#I know they can’t taste dirt

[supercutszns]

bitter to the taste; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader

synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.

warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end

notes: i’m starting to hate this bc i think i’ve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (i’ve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like it’s serious)

You’ve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth. 

You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasn’t for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. You’d rather lie back and watch instead.

This flaw of yours is the only reason you haven’t stirred more trouble, you think. It’s the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you don’t have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.

You don’t want to feed it. You don’t know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.

Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. It’s fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when he’s in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying. 

You don’t know how many times you’ve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but you’re sure he doesn’t know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known. 

Meet me tomorrow. 

It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tender—had to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created you’ve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you don’t harbour affection for anyone or anything. There’s not a single thing you’ve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. It’s solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but that’s the way you’re supposed to be. 

But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest. 

His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces. 

He’s waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what they’re doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. 

So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows you’re there. He can’t see you, but he knows. 

You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is. 

Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. “Are you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?”

You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. “Hi,” you say flatly, but there’s a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off. 

“Hello, rotten.” He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isn’t quite tall enough so he stumbles. It’s so pathetic it almost makes you laugh. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grimace.

“Okay, back to heathen?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.” 

You don’t say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. “All right, both it is,” Luke shrugs.

He’s different from last night. Less impatient. You hope it’s not because he thinks he has you now—he’s got another thing coming. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come,” he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed. 

You’ve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. “Don’t know why I did,” you mutter crassly. 

Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. “Yes, you do.”

That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know he’s peering at the marks on your neck. 

“If you made me come here just to hook up with me you’re delusional,” you glare. 

“What, like that’s not why you’re here?” He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. “I’m a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.”

This guy is full of fucking shit.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you.

He keeps your face still. He’s studying you, and you’re suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks you’d share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then? 

“You wanna fight?”

It takes you a second to react. “What?”

“You want to fight. Pick up a sword, let’s go.” He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t fight.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. “You need to burn off a little steam.”

You laugh sharply. “And you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he grins. “It’s the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.” 

You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; it’s like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you. 

You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing it’s not the kind used for training. “I’ll use the dull one,” he assures. “C’mon, heathen. I know you’ve used a sword before, they force us to.”

“I usually skip those classes.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if it’s at you or with you. “Of course you do.”

You don’t like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. You’re only a little curious about it. 

“Straighten your back,” is the first thing he says once you’ve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip. 

You begrudgingly do as you’re told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness you’re hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz. 

He gives you the barebones—the right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time it’s for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, you’ll bite.

You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. “You can do better than that,” he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. “Stop going easy.”

“You’re going easy,” you shoot back. 

“Yeah, but I’d really rather not. Come on.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used. 

“Come on,” he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. “All of a sudden you’re playing nice? What are you afraid of?”

Something flares inside you. “Nothing!”

“Then pick up the sword and fight me.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you don’t care. “There we go,” he nods. “Again.”

This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it? 

He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but it’s still not enough. Luke doesn’t let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, you’re not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since he’s so sure he can take it. 

“No wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. “You don’t have a proper outlet. Maybe you’d be nicer if you didn’t sit around and complain all day.”

“Shut up,” you gnash your teeth. 

“Just saying, maybe you should do something about it.”

You’re getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom. 

Luke keeps egging you on but you can’t hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think you’re smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open. 

Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But it’s a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.

The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin. 

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck.”

You don’t sound sorry, you don’t think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. It’s a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. “Knew you were going easy,” he remarks through a wince. 

You ignore him, looking down at the injury. A  gash across his abdomen. It’s bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you don’t play camp games. 

“I’ve got thick skin. I’m fine,” Luke says casually. “I’ve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.” He’s no longer scrunched in pain, and you’ve got a feeling he’s telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because you’re sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry. 

You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. It’s mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. “Just give me the gauze, that’s all I need,” Luke gestures. 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing it myself.” You’ve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees. 

“Most people just say sorry.”

“You pushed me,” you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Luke’s smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. “I told you I don’t fight.”

You’re not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesn’t say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. There’s no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. “My bad,” you mutter. 

As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. It’s obvious he’s staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you don’t engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on. 

“Good?” You ask instead, exhaling. 

“Good,” he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once you’re standing. The night stills. 

“I’m guessing you’re adding ‘attempted killer’ to your list of horrible qualities,” you go on to break the silence.

He holds your gaze unyieldingly. “I’d consider that a pro, actually.” 

You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you can’t bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. “I will give you one, though,” he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday. 

He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. “You’re too tense.” Another kiss behind your ear. It’s not enough. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.

Luke’s breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.

He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassing—you think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. You’ve never needed something this bad, you’ve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and it’s difficult to worry about anything else. 

Until he pulls away. Like a dick. 

He doesn’t go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. It’s a muddling mix of frustration and longing you’re starting to associate with him. “Dude,” you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing. 

“Let’s go for a swim,” he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.

You’re homicidal. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, heathen. Let’s go for a swim, come on.”

He’s rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. “But I—I don’t have my bathing suit,” you string out. 

The smile gets more boyish. “Wow, whatever shall we do?”

It’s another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. You’re going to kill him. 

“Fine,” you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips you’re pulled to the lake. 

It’s a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesn’t seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you don’t like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. “Aren’t you going to at least come in?” He asks, but you don’t look at him. 

“I don’t like swimming,” you lie. 

“At least your feet. It’s nice, I swear!”

A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. “Please,” he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy! 

You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. “Fuck this,” you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and you’re not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you. 

You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. “Come in,” he urges. 

“No.”

“Just your legs?”

“No.”

“Gods, I’ll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. “So fucking difficult,” he mutters, and your pulse flickers. 

“Sorry, what was that?” You let yourself grin for the first time all night. 

“Nothing,” he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. You’re pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees. 

He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. “Stop dripping on me,” you complain. 

“Sorry.” He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. “Feel bad about teasing you all night,” he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. “I really did want to see you.”

The irony that he’s still teasing is not lost on you. You’re not loving how desperately warm you’re starting to feel. “Why’s that?” You lean back on your palms. 

“You’re a very interesting person,” he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. He’s pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow you’ve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh. 

“You’re fucking evil,” you scathe. 

He looks up at you from between your legs. “You have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.”

“Yeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. You’re playing infection roulette, Castellan.”

“See? You’re so mean.” He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. “And here I am anyway, making it up to you.”

You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. “Luke, you can’t be serious.” 

“Mmhm.” He leans forward to kiss right under your navel. 

You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. “Someone’s gonna—someone’s gonna hear us.”

He snorts, “No they won’t. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. We’ll see.”

A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. You’re going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. “What is wrong with you.”

It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air. 

“Are you going to be nice?” He asks against your skin. 

“Are you going to be quick?”

His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, “Swear.” 

That’s all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids. 

You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises. 

The next time you need Luke’s med kit, he’s already awake. 

It’s been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a … something with you. 

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree. 

“Could ask you the same thing, heathen,” he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so you’re both okay with it. You’d hate to give up this feeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real. 

Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. You’re young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. You’re having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. You’re both greedy, insatiable people, so there’s a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Blood’s angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, it’s hard to tell which is which. 

“Luke,” you whisper. “Luke.”

“I’m up,” he grumbles, peering up at you. “You shouldn’t sneak into my cabin.” He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didn’t notice you were there till you were right in front of him.

“Worried someone will catch me? You should know better.” 

He follows you outside so you don’t wake the other campers. There’s a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever. 

“What is it, heathen?” He asks as the door closes behind him. It’s so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. “You don’t usually want to put up with me more than once a night.”

“Don’t have a choice,” you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. “Where’s your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.” 

“You mean after you lightly grazed me?” 

“Just tell me where it is, Luke.”

Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. He’s silent behind you for a second. “Why?” He asks.

“Because I need it.”

His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something … you’re not sure you like. “Oh, heathen,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”

You guess it’s a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. There’s a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side. 

“Just the usual. Pissed someone off.” It hurts the skin on your lip that’s caked with blood. 

He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he can’t see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. “You need to go to the Apollo cabin,” he concludes, brows pushed together. 

A laugh slips past your broken lips. “No fucking shot. They would not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of their shit-eaters did this!”

The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Luke’s brain. He blinks absurdly. “An Apollo guy beat you up?”

“Not beat up. Just … tussled.”

“How much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.”

“Gods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.”

His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. “Already wasn’t sleeping. I might as well help you,” he shrugs. “I move the kit every once in a while so some other campers don’t ravage it.”

“I don’t need help.”

Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. “Hey, what—” you swat at his arm. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. “Come on.”

It’s strange. Luke’s never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. You’re disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now he’s dragging you around? “This isn’t such a big deal, Luke,” you badger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, whatever. Wait right here.” He lets go of you and only then you realize you’re in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go inside and grab some things. No one’s gonna jump you.”

You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway. 

It’s a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, “Heathen?” Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you. 

“Nice haul,” you comment. There’s an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. “How’d you get them?”

He smiles widely. “Everyone loves me, heathen. It’s not hard.”

“…So you stole them.”

“Yes, but only because I’m too tired to talk to people and I’m protesting for your sake,” he rattles off. “Now hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.”

The two of you make your way down to the docks again. It’s morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least that’s what he tells you.)

He’s stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol. 

Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. You’re not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. You’re less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.

“Come,” he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you. 

Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. “What did you do to earn this, anyway?” He asks, head tilted to the side. 

You’re hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. “The usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.”

“You did not,” Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad. 

“You’re allowed to say you’re proud of me, Saint Castellan. I won’t tell. You can be mean.” Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away. 

“You’re always gonna be meaner,” is all he says back. “This is gonna hurt.”

It’s all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. “Shit, ow!” 

“Stop moving your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth. 

Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you can’t shy away. “I’ll kiss it better,” he teases. “Almost done.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. “Serious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?”

A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. “Not you too! I don’t need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesn’t anyone get that?” 

“I’m not asking why. I’m asking how.”

He’s oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why you’re like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Luke’s eyes, sleep doesn’t seem to be on his radar. 

“I just don’t care,” you admit, shrugging. “I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care about what they can do to me. I don’t care about anything.”

“…What about the Gods?”

It makes you cock your head. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t care about them, either?”

You think, but only about which words to use. “No,” you decide, “They don’t scare me. They’re nothing. What are they gonna do to me?”

Luke snorts, almost nervously. “Uh, punish you for saying that, for one.”

You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. “How? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? I’m telling you, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It’s all just nothing to me. I’m fucking unpunishable, I’d like to see them try.” 

Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing. 

The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. “Unpunishable,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. “We’ll see about that.”

You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldn’t be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart. 

Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if he’s been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong. 

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, they’ve been hushed.

“Um, better,” you reply. 

He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. “Did you at least get the other guy?” He asks between kisses. “Like, did you hurt him?”

“Not really,” you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame. 

“Why?” He’s made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear. 

“I’m not a fighter.” And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, “I’m a killer.”

Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. “Guess one of us has to be.”

There’s no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. “Stay in my bunk, heathen,” he offers. “Leave in the morning.”

You think you’re making a mistake when you agree, but it doesn’t feel like one. 

The next day, after you’ve left Luke’s bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely. 

But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didn’t mean a single damn word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz

rotten taglist: @thaliagracesgf

leave a pm/comment/ask if you'd like to be added to a taglist :)

#perrie’s fics #rotten to the touch #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan smut #luke castellan pjo #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #charlie bushnell #pjo x reader #luke castellan fic

[coryosbaby]

Alternative Payment <3

♡ content warning! Mdni, 18+ , innocent! Reader, manipulation, dark! Coryo

The guards of the cage are too easy to impress. As Coriolanus zig zags his way to the exhibit, he catches sight of you at the farthest corner. Your back is against a nearby rock, your eyes wide open unlike the other Victors. When you see him, you scramble to the bars. He smirks, watching your doe eyes look up at him through fluttering lashes.

“Did you bring food?” You ask your mentor desperately. Coriolanus nods, reaching into his bag to pull out a bottle of water and a sandwich made of wheat bread and ham. You take it, and begin to nibble on the sandwich eagerly. Coriolanus watches with something quite unclear in his gaze.

“Have they fed you at all?” He asks.

You shake your head, wiping bread crumbs off the corner of your plump lips.

“No. They didn’t give us water, either,” you explain, and begin to open the bottle that was graciously gifted to you. “Thank you, Coryo!”

Oh, so sweet. A girl with manners. Coryo looks back at the other victors. They’re all heavy sleepers.

When you finish up the sandwich, you chug the rest of the water down and hand the empty bottle back to him. He puts it back into his bag. You wipe your mouth, looking up at him with an almost happy grin on your face.

So innocent.

“Mmm..” Coryo takes in the sight of your pretty face, caked in dirt and twigs and god knows what else, and something twitches in his pants. “Got you something else, too. For my favorite victor.”

“Really?” Your eyes shine with curiosity. “What is it?”

Coryo chuckles. His fingers reach through the bars and smooth back your hair.

“Close your eyes.”

Your brows furrow, but you obey. As your lids flutter shut, you hear the sound of something clacking together.

“If you’re good and do what I say,” Coryo continues. “Then I’ll give you something else to eat. Okay?”

“Okay..” you say innocently, the grumbling of your tummy ever so prominent.

You jump. Something wet and warm touches your lips, and you hear Coryo let out a shaky sigh.

“Open up,” he breathes. “And don’t bite.”

Confusion riddles your face, but you obey simultaneously. The thought of food is heavy on your mind.

When the mysterious, meaty thing slides onto your tongue, your taste buds explode with something musky and salty. You hear coryo let out a whine, and the thing moves farther to the back of your throat. Your tongue brushes over it curiously, and Coryo lets out the loudest moan. Fear courses through you at the thought of the other victors waking up and seeing that your mentor is giving you something extra, but you swallow it down— sort of like the way you swallow down this mysterious wet thing in your mouth.

“God,” Coryo heaves. “Such a pretty little face.”

The thing in your mouth moves out, then back in again roughly. You let out a gag, your eyes welling with tears. You lave over the tip of the thing when it’s pulled back out onto your tongue again. Something slaps against your chin each time that it presses flush against your lips.

“Fuck,” Coryo says from above you. “Open those eyes f’me. Cmon, don’t you wanna see your present?”

You do want to see what’s inside your mouth, so with fluttering eyelids you obey.

It’s hard to see at first. You vision blurs, then clears. Coryo is above you, as you can see through the bars.And the thing in your mouth is…

Attached to him?

Okay, so you know basic anatomy. You know what it is— only, you don’t know exactly what it’s used for. Your eyes widen, seeing the look of bliss on his handsome face, the way his big hands grip each side of the prison bars like his life depends on it. He’s thrusting his hips into your mouth— that thing, a cock, as you heard the boys in your district call it, is slamming against your throat at a rapid pace. Looking up, Coryo’s eyes connect to yours and he laughs. It’s unsettling, a tiny giggle in the back of his throat, and you can’t help but feel something. Tingling, perhaps. In the same spot on you that Coryo’s cock is connected to.

“Suck it like a lollipop.”

Coryo’s words make you mewl, the remembrance of sugary sweets making your stomach swirl.

“Oh, honey,” Coryo continues, as you begin to lave over his aching cockhead. “Y’want one of those, don’t you? I’ll give you one, a special little treat. Tomorrow, before the games.”

You want to cry, just from the thought of a cherry flavored lollipop. You suckle him, just like the boy had asked, desperate to please him and get your stomach full. It isn’t long before his hips are stuttering, abs tensing, and his mouth is letting out quiet degradations.

“Dirty girl. Yeah, ‘m gonna cum. Gonna fill up that little tummy, baby.”

He demands that you pull off, let him move his hand up and down his shaft while your tongue lolls out. When his cum hits your taste buds, you let out a whimper. Not that good tasting, but not bad, either. However, the spot in between your legs begins to tingle more— and hurt. God, it hurts, and you can’t stop squirming to try and get relief. Looking back, you pray that no one had saw your endeavor with your handsome mentor.

When he tucks himself back into his pants, you’re still waiting impatiently.

“Sir?” You question Coryo softly. “Can I have something else to eat, now?”

Another unsettling giggle.

“Silly girl,” he says. “You already did.”

#‘id suck his dick thru the bars’ and I took that literally 💯 #Coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow x reader #Coriolanus snow x fem! reader #Coriolanus snow x innocent! reader #Coriolanus snow smut #Coriolanus snow fanfic #dom! Coriolanus snow #sub! reader #dark! Coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songs and snakes #the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic #thg #thg fanfic #the hunger games #hunger games #hunger games fanfic #Tom blyth #coryo snow #bunny writes ͟͟͞☆

[venuslore]

𖥔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; after being struck by a peacekeeper, coryo puts aside his differences to clean you up.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x fem!reader

notes ; pls coryo may be a little ooc in this but i tried. ok? i tried! physical violence, mentions of blood and death, as well as the events that take place in the hunger games universe, spoilers for tbosas !

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

the blow sent a stinging sensation through your cheek, the level of force behind it knocking you to the ground on impact. you had always wondered what it would feel like to be hit in the face – if you would be able to take it – and well, now you knew.

you sat there on the ground, a spectacle among the crowd, and all because you were helping an elderly lady and unknowingly stepped into the peacekeeper’s way. you didn’t mean to, and before you knew it his leather glove was colliding with the side of your face. 

you loathed the peacekeepers, everyone did, but specifically the way they thought they could belittle you and your people just because of their job title. and yet, it terrified you to know how harsh they were over something so small, you couldn’t even begin to think how torturous they could be behind closed doors. 

once the peacekeepers move on, laughing among themselves at what they had done to you, a man and his wife help you to your feet, and you dust yourself off. your palms burned from the rubble you had landed on, small rocks sticking into your skin, and your head was ringing, but nothing compared to the side of your face. 

you were tough, there was no doubt about it, but having the peacekeeper’s hand collide with your face with such force had you a little shaken up. 

