get me all to yourself?”

“Maybe,” you said with a glint in your eye. “It worked.”

“It did.” His lips met yours passionately. You pressed him up against the isle and smiled against his mouth when he groaned. His fingers toyed with your shirt hem and was just about to lift it when you heard a loud bang.

You and Daryl jumped away from each other. Your gun was in its holster and Daryl’s bow was laying on the ground. You went to grab your gun when suddenly, there were three men in front of you and Daryl.

“Uh uh uh, come on, don’t try anything,” he had said menacingly, cigarette stained teeth showing in a smile. “Drop the gun.”

Your mind spiraled but the look at the men’s faces told you to not try anything yet. You dropped the gun in front of you, glaring at the three. The leader of the three grinned. You can hear Daryl breath heavily beside you, and when you chanced a glance at him, he was already looking at you. He was looking at you strangely, almost apologetic. You furrowed your brows at him.

Suddenly, he shoved you hard behind some shelving before reaching back and grabbing a gun from his pants. He landed a solid shot at one of the men before another produced a gun, shooting Daryl in the leg.

“No!” You yelped. Daryl dropped to a heavy thud, loosing his grip on his gun and sending it sliding across the floor towards you. You dived for, it shooting a second man in the head. The third was smaller than the other two and fast. He quickly grabbed your gun and tossed it.

He shoved you to the ground and you grappled with him. He was suddenly pulled off of you, and you took advantage by grabbing the man’s gun from his back pocket and shooting him quickly. You took a deep breath, momentarily forgetting Daryl was hurt. A groan and pained huff brought you to the present.

You scurried across the floor to Daryl. His pants were already drenched in blood from the shot, and he had a gash across his forehead. Blood was running down his face, and his eyes were fluttering.

“Daryl, Daryl, you have to stay awake, ok?” You said softly. Your mind was spiraling. “I’m gonna bandage your leg, you have to stay awake.”

You rushed to your pack to grab a bandage and was startled by banging noises. You looked up to see maybe two dozen walkers banging against the door of the shop. You checked the few guns scattered about, but there were only a handful of bullets combined. Shit. There was no way you could get Daryl through them to the car. Maybe by yourself, but not an injured, half unconscious Daryl.

You hurried back to Daryl for the moment and his eyes were shut. You shook him a bit, and he let out a pained moan.

“Stay awake, ok? You’re gonna be fine.” You’re voice was shaky but you tried to reassure him. “Just stay awake for me.”

His eyelids continued to flutter but he smiled and raised a hand to your cheek. You glanced up at him from trying to bandage his leg.

“You need to go,” he said lowly, his voice even deeper and tougher than normal. “It’s ok. Go.”

“No,” you said firmly. “We’re going to get out together.” Tears flooded your eyes but you blinked them away. You can hear the glass begin to crack and creek from the walkers.

“I love you,” he whispers. “It’s ok, you need to be safe.”

“I’m not leaving without you!” The bandage was full of blood, but it didn’t look like the bullet hit an artery. Hopefully. You grabbed his face now that his leg was bandaged as best as could be. “I love you too, we’re getting out together.”

Hours later and the walkers still continued to band against the glass. The doors held, although you knew they wouldn’t last much longer. Daryl’s head rested in your lap, and you ran your trembling fingers through his hair to relax him.

He was out cold now. You pressed your fingers to his pulse every few minutes to make sure. Tears slipped down your face, how are you gonna get him out?

“What do I do?” You asked your unconscious partner, resting your head against his. Tears dropped on his face.

Guns fire sounded from outside and you jumped. You picked Daryl’s head up carefully and laid it down. You grabbed one of the nearly empty guns and pointed it to the doors. It was dark out, and you could only see the shadows of walkers dropping before the doors were pushed open.

“Daryl? Y/N?” You dropped your gun in pure relief at the sound of Glenn’s voice. “Are you guys ok?”