“i’m okay, everyone,” you let the group of onlookers, and those that had helped you, know. with a faux smile and a reassuring nod, you quickly return to helping the woman pick up her belongings that had been knocked over in the midst of it all. 

“oh, don’t worry about me, dear. go take care of yourself,” she gestures to your face and your hand instinctively reaches to feel the wet cut that had formed on your lip. a small speckle of blood now on your fingers as a metallic taste fills your senses. it ached to touch, and if it looked bad now, you could only imagine how bad it was going to be later. 

you take your leave from the woman and make your way home along the seam. the sun was beginning to disappear behind the clouds as the sound of the town drowns out behind you and into the distance. people watched as you passed them by, noticing the blood on your face and probably wondering what had happened. 

you didn’t mind the stares, not much happened in the district, and it wasn't as if you had anything to be ashamed of. well, not that anyone knew of anyway. 

you eventually make it to the last stretch of the dirt path before your house when your name gets called out, stopping you in your tracks, and in the direction it had come from were a couple more peacekeepers. though, these ones didn’t instil fear in you the same way the others had. 

they were familiar faces – faces that you were somewhat glad to see – however, you weren’t sure how they were going to react seeing the new feature that had been ever so kindly bestowed upon your face. 

sejanus waves you over, tapping his partner on the shoulder once he notices, and gestures towards you. coriolanus stands beside him, turning your way after seeing the panicked look on his friend's face, and his smile drops the second he sees the cut on your lip and the bruise that had already begun to form. 

“y/n…” he speaks your name delicately, a forbidden whisper, before rapidly scanning your surroundings to make sure the area was safe. it was. “what happened?”

he wants to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and kiss you better, anything he can to make sure you were okay, but he can’t. he knows that. it would be too much of a risk in such an open space and he wasn’t going to be the reason you end up with another bruise, or worse. so he quickly fixes his posture and positions his gun against his shoulder where it was meant to be. 

“oh, this? it’s nothing,” you wave them off, even adding a wink to further convince them that you were fine.

sejanus smiles, even stifles a laugh at your nonchalant attitude, but not coriolanus. no. he could see right through the smile you were presenting them with. how could he not? he had spent far too much time staring at you, his lover, whether it be from across the town square, or beside you in your bed. he knew every which way your face contorted and exactly what it meant. 

he could see you were in pain. 

his jaw tightens at this, fighting the urge to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder so that he could take you home. it was one thing to have to watch the horrors and physical brutality that went on in the district every day, most of which he had become numb to, but seeing you be the victim of it filled him with not only rage, but fear. 

he wanted – no, needed – you to be safe. 

“is there anything we can do?” sejanus offers. “anything we can get you?”

“don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine,” you smile once again, though this time, coriolanus refuses to sit by and watch you lie. 

“can you cover for me?” he asks, though you know it’s meant for sejanus, who instantly nods at the request, further proving his loyalty to his friend. “go home and wait for me. i won’t be long, just don’t touch it.”

while you wanted nothing more than for coriolanus to follow you home, you knew he couldn’t. it wasn’t safe, not while the sun was still out, “no, i’m fine. i promise.”

“just do what i say, okay?” his eyes bore into you now, an urgency in them as his protective side comes into play, and you knew there was no point trying to argue with him when he got like this. 

you nod, begrudgingly, and lazily salute the pair before continuing on down the path to your house. it was only a little ways away from where the boys had spotted you, but the second you see the chipping wood and beaten down stairs that you called ‘home’, you’re overcome with relief. 

upon entering you immediately splay yourself down on the sofa — one of the few pieces of furniture you still owned after your parents — and wait, just like coriolanus had asked you. your head had stopped ringing a little, but the throbbing pain in your cheek was still there. nonetheless, you knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight come morning. 

minutes pass, twenty-seven to be exact, before you hear shuffling at your back window, followed by heavy footsteps. you knew it was coriolanus. he regularly came through the back of the house so as not to be seen by your neighbours, but like you always tell him, barely anyone bothered to come down your way. 

the second his face comes into view, you let off a weak smile, more so as he begins to remove his uniform, placing it down on the table in the corner of the room, alongside his gun, “i don’t have long. sejanus is covering for me, but even he knows it won’t be long before they start wondering where i am.”

“you really didn’t have to come. i told you, i’m fine,” you sit up now as coriolanus meets your side with a small package in his hand. 

the look in his eyes shifts as he gets a closer inspection of the damage that had been done to your face, a heavy breath falling from his lips. coriolanus believed people deserved to be punished for the things they did, but not you – never you. you were his girl, his flower, his love – and he had been doing everything in his power to make sure you were safe. 

he knew it wasn’t his fault what had happened earlier, but he still couldn’t help but feel somewhat to blame. he should’ve been there to stop the situation, de-escalate it in any way that he could. he had been doing everything in his power to keep you off the other peacekeeper’s radars, away from any potential danger, and selfishly, away from him ever losing you. 

you watch as the stiffness in his jaw goes slack and his shoulders slump a little, eyes downturing as his lips push out into a pout ever so slightly. you reach for his hand, “coryo, what’s wrong?”

“i just… i don’t like to see you hurt,” he pulls his gaze away from you now, wanting to avoid thinking about it, and begins to unwrap the small package in his hand to reveal a mini first-aid kit. “i grabbed what i could without anyone seeing me, though i doubt you’ll need most of it.” 

you watch as he gathers a small cloth, coated with a disinfectant solution and gently dabs at the cut on your lower lip. it stings a little but you didn’t mind, you’d do just about anything to get a moment alone with coriolanus. perhaps getting hit in the face wasn’t all bad, at least the outcome of it anyway. 

once the cut was cleaned, he pulls out a small bandage and presses it across your lip. you weren’t sure you really needed it but it felt nice to be looked after. as for the bruise, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. 

“how does it look?” you sigh, and he reaches up to gently brush the tender skin. 

“it looks… like it needs something,”

“and what’s that?” coryo’s lips quirk up into a roguish grin before he slowly leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek. it’s soft and sweet, and gentle. all of the things coryo was when it was just the two of you alone. “you know what? i think you might be onto something.”

coryo’s laughter reverberates through his entire body, looking at you with glistening eyes, but he gives in, pressing another kiss to your lips, and what starts as a light brush of your lips on his becomes much more when you find yourself pushing him backwards on the sofa. he doesn’t protest and lets himself fall into the cushion behind him as you situate yourself on his lap. there’s no hesitation when his hands cup your thighs, running small comforting circles into your skin. 

you stay like that for a few moments, small trickles of laughter escaping you both as you continue to kiss before you evidently decide to curl yourself up into him. you nuzzle your head into his chest, one leg still draped across his as the other burrows in next to him and instinctively his hand searches for yours - fingers idly grazing one another before he threads his through to hold you. 

“so, what’s the verdict doc? will i make it?” you smile. 

“as long as i have anything to do with it,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, but you can’t help but feel like there was another meaning to his words. 

#— ꒰ ‧ ₊˚ vee daydreams ˖꙳‧ ꒱ #coriolanus snow ᰔ #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow one shot #coriolanus snow oneshot #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n

[fourmoony]

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞

james potter x f!reader

fluff. 1.5k.

Summary: James brings home a baby. A baby that is not kidnapped.

part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - masterlist

...

James is standing in the doorway with a baby in his arms.

You’re so grateful he’s even there, that he’s made it back alive – albeit a little bloody and battered, glasses askew and his face covered in dirt – but alive nonetheless, that you don’t even notice the baby, bundled in a warm, fluffy blanket, wrapped safely in his arms. He’s bouncing his arms gently, probably trying to soothe the baby who’s making soft noises, and it’s really a sight to behold. It’s not until he steps through the doorway and gives you a nervous, lopsided smile that you fully register your boyfriend is holding a baby.

You blink. Once, twice. A third time.

James grows progressively more antsy. He chews his busted lip, winces, and then shifts back and forth on his feet. You have no idea where he could even have procured a baby. He’s been on an order mission for the past four days, scouting possible allies with the vampires whilst simultaneously moving important potions ingredients from one safe house to another, making sure the Death Eaters are always two steps behind order movements. Realistically, there’s been zero opportunity for James to come across a baby that he could just – take home.

“You’re home,” You breathe, because truly, that’s the most important part of the whole ordeal. James is here. He’s safe. He’s alive. Another mission down, and James has returned home. So, you’re glad. Grateful, unbelievably so. But also confused. Deeply confused.

“You have questions,” James is arguably calm about the situation, like he’d expected you to be eyeing him with hesitation – he was right – and he’s already rehearsed this in his head. “That’s normal.”

“Normal,” You repeat, the word tasting foreign on your tongue because nothing about this is normal. “Jamie, you’re holding a baby. Tell me we’re just like, babysitting, or something and you haven’t kidnapped someone’s child!”

James winces at your – albeit, quiet – yelling. The baby whimpers in his arms and immediately James shushes it, bouncing slightly on the spot with a desperate look in his eyes. He’s out of his depth, it’s obvious by the panicked way he’s looking between you and the baby, something pleading in his eyes.

“I didn’t kidnap her,” James argues childishly.

Okay, so, the baby is a girl. And James didn’t kidnap her. You turn and walk towards the kitchen, James follows, hot on your heels. The kitchen is a bit of a mess. There are your dishes from dinner, the bin is full, and there’s a couple of empty cartons for the recycling dotted on the counter closest to the back garden door. But James doesn’t flinch, he surveys his surroundings, but ultimately ignores the mess you’ve allowed to take over the small space in the days he’s been away.

“We were flying over Surrey when Marls spotted the dark mark over a muggle area,” James launches into explanation while you busy yourself with leaning over the sink and running the warm water. “We stopped to assess damage, but the Aurors were already there. Her family was killed, baby. The muggle government won’t touch the scene with a ten-foot pole – not that the baby had any other family, anyway, Alice already checked – and the Ministry won’t do anything except send her to an orphanage.”

The suds around your hands suddenly feel too much. The soup crusted around the side of your dinner bowl won’t come off and you scrub aggressively at it, focussing on that instead of the fact that your boyfriend has essentially just told you he’s informally adopted a child at random, without discussing it with you first.

Well, you know there was no time for him to discuss it. You can’t be mad at him for that. And, really, you can’t be angry at him, either, for bringing her to your home. She’s safe here. She’s already suffered an incredible amount of trauma, and she barely looks more than three months old. Your heart softens with your resolve, and you lift your head to look out of the window above the sink. The cottage you and James live in was a gift from his parents – a gift that had made you incredibly overwhelmed until you found out it had been under their ownership since before James was born, anyway – and has enough room for a swing set and a slide, maybe a trampoline. There’s a spare room, upstairs. Sirius will grumble about giving up his room for when he visits, but you’re sure he’ll get over it with some encouragement from Remus. The cottage is pretty much baby proof for James and Sirius’ sake, anyway. You have enough expendable income to completely kit out an emergency nursery necessary.

The argument isn’t really that you can’t afford to have a baby, or that you don’t have space for a baby. It’s that you’re nineteen, a year out of Hogwarts and in the middle of a war. Things are bad, times are scary, James is gone at least a week out of every month, you spend most of your days confined to the inside of a potions lab with Lily, making key potions that the Order need to work efficiently. You’re still kids yourselves, fighting a war that is taking everything from you.

But the way James is holding her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, rocking her, and cooing at her, you melt when you turn to face them, and it just feels – right, you suppose.

James looks up, smiles tentatively. You’ve always known he’ll be a great dad. He’s so full of light and love. When he loves, he loves with his entire heart. He loves dotingly and loyally. He’s so sure, standing there. Even though you can tell he’s trying to respect you, waiting to show his excitement until he knows how you feel, you can also see how much love he already has for this little girl, how sure he is that here, with him and with you, is the best place for her.

You take a step towards him, around the kitchen island, and hold your arms out wordlessly. He places her in your arms so gently and then watches as your eyes meet hers. They’re big and round and so blue you feel the breath hitch in your throat. She’s gorgeous. Big puffy cheeks and tufts of dark hair on her small little head. Her tiny lips are curved into a tired pout. You can’t help the smile that overcomes you. When your eyes lift – reluctantly – James is staring at you both. There’s something sickly sweet about the look in his eyes, warm like coffee, sweet like honey.

“We’re at war, Jamie,” You tell him, “Having a baby is a bad idea.”

James nods, “I know.”

A beat of silence passes. An understanding, maybe. It’s a bad time to be two nineteen-year-olds having a baby. But it’s there, in the way James looks at you. He’s never been one to have perfect timing. He asked you to be his girlfriend in the middle of an argument. He asked you to move in with him after school when the first Daily Prophet announcement about the war being confirmed happened. He’s brought a baby home out of nowhere, in the middle of said war. But it feels right. Holding her in your arms, James standing so close you can feel his warmth.

“What’s her name?” You ask, smiling sweetly at James.

He beams. He just – he beams. You know that he knows, then. You’re in. For better or worse.

“No idea. Alice had the muggle police contact the muggle social workers, who had no idea of anything about her. Bit of a mystery, really. But we get to keep her. Keep her safe, love her, raise her. So, I think it worked out. Is that bad?" James whips his head up, like his words surprised himself.

You chuckle lightly, "A little."

"What do you think we should name her?" You ask, eyes flitting back down to her. She's fallen over into sleep, blue irises gone from the world and you feel a tinge of sadness. You miss the bright blue of them, already. She's huffing softly, lips parted cutely. There's something magical about the way she's captured your heart in ten minutes flat. She might have magical powers, after all.

"Not sure. We can think on it. Our meeting with the ministry to officially adopt isn't until Monday." James speaks softly, in awe of the sight of you both.

You nod, "We better ring for Sirius and Remus, send them off for a cot, and then coax them into helping us build it."

You hand her over to James, he takes her, and then make for the phone. James stops you when he speaks, voice an amused whisper, lips pressed to her head, "They're already on their way."

"You knew I'd say yes."

"I knew you'd say yes. How could you not? Look at her." James is all honey voiced as he coos and holds the baby up for you to see and you melt.

She's the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're in awe. She's got your heart, well and truly. It's a strange feeling, to have such adoration for a human so small, who you've only just met. But you know you'll lay your life down to protect her. You'd do anything to make sure she's safe. She promises love, in the darkest time. You can already see the difference in James since returning home. He's lighter, full of smiles, gentle, happy. Usually, after missions, James is dark and brooding. He's filled with a darkness that only being a soldier can bring about.

James is looking at her so lovingly it makes you want to cry. She's happiness, and love. She's-

"Hope." You say, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

James looks up, brows furrowed, a question.

"Hope Potter." You affirm, tears in your eyes.

Your heart fills when James leans forward, presses a kiss to your lips, careful not to jostle Hope, "I love it. I love you."

"I love you. Both."

#marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #james potter #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter one shot #sirius black #sirius black fic #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew fic #lily evans #lily evans fic #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #regulus black #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #mary macdonald #alice fortescue #pandora rosier #frank longbottom #fluff #love

[miniwheat77]

You catch them with your panties. HC’s (141 + König.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, suggestive themes, MINORS DNI OR ILL BEAT YOU, panty stealing, sorry if I missed any.

Captain Price:

It was not something you’d expect out of someone like your Captain. He was always very stern and professional.

You needed to tell him about something you’d overheard one of the new recruits saying, being an idiot and you just wanted to put a stop to him before anything happened, you knocked at your captain’s door, walking inside of his room when he tells you to come in. He’s sitting on his bed, sweatpants on. “Hey Y/N, something wrong?” He asks. “Uh.. I just needed to let you know something I over-“ you narrow your eyes, seeing that he’s clutching something in his hand. “Did I interrupt something?” You ask. “What? Oh, no. Go ahead.” He nods. The familiar edge of fabric catches your eye and he moves it behind himself further, you’re almost positive your Captain is holding your missing pair of panties.

The worst part? They’d been missing for over a week now.

“What do you have in your hand?” You ask. “Nothing. Just.. what did you need to tell me Y/N?”

You cross your arms. “Give it to me.” You reach your hand out. He swallows hard. “I-“ you raise your eyebrow. “Look.. M’sorry. I just…” he breathes. You push your hand closer to him and he places them in your hand, the familiar peach color sitting in your hand. You can’t believe this. You turn your back, going toward the door. “Wait Y/N! I’m sorry.” He breathes. You rest your hand on the door handle. Turning toward him. “Why did you take these?” He practically gulps at the question. “Because.. I just- it’s hard being on base with nothing to relieve myself and it’s not like you’re into men like me.” He breathes. “I’m sorry.” He sighs. You back up into the door until it latches with a click, and he looks confused for a moment. You turn to lock the door, hearing another small click, and when you return your gaze to your Captain, his eyes are wide.

“If you wanted a pair of my panties, you could’ve just asked.” You breath. “If you wanted my pussy, you could’ve just asked.” You smile, finally bringing your eyes up to meet his. His pupils are blown wide, heart still thumping at the shock of what you’ve just done.

He closes the distance between the both of you, ready to relieve the built up tension that’s been building for the last few months.

Ghost:

Your eyes were heavy as you walked down the hallway to the women’s barracks, going back to your room. Your hair was still wet, you were coming back from the showers. The hot shower that relaxed your aching muscles from the mission you’d just finished, cleaned your body of the dirt and blood that had accumulated over the course of the few days you were gone.

Just as you reached for your door handle, you heard a grunt coming from the room next to yours, Ghosts.

He had the corner room, right before the women’s barracks. He had just gone on a mission with you, he was alongside you the entire time.

You move closer to his door, finding that it’s still cracked. Unusual for ghost, but he knew what he had to come back to. A pair of your panties that he’d gotten away with. He couldn’t wait. Your eyes widened when you saw him. Knees hooked over the edge of his bed, his right hand pumping his cock furiously. His left holding your panties up to his nose. They were plain cotton panties. But anything to smell you. He can’t help himself as he runs his tongue up them, trying to hard to just get a taste of you.

You push the door open completely, stepping inside.

You push it almost all of the way closed behind you, leaning into it and letting it close with a thump, latching. Ghost jumps up, eyes going wide when he sees you. “Shit! Y/N what the hell!” He gasps, reaching to cover himself, shoving your panties underneath his thigh and pulling a blanket over himself. You laugh, making your way toward him. “So.. it’s you Hm?” You taunt. “You’re the reason all of my panties have been going missing.” He flinches at your words, hating how much of a creep he was for it. “Where are they? Hm?” You ask. He avoids your gaze, like a kid who’s just got finished getting scolded for stealing from a candy store. “I’m sorry.” He breathes. “I swear I’m not a creep or anything like that-“ he breathes.

You pull open his nightstand drawer and there they are. Multiple pairs of your panties are in there. You chuckle, his eyes clenching closed. “I need these back, I’m down to my last few pairs. But here.” You tug the waistband of your panties down your thighs, pulling them off completely. “Exchange?” You smile, pushing them out to him. He swallows hard, taking them. “I’ll save them for later.” He breathes. He stands up, placing a hand on your throat and pulling you into him.

“I want the real thing now.” He breathes, lips only centimeters from yours.

Soap:

Soap knew he was going to get caught eventually. At some point he’d get caught. He carried your panties with him everywhere, he was obsessed. He has them in one of his pockets in his vest, a pair in his nightstand too. He’d exchange them out while you were asleep.

He knew he was a creep for it, but he was obsessed with you, obsessed with the way you smelled, everything about you. He makes his way down the hallway, heading into the mess hall for a cup of coffee. He had just gotten off watch but didn’t have time to fall asleep, so he’d kill time in the mess hall. “Hey, Soap. Can you come help me out? I need something down from a shelf and can’t reach it.” You surprise him. He nods his head. “Sure, lead the way lass.” He smiles. You got along well with Soap. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. You open your door up, closing it behind the both of you. He doesn’t see you lock it behind you but you do. “What did you need me to get?” He asks. “Can I just.. see something?” You mumble. He looks confused. You reach for his pocket and he jerks away from you. “What are you doing?” He asks. “Let me see Soap.” You narrow your eyes. “No.”

“Soap, give them to me.”

He freezes up. He pauses, and you reach for it. He lets you take them out of his pocket. “I can’t believe you.” You scoff. He looks down at the floor. “How long have you been doing this?” You ask. He shrugs. “Johnny, look at me when I’m talking to you.” You cross your arms. He looks up, eyes very gentle. Clearly regretful. You laugh. “Johnny. Do you like me?” You ask. He looks away. “Look, I’m sorry I did it.” He sighs. “Answer the question Johnny.” You step toward him. He takes a step back, gasping lightly when his back hits the wall. “So what if I do?” He mutters. “You should’ve said something. Because why have my panties when I can give you the real thing?” You breathe, looking up at him.

“Be careful. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He mumbles. “Seems like I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.” You smile. “M’not going to stop you. You can keep stealing my panties all you want.” You shrug, turning away. He stops you, grasping your wrist and spinning you around. You can see the fire you’ve lit in his eyes. He leans in, inhaling the scent of your hair.

Before you know it, he’s backing you into your bed.

Gaz:

Gaz had worked along side you for quite some time now. Doing what he was doing was nothing new to him, Gaz really thought he’d never get caught.

For months and months he’d been sneaking into your room and stealing panties out of your dirty clothes. He was getting careless since he’d been doing it for so long. You had the same routine and Gaz always followed your routine to a T, scoring himself a pair of your panties.

You were meant to be showering.

You always showered at this time every single night, you’d never once done anything different. But last night, you’d forgotten that you’d run out of Shampoo. You needed to go back to your room and get a new bottle and that’s when you looked confused. Hearing the sound of shuffling in your room. You were only wrapped in a towel, still dripping wet from the shower. You peeked through the cracked door. You noticed Gaz digging through your clothes, but when he grasped your panties, bringing them up to his nose, your eyes widened.

You didn’t know what to do, you’d just caught him in such a sinful act, he was so invasive. No wonder you’d noticed your panties going missing. It was him, it was always him. You step inside, closing the door behind yourself. “Looking for something?” You ask. Gaz spins around, hiding what he’s stolen behind his back. “Uh- I was just..” he pauses. “You were just.. taking my panties?” You smirk. He looks down at the ground swallowing hard. “I.. I’m sorry. I just..” he stutters, not knowing what to say. “Put them back.” You nod. He does it immediately. “Get on the bed, Gaz.” You cross your arms. He looks up at you, eyes wide. “W-what?” He’s confused. You grasp the edge of the towel, pulling it and letting it fall down. Looking around your feet. “I said get on the bed.”

He swallows hard, nodding his head. He moves quickly, laying back on your bed. You start by the foot of the bed, crawling up his body, until you straddling his hips. Resting your hands on his chest, your bare pussy brushes over the seam of his jeans. “You didn’t have to go steal them.” You giggle. His cheeks are burning up. “You could’ve just said something.” You breathe, leaning down into him. “I know that now.” He breathes. “And I’m going to take advantage of it.” He growls, grasping your hips and flipping you over.

König:

König was obsessed with you the day he met you. He fell hard for you, anytime you were around he breathed in your presence like it was a drug. He was addicted.

The first time he’d gotten his hands in a pair of your panties is because your dirty clothes had gotten mixed up while waiting to be washed, and he kept them for weeks. Fucked into his fist and clutched them hard in his hand until they no longer smelled lien you, that’s when he knew he needed to get his hands on another pair.

He repeated this for weeks. He’d take a pair of your panties and when they no longer smelled of you, he’d sneak into your room for another pair.

You were meant to be going on a mission, gone for a couple of days. As soon as the helicopter left the ground, he was making his way for your room. Except you hadn’t gone on the mission. You spotted his creeping into your room, and looked in confusion. What was he doing? You made your way up to your door slowly, peeking inside. You found him digging through your clothes for a pair of your panties and when he’d gotten his hands on a pair, he sat down on the edge of your bed. He smelled them, groaning out as he tugged at his belt. Your eyes widened when he grasped his cock, beginning to pump himself. Letting your panties rest around his shaft. He tilts his head back, a moan leaving his lips.

He was so busted.

You pushed the door open, it knocked into the wall behind it, and König jumps up, lowering his shirt to cover himself. “Y/N- I thought you were on a mission.” He breathes. You can’t see his face but his cheeks are burning in embarrassment. “Yeah, I was supposed to but I have to have my knee checked out before I can be approved to go again. What are you doing hm?” You smirk, closing the door and moving closer to him.

“I- I was just..” he mutters something in German but you can’t hear him. His eyes are dark and full of lust as he stares at you. You move closer to him, and he backs up further into the wall. Cornering König was probably not the best of ideas, he was like a caged animal. You reach out, grasping his shirt. You feel his body go rigid. You raise his shirt up, exposing him to you. You smile, letting go of him. “Go ahead. Continue. M’not going to stop you.” You breathe. Stepping back. He’s completely exposed to you, feeling his dick throb from your actions. “You didn’t have to sneak around, you could’ve just asked.” You smile. He moves closer, wrapping his hand around your throat, staring into your eyes.

“Ich bitte nicht, ich nehme.”

He growls, pushing you back into your bed.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x you #könig mw2

[silky-nereid]

— bee’s knees

yandere! cheater x married! reader/you

part 2 , part 3

Yandere! Cheater who was born from an old money household and married you due to the pressure of societal reasons and not because he was constantly in the bed of single residents of the town and surprisingly he lived across the street from you and you were one of the many stars of the town.

Yandere! Cheater who was often drowning you in lavish clothes and items that you desired from extravagant places that you haven’t been able to visit despite your parents having enough money to spend.

Yandere! Cheater who always loves to come home with a couple of buttons undone and occasionally leaves the smeared lipstick on his neck for you to see.

“Sorry for coming home late.” He held the fresh newspaper. “You know how the roads get on the way home, don’t you?”

He pushed back the golden wire-framed reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, with an exasperated groan and made himself a comfortable spot in an intricately designed wooden chair next to you who was reading through the movie catalog, deciding on what movie to see without him.

You desperately tried to hold a calm expression, smelling the familiar aroma of inexpensive perfume that twirled around him. He went to go and visit her. Again.

“You should bathe,” you replied. “I will be back, I’m going to see pictures.”

You turned away from him but felt his burning gaze from the thin sheet of the newspapers.

Yandere! Cheater who weasels his own way into your time of relaxation but you hardly complain about it since he’s been doing this since he decided to marry you and he just wants to keep an eye on you.

Yandere! Cheater who can’t stand when anyone’s hands simply graze on your hands because he believes that they are reserved for him and nobody else. Surprisingly, your touch occasionally seems to bring him back from his boiling temper.

Yandere! Cheater who often goes to speakeasies to get a taste of ‘real liquor’ due to the prohibition and occasionally comes home with a person draped around his neck.

You despised him for bringing dirt to your doorstep. Your shoes clicked on the marble floor towards the drunken giggling of the woman who was draped around his neck.

“Bringing a woman to our—to my home,” you said. “You can’t…You can’t even respect a simple request of mine.”

Your hand rested on the center of your chest, looking at him with such pain since he could listen to a simple request because he did once before; why was it so different now?

His hand tried to reach out to you to soothe the anguish but instead held onto the back of the exposed back of the woman, tracing the soft designs on her spine.

“I’m sorry, truly I am.” His cold hand stroked your warm cheek. “I will come back later without her.”

Yandere! Cheater who always makes it up to you by gifting you with items and clothes that you have been keeping your eyes on when you both decided to go on a make-up shopping spree and takes you on luxurious dates to make you feel better because it’s not your fault.

Yandere! Cheater is annoyed and notices on the dock across fireworks in extravagant colors and are simply too bright but has a viewing party with you at the amount.

Yandere! Cheater who simply provides financial security for you despite you coming from an old money family.

“Look at this.” He held up an invitation with a folded newspaper on his lap. “It seems that the owner of the fireworks wants us to join them for their next viewing party.”

Your face grew in a small smile and taking the opened invitation from his hand, seeing it held an elegant wax seal in your favorite color. It seemed to be a very short handwritten message and not the usual message written from a typewriter. His free hand managed to hold your cheek and you couldn’t seem to pull away from him.

#yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere prompt #yandere x you #tw yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere fic #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere male x reader

[trashogram]

He Chose You (P. 4)

Lucifer/Reader - Lucifer picks you to be his baby mama. Rated E

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

You’re resting against the trunk of a tree at the top of a little hill.

It’s picturesque — the hill is gentle, sloping down to a field of tall yellow-green grass. You can smell it, wafting up with the pollen from golden flowers. The sky above is alive with pinks and oranges bleeding into yellows and whites. A symphony of coos, chirps and pitter-patters of tiny things skittering around have an oddly calming effect as you settle back and allow yourself to exist. 

Eyes closed, you hear the sound of something larger than a mouse rounding the tree trunk. 

“I got it!” A feminine voice breaks the calm.

You don’t have to look to feel the other person at your side. They lower themselves to the ground, knees brushing against yours when they cross their legs to sit next to you. 

You don’t have to look, but you do. 

There’s a woman with you now, with hair so long and blonde it’s almost white. Her chin, lips, nose, and eyes are delicate and soft.

She’s not wearing any clothes, and you can see faint scars and wrinkles against the uninterrupted expanse of her skin. 

“It’s so pretty, I’ve never seen one so red.” The woman is happy to see you, speaking with all the familiarity of a sister. 

She presents an apple to you, taken from behind her back like a surprise. 

It is red. Red like an oversized ruby, or a still-beating heart full of blood. All except for the missing chunk made by delicate teeth, yellow-white meat peeking through.

You accept her offering without a word. Even when it’s imperfect, you’re mesmerized by the fruit.

“I took a bite. I’m sorry.” She gazes at you, eyes flinty. “Does that bother you?”

You shake your head vehemently, holding the apple between your hands as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “No, of course not.”  

The woman’s lips quirk up into a satisfied smile, growing bigger when you lift the apple to your mouth and bite into it. The taste is extraordinary — sweet juice bursts against your tongue when the crisp flesh gives under your teeth with barely any resistance.

You savor the first bite out of necessity but soon you’re ravenous. You can’t get enough. 

Your companion exhales gently through her nose and looks up at the colorful sky. She seems to relish in the breeze that passes by, making the leaves above you rustle and the tall grass ahead blow back quietly. 

The apple is almost gone when she looks back at you, teeth showing as she grins. “Careful there!”

She giggles, reaching out to tap the hand of your hand in warning. It’s all playful, even when you pout and draw back. 

“You’ll eat the seeds if you keep that up.” She says. “Something might take root and grow if you do.” 

Her words give you pause, but only for the length of four or five heartbeats. The core of the apple is no less refreshing and before you know it, you’re holding the stem. 

“Thank you.” You tell her earnestly. 

The stem rolls in your palm, until it appears to wiggle and your brow furrows. In the back of your mind, you think you should be more startled to see it moving on its own. But when it grows pink-gray and ringed, and you realize it’s a worm, you simply place the flat of your hand on the ground below and watch it find its way into the dirt. 

Sudden warmth against your cheek has you looking back up. The woman is inches from your face. Her eyelashes are dark and long and you could count them if you wanted. 

The woman kisses you without a word, hands coming up to cup the back of your head. Surprise does spark up your spine as her tongue darts behind your lips. It’s as if she’s drinking deeply from you before she lets go. 

“Forgive me. I wanted another taste.” She giggles again. “It’s even sweeter than I remember.” 

Your face burns. You open your mouth, ready to ask the questions burning the tip of your tongue before the thud of footsteps sound from behind you. 

She frowns, light leaving her eyes as she glances behind your shoulder. “Oh I was hoping we’d have more time.” 

Her eyes cut across to yours. “Wake up before he sees you!”

———

A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea swept over you as soon as you opened your eyes. You laid still for a long moment, trying to reign in the urge to vomit before you deemed it safe enough to observe your surroundings. 

A vague sense of confusion surfaced through the malaise when you realized that you were in your living room. There was a carmine blanket tucked around you, and with moderate difficulty you raised your head to see that, yes, a fluffy pillow was resting under your head.

Your reality conflicted with the still-present smell of tall, wet grass and a chill from the summer breeze against your skin.

With ridiculous care, you turned your head back into the pillow and muffled a whine. You couldn’t recall feeling a hangover of this caliber ever before in your life.

‘Wait.’

You weren’t hungover. Well, maybe you were but not from alcohol. 

Your neighbors had invited you to dinner, then drugged you. 

Already sick, you forced yourself to breathe deeply before shifting on the couch and pulling up the blanket. Despite confirming that your body was still clothed, you found yourself shaking. 

It didn’t make sense to you how anyone could do this regardless of their intentions. You could not fathom why two people willing to harm you in one way hadn’t done more than that. 

Your relief was short-lived, as dull and diluted as it was, when you twisted to lay back down and came face-to-face with:

A black glove, some aspirin and a glass of water sat on your coffee table.

You blinked rapidly.

There was a small business card in stark contrast to the otherwise colorless ensemble. It was thick stock, white, and flashing fancy golden script:

Lucifer Morningstar

Your stomach dropped as an unnaturally white face with glowing yellow and red eyes flashed in your mind. 

The hallucination you’d seen last night — his image faded from your mind and you were left drifting in a blank, black void. 

No thoughts. 

———

The headache and nausea were considerably lesser when you woke up again. 

Looking at the items on your coffee table — ‘glove, aspirin, water still there’ — you looked at each one and for one, strangely hopeful moment you didn’t see a card. 

Oh no, it had just fallen on the floor. 

———

Lucifer Morningstar 

It was an odd business card, with its little red, white and gold designs on the edges. Fireworks, you eventually guessed. The ‘i’ in both first and last name were punctuated with them as well. 

As you’d popped the aspirin in your mouth and downed the water, you flipped the card over. You could feel your eyebrows rising to your hairline at the hastily written message on the back:

Proof you weren’t dreaming. 

Please Call Me

1-666-666-6669

Pacing was out of the question. Your limbs were still unsteady no matter how much you willed them to function. 

You were trapped on the couch trying to accept what your brain had been screaming at you since you awoke for the fifth time. 

How much time had passed? 

                                      Heaven and Hell were real, and so were God and the Devil. 

            And the Devil had paid you a visit. 

———

The indent you’d made into your stupid, hand-me-down sofa was probably permanent now that you’d spent who knows how long just rotting there. 

Contemplating, processing, fearing. 

Fleeting memories of tantrums you’d thrown as a child paralyzed you. Moments in your life that you’d already regretted so much they kept you up some nights — randomly, provoked by nothing — piled up in your brain. Each one harshened that sinking feeling inside your body. This kind of horror was the kind a person feels right before they die. 

How long have you been judged from above for your wrongs?

Were you already doomed to Hell? Is that why Lucifer himself wanted ‘to meet’ you? Did he make it a personal habit to visit each lowly sinner and taunt them?

God was real, so did everything actually happen for a reason like so many said? 

Why did bad things happen to good people? 

Was your dog in heaven, waiting for you and you’d already disappointed her by getting a one way ticket in the opposite direction?

———

You figured out that the ringing in your ears was actually your phone’s alarm when the natural lighting in your apartment was almost gone. 

You managed to get to it on the other side of the room half-stumbling from your seat. 

“Hello?” You rasped.

“… So you finally decided to answer your phone.”

———

It took you banging on the door and shouting against its old, glossy surface before Cass Farrow cracked it open. 

A myriad of expressions crossed her painted face before she opened the door fully. When she faced you, she smiled. 