“Back here! Daryl’s hurt!” Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne rushed over to you. With all four of you, you quickly were able to get Daryl in the car.

You sat in the back with Daryl’s head in your lap. You held him tightly, not wanting the bumps to disturb him. You pushed hair from him face when his eyes fluttered open.

“You’re gonna be ok, honey. We’re almost home,” you said, keeping your voice low. He reached up to grab your hand and smiled lightly, although it turned to a grimace when Glenn hit a hole in the road.

“You shoulda left,” he mumbled. “Could’ve gotten hurt.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I’d never leave you behind. It’s always going to be me and you, ok?” He smiles and nods, looking up at you a little dazed.

“Me and you.”

297 notes · View notes

oliversrarebooks · 4 months

Note

How would Oliver's attitude towards Alexander change, if he were taken from his bookshop by Lex himself? In the canon story, Alexander is more or less saving Oliver from a fate so much worse, and it's honestly the best Oliver can hope for (even letting Oliver go would not save him, I think, with all that's been suggested about Lex's sire). But if Alexander's Sweet Dream were true, it would just be a regular kidnapping. How would Oliver feel about that, and about Alexander? That is, before Lex puts his skills to work and makes Oliver okay with it all.

Alexander's Sweet Dream Part 2: Oliver's Window

Previous Masterlist Next

TW: mind control, kidnapping

Oliver woke up feeling so sluggish. He was tired and his mind felt hazy -- he had the strangest of dreams the night before, and just wanted to sleep off the strange lethargy. He rolled over and almost sank back into slumber before he realized that he was cuddled into silk sheets.

His bed most certainly did not have silk sheets.

His eyes flew open completely now. He wasn't in his bed, but in an obscenely large four-poster done up with fine silk sheets and a dozen pillows. The bed was situated in the middle of a bedroom that was as large as Oliver's entire apartment, filled with carved wooden furnishings, primarily bookcases. He briefly wondered if he were in one of those farces where a man wakes up in a richly appointed mansion and is convinced he is a prince who has lost his memory.

His memory...

The vampires.

Oliver's hand went to his neck. He thought perhaps he could feel a scab, but it was indistinct, and could well be his imagination. The place where the wound should be didn't hurt.

Was it real?

Even though his memories were hazy, it certainly felt real. He remembered greeting his favorite patron, Mr. Alexander, and his friend from overseas, Fitz. He remembered feeling so drowsy, unable to stop himself from yawning and nodding off. He remembered a sensation of relaxing bliss as his mind filled with an otherworldly lullaby, a song without words that nonetheless whispered to him to sleep, go to sleep, calm and peaceful, deepest of sleeps...

He had tried to resist it, but it was no use. The song had wrapped around his body and mind, dazing him so that he could not fight back, slowly but surely putting him to sleep.

It'd felt so, so good.

And then...

Oliver felt around his neck again. There should be a scab, some soreness, anything to indicate that he had actually been bitten by vampires, and it wasn't all a hallucination.

Still, why would he have woken up in a bedroom in a stranger's mansion if the vampires had not been real?

Vampires were real. Vampires were real, and they'd fed on his blood. His favorite patron Mr. Alexander, who had a keen interest in rare books and in the supernatural, was a vampire. Even though he knew it had happened, he couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that Mr. Alexander had bitten his neck and kidnapped him.

But if it was indeed true, that meant the vampires would come to get him at any time. He had to do something about his situation now if he wanted any hope of making it out of here alive and with the rest of his blood.

That was what he was here for, wasn't it? They'd hypnotized him, kidnapped him, and stashed him away alive so that they could drink his blood at their leisure. With the powers they'd demonstrated last night, they could turn him into their mindless servant.

Oliver quickly took stock. There was enough sunlight streaming around the curtained window that he could see well enough. He flipped the covers off, and saw that he had been laid to bed in his clothes from the previous day -- at least he hadn't been manhandled out of those. His shoes were tucked just underneath the bed, so he put them on.

The first order of business was to try the door. He fully expected it to be locked, of course, but it would be silly to not even check. Not only was it locked, but the keyhole was on the other side of the door, so that he couldn't even try to pick his way out (not that he knew how to pick locks).

His next thought was to check the wardrobe and the chest of drawers for anything useful he could use as a weapon for when the vampires came back. A wooden stake through the heart or a silver weapon, that's what was supposed to kill vampires, wasn't it? He doubted he'd find anything like that -- and indeed, the drawers and wardrobe were filled with clothes and shoes.

Maybe a shoe...

He pictured himself trying to ward off vampires with a shoe and immediately rejected the idea.

The furniture was all very sturdy, with thick legs on the chairs, so there wasn't much hope that he could break it to form a makeshift stake, either.

Even if he did have a weapon, he didn't like his odds. Even in his vague memories, he remembered how strong Alexander had felt when he'd picked Oliver up. Oliver, who had always been short and frail, was no match for most ordinary men, much less a supernatural horror.

If he couldn't fight, then his other possibility was to flee.

Oliver went to the window and threw it open. The sun had nearly set -- he'd been out of it for a long time -- and he seemed to be two or three stories up. He realized with shock that he knew this part of the city. He didn't often frequent the more expensive parts of town, but he really wasn't all that far from his bookshop, maybe twenty minutes' walk.

Below him, ordinary people bustled about the icy streets. A woman in a fur coat walked her dogs. A group of little boys ran down the sidewalk, tossing snow at each other. A courier delivered a package.

It was such a mundane scene, in fact, that it made him second guess his certainty that he'd been taken by vampires. Could vampires really co-exist in the normal waking world like this? Could there have been some misunderstanding?

Was he losing his mind?

He supposed he had better not take any chances. If he was losing his mind, he could ask forgiveness later.

He steeled his courage, picked up a heavy chair with some difficulty, and threw it at the window, shielding his eyes from the flying glass shards.

Well, if the vampires were in the house -- and considering the sun was still up, they probably were -- they had most certainly heard that. If he was going to escape, he had better do it quickly. Glass shards were littering the windowsill, and he only hesitated slightly before grabbing a shirt from the open drawers and using it to remove as much of the glass as he could. Cutting himself and leaving a blood trail seemed like a surefire way to get caught by the vampires.

Protecting his hands with the shirt, he climbed up onto the windowsill. The ground was a surprisingly long way down, and it was hard and icy. He fought down the sudden dizzy sensation, trying not to think of the possibility of breaking his leg and trying to hobble away from pursuing vampires.

The sun was still out. They couldn't come after him right away. There were people all over. He could get help.

Just as he convinced himself to take the leap --

"Oh, shit!"

Oliver was grabbed by the collar and pulled from the window, back into the shadows of the room. His struggles were no use, as the vampire was holding him firm.

"Ha, you have a lot more fire in you than I expected!" It was Alexander's friend, Fitz. "And here I thought you might be boring. I really should've known better. Lex has better taste than that."

"Let me go!" Oliver tried to scramble back towards the window or at least get in the weak sunbeam.

"Oh, no you don't," said Fitz's voice in his ear. "Why don't we just calm down."

One of the vampire's hands touched his own, and he felt a disconcerting warmth radiating out from it. It felt good. Soothing. Far, far too soothing. Oliver redoubled his efforts, realizing that the vampire was trying to get him hypnotized again.

"C'mon, just relax and we can sit down and have a nice chat."

"No, no, I don't want you to -- to --"

"Hypnotize you?"

"Yes!"

"Like this?"

A wave of disconcerting relaxation spread across Oliver's body, causing him to fall back into Fitz's arms against his will.

"There you go. Calm down, okay?"

"What on earth is going on?" Alexander had appeared in the doorway. "Oliver, did you break the window?"