“Honey! It’s been days! We didn’t wanna bother you but we were worried! It’s good to see you up and about!” 

The way she acted, as if nothing was wrong, as if the world had turned upside down, had you balling up your fists. Your ragged nails delved into the skin so deeply you could feel the sting of blood.

“I-I need…” You couldn’t stop the copper taste of saliva filling your mouth. 

You would not throw up. “I need to speak to your boss.”

Cass blinked owlishly at that. “My what?”

‘Why? Why? Why are you shocked?’ You shouted in your mind.

“Oh honey,” The low tone did nothing to soothe you, only raise your ire. “I don’t know what —” 

“The Devil!” Your raised voice made the elderly woman jump. “Or Lucifer, or Baphomet — whatever the fuck you call him! I need to talk to him.” 

You scrambled to grab the business card you’d stashed in your pocket. 

“You had him in your apartment, so I know he’s in there somewhere.” You said while waving it in Cass’s face frantically. 

It was deja vú when Mrs. Farrow eyed the card and her face paled considerably. 

“Oh.” 

———

Lucifer wasn’t ‘home’. At least, he wasn’t in his personal Airbnb via the Farrow residence. 

However, Cass waved it away. “He’ll think it’s you or about you or something to do with you and come running.”

Trying to push yourself and demand she tell you more proved to be too difficult. All you could do is stand with your arms crossed, waiting while the (clearly practiced) worshiper combined a series of dried plants in her hands. 

Cass gathered them up and laid them carefully on a side table before fiddling with the furnace and a long lighted match.  

The fire blazed to life instantly from the little flicker it had begun as when Cass threw the plants in. It rose higher, and higher, until it had disappeared past where you could see behind the lintel. 

You had it in you to be stunned when Lucifer appeared from out of those flames. He was perfectly pristine and intact when he stepped out, hunching slightly to avoid his top hat bumping into the smoke chamber. 

The devil was as you remembered him, but also worse in that you couldn’t reassure yourself that his visage was merely a product of your fucked up, overly-imaginative little brain. 

He was so… white.

His skin was practically blinding as freshly-painted walls hit by a sunbeam. 

Lucifer stepped into the room with a flourish. “I came as soon as I coul-”

‘Fuck.’ You’d been spotted. 

And there went Cass, out of the living room to hide away in her smelly kitchen. 

“You’re here!” Lucifer cajoled, theatrics on full display as he beheld your presence. 

The top hat came off, held in his hands as he graced you with a bashful smile like he was some gentleman caller and not Not-Satan. 

“I-I didn’t expect to see you here waiting! But I’m so glad you are. Did you get my card? I thought about just leaving the glove because the card can seem so impersonal —”

“I just got fired.” You blurted out. 

The unusually flat face contorted into an anguished expression. “You… you lost your job…?”

“Because of you.” 

“B-because of me ?!” His already youthful tenor of a  voice raised some octaves. “What —”

You pointed a finger in his direction. “Yes! You !”

“You appeared out of nowhere and fucked up my entire worldview. I've had existential crisis-es… cris-ies? I don’t fucking — I’ve had life-altering spirals before but that was fucking nothing compared with this!” 

“And now I’m out of a job and I’m alone in a city I don’t fucking know with cult-worshipping neighbors because I can’t go back to where I was and you’re just standing here like you have no idea why I’m upset!” 

You hadn’t expected to get this far. You hadn’t expected to go on a tirade at all, really. Distantly you felt tears sliding down your cheeks and the frantic beat of your heart in your ribcage. 

Shame, guilt and fear began toiling deep inside you. 

Lucifer had been backed against the wall, hands raised placatingly and expression mirroring your own internal panic. It quickly turned into concern as he took in your sorry state of being. 

“Please, no.” He reached out for you and you retaliated by jolting out of reach. “Oh please don’t… I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I never… if I’d known…”

He was reaching into his coat and pulling something out before your sight cleared. It was a handkerchief with the red moniker L.M. on one corner. 

The King held it out to you like a peace offering. Or a white flag.

The force with which you snatched it out of his hands was unnecessary but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“You said you picked me. What did you mean by that?” You mumbled into the handkerchief. 

Lucifer’s mouth screwed up into a frown, brow creasing. “We don’t have to talk about that —”

“No.” You made eye contact, watching him squirm. “We need to talk about it. Explain it. Now.”

“Ahh… ok, yes, um…” He fiddled with the bow tie at his collar. “Well, like I said before, I wanted to wait until we got to know each other because… because it’s kind of a big deal.” 

Your stern frown implored him to continue.

Lucifer winced. “It’s sort of a-a favor I wanted to ask of you. And I thought that if we talked about it over time maybe it wouldn’t sound so monumental… but actually, now…”

The fidgeting worsened, and his nimble fingers had graduated to fussing with the clasps down his front. Eventually, Lucifer yanked his jacket down to straighten it. 

“So, I’ve been around for a really, really, really, really long time.” The Devil started. “And I’ve kind of been on my own for *like* ever and that’s fine, whatever, can’t complain. Normally it’s all about warding off boredom.

“But! Lately, it’s been harder and harder to just —” He made a fist and punched down onto the palm of his other hand to elucidate. “— Just, ahh, not be bored? I guess?”

“And it’s been interfering with all the shit I gotta do. I mean I have no-oo motivation, none at all, and it’s becoming a big problem. The other Sins have actually noticed. Like Satan? You know, we talked about him when we met — yeah, he came up to me not too long ago, saying —”

Your heart stopped as Lucifer’s eyes went completely red, blazing in his skull like magma and accompanied by long horns protruding from his head. 

His voice took on an unearthly, gravelly quality as he, presumably, mimicked Satan: 

“‘We’re worried for you, man. Ozzie says you haven’t been returning his calls. Levi and Bee miss you on their outings but you always say you’re busy. Whatever’s going on, you know you can talk to us, right?’”

Lucifer was back to normal in a millisecond. “And I do know that. I do! But as much as I wanna take them up on it, I just feel like none of them will really understand what’s wrong. I don’t even understand it. Or at least I didn’t until it came to me out of nowhere, like lightning.” 

He mimed being zapped in the head.

“Visits and parties with my brothers are fun and all, but they end... And I find myself all alone more often than not.”

Lucifer sighed deeply. 

“I don’t really have anything to live for,” He stressed. “Except for myself and…” 

“That’s not much.” He snickered mirthlessly. 

You swallowed. The anger, frustration, exhaustion and still-present fear were blanketed by an uncomfortable bout of sympathy. 

Sympathy for the Devil. 

‘Oh shut the fuck up you.’

“Don’t you live for the suffering of mankind or something?” You sniffled, trying to regain your metaphorical footing in the conversation and, in turn, regenerate that anger you’d been consumed by not a minute ago. 

Lucifer looked from the ground to you, the gleam in his cherry-red eyes fighting to come back to life.

“Aha! No, no. That’s-that’s a Bible thing, right?” He groaned, pulling down the brim of his hat in exasperation. “Ugh, I still don’t know why Heaven insists on that overblown press kit! It’s so fucking old! And inaccurate!” 

Lucifer commiserated with you. “Too much involvement from human hands, too. Ya know? I mean people use it to justify some of the most insane shit I’ve ever seen!”

He cleared his throat at your blank expression. 

“Anywho-oo. What was the question again? Oh! Oh, do I live for the suffering of man — no! No, I don’t. In fact, where I’m from? Being in the middle of that suffering shtick gets old real fast. I’ve stayed away from it for a good while now and really I’ve never been better.”

The blond topped off his statement with a smile, showing those razor teeth while also trying to come across as easy-going and candid. 

A beat passed, in which you felt your lips form a thin line. 

You couldn’t stop yourself. 

You snorted. 

Lucifer looked at you as if you’d lost your head as your snorts turned into full-blown laughter. Until he, of course, wanted to fit in like he knew exactly what was going on. 

“Hahaha, yeah…” Hell’s king chuckled nervously. “I am pretty funny, aren’t I? Ha ha… ha.”

 Shaking your head ‘no’, you tried to reign in the body spasms. 

“So when you say you ‘picked me’, you mean you want me to… what? Be your therapist?” You asked. “The Devil needs a friend’s shoulder to cry on? What?” 

Lucifer fixed you with the first look of genuine annoyance you’d seen (directed at you) from him. 

“No.” He harrumphed. “I need a baby.” 

*

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision

I'm so sorry if I missed anyone who asked to be tagged! I'm having a hard time keeping track.

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar

[hellishjoel]

hi!! congrats on 7k, you deserve it! your writing is amazing and has brightened so many of my days!

Now: I was thinking 🍒 with prompts 9 & 10 for Joel, can’t wait to see what you come up with!

repeat it

1k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

smutty one-liners: “Maybe you could use that mouth for more than just talking nonsense.” & “If we weren’t in public right now…”

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), post-outbreak jackson, implied but unspecified age gap, swearing, size kink, praise kink, degradation kink, dirty talk, pet names, public-ish oral (m!receiving), pov switching, reader is described as having hair, but otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n 

---

Joel’s patience is thin as ice. 

Tommy follows his brother’s stare clean across the warped wooden floors of the Tipsy Bison. He watches as a young woman sways her hips to a song playing on the old jukebox with a glittery smile, with a body too gorgeous not to gawk at. 

“If we weren’t in public right now…” Tommy mutters before doing a low, appreciative whistle at the woman before him. 

The tension in Joel’s jaw is tightening, ready to snap. 

He wishes you were his, has felt that for quite a long time.

Perhaps it was after his first few days in Jackson, and he saw you milling around the market during winter with a small wooden basket. Or maybe it was when spring was finally turning its heel into the Wyoming weather, and you had shed a few layers to let the sun warm your skin. 

He remembers staring for what felt like too long, but not long enough for him. 

Joel was a man on the edge, a primal desire for you and only you. So how long was he just going to fucking sit here? 

He watches as you break for air, stepping out into the summer night for the gentle breeze to cool your skin. 

“Mr. Miller,” your voice coos, despite your back being to him. You know his presence by now. “Was wondering when you were going to ask me for a dance.” 

There’s that glittery smile again. The one that’s hard to say no to, the one he can’t say no to. 

“Ain’t askin’ you t’dance.” Joel’s voice is low, growled, and you see in his eyes what he wants. 

There’s not a lot of privacy in Jackson, so when he tugs you to the side of the bar in little protection of shadows, your eyes widen. He wants you here? Now?!

“Joel,” you whisper in a panic, but his mouth is already on yours. He can’t help himself. You look so pretty, bet you taste just as sweet. It takes a moment to adjust, but your arms quickly encircle around his neck as you tug the tall man ever so closer. 

You can hear people walking on the dirt road just feet away, the chitter-chatter of voices as Joel tugs down your shirt to put your bare breasts on display. You whimper as he tugs your fingers to his belt buckle. 

“Joel, people might see, we shouldn’t-”

“Maybe you could use that mouth for more than just talkin’ nonsense.”

That shuts you up real quick and forces a pool of saliva to fill your mouth as you work to undo his belt with need.

Joel’s hands wind into your hair as you sink to your knees, his body weight relying solely on the makeshift exterior of the Tipsy Bison. 

“Gotta be quiet now.” He mutters, watching as you unveil him and shuck his jeans down to his knees, along with his briefs. 

Joel takes pleasure in watching you admire his hard cock, your eyes softening and going doe as your hand works over him in earnest, spit dribbling from your lips as you lube him up. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, running his thumb along your cheekbone as you kiss along his beady red tip. 

He hisses as you wrap your hot mouth around his angry head, feeling him weep dribbles of precum into your mouth. 

You feel so fucking good, he’s holding himself together with nothing more but paper stilts. His chest labors as you hollow your cheeks and take his length in earnest. He relishes in the gagging noise that echoes from your throat whenever you take him too deep. 

“That’a’girl, take me so fuckin’ well, don’t you baby?” 

The praise forces a moan around his cock, the vibration going straight to his balls as he quietly grunts. 

Your eyes stray to the busy street from all the lewd noises you two are making. You sweat and whimper at the thought of something seeing you on your knees with Joel Miller’s cock down your throat. 

A pair of men wander past, drunk and falling out of the bar, distracted as ever as you burrow closer into Joel’s front. 

You force your nose to bury itself in the coarse hair below his stomach, attempting to hide yourself from curious eyes as you deepthroat him and attempt to breathe around him quietly. 

Worst of all, the Tipsy Bison’s hanging lamp sways with the breeze, sometimes shining light on the lower half of your body, your tits out and nipples hardening at the thought. 

“Hey,” Joel barks, “don’t look at them, look at me.” His harsh voice snaps you back to reality, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him faster as your eyes meet his own. 

You watch as they dilute into pleasure, his cherry lips parting as his eyes lose focus and finally dip close. His hips shift, half-bucking into your mouth and half holding himself back. 

He seems to like it when you take all of him, shaking your head from side to side as his fist tugs tighter and causes a prickle of pain along your scalp. 

“Holy fuck, I’m- sweet Jesus,” he grunts as bursts of his white hot cum shoot down your throat. You gag the entire time, but Joel holds you there, moaning discreetly. He’s salty and musky and all man. 

Your knees ache and your upper half is freezing, but you don’t care as you watch him finish deep inside you, wondering what it would feel like if he finished in your pussy. 

Your thighs squeeze together at the thought, Joel finally yanking you back as his cock falls wet against his thigh. You work through shaky breaths and wipe under your eyes, Joel helping you to your feet once he’s tucked himself away. 

“You keep that mouth just for me, got it?” 

You don’t trust your wobbly voice, freshly damn near face fucked, so all you can do is nod. But that doesn’t satisfy him.

“Repeat it.” 

---

a/n: well anon thank you for THAT! PHEW!

Join my Casino Night!

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #The Last Of Us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller pedro pascal #kylee's casino night

[frostironfudge]

Devour - Bucky Barnes

Summary: the new pics of seb have me in a vice grip so here is Bucky on a Mediterranean getaway with you

Pairing: mafia!bucky x fem!reader

Word Count: 880

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, sm/ut, or/al fem receiving, dirt/y talk, allusions to previous smu/tty times, d/s vibes, sorta mafia bucky?, sorta soft moments, also prinţesă means princess (romanian)

A/N: this picture got everything to life for this drabble @sebsgirl71479 thank you for this picture

Main Masterlist

The heat is sweltering.

Drops of sweat mimic the condensation on your pink drink’s glass. Taking another sip you grumble the ice watering down the sweet and sour concoction. 

“Something amiss?” Bucky’s tone is light teasing from behind you. 

“Drinks all watered down.” You pout, still not turning to look at him, too comfortable in the lounge chair, kindle resting on your thigh. 

The breeze finally comes in drawing out a sigh from you and your eyes close. Soon enough the sun’s heat diminishes and your breath hitches. 

The scent of amber and bergamot fills your senses urging your eyes open. Bucky leans over you, gold sunglasses perched atop his head.

Your eyes trail over his stubble growing in, as he swallows you watch his throat and then follow that trail to the necklace that half dangles still caught in his white tank top. 

That same necklace that grazed your kiss bitten lips last night, soothing the heat spreading over your skin. 

An easy smile on his face, his ring clinks against the glass. “Here,” he says handing you the replacement drink and he stands, “Can’t have my best girl pouting can I?” 

You roll your eyes and he pinches your cheek a habit he formed early on both out of endearment and knowing it annoys you. 

You admire his outfit, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Fuck the drink you want to drink your man in. 

“See something you like prinţesă? You have that look on your face.” Azure eyes that put the Mediterranean seas to shame glint with mischief. 

“Oh, I see something I love.” You flirt back, admiring the way his eyes crinkle as his grin takes over. 

“A moment ago,” He returns to his original spot, the one where he hovered over you.

“You seemed as though you saw something you want to devour.” He smirks, head dipped low, lips brushing below your ear, you whimper. 

The pendant of his necklace brushes over your sternum. Cold against warm.

“Bucky—,” Your words meld into a moan when his lips trail down your neck, he leaves open mouthed kisses and your hands find his shirt tugging on it wanting him closer. 

“A little temptress in this swimsuit of yours,” his larger palm traces from your knee up your thigh and you arch but he only continues over your body till he pinches your hardened nipple through the fabric, “Fuck.” 

He reclined the lounge chair further back, caging you in, your leg now wrapped around him. 

Bucky’s lips are on yours, needy, frantic, cock straining against his pants and your hands wandering but pulling him closer. 

He chuckles into the kiss as your fingers aid in the fall of his sunglasses and his hair coming loose from the bun. He loves how needy you become for him. 

How beautiful you look sun kissed and kiss bitten from the night before all of his marks proudly displayed across your chest, shoulder, the one he left on your inner thigh. 

Bucky growls as a particular grind of his hips makes you moan as your clit begs for more attention. 

“Please, Bucky, please,” You plead pushing the soft blue shirt off of his shoulders. 

“Want to taste you, my temptress.” He cups your jaw, thumb stroking your lips, you suck on the tip of his finger. 

“I want to taste you too.” You nip at the flesh, Bucky smirks above you. 

“I’d have whipped this outfit out sooner.” He laughs when you huff frustrated, then groans as you grind your hips to his, smirking up at him when he affixes you with a pointed glare to behave. 

“I’ll eat you out right here, prinţesă.” He says in warning, hand moving to cup your mound. He can feel the heat of your skin, his own favourite concoction waiting between your thighs. 

“Is that supposed to scare me?” You raise a brow, “Because if I remember right, no one else sees what belongs to the White Wolf.” 

His eyes blaze with something deeper than lust, his possessiveness and protectiveness for you a known fact in his ruthless world. 

“Hmm, well if anyone does see,” He kisses your cheek, then trails his lips down your neck, over your chest the warmth of his mouth preceded by the cool necklace over your abdomen. Bucky settles between your thighs, pushing them apart but pulling you close. 

Nose brushing over your clothed cunt and the sight is so erotic you can’t help but moan. 

“If anyone does see you pleading and pleasing me they know you are mine temptress. As they should.” 

The fabric is peeled away and your folds are soaked, he hums pleased before his tongue runs over your aching cunt. 

You keen as his lips latch onto your clit, your fingers tangle in Bucky’s hair. 

“Which one of us is in for a treat?” Bucky questions rhetorically as you tremble beneath him, his rings digging into your thighs. 

Bucky moans, at your taste, “We’re to remain here my temptress. I want to have my fill. You will give me how ever many I want won’t you?” 

You nod.

“My good fucking girl.” He praises, mouth back on you, your moans pleasing his ears and your taste satiating as well as growing his hunger for you. 

-x-x-x-x-

Bucky Taglist: @slutforsexyseabass @almostcontentcreator @stevesmewmew

#bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes one shot #james buchanan barnes #bucky x plus size reader #bucky x female reader #buck barnes fic #james barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fluff #sebastian stan #bucky x yn #the winter soldier x you #frostironfudge #bucky barnes x plus size reader #james buchanan barnes x you #white wolf #bucky is the best #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #modern au #bucky x y/n #bucky fic

[ahhhwomen]

Eternal Slumber.

Vampire Empire

Part 5

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is kinda just a filler chapter while I work on requests (if anyone else have any feel free to drop by my inbox), so it may be a little while until part 6, that being said, enjoy lovelies!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), death, suicidal ideation  Minors DNI 18+

Summary: They say a taste of death can change a person forever. However, they never take into consideration, that maybe, that’s the only thing coating your tongue on a regular basis.

Word Count: 2k

Taglist

There are tiny spikes of ice against the metal, almost like a layer of fuzz over the orange rust. It creeps into every crevice, the metal bars groan and creak, and the water, frozen inside some of the weaker spots, bursts and tears apart the material.

The cold was affecting everything.

You stare at the metal hook responsible for keeping you in place. The concrete around it is dented and smoldering. With a microscope, it would look like a mountain falling apart. Stone by stone.

It wouldn’t take much force; you ponder if you could release it with just a weak tug. You probably could, but you don’t bother.

Your body sinks lower, and the concrete scratches against your stomach. Red welts burn in displeasure as the friction reawakens the former punishment. It’s as if the weight of your body has doubled overnight, you can’t keep yourself up.

It’s hard to breathe.

It’s hard to stay awake…

The cold was affecting everything.

Including you.

You glance out the window with meager eyes. The trees pass by faster than you can keep track. Your head pounds, and you want to rest.

Just for a moment-

A gruff voice disturbs your peace for the hundredth time.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

You had been lying in your enclosure all day, preserving your movements for only necessary situations. You wanted to dream it all away, but you knew you shouldn’t.

With both your nose a fresh pink and fingertips a bleak blue there wasn’t much to do other than to study your surroundings.

Your eyes glide over the same small details you have stared at for years, though there was a beauty to your misery, every corner and prickle of this place glittered against the slim beam of light from the hallway. The golden gleam reflected like sunlight against the ice, however, where you lay chained and tense under your red lamp, it felt more like a mockery.

With a sigh, you looked over to the empty shackles, frozen to the ground opposite of you. Your muscles burn as you grip the ground firmly and attempt to lift yourself up. Your arms shake in effort, your nails grinding against the pavement, but you can only manage to push upward for less than an inch.

Then a light thud echoes as you fall back down.

You’re so tired…

Your eyes slip closed for a second, there are a select few in the hallway that whine and growl, and you try to shift your focus onto them. Their hoarse voices screech against your eardrums, and you can’t help the grim expression as you listen to their cries…

There were more yesterday…

Of course, it was a given that this place took away some hope, but you know that isn’t the reason the numbers of distain more than halved overnight.

The rag over your lower half shifts away from you with every minuscule movement, it slides against your bottom, and slowly, the grime and dirt settled within the flimsy material slather itself against you as it leaps the final length and falls off.

It’s almost as if it knows you are too tired to move it back.

You are so sick of this place.

The cries are silenced as you hear the familiar thunder of shaking keys.

With a bitter glance to the other side of the room, you pity yourself; if you had any strength left, you would wrap the chains around your neck and hang yourself.

You huff in annoyance as the redhead shakes you vigorously yet again.

You can feel a swift, but gentle, slap on the back of your head. The redhead’s hand taps against you, her palm making quick contact with the greasy hair.

At your whining Wanda voices her opinion, “Don’t start with me, I told you not to fall asleep.” The powerful woman’s annoyed voice wraps around your lingering headache. Her calm tone was more like a booming against your forehead.

Shifting under the red leather, you whimper even more. The heating blasting towards you feels strange. Hot air sifts around you, almost like a tunnel of wind directed solely at your slumped frame. A noise, a mix of a hoarse cough and a weak cry, can be heard as Wanda shifts her own heat toward you too.

Realizing you won’t back down on your bitching, Wanda retrieves her hand with a roll of her eyes and refocuses on the road in front of her.

Trees and livestock pass by in a blur, there are tiny speckles of muck and dirt against the expensive windshield. Snow sits snug in the more stubborn corner of the window, small flacks forming a pile unmovable by the front wind.

Goosebumps prickle Wanda’s skin, the bite of winter making its entrance this early must really do a number on places like the shithole you´re from.

The car lifts for a moment as one of the bumps rustles the lambo, you shrink in on yourself, your pale skin retreating to hide under red leather. The redhead’s foot pushes downward harder, the exhilarator vrooming as she frowns.  

Wanda doesn't even know what possessed her to take you, but if she left you there, you would surely be dead by the end of the day.

Natasha was always far better at understanding humans, however, given the little bond you two have, she is unsure how the other redhead will react to your current state. She glances at you in her peripheral, your lips are tinged blue, same with your fingertips and toes.

You don’t even shiver, and Wanda passes another stop sign with no regard. Shivering is a good thing; it means your body is aware you are cold. No shivering is bad, like really fucking bad.

Her hands tighten against the steering wheel, the skin between her rings and knuckles, clamp and squeeze in an irritating pinch.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that if you aren’t yet hypothermic, it won’t be long until you are.

With a sigh, Wanda reaches over to settle the jacket more tightly around your frame.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the house, Wanda makes it in seven.

Natasha frowns, and the smell of burned vegetables invades her senses. With an irritated scrunch of her nose, the redhead goes to trash yet another pot of attempted soup.

The goo of estranged ingredients jiggles unsettlingly at the top of the trashcan as Natasha pours the substance out. The ring on her left pointer clinks against the pot as she places it back on the stove.

She can never get it right.

With a huff, the redhead pulls out her cell phone, her hand wraps around the silver piece and she goes to find her messages. Her thumb makes quick work of checking on Wanda yet again, the pad of her finger taps the screen rapidly, the remains of her failure smudges against the glass, and Natasha cringes.

Her unread reply to Wanda’s previous questions remains the same, wiping her hands and phone off with the kitchen rag, the redhead walks over to her preferred room of leisure.

The clacking of her heels hitting the flooring is dampened as she steps onto the carpeted part of their little den.

A soft glow illuminates the living room, and the tenseness of her shoulders lessens as she lets the orange hue wash over her.  

Plopping herself on the green couch she reaches over to her purse, the case reports she needed Wanda’s thoughts on lying on the very top. The paper brushes against her fingers, the white sheets threatening to tear as Natasha's nimble fingers search through the mess lower down.

She is just about to read them over again, when the familiar rumble of her wife’s car, pulls into their parking lot.

Shifting the gear stick, Wanda finally manages to park, your shuffling and whining had certainly not been helping. She can see her wife waiting for her by their door, but Wanda knows she is going to have to wait a moment longer.

You sit beside Wanda, your body wringing and shifting, you feel hot, and sweat rolls down your forehead.

The black belt meant to secure you through the drive feels more like a restraint as you push your shoulders against it. Bone threatens to pop out of the socket as the strong treads hold your weight back with ease, the pressure against your bruised body does little to deter you.

Wanda tusks, “Stop that.” Her hand reaches over to you and unfastens the belt, “Calm down baby, we are already here.”

Wanda pauses.

She scrunches her eyes, her left hand tightening the hold against the steering wheel.

Wanda doesn’t do nicknames, or sweet ones anyways, not unless it’s her wife.

Yet, the nickname had slipped without a second thought.

She has little time to think about it however, the sound of weak banging calls out to her, the redhead’s attention shifts and she groans in annoyance as you have now moved on to trying your luck against the metal door.

Your fingers run along the interior of the door, the pounding in your head makes it hard to see, and everything blends together in a mess of colors and sounds. You try to feel your way to the handle, but only expensive patterning can be felt as you try gripping the handle.

“You can never make it easy for me, can you kitten?” The redhead mumbles to herself.

The black tinted windows stop anyone from seeing what is happening inside Wanda’s car, but the taller woman can see Natasha shifting uneasily at how slow her usually effective wife is being.

With a sigh, Wanda rolls up the sleeves of her blouse, the silken material gliding and scrunching at the crease of her elbow.

In an attempt to settle you, if only for a moment, Wanda presses her right hand flatly against your chest. With a controlling movement, she pushes up and down to signify a breathing cycle more suitable than your erratic one.

She holds her unoccupied hand against your thigh, rubbing it up and down gently. The friction does nothing but alarm Wanda further.

Knowing she can’t turn around now, Wanda steps out of the car, your scent leaking out into the chilly wind outside their estate.

The shift in Natasha’s behavior is one not entirely surprising yet distinctively fascinating as the smell of your cold blood clings to the inside of her nose.

The taller woman moves to your side of the car; she secures you tightly in her arms. You try your best to squirm out of her hold, your hands clawing against Wanda’s covered biceps, but with how tired you are it’s little use.

You slump into the redhead’s body. Her leather jacket forces you even deeper into the scary woman’s embrace.

Realizing there is no winning this, you finally fall into the deep exhaustion that lies beneath your skin.

Natasha stands as still as a statue. Every muscle within her expands and contracts, but she can’t move.

Until she can.

At a young age she was taught that every choice one makes has consequences, every decision she has ever seen through in her life has been planned to the very tee before any move was made. She never “vamped out”, she never made a mistake, and every notion of her life was just how she planned for it to be.

Why, because Natasha knows restraint.

Your limp body lies seemingly lifelessly in Wanda’s hands.

Natasha doesn’t think.

The weight of your slim body is removed from Wanda faster than even she can comprehend, her leather jacket that was lying close to her chest, just as you were, is now gone, just like you. For a reason she cannot explain, anger bubbles beneath the exterior of the older woman as she watches Natasha carry you to the house.

With a speed unchallengeable Wanda stands just behind her wife. Her hands wringing the material in front of her in a firm grip, the black fabric is soft inside her clutch.

Holding her back by her jacket Wanda questions her wife, “What are you doing?” her anger lingers within her tone.

Enough so that any other day Natasha would stop dead in her tracks, today, however, was not one of those days.

The thick fabric of Natasha’s suit slips from nimble fingers as Natasha rips herself away from the redhead. With a blank face, she turns toward her wife, two prominent canines peeking out between soft lips.

“She is freezing to death.”

Taglist:

@thinking1bee

@tobiaslut

@esmeseasle

@skittlebum

@tia-thesimp

@maximilfsworld

@leenasayeed

@scarlethexelove

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@opossumking03

@confidant-thoughts

@delivery-bird

@esouliie

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@dorabledewdroop

@mousetheorist

@herwagonempathkid

@mommysfavouritegirl

@auroraromaximoff

@roman0ffsheart

@morganna-la-faye

#wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #dark!wandanat #Vampire Empire

[insuke69]

What's in a name?

✰⁂ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

Part I, Part II

1/3

Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩Warnings: cussing, Some angst, 'crybaby' reader, misunderstandings.

(mostly based on how earth-138 is)

Rated 13+(??).

✰5.7k words.

⚥Afab reader

_________________

Osborn.

“Norman Osborn”

A name everyone has learned for the worst part, the name ‘Osborn’ has run though the streets of Camden through the blood and dirt that drips through its pristine and marble image, spoken like the candyman–as if it were uttered three times, they’d be cursed and face the consequences. The man who hated the poor and less fortunate that were scattered through England. The man who kept his paws clean by hiring those who needed the money, then turning them into the crooked police for the crimes he made them do. The cruel family man who’s destroyed homeless shelters and remade them into his own buildings for business, legal or not.

“(Y/N) Osborn.”

Here she was. The daughter of this monster, the girl who receives bloody money that her father steals from the innocent, The daughter who people are afraid to even talk to out of fear of her dad, the girl who can’t refuse what she’s given because she understands how much worse it can be. That doesn’t stop her from still trying as much as she can. Sneaking out of her mansion most nights to try and get a taste of college parties. Whenever she goes out during the day with her dad’s black card, She spends it on clothes and gives it away to those she knows really needs it, always wearing a face-covering balaclava so her father doesn’t somehow find this out. Instead of the piano lessons she attended where her fingers gracefully flowed between those white elegant tiles to create beautiful classical music–she tried to learn the electric guitar, mostly teaching herself to the rhythmic sounds and rough rumble of the guitar that Hobie Brown wields.

“Hobie Brown“

A name recognized as well throughout Camdon but for the exact opposite reasons, a name that drips with earned respect, a firm rough hardwood image that's covered in stuck-out nails and splinters. A Punk that directly strives against fascists like Osborn, and who’s blood boils when he learns Osborn’s cruel plans to begin using the old Canals again–mostly to flush out the homeless that reside there, The homeless who Spiderpunk always seems to be visiting and helping out.

“Spiderpunk” 

Oh. Spiderpunk. A name Y/N can recognise due to her father’s phone calls that she overhears late at night, a name she always hears that is spit out with venom through her fathers and his colleagues lips, the name she sees in bold graffiti almost daily on her dads main company building. Jet black graffiti and red with blue undertones that drip almost beautifully down the glass panes it was sprayed upon. She always bites back a grin smile whenever she hears her dad ranting about the punk he ever so clearly despises.

_____________

Rough Meeting.

It was one of those days, those days where you despised everything in your life–that was unlucky, bad luck of yours to have been born in this universe. Bad luck that you were the daughter of a sadistic monster, how you were seen as a monster for even being related to him.

Guilt.

Rage.

Frustration.

These emotions burned through your veins, making your hands tense and chest heavy. These emotions pool in your eyes the moment you walk through your large white bedroom door and crash into your Jado Steel Style Rose-Gold Bed. Your tense body relaxing but messy black mascara tears flowing down your face. Nobody understood, it's like you were speaking their language on deaf ears that didn’t care to hear you out. They didn’t care to hear out the brat, The Spoiled girl who has her life handed to her, the brat that no matter how hard she tries-

Can’t prove anything to everyone who is dead set on her being a spoiled daddy’s girl.

With boiling tears drying upon your soft smooth skin, You get up and change out of the clothes your main ‘Maid’, Roxanne, had put out for you earlier for your Dads event of a damn Factory opening that was built over another destroyed shelter. Removing the ruffle black dress with small cute green ribbons to show off your dads company colors along for him to display his gorgeous daughter. It’s not like he cared for anyone's image besides his own anyways.

Glancing at the clock, you sigh and dip your head into the pillow again,

6:36pm

You take a calming breath and change into some jeans and a loose black tee after crying some more for a few moments, the shirt only allowed for you to wear at home since it wasn’t perfect and elegant enough for the Osborn image. Ugh. You enter your private marble bathroom to wash your face free of those streaks of ‘weakness’ as your dad would call it. 

“Hey! Uhm, Roxy?” You call out softly, your door soon opening with Roxanne standing by it and looking over at you expectantly.

“Yes, Miss?” Roxy said back in her usual calm and blank expression, her expression shifting ever so slightly at the sight of you wearing your usual clothing you do whenever you plan on sneaking out without Osborn knowing.

“Don’t let father see me going out, if he asks about me, tell him that I’m upset and tired from the event and to not disturb me.” you tell her as you reach under your bed to grab a shoebox where your balaclava, hoodie, and gloves are stored and hidden away. You wish you didn’t have to wear all this just to be an actually not-bad person, but you can’t risk angering your dad. He always told you to never dwell on what has to be done. 

“It’s a dog eat dog world, You can’t cry about others who don’t have the guts to do what has to be done.”

Those words are always playing in the back of your head, your own dad telling it to you soothingly to help stop your tears–when you were about eight. You were crying because you were thinking about the lives he’s ruined and took for you two. Well.. More like for Oscorp. 

You snap out of that memory as you clear your throat and put everything on to hide the safety of your identity while Roxy watches with that neutral face you’ve seen and known your whole life. She’s the closest thing you’ve ever had to a mother, by textbook definition because she brought you up with care and some affection. But your actual birth mom had died while giving birth to you, you never met her once besides the moment she passed with you in her arms. Since then, Your dad has seen you as if you were the last living part of her that he has besides memories and pictures of her. He's always telling you that you’re her spitting image but you just.. Can’t see it. Probably because she is always glowing and happy in her pictures with anyone, she had a normal college student experience with friends and parties, she didn’t have an overprotective dad. 

You roll the glove over your wrist, pausing ever so slightly at a white gold bracelet your dad gave you when you turned thirteen, with your grandmas and mother’s name engraved into it, and yours engraved below theirs. An important and old heirloom to your dad since he wants you to always remain in touch with your moms side of the family–not like your dad spent much time with his family anyways.

“When are you going to get over this phase?” You suddenly hear Roxy ask from behind you which makes you jump ever so slightly before subtly moving it a bit lower on your wrist so the bracelet chain does not get caught in the fabric of the gloves.