"I was trying to escape!" he said, attempting to ignore the increasingly sedating feeling coming from contact with Fitz. "You kidnapped me!"

"Little help here, Lex?"

"Hmm..." Alexander approached him, and caught in Fitz's arms, there was no way for Oliver to shy away. The vampire began to hum something low, something that immediately began worming its way into Oliver's mind.

"No, don't hypnotize me, please don't --"

Alexander stepped closer, his song more insistent, and Oliver could feel his brain melting as it filled him with blissful tranquility. It was impossible to ignore, and it was so, so...

"Awfully good, isn't it? The song, I mean. Just so nice to listen to..." said Fitz into his ear. Oliver's muscles were loosening, and his mind startled to buckle under the twin sources of enthrallment.

"Ohhh..." He collapsed fully into Fitz's arms now. The vampires' hypnosis was impossible to resist, the song subduing his mind and making him want nothing more than to fall into a comfortable daze and listen, allowing the delicious feeling from Fitz's hands to further sink him into a stupor. He wasn't even sure it was entirely the powers at work. It'd been so long since he'd been held.

With what was left of his lucidity, he cast a desperate glance at the window.

"I don't think you really want to jump out a window, do you?" said Fitz, who was now playing with his hair, and oh, did that ever feel amazing. "I think you want to sit down and talk to us."

And Alexander sang, a song that had no lyrics, but still very clearly conveyed the message: relax, Oliver, be calm, surrender...

He was fading fast, almost completely hypnotized once more, rapidly losing control of himself. "Please... what do you even want with me...?"

Alexander's song so clearly conveyed it: to relax, to surrender, to obey...

The pull was so strong.

"I... I..."

Compliant... obedient... hypnotized...

"I... I want to..."

"That's it," Fitz coaxed. "Just keep listening to Lex's pretty little song. It's so good..."

Surrender, said Alexander's song. Rest your mind. Let go. Obey.

"I want to..." he said in a dazed mumble. "I want to obey..."

That simple admission was like a golden starburst deep within him. He wanted to obey, it was all he could imagine wanting right now. The song told him so, wrapping tightly around him.

Alexander stroked his cheek while he sang. Calm and peaceful, hypnotized and obedient, good...

"Mmm," Oliver agreed, sinking ever further into the trance. "I'll be good..."

"Obey you, Lex," came an unexpected drowsy voice from behind Oliver. Fitz's head slumped against his. "...do anything you say..."

Alexander smiled. So deeply hypnotized now, so completely obedient, so open and ready to listen...

"Listen..." Oliver's words were slurring. He'd never felt so relaxed in his life, except perhaps in his hazy memories of Alexander singing to him the night before. It felt so right to stop resisting and allow the alluring song to wash over him.

"Love listening to you..." said Fitz.

Oliver realized dimly that the vampire holding him was somehow just as hypnotized as he was. That seemed unusual, but he was far too out of it to understand why.

Alexander stopped singing, but the captivation remained. "I'm going to wake Fitz up now," said Alexander in Oliver's ear. "But you are going to stay completely under my power, do you understand?"

"I understand," came the automatic reply from his lips.

"Good. You can wake up now, Fitz."

"Mmm, do I have to?"

Oliver felt the grip on him tighten as the vampire behind him stirred.

"Let's all sit down on the bed together. I'll get his legs, take his shoes off."

"Got it."

Alexander resumed his song as Oliver was manhandled onto the bed, coming to rest sandwiched in between the two vampires. He wasn't being restrained any more, but all of his fight was being thoroughly drained by Alexander humming in his ear and Fitz toying with his hair.

"See, we just want to talk," said Fitz. "Lex, I think you've got him under too deep. He's not going to be able to string two words together."

"I suppose you're right," said Alexander, ceasing his song. Oliver felt cut by its absence, even as his mind began to clear. "You can wake up a bit now, Oliver. Just enough to talk."