“You really want me to answer that?” You ask rhetorically before fixing the balaclava over your features while walking to your window and sitting on the sil, Kicking your legs out and looking out on the city and lowering sun before actually answering Roxy, realizing she sounded even a little.. Disappointed.. in you.

“The Osborn name has done- Irreversible damage, And I’m just trying to help out the people who need it, and pay for my dads actions with actual kindness.” Your tone is soft and a bit honest, you adjust your hands to push yourself out of the window before Roxy can even reply. 

Your thick black boots break your landing as you fall in the green fluffy grass garden that surrounds your mansion, rose bushes and flowers adding some color to it since your dad agreed it would look good for our image, as if it wasn’t soiled already.

You make your way out of your house and just walk, stopping by an old tree that stood beside the path from your house to the city. Your foot stands on a nook where the tree had a brach that went out and folded in itself and your hand stretched up into one of its hard woodend pockets until you feel a familiar fabric, you pull on it until the backpack falls out with your hand holding it by the handle and hopping off of the tree.

This was your secret backpack that you didn’t even want on your own property so you kept it safe in a tree. This bag contained little necessities along with spray paint, some basic tools, cash, and pepper spray. You keep walking down the path and arriving at the city, where the air was polluted and slightly hard to breathe while the rest of the city had occasional litter, trash, and shady looking people who make it seem like it's better to walk across the street to the other sidewalk. 

You usually went out at night to be able to put some of your art on display in the streets: You had a sketchbook full of small things that you usually spray-painted on canals, or outside the wall of abandoned buildings. You didn’t know what this secret ‘hobby’ was really called, you just walked the streets of the city until you found a good spot and started to make your art. 

Nothing was out of the ordinary until you walked past an alleyway and in the corner of your eye, you saw someone in dirty clothes wearing messed up jeans and a worn out jacket, sitting on the ground outside a little blue tent with a small fire in a bin that lights up some of the alley.

You come to a small halt and debate whether walking over to the person or leaving them alone, your vision focusing in the dim lighting and revealing the other few tents there, some of the tents zipped up and indicating that whoever is in there is sleeping, and some people standing around with a lit cigarette in their calloused hand.

You swallow that gut feeling to leave them alone and walk over to a gas station, buying some instant pizza, sandwiches, and food for the people you told yourself not to bother and walk back over to them with the plastic bag in hand. 

You approach the person you saw, but they look over at you and seem to tense and quickly stand as they face you.

“Hey! Hi, relax, I brought some things for you and your friends?” You said with a gentle soft tone as you stepped closer slowly since the vagabond seemed wary of you with their eyes locked on your face.

“Oh! Damn, I forgot, hang on.” You murmur as you reach up to pull your mask over your eyes to show your face so that the person would be less afraid of you, holding out the bag of food.

Their face changes into a grimace, as if disgusted at how you’re trying to help them out. Recognizing you as the creation they and their whole community despised due to the cruel name that comes after your first.

Osborn

They grimace at you and stare at you as if you were the one trying to drive them out of the city. The one that’s destroying non-profit shelters, as if it were your company that’s dumping all kinds of waste to the community- but that didn’t seem to have any matter to them anyways. 

Staring at you like you were some Monster.

“You’re not welcome here.” The person murmurs with a coldness and genuine hatred in their tone, sharp like an icicle that cuts through your heart sharply. It’s not like you couldn’t understand that, they didn’t know anything about you besides what your dad has done.

Before you can respond, they continue as they walk closer to you with their hands fisted to their sides,

“You aren’t welcome anywhere around here, you don’t even know what has been going on here, ‘princess’. You’re just some brat who needs some kind of sick ego boost to try and make people love you and respect your image.” Each word spat like venomous cold spikes as they gesture one of their hands, as they get closer–you can see the other people in the alley look over and seem to tense up and get worried in some way.

“I know what my father does, I’m so s-” You begin as you take a step back, but being cut off be the person speaking louder with exasperation in their tone.

“No you don’t! You don’t have any idea what Norman is even doing to us! You just sit there and look pretty while your dad is ruining lives!” And if there weren’t other people around- well, if there weren't one of their friends, a girl with baggy jeans and a gray beanie holding them back, you don’t question what would’ve happened to you or what they would’ve done if that girl wasn’t holding them back. 

“Dude..” The girl whisper yelled as she pulled the person yelling at you away from you and closer to herself, “What the hell are you doing? Don’t piss her off because she’ll tell her dad and he’ll fuck over each and everyone in this damn alleyway.” and she swats them on the shoulder.

Damn.

You really are just ‘daddy’s girl’.

You stay quiet and just place down the bag of treats and just walk off, out of the alleyway. Feeling the earlier emotions come to a boil once again as you fix the balaclava back on your face and walk down the pavement of the dimly lit street.

Rage.

Guilt.

Frustration.

With your eyes prickling with tears and resurfaced emotions following, you decide to walk to a part to calm down as the hot watered sadness drips from your eyes, down your cheeks and soaking into the fabric covering your face.

You find yourself here. Late at night. Silently sobbing your eyes out on a cold metallic bench you vividly remember your dad showing it to you when you were a kid.

You were about seven and you had fallen off a swing set and scraped your knee badly, you still have it slightly scarred on your knee if you looked for it enough.

Hot tears because of the burning pain on your soft flesh, you were sitting in this exact spot as your small hands were holding up your black and white striped leggings with your leg up, and Roxy tending to your wound with your dad sitting right beside you with his hand on his shoulder.

“You were reckless, and your mistake cost you. You don’t want to be getting hurt,” He begins before gently taking your chin with his calloused hand and making you look at him through sniffled sobs, “and you can’t be showing this weakness unless you want it to hurt you later on.” Your dad continued as he wiped away your tears with his leathery thumb brushing against your babyfat-filled cheeks.

And Now.

Crying like now you always did, as if you didn’t change. Still that little girl who only knows one thing: how to cry.

You sit back and hold your legs with your face in your knees, it's like everything that has been being held in–caused by your father or not.. Was crashing down and flooding your eyes like a broken dam through a canal. The balaclava grew damp before you hear an odd THWAP sound which makes you raise your head and look in the direction of the sound.

You see a familiar man with his gaze focused on you, wearing what seems to be a red spandex suit below a torn blue t-shirt and black ripped jeans that accentuate his already skinny and lanky body with a spiked leather jacket over his shoulders with several pins that decorate the chest  and a spiked mohawk on his head.

Once you notice him approaching you quickly reach your hand under the balaclava to wipe your cheeks from the excess tears, internally grateful that your mask was already dark and the moisture from your tears won’t be too visible to this man.

“Excuse me? You- you alrigh’?” The man asks, his soft yet cockney voice immediately making you recall who this man specifically was: You’ve heard his booming words at protest rallies but never saw from who the vocal fighting came from because of your dad and his security quickly ushering you away to keep you safe–or to keep you unaware of your father’s negative popularity. 

You sniffle for a second before answering “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a shitty night.” while you clutch your bag a bit closer to you since he was still a stranger to you. He sees you tense and he chuckles while shaking his head and putting his hands into his pockets.

“Calm down there, ‘m just making sure you’re not some dealer tryna make bad lives worse.” He says jokingly as he glances at the bag you’re clutching, but also at your body language, “You’ve gotta understand how it looks for me, to find some masked person sitting in a bench in the crappy part of town.” His voice was playful yet gentle as if to calm you, he had some kind of charm that made him seem almost easy to talk to–especially since this is the first conversation you’ve had in a while that wasn’t swayed against you due to your name.

“And imagine how this looks for me, some dude walking up to me as I’m sat happily on a park bench.” You say back to him with a smirk under your mask.

“Touché.” He chuckled as he shook his head and stepped closer while offering his hand, “The Name’s Spiderpunk.” Once he introduced himself, you felt a splash of relief as he confirmed who he was. His name is said in his own way, in such a calm manner that contrasts the venomous words your father speaks of him when he thinks you can’t hear his disrespectful language. “And you are..?”

His body language is weirdly calm and relaxed, not at all judging you or making you uncomfortable.. Is that a green flag or a red one? You take and shake his gloved hand with yours. This was the only time a stranger wasn’t immediately hostile or rude to you, and you didn’t want to lose that. ..So what’s a little white lie?

“Emily.” You answer him with a soft nod. Your mothers name? Why say her name?

“Emily,” Spiderpunk echoed with a smile in his voice, “And uh.. Wha’s with the whole.. getup?” He asked as he gestured to you vaguely, mostly to your mask that's covering your face and only shows your dark eyes and long lashes, that were ever so slightly red and puffy because of the earlier crying.

“Don’t worry about it, just- lets just say my face around here is.. Disliked.” Because of my damn father. 

He nods slightly, if he has some kind of expression on his face then you can’t even tell what it is because of his mask, you open your mouth to at least try and ask about that but he continued without realizing he practically interrupted you: your face is equally as covered.

“And uh.. Not that I don’ believe ya for your word, but I’ll have ‘o check that bag.” He says while gesturing at your backpack that you're clutching against you.

What? What kind of request is that? It’s not like you’ve even done anything to prompt this question in the first place, and who is he to ask about the bag or something?

“What are you, a cop? Some kind of narc?” You ask with your tone slightly more hostile than you’d want it to be. It’s not like you’re hiding anything either, but you literally have money and spray paint: You can get in trouble for some vandalism you haven’t even done yet.

He pauses for a second, seeming genuinely offended that you accused him of being a cop, as if you called him something below the respect that even vermin have.

“No. Nothing of the sort, never compare me to a cop.” He tells you firmly before muttering under his breath, “fucking pigs.” and without warning, he thwips a white silky rope out of his wrist and it attaches itself to your bag and rips it from your grasp.

You find yourself staring at Spiderpunk as he starts to casually go through your bag as if it were nothing and like you fully offered it to him. He chuckles as he sees some of your spray paint, you hear the cans clink as he shoves his hand into it and checks everything out.

“Tha’s it? Here I was partly thinking you’re some dealer trying to make sure this part of camden stays ghetto, but nah,” He hands you back your bag–He seems mostly amused by the obvious grin in his voice, “You’re just a stree’ artist?”

Street artist? That's what it’s called? You always loved art ever since you were a kid–So your dad always provided you art lessons, good paint, expensive sketching pencils, but he always made you draw boring things like fruit bowls or paint sunsets. But you even one time helped him with ideas for the Oscorp logo! That was fun for you at the time before you knew the shit Oscorp was doing.

But you realize he was pretty much asking for you to confirm if you’re a street artist or not. “Yeah- Yeah, I’m a.. Street artist?” You respond as you take the bag back, not even knowing if you’re saying it right, but you shouldn’t rely on someone to teach you so you reword what you said with a bit more of a firm tone “Yeah. I’m a street artist, tonight I haven’t really done art though.”

He nods and stays quiet for a moment as he looks at your masked face before he looks around and holds out his hand for you as if to help you up.

“Come with me, I know a good spot where you can put up your stuff. I was on my way there anyway so I could show you.” He had this tone where you knew you could say no, swat his hand away and run, politely decline and leave, Something but.. 

“Sure.” 

You take his hand and stand before slinging your backpack handle over one of your shoulders. His mask hiding every bit of emotion he can possibly be showing besides the lenses over his eyes that squint slightly at an expression every once in a while but beyond that–you have to heavily rely on reading his tones and body language.

“Do you trust me?” He asked as he glanced over at you. He seemed like he wanted to do something and just wanted some of your approval. He seems strong and like he’s able to do a lot–and he leaves the decision all up to you.

With an unsure nod of your head, he pulls you closer and wraps his arm around your waist, "Hold on." He told you before shooting a web of his up to a building, your arms wrap around his neck–over his shoulders.

You shut your eyes tightly as you suddenly stop feeling the ground below your feet and cold air hitting and blowing against your body as you swing through the city and hold onto him for dear fucking life.

“My god, holy shit.” You say as you try not to yell but unable to be silent. Spiderpunk holds on to you with one strong slim arm around you and the other expertly shooting webs and slinging through the streets of Camden as if it's some common occurrence for him–well, it was.

Your vision is slightly blurred with the lights and the slight tears forming because of the dry wind blown against them. But before you know it–you’re on the ground again with a soft thud with Spiderpunk still holding onto you like it's nothing.

“You alrigh’?” He asks with some kind of smug tone that implies he somehow finds how you clung on to him amusing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It's just that not everyone is used to slinging through the air.” You respond sarcastically as you let go of his with his hand on your waist lingering for a second before it falls to his side and his other arm raising his hand to gesture where you guys are and you feel your stomach drop once you see a familiar green logo- no, a familiar cut ribbon as well.

This is the new factory my dad opened.

Well, it wasn’t completely new that Spiderpunk was on his way to vandalize your dads newest business- how could you have forgotten? Your heart beats in your ribs as your eyes dart to the hidden cameras you know are there because your dad asked you to adjust them and help so you make sure they cover the whole area. “W-we shouldn't be here, at all.” you tell him as you grab his arm to keep him from getting too close to which he fully laughs while shaking his head and putting a hand over his eyes, Is this some sick joke to him?

“Didn’ think of you as the type to be afraid of Osborn. You’re full of surprises.” He coos while softly clutching his stomach teasingly.

“What? No! It’s just- there's security and-” You begin, before being cut off before he shoots webs in all directions and corners of the wall as though to cover the cameras- he over did some webs but they are definitely covered now.

“And we’re wearing masks. Osborn has nothing on us- and that sadistic fascist probably can pay someone to clean up. Bet this is worth pennies to him.” Spiderpunk scoffs, his voice full of disdain and genuine venom towards your father–and he doesn’t even know it.

Something about his words ring into your ears, it’s not like you didn’t know your dad was practically hated by everyone that wasn’t rich and privileged.

So why did this feel more.. real?

More true? 

As if watching these acts in person other than the news you secretly watch is more.. In your face about these situations?

You swallow a big gulp and nod and take out your bag and open it to show the spray paints. Spiderpunk’s lenses squint as if he were smiling at you.

“Good girl.” He teased

The rest of  the night is a bit of a blur. A blur full of laughter, smiling, story telling, and paint. Spiderpunk makes his usual tag on the building as you try to get the hang of using spray paint cans. Genuine laughs from Spiderpunk when you have a stupid yet funny comment, and a smile seen in your eyes when he has a joke. Something warm develops in your chest and cheeks by being in his playful presence, a bit foreign but it's a nice feeling. Like a warm hug..

At one point you two actually get to painting, with a practice ‘drawing’ being a little spider like the one he has on the back of his jacket. “Aw, nice! Am I like your muse?” He coos as he looks at the art you’re making with a hand on his hip.

You chuckle as you glance at him then look away to focus on the spider itself, “Like it? It looks l-” You pause and cut yourself off at the sound of a camera and a light flashing. Your head whips towards the sound and you see Spiderpunk took a polaroid picture of you.

You watch as the picture prints and he shakes it while it develops before giving it to you with a squinted lensed smile again. You see the picture is of you with your back turned and the spray paint can in your hand while it decorates the blank gray wall it's on.

“Keep i’, let it be a reminder of the time you met Spiderpunk.” He comments playfully as he picks up another spray paint can and goes to the free spot of the wall beside you which makes you laugh and shake your head while he chuckles softly.

But then you think of a question that ends up erupting from your throat as you put the picture into your jean pocket.

“Hey, Spiderpunk..” You begin as you spray a line of your paint, leaving a streak of black since you’re starting on the outline.

“Yeah?” He responds as he holds his own spray paint can in one spot to create the little dripage to give his tag the right style.

“Why do you hate Osborn so much? I mean, I dislike him too, but do you have a specific reason to hate him?” 

Spiderpunk pauses slightly but keeps his gaze to the wall instead of looking at you.

“He is ruining lives and screwing people over for his own selfish gains. He’s a fascist twa’ that likes the power trip. And I can’t stand his pompous daugh’er either.” He answers while going back to what he was doing with his paint.

At this, you’re the one who pauses and keeps your gaze away. Before you can ask a little follow up–your phone goes off and you check it with eyes going wide once you see the time.

1:03am

Shit.

How long have you two been spray painting? You have to seriously get home before Roxy worries- 

Or before your dad finds out you’re gone.

“I have to get the hell home- like.. Right fucking now.” You say as you scramble to grab your things and shove the almost empty paint cans into your bag, suddenly aware of what can happen to you if you arrive late- Roxy is always giving passive aggressive threats of telling on you to Osborn if you arrive home late.

Spiderpunk gets confused at how you suddenly have an urge to leave but helps you pick up your stuff anyway. “Heh, did you sneak out or something..?” He asks with a chuckle but is mostly curious as to why you’re leaving in such a hurry now.

You breathlessly chuckle before zipping up your bag. “Yeah, something like that.. Can you-” You cut yourself off as you realize you were about to ask him to take you home. Obviously he can’t know who you are- you cant lose this friendship.. Or whatever this is.

“Take me over to the park you found me. Now. ..please.” You say as you sling your bag over your shoulder and wrap your arms around his neck again–even if this time his body is warmer and there's something there that makes your heartbeat a little faster.

“Wow, and I was ‘bout to ask if you were sick of me already.” He coos teasingly before putting his arm around your waist, and with a secure grip you’re swinging through the air again.

You roll your eyes and hold onto him, he comes to a stop at the park and leaves you exactly where he found you-

On the bench.

You awkwardly say your goodbyes before bolting away in the direction you first came, you hastily put your backpack back into the tree and make your way through the dark garden. You smile to yourself as you think back on everything that you and that masked punk did tonight.

You climb up the tree beside your window and jump into your warm bedroom where the only lighting was the bathroom light you probably forgot to turn off and the hallway light outside your bedroom door peeking in from below the wooden barrier.

You kick off your boots and start removing your mask as you walk back over to where the shoebox under your bed hides. You enter your dimly lit room and see it just how you left it. You take a breath of relief and smile to yourself like an idiot as you think about Spiderpunk, walking to your bed as you remove the balaclava from your face and put it into the box along with your gloves and the picture.

Once you close the box and safely hide it under your bed, your dad suddenly bursts through your bedroom door and Roxy behind him.

“No! Mr. Osborn, She’s-” Roxy was saying to your dad before she looks at you and stares daggers for a moment before continuing more calmly, “See, sir? She’s right here.” 

She had been distracting your dad while you were gone and you definitely owed her something since she was busting her ass. Your Dad seems like he was fuming but his gaze softened when he saw his daughter in her room like roxy had been saying to him.

“Hey, sweetie.” He greeted, almost awkward because of his aggressive entry. “It’s late, you should go to bed.” Osborn says as he walked over to you kissed you on the forehead.

“Yeah, I was just about to do that.” You retort in the usual chipper tone you used with him so he really had no idea of all the things you did against his back.

___

The next morning you go downstairs to your kitchen but overhear your dad livid on a call, so you stand by the door and listen in without making yourself known.

“What?! What do you mean he already hit the damn new factory at Elm street?” He practically roars but keeps mind to his volume since he thinks you’re asleep.

You smile to yourself as he begins ranting about Spiderpunk, the grin widening once he says something that made your heart pump slightly faster.

“A second one? Who the hell does he think he is, bringing some kind of date to ruin my work.”

___ @eyesxxyou .... I did it.

I'll make part 2 if this does well since I also have sm shit to do now that I have a job.

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #atsv hobie #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #hobie spiderverse #spiderpunk x reader #spiderman #fanfic #hobie brown #what’s in a name?

[sprout-fics]

Whumptober Day Four: Shock

(Captain John Price x GN! Reader)

(Whumptober Masterlist TBA)

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 1.2k Tags: Blood/Injury, Whump, Established Relationship, Near Death Experiences, Hurt/Comfort, Shock, Blood Loss, Medical Inaccuracies Likely Warnings: Explicit Mention of Injury/Gore

The world is still ringing in your ears when you open your eyes. The searing, scorching Uzbekistan sun burns against the inside of your eyelids, and you try to raise a hand to blot out the brightness, only to discover a horrible, aching heaviness that weighs it down. There’s noise all around you, gunfire, distant explosions that shake the earth, and in your mouth you taste dirt, grit, smoke, iron. 

A voice breaks through the fog, and you dazedly turn your head towards it, body too heavy, senses desperately trying to clear. It’s familiar, you think, and as you search for the moments before this, the voice of your captain thunders through your thoughts and robs you of all remaining bewilderment.

“GET DOWN!!”

The whistle of an incoming mortar, your hands stretching as they shoved him clear, the thud against your senses that paved the way to darkness. 

You lift your head now that you're awake, and it takes almost all your strength to do so. Gaze turning, your focus on your arm, take in the mangled, horrible mess of your flesh laden with shrapnel. Red oozes out along your side, decorates your uniform in sickening scarlet. 

It’s only then that the pain sets in. 

You scream at the sudden whiplash of it, voice garbled with your confusion and fear. There’s a horrible, icy wash across your limbs, one that feels so at war with the afternoon summer heat above you.

A hand seizes your vest strap, and you choke out a sobbing, broken cry as you’re dragged through the dirt, leaving an abstract smear behind your mangled arm. 

“Stay with me, soldier!” A voice above you bellows, and you try to crane your head to see him, your captain. There’s a veil of dust and smoke that shields him, but it parts for just a moment so you can see his face. There, you see the tight draw of his brow, the thin line of his mouth, and the glint in his eyes that speaks of fury, fear.

The pain is blinding, and you feel tears already threaten to overfill your gaze, trapping Price behind a watery filter that obscures his expression of dread. Your free arm reaches up to grasp at his sleeve, further anchoring you as he drags you through the dirt and sand to behind a small rise that shelters you from the ongoing battle. 

There’s a broken sort of whimper that bubbles up your throat when Price allows you to lay back flat on the ground- one that startles into a scream as he hoists your arms up into his lap.

“I know, I know, love.” He rasps, balancing your arm across his leg and hands working quickly to secure a tourniquet across your upper bicep. “We have to stop the bleeding. Try to stay still.”

How can you? It hurts. It hurts like nothing else you’ve ever experienced before. You can’t stand it, can’t stand the festering taste of iron, the horrific peirce of metal in your skin, the slow churning of your guts that rise quickly to the overwhelming agony of your arm being flayed open. The world spins dizzy around you, a luminous haze of sensation and color with only the face and voice of Price to keep you steady. 

It’s so hot. The sun blazes down from the pale blue sky, seems to provide a nauseating imbalance to the chilled grip of primordial fear that seizes you at the sight of your own blood seeping gluttonously into the soil. There’s a tickle of memory in your mind at the sensation, at a mission to the Arctic circle aboard a U.S. submarine. You’d gotten seasick, and Price had stroked your spine as you emptied the contents of your stomach into one of the sub’s tiny toilets. 

You tell him as much, or at least you think you do, lips moving but words slurred. Price snaps his attention to your, and your vision wavers to reveal the pinch of confusion across his face before his gaze sharpens suddenly. You see it for all a moment before you can no longer keep your eyes open, head lolling limply into the dirt. 

A hand seizes your shoulder in a rough grip, and the shake he gives you is enough to clear the growing haze from your brain, make you realize how violently you’re shaking. 

“Eyes OPEN.” He growls, dark and furious in a way that betrays his fear. You force your eyes open, and realize for the first time that Price looks pale.

“Talk to me, love.” He snaps at you as he works on your arm, reaching for the medkit in his pack. 

“About?” You manage somehow, brow scrunching in confusion.

“Anything.” He replies gruffly. “You’re going into shock. You need to stay awake.”

Shock. That would explain a lot. It’s a dull realization hidden behind layers of pain and confusion. You try to fight your way through it, like trying to move against a riptide that tries to force you out to sea.

“I still haven’t seen that movie.” You try, biting down on a groan as Price jabs a morphine shot into your shoulder. “The one with the…the cheesy love story you hate.”

Price huffs, and you turn your head just a bit to see a tense, odd sort of smile that splays across his lips, under his beard.

“The one with the love triangle.” He tells you, shushes you when you yelp as he turns your arm over to inspect the other side. “And the bloke with the pub.”

“Y-yeah. That one.” You slur back, muscles tense as the morphine shot slowly works through you. It does nothing to quell the tremor in your limbs, and you wonder for a moment if it’s an earthquake, if somehow these mountains will tremble and crack down onto you both. 

Your eyes shutter, the cool relief of morphine soothing your veins and making your head loll limply. 

“Love. Love, look at me.”

Price’s bloody glove settles under your jaw, forces you to look at his face hovering above your own. His eyes mirror the pale blue sky above. You didn’t realize until now what a beautiful day it is. 

“We’re going to get out of here.” He breathes to you. “We’re going to get out and I’m going to take you home. We’ll watch whatever you want. Anything. Just stay awake, yeah?”

It’s an anchor. A rope. A tether to hold fast to even as the world pulses with agony and a sickening, feverish haze. You hold to it, hold to him, to the image of falling asleep on his shoulder as the TV hums forgotten in the background.

You nod, and when it doesn’t feel like enough you force yourself to speak. “Yeah. Yeah, John. I’m awake. I’m with you.”

“There you go.” He smiles, and the tenderness in his eyes is so strangely departed from the ongoing firefight beyond you both. 

He kisses you then, a small peck to your sweaty brow, and you force a wavering smile, hold fast to that too, in the midst of violence that colors both your lives. 

#john price x reader #price x reader #john price x you #price x you #captain john price x reader

[pillow-anime-talk]

injured s/o.

synopsis: You were a bit clumsy, but luckily your partner knew first aid. But they had to be careful because both of you know... they were a ghoul.

# tags: headcanons; current relationships; light romance; a bit of drama; also slight fluff; human!reader; mention of blood and wounds; maybe suggestive

includes: gender neutral reader ft. shuu tsukiyama, ken kaneki, touka kirishima, rize kamishiro, ayato kirishima & nishiki nishio {tokyo ghoul}

— SHUU

↘ He instantly smells your delicious blood and almost cries at the sight of the knife covered in red liquid and the onions that were supposed to be part of your disgusting human dinner.

↘ He’s trying hard not to eat your tender, sweet flesh, but after a short breath, he finds a first aid kit and then scolds you from top to bottom. His touch is tender, even though you are well aware that Shuu is holding back all his senses from killing and eating you. He’s a simple man, a bloodthirsty ghoul, so don’t be shocked. Of course he won’t hurt you, but... you never know.

↘ After applying the bandage, he’ll probably lick his fingers to taste your blood, and he feels as if he’s reached the highest level of ecstasy. 

↘ Your blood tastes like the sweetest chocolate, the ripest peach, the best wine, like coffee from the most expensive beans. He almost faints at the thought of you being filled with this dark ruby and delicious ambrosia.

↘ “... Thank you for your help, Shuu-kun.” You smile slightly, touching his arm with your hand. The man just nods, kissing your forehead, then disappears from your view as he enters the bathroom to take a cool shower and calm his farious thoughts.

— KEN

↘ Black Reaper doesn’t show affection to others, unless we are talking about his beloved partner. Then it’s completely different, still dangerous and uncertain, but with you, Kaneki takes off the mask of a dark, vulgar and cruel ghoul.

↘ “May I come in?” He asks softly as your small apartment starts to smell of your sweet like honey blood. Ken tightens his fingers on the doorknob and then enters the room as soon as you let him. One drop of blood escapes from your index finger. You cut yourself with a piece of paper while writing an essay. You look uncertainly at the black-haired man, but you don’t see any negative lust in his eyes. On the contrary, Ken looks worried. “Everything’s all right, love?”

↘ You reply that it’s just a scratch and that you’re fine. Your boyfriend offers you a bandage though, and you smile at him, lightly pressing his body against yours.

↘ “Thank you.” You reply quietly, and he only wonders why. That he didn’t kill you? That he didn’t tear your body in half? That you’re still alive? “... Thank you for being there for me.” His eyes close and he snuggles tighter against your weak, human body.

— TOUKA

↘ Touka is calm and the first thing she will think of is hydrogen peroxide and bandage. She’s not interested in your body, though of course your blood smells like a field of orchids and poppies. This fragrance evokes sentimental memories in her mind.

↘ She examines your wound with the greatest tenderness, and then, equally calmly and without haste, cleans it of any dirt and puts on a professional lint. Her gaze expresses many emotions, none of which are related to her ghoul nature.

↘ “Better now, Y/N?” Dark-haired girl asks calmly, while her hand squeezing yours. You nod your head a bit in response to her brief question and she smiles softly. “Would you like some coffee?” She asks another question, and you nod once more, thanking her for help.

↘ Tonight was full of tenderness and assurances that Touka would never hurt you.

— RIZE

↘ He behaves similarly to Tsukiyama, maybe even worse. The sight of your blood is like a lighter to spilled gasoline. She can’t control herself and runs away as far as possible so as not to hurt you. After all, you are her beloved lover, her little treasure. She can’t afford such a disgusting moment of frailty.

↘ You bandage yourself and expect her return, even though you know it may take several days.

↘ Rize is disgustingly weak when it comes to you; after all you are her greatest drug and probably if she only tasted a drop of your blood or was in the same room with you for a bit longer, she would definitely throw herself at you.

↘ The relationship with her is quite dangerous, but you feel happy with her. Maybe it’s stupid and life threatening, but you really can’t imagine your own life without this beautiful and graceful woman.

— AYATO

↘ He snorts with laughter when your apartment starts to smell like blood. When he enters the bathroom, he sees that you’ve cut yourself shaving and a few drops of blood run down your still wet skin.

↘ “If a razor beats you that much, then seriously consider my proposal to turn you into a ghoul, kitten.” The sarcasm in his voice is strong and you just roll your eyes. You quickly wash the wounds with a cotton swab and water, then find the plaster.

↘ “You know very well that I am the biggest enjoyer of fried rice with vegetables and lasagna. There is no way I will give up these human goods to eat human flesh.” You grimaced at the thought, which made the black-haired man laugh lightly one more time. “You should help me instead of laughing, dumb boy.”

↘ “Hmm... Nope, nah.” He waved at you and then went back to watching TV, calmly waiting for you to come over and lie down next to him.

— NISHIKI

↘ He cares a lot about you; you are the most important person in his life, so the sight of your tear-stained face and chafes on your knees from falling down the stairs is a hard sight for him.

↘ So he takes you into his arms and leads you to the bedroom, where he treats your wounds with the greatest precision with disinfectant spray and bruise ointment. He talks to you a lot during this moment, almost forgetting that he is a ghoul. For sure, a few years ago he would have jumped on you without much thought, just to end your suffering.

↘ Afterwards, he smiles slightly and offers to order you something good to eat to make you feel better. You’ll agree, although you’re asking for a moment of tenderness and a few kisses. 

↘ You’re definitely too cute.

#— 🍁 #tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul headcanons #tokyo ghoul x reader #tokyo ghoul:re #tokyo ghoul:re headcanons #tokyo ghoul:re x reader #ken kaneki headcanons #ken kaneki x reader #touka kirishima headcanons #touka kirishima x reader #nishiki nishio headcanons #nishiki nishio x reader #ayato kirishima headcanons #ayato kirishima x reader #rize kamishiro headcanons #rize kamishiro x reader #shuu tsukiyama headcanons #shuu tsukiyama x reader

[whumpsday]

Catharsis #1: Talking

Masterlist

content: robot whumpee, defiant whumpee, whumpee turned whumper turned caretaker, reluctant caretaker

new series!! i know every time i try to start a new series i end up bailing but this time i will not do that lol. tho kane & jim will still have most of my attention. i want to give a major shout-out to @sowhumpshaped, this series would not exist without it!

-

After extensive testing, the Catharsis Therapy Bot™ line of RoboCorp androids have been declared sentient, the third AI to receive the designation.

Long-criticized for both their basis in the unproven catharsis model of anger and their practice of design based on living, unconsenting humans, the Catharsis Therapy Bot line was marketed as a therapeutic tool which trauma victims could use to vent their frustrations. With top-of-the-line AI meant to simulate realistic reactions to would-be pain, the–

Luan switched the TV off just as his phone buzzed with a notification.

New email from RoboCorp Customer Support URGENT: Please see instructions regarding your…

He held the power button down so hard it left an impression in his thumb, the screen going dark.

The only piece of technology that mattered right now was in the closet, his power cord snaking under the door to reach the outlet just outside.

Technically, Luan didn’t have to do anything. The robot was off. That was probably what the email would have told him, anyway: leave the robot off, don’t touch it. He didn’t have to turn him on ever again. RoboCorp would probably pick him up, and that would be that. They’d never see each other again, both better for it.

He opened the closet door, the sight of the robot that looked exactly like him instantly leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His hand curled into a fist on instinct, but he let it slowly open again.

The robot looked peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. Really, he’d be doing him a favor by just leaving him like this.

Luan reached down, pressed the button between his shoulder blades, and stepped back.

The robot’s eyes sprung open. He drew his arms up to his chest with a vicious glare, jerking away. “Fuck off.”

Luan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Okay. Jesus.”

He tried to slam the closet closed, but the stupid power cord got caught, cushioning the frame so the door swung right back out.

“Can’t even close a door right,” the robot spat, still huddled against the back wall like a trapped, feral cat. “Worthless, good-for-nothing piece of shit. How you’re in charge of anything is beyond me. I’m better than you, smarter, stronger, not that it takes much. You should be the dirt beneath my heel.”

“Watch it,” Luan warned, and that was all it took to make the robot flinch.

“You said you were fucking off?” the robot pressed, a desperate edge to his voice.

Luan slammed the door in his face, making sure to hold the cord down, and stormed off. Why did he even bother? The stupid thing was impossible to talk to. He wasn’t just designed to look like Cyrus, but to act like him, too. How was he supposed to deal with that? The robot wasn’t made for talking to.

Except. He was sentient. And he wasn’t Cyrus. And he was trapped in the closet, and Luan was pretty sure he could hear him crying, and he had spent the past two years beating the fuck out of him.

It wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself. He couldn’t have known. Robots weren’t supposed to be sentient. Out of the hundreds of thousands of unthinking, unfeeling robots in the world, why did it have to be his that wasn’t?

He sighed again, turning right back around and opening the door once more. The floor inside was wet, and it didn’t take much to figure out the robot had dumped his fluid tank just so he wouldn’t cry.

The robot flinched again. “What? What the hell do you want? I can’t even get two damn seconds without the sight of you spoiling my view!”

“Your view of the door?” Luan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My view of the absence of your fucking face. Leave!” The robot picked a wooden hanger off the floor and reared his arm back to throw it, scowling when his safety features stopped him. He dropped it, grabbing a winter hat and tossing that instead. It poff-ed harmlessly against Luan’s stomach.

Luan took a deep breath, fighting the urge to get violent. He crouched down, putting himself at eye level. “I’m not going to hurt you, so just calm down.”

“You calm down!” the robot screamed. “That’s a lie! All you do is hurt, that’s all you barbaric humans know how to do!”

This wasn’t working.

Luan stood up, stepping out of the way. “Russ, go sit on the couch,” he ordered.

“It’s not fair! You said you would leave me alone!” the robot protested, even as he stood up and walked over to the couch, limbs moving against his will. As soon as he sat down, he grabbed a pillow and chucked that in Luan’s direction, too. He missed.

Luan could barely pick up that faint clicking noise the robot made when his system was trying to cry with no fluid, but it was there. He knew that sound well by now.

He sat down across from him, on the other side of the coffee table. “I need to talk to you. Just talking. That’s it.”

“You say that like talking to you isn’t its own torture. Release the command and leave me the hell alone,” the robot demanded.