His fear returned in a rush, but dimmer than before. "You're not going to let me go, are you?"

"It's nothing so dire as what you're thinking," said Alexander. "You'll be very much allowed to return to your precious bookshop."

"I am? Truly?"

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of disrupting the best business in the city," said Alexander. "I don't intend to keep you as my captive. I am looking for... an additional companion."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you would stay in my mansion and have your every need provided for, with money as no object," said Alexander, hooking his hand under Oliver's chin and drawing him nearer. Although he had stopped singing, his words still seemed laden with enchantment, and Oliver felt his thoughts slipping. "You could continue to run your bookstore and live your life to your heart's content, save only for the evenings when I wish to feed upon you."

Oliver fought to hold onto his fear, the fear that was being unnaturally calmed by his alluring voice. "That's very... generous, but I don't want a vampire to feed on me."

"Funny," said Fitz, wrapping an arm around Oliver, "you seemed to enjoy it just fine last night."

"That was -- you had hypnotized me --"

"Just as you're being hypnotized now," said Alexander. "You take to it very well. It's agreeable, isn't it?"

"Agreeable..." said Oliver, nodding as his mind slipped, then catching himself. "I mean -- no --"

"We'll treat you so well," said Fitz. "You can trust Lex. He's quite fond of you, you know."

"You seem to have grown fond of him, too," said Alexander.

"How could I not? It seems like dusty intellectuals are my particular proclivity. And this one's especially delectable."

Oliver struggled to think. They were discussing him as though he wasn't even there. No matter how tempting the offer sounded, no matter how much their spell pulled at him, he couldn't just --

"I won't harm your mind," Alexander murmured in his ear. "I just want you to be comfortable with the feedings. I'll leave your precious wit untouched."

Fitz had picked up his hand and was idly playing with his fingers. "Think about it. No more struggle to make ends meet. Your bookshop fully funded, your life made comfortable and easy. All in exchange for just a small amount of blood and the tiniest of concessions in that busy mind of yours."

"No more doubt, no more anxiety..."

"Trust us, Oliver. You won't regret it."

It did sound... awfully nice... He reached in his mind for the ever-dwindling reserve of resistance that had been fueling him, only to find it running dry.

Why was he so adamant about fighting this...? Wasn't this a deal anyone would take? The feeding hadn't even been distressing, hadn't seemed to harm him after a good night's sleep, and he was being offered so much in return...

...and he was so comfortable here, snuggled between the two vampires, so close that he could feel the vibrations from Alexander's low humming...

"...I'll be... safe...?" he managed.

"Oh, safe as houses," said Fitz with a grin.

"I'll protect you with everything I have," said Alexander.

Protected. That sounded nice, too. He felt himself slowly nod.

Stay with me, was the intent in Alexander's song now. Safe and comfortable. Stay...

"Why don't I show you the library?" said Alexander. "Not only do I have many rare and curious human-penned volumes, but books written by vampires and other supernatural creatures that few humans have ever seen."

"Oh!" Oliver felt his daze lift a bit as he leaned closer to Alexander. "I would very much like to see that!"

Fitz laughed. "Like two peas in a pod, if the pod were lined with bookshelves."

"Then let's go." Alexander stood up from the bed, holding out his hand for Oliver to take, the hum in his throat whispering rest here, stay forever. Something small but insistent tugged at Oliver, and he glanced towards the broken window, struggling to remember the significance of it. Alexander turned his chin back. "Don't worry about that. You can stay in any number of my guest rooms until we can get the window fixed."

"Right... thank you," said Oliver softly.

"Now, shall we go see the library?"

"Yes."

"Yes, sir."

Previous Masterlist Next

Part three of this scenario will be a Christmas special.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king

#ask #whump #vampire #mind control #whump writing #rare bookseller #whumpee #hypnosis #vampire whumper #fitz #alexander #oliver #carewhumper

121 notes · View notes