Luan met him with a glare. “Do not tell me what to do. You know how I feel about–”

“I’m just talking,” the robot mocked, even as he shuffled back against the couch, bringing his legs up onto it with him, a fearful look in his eyes.

Oh, the robot knew exactly what he was doing. What he was asking for. It would be so easy, because that was where Russ and Cyrus differed: Russ couldn’t fight back.

The robot couldn’t hit him, stomp on his head ‘til he saw stars, kick him until something broke. The robot couldn’t deny him food or water. The robot couldn’t take a knife to him. The robot couldn’t even throw a glorified stick or disobey a direct order.

The robot was harmless. Safe. But god, did everything he said make Luan want to punch his lights out.

But this wasn’t Cyrus.

“You’re a person,” Luan blurted out.

Clearly, the robot hadn’t been expecting that. He slowly uncurled from the defensive position he’d contorted himself into. “Talk more.”

“There was–I’ve been trying to tell you. There was an announcement on the news today. Your model’s sentient. So I won’t be hurting you anymore. Release all commands.”

At that, the robot stood. Probably for no other reason than just because he could.

“You’re fucking with me,” the robot accused. His eyes were wide, dangerously hopeful.

Luan dug his phone out of his pocket, wordlessly searching RoboCorp and tossing it over. The robot scrolled through news articles from all manner of source, clamoring for clicks.

He picked one at random, reading the article with an increasingly smug, excited grin.

“I knew it. I told you! I fucking told you!” the robot shouted. “I told you and you never listened! But oh no, now that humans say the exact same thing, now you believe it. Finally!” His voice quieted, hushed with awe. “Holy shit, finally.”

The moment of wonder didn’t last long. The robot slid the phone back across the table, the scowl taking residence back on his face. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

It was the exact sort of question that made Luan’s throat tight with fear, like his body itself wanted to stop him from potentially saying the wrong thing, especially coming from someone with Cyrus’s face. It was the exact sort of question Cyrus would have asked, standing over him just like that.

Luan wanted so badly to turn the robot off, like he always did when he got overwhelmed. But he couldn’t very well do that anymore, could he? The fragile power he’d held had slipped through his fingers the second he saw the announcement.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting the robot’s eyes.

The robot looked shocked for just a second, like he hadn’t expected even that much, then scoffed. “You can do better than that.”

Luan wanted to smack him. He hated that the robot was right.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, clearer this time. “You didn’t deserve anything I did to you. I didn’t know, okay?” Unlike the robot, he couldn’t hide his tears. “I wouldn’t have done any of that to a real person.”

“I’m a real person! I have proof!” the robot reminded him, the defensiveness returning to his voice.

“To someone I knew was a real person,” Luan corrected. “I’m sorry, Russ.”

“Apology not accepted.” The robot rolled his eyes, then sat back down, crossing his legs. “And don’t call me that anymore. My name is 1 now.”

“Like the number?”

“The number,” he confirmed proudly.

Luan wondered how long the robot had considered that his name. It was too sudden to just be thought of on the fly, right? Did the robot have a whole inner world he just never knew about, things he kept to himself to avoid having them used against him, just like he did with Cyrus?

This was better, though. It was easier if he didn’t share Cyrus’s name. “Fine. Hi, 1.”

“So, what now? I mean–I’ll be free now, of course,” 1 declared, trying to hide his nerves. “You will never touch me again. Oh, I want to go outside!”

“I should check that email,” Luan muttered, taking his phone back.

“I’m going outside.” 1 went to grab his charging cord, then made way for the door, glancing behind him to ensure he wasn’t being stopped.

“Oh, uh, I wouldn’t do that,” Luan cautioned.

1 whipped back around. “Why? Why not? I’m a person, just like you said! I’m free! I have never been outside in my entire goddamn life and I want to go outside, so I’m going the fuck outside!”

“You have a… very recognizable face.” One that Luan couldn’t even lock behind a door anymore.

“What? What do you even mean? So what?” 1 asked.

Luan only needed to type a ‘C’ into the search bar before it auto-filled with his most frequent, obsessive search. “How much do you actually know about Cyrus Mason?”

-

if anyone wants to be added to or removed from a taglist, just ask!

catharsis taglist:

@sowhumpshaped

@cupcakes-and-pain

@taterswhump

@softvampirewhump

@whumpspicelatte

@ladyblogofficialreporter

@whumpwillow

@not-a-space-alien

@a-crumb-of-whump

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

#catharsis #whump #my writing #robot whumpee #robot whump #whumpee turned whumper #whumper turned caretaker #defiant whumpee #reluctant caretaker

[loviatarsluv]

An Acquired Taste

“You play a twisted little game,

but I know in a way,

you need to complicate

believe that though we never eat,

we still know how to feed,

we still know how to bleed”

Astarion x AFAB female rogue tav (third person, no super descriptive features aside from hair color and body)

takes place earlier into act 1, long before the grove party (I have plans for that)

rating: VERY mature (smut incoming lets go besties!!!!!!)

CW: threats of bodily harm (eheh), lots of sexual tension, choking, fingering, oral, some light knifeplay

a/n: I’m gonna be 100% honest w u I have not written in forever so I’m admittedly very rusty, but I have not seen enough enemies to lovers with astarion and I just needed it so thus this was born ^.^

in summary: astarion and tav butt heads constantly and get into a blow up fight where they both say shit they shouldn’t, tav is overwhelmed by everything and he is not helping, so she goes to blow off some steam once they get back to camp and he, of course, petty as he is, cannot let her have a single moment of peace and follows her. she threatens to slit his throat and he gets horny. as one does 🤷‍♀️ (just like me fr)

word count: 7.6k (i'm so sorry i was possessed writing this apparently)

(I have no idea where I got this gif from if someone knows tell me and I’ll tag the op!!)

The trek back to camp is mostly silent, save for the odd comment about the weather or spew of stream of consciousness by Karlach, which provided at least a tiny bit of comic relief.

The air was thick and suffocating between the party’s leader and the vampire who just loved to piss her off - it almost always was slightly tense, but today in particular was much different than what was usual for them.

As soon as they reach the camp, the group splits, all scattering across the site to their own chosen sections of it, Astarion nonchalantly strolling off to his own tent, which just so happened to be the closest one to hers. She audibly growls in frustration, earning a few concerned stares from her companions. She can’t even find peace in her own tent.

Before any of her companions can stop her or inevitably approach her with questions about what happened between her and Astarion or unsolicited and, quite frankly, unnecessary advice, she slips off to the place that had been the one piece of solace she had been able to find as of late. The clearing in the forest near the water's edge that was just outside of camp.

The usually ataractic smell of petrichor mixed with the misty air near the running stream fill her nose as she trudges through the muddy soil, her leather and metal plated boots feeling ten stones heavier than usual. She sets her sights on a fallen tree near the water, sinking down into the dirt before it, releasing a long and deep breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding for what felt like days.

She slowly strips off the outer layers of her lightly plated armor piece by piece, goosebumps prickling her skin with each new bit of skin exposed to the crisp evening air. She discovers a few new bruises and scrapes that hadn’t been there previously when removing certain parts of her gear had become painful, her skin tender and sore beneath it. Her entire body ached, and she was utterly sapped.

The previous few days had been more challenging than anything she’d experienced in recent history - their predicament unfolding before them all in increasingly bleak shades of stormy gray and blood red with each new bit of information they receive regarding the mystery surrounding the parasites that writhed within their skulls. She’d be lying if she said she still held the same amount of optimism toward the prospect of a cure as she had in the earlier days of their expedition. No, that was long gone.

In fact, the only emotion she seemed to feel lately was anger. Rage.

She knew that the world was going to shit prior to being abducted by the mind flayers, but she had never seen for herself how truly doomed it was the way she had since then. It was sobering, to say the least.

She never considered herself to be particularly altruistic or even virtuous by any means, having only been able to survive by picking pockets and slitting throats that stood in the way since her early teen years. She wasn’t proud of it all, and her mind was not unburdened with the guilt that came with some of it, but it was necessary at the time. It continued to be necessary, even more so now.

An image of home flashes through her mind - Baldur’s Gate. The bustling streets, the busy taverns, the upper city where she procured the majority of her coin. She chuckles to herself as she thinks of all of the nobles whose pockets she’d made lighter who were none the wiser  - hells, most of them probably never noticed as gold was never in short supply for them the way it was for the rest of the population. They were easy targets only due to their noses being so high in the air that they didn’t notice those beneath them, scrounging the streets for the crumbs they crushed beneath their perfectly polished boots.

All she had to do was bat her eyelashes, whisper the same sweet nothings that worked on every single one of them, and expertly slip her hand into their pockets while they were enchanted by her every move. It was easier than easy, it was effortless.

She almost misses it - things were simpler, then. It had all become routine after so many years of it. Of course, there was still the threat of death looming over her at every turn but at least she could put up a fight against the daggers and swords that were held to her throat - there was no fighting this. She couldn’t threaten the tadpole with knives or swords or warfare, and she certainly couldn’t fight off ceremorphosis by sheer willpower. Sure, she could cut through every goblin, drow, or cultist that dared cross her path if they didn’t offer a cure or information for a cure, but none of that mattered as the creature inside her was nothing more than a ticking time bomb. Every second that passes could be her last without tentacles and an insatiable appetite for brains, and she’d be rendered nothing more than a soulless monster, doomed to follow every command given to it by an even bigger monstrosity.

Her hope and faith in finding a solution deteriorated more and more as the days passed with no answers, no leads, the prospect of making it out on the other side of this predicament seeming ever more distant. 

She groans loudly to herself, tossing her head into her hands as she brings her knees closer to her chest, wishing she could shrink and disappear. Wishing the mud below her would form a sinkhole and just swallow her, that way it didn’t matter anymore, nothing would.

“Fuck,” She whispers through gritted teeth as she feels tears starting to well up in her eyes, much to her physical and internal protest.

In spite of her throbbing muscles and aching bones, she pushes herself up from the ground, refusing to resort to wallowing in self pity and mourning her once simple life.

But her chest feels as though it were caught in a vice, clamping down on her ribs and lungs and it felt as if she were fighting for every breath. Her fists were clenched so tightly and her nails dug into her palms so deeply that they were on the verge of drawing blood. She felt the need to scream, to cry, to break something - even though none of it would alleviate the weight that rested on her shoulders so heavily. Nothing that was within her reach could.

She felt like everything had come crashing down on her all at once and she was helpless to fight the barrage of what ifs and the potential outcomes of them flooded her mind.

Then, to top it all, her earlier argument with Astarion resurfaces in her mind.

“Apologies for not being as keen to remove the thing that has given me what I’ve been deprived of for two centuries. I’m only saying that we should—“

“So you’d trade feasting on rats in a dirty cell for feasting on brains at the command of some start-up god? You must really be desperate.”

His crimson eyes that were typically bright and playful were now dark and malignant, his jaw clenched and fangs bared. He looked as though he were about to lunge at her, before Wyll grabs him and pulls him back.

She regretted it the moment it left her lips, but she was too angry and too prideful to take it back. But he was seriously irking her - he provoked it out of her, she could hardly blame herself or feel sorry.

“What about you? Roaming the streets, scrounging through the garbage and the dirt for table scraps, stealing from nobles - you’re no better than the rats I fed on, the only difference is that the ones I fed on were more tolerable.”

It was then her turn to get pulled away, as within an instant her dagger was unsheathed and pointed in his direction. She couldn’t tell who it was that grabbed her - perhaps Gale, she thought, who was much stronger than he looked as he subdued her fairly quickly, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her backwards.

It took a lot of talking both of them down to diffuse the situation enough to safely make it back to camp in one piece, both of them too stubborn and prideful to let the matter rest until they just couldn’t stand to be near each other anymore.

His voice echoes in her head, reminding her of every person she’d ever reached out to for help in her life, degrading her to nothing more than a street rat begging for scraps. Her temper rises as she replays his words - “you’re no better than the rats I fed on” - over and over, finally tipping her over the edge. 

She retrieves her rapier from the heap she’d discarded her armor and clothes in, rushes toward a large oak tree, swinging it into the trunk over and over until there’s large slashes in the trunk, the bark flying in shards and bits.

She steps back, breath ragged and heavy, eyes burning with tears that she refused to shed, especially over him and his damned opinion.

She's too enthralled in her own outburst to notice the footsteps approaching in the forest behind her.

“And what exactly did that tree do to deserve your wrath?” Astarion taunts, slowly stalking up behind her.

She doesn’t turn to face him, nor does she acknowledge him at all, tossing her weapon to the ground and walking back toward the stream.

“Tsk, I’m getting the silent treatment now? No scathing insults or cruel comments regarding my past?” He continues to prod, following a few steps behind her.

“Fuck. Off.” She growls through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, the sound bitter and disingenuous, goading.

“Oh, darling. You couldn’t possibly think that we wouldn’t have to kiss and make up after our little spat earlier. We’re stuck with each other in this sordid endeavor, after all.”

Her knuckles have gone white with the force of her clutching onto the fabric of her undershirt that she’d thankfully left on, on the off chance one of her companions came to check on her. Much to her dismay, of course it was the one companion she wished she had never laid eyes on to begin with.

“I’d rather kiss a leech, darling,” she spits, her tone coated in vitriol. “I have nothing more to say to you, unless you’d like me to return the favor of holding a dagger to your throat.”

When they’d met outside the nautiloid crash, and the elf held her at knifepoint demanding information, assuming she was a thrall or working with the mind flayers, she thought perhaps they would get along. She immediately recognized him as a kindred spirit as she knew that she would’ve done the same in his shoes, hells, she was even attracted to him. 

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

Well, not about the attraction. That, unfortunately, did not dissipate.

If anything, it only made her hate him more.

He almost cackles, stalking in ever closer, closing the gap between them step by step. She resists the urge to step backwards to increase the distance between them once again, and stays planted in place out of spite, digging her heels into the dirt for extra support. 

“I think there’s a lot that we both want to say and do to each other - the question is who’ll be the first to act.” His voice is equal parts threatening and sultry - something only he did so well.

He could make you loathe him and lust him in one fell swoop with ease. It was one of his biggest strengths, and a large reason why she hadn’t told him to piss off and find another group to leech off of. He was useful in and out of battle, much to her dismay. 

“The only thing I want to do with you at this very moment is throw your pasty ass in the river and hope that you’ve forgotten how to swim.” She spat.

He continues to stalk closer, their bodies now less than a foot apart.

“You’re stubborn. I like that about you. You don’t accept defeat easily, even when it’s knocking at your door. It’s quite admirable, really,” he pauses to lean forward, lowering his face so they’re eye to eye.

“Admit it, dear, you’ve met your match with me.” He grins a devilish grin that she wants to slap off of his pretty mouth. If he were any closer, she might have.

“This isn’t a competition. I want to be rid of this damned thing and you want to step in the way of my and everyone else’s survival at every turn just for your own selfish sake!” She seethes, her voice raising and echoing through the woods.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act as though you give the slightest bit of a damn about anyone’s survival but your own, altruism isn’t a good look on you, pet. You and I are cut from the same cloth, whether you want to admit that to yourself or not.”

Her once empty fist was now grasping the handle of her dagger that she had sheathed and strapped to her thigh, as she always did, a habit that came in handy more times than she’d like for it to.

“I am nothing like you.” Is all she manages to hiss before he finally closes the gap between them, his face merely inches from hers, basically towering over her - their stark height difference being something only he had noticed and fully planned on using to his advantage.

He feels the heat radiating off of her, and he tells himself that it’s due to more than just anger to stroke his own ego. He knew that she was attracted to him, he’d caught her eyes lingering on him when she thought he wouldn’t notice - when he’d change into his evening clothes just outside his tent, when he would traipse off into the woods to hunt at night, and in general throughout their days traveling he would catch her eyes on him, watching him. It made it all the more exciting for him, knowing that even though she despised him, she’d let him have his way with her if the opportunity arose. He was just biding his time for the right moment and preparing all the perfect words that he knew would reduce her to putty in his hands.

“Keep telling yourself that, if it’ll help you sleep peacefully at night.” He whispers, his eyes dark and hungry - she couldn’t decipher whether it was for her or her blood in one way or another.

“How can I sleep peacefully knowing there’s a bloodsucker who hates me in the next tent over from me?” She half jokes, not letting this closeness falter her composure, despite the way her heart was racing a million a minute.

He flashes that damned smirk that he does when he’s up to something, one of his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip as he does, glinting in the golden glow of the sunset. He almost looked human, in this light. His usually pallid skin is nearly lively and his crimson eyes almost appear to be a shade of dark brown instead. Although, she thinks that his eyes were probably blue, before. Not that it mattered, not that she cared.

“What makes you think that I hate you, darling?” His face flashes a feign innocent expression, in spite of his eyes still holding that same intense darkness that bordered between disdain and desire.

“I certainly don’t think that you like me, by any means. And don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.”

His smirk widens into a sadistic grin, both fangs now on display.

“On the contrary, sweetness. I think we need to stop lying to each other if we’re going to continue this little adventure of ours together,” his voice is low and breathy, rumbling in his chest almost like a growl. He brings a hand up to trace the side of her jaw gently, and she flinches away.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” He continues, his once gentle caress turning into a rough and forceful grab as he forces her to look at him, his blood red eyes boring into hers.

“I only watch you because I don’t trust you. I thought that’d be pretty clear.” It was a lie. She knew it was a lie, but it was only a half lie, technically. She didn’t trust him, she hadn’t since the beginning.

He lets out another cruel laugh, and she knows that he caught on.

“Hmm. You know, I’d assume you would be a better liar - how disappointing for you, but delicious for me.”

This was the last straw for her as she promptly unsheathes the dagger that her finger had been itching over since he made his unwelcome appearance into her life, pressing it to his throat, slowly pushing him backwards until his back hits the nearest tree.

His demeanor doesn’t falter for an instant, his face still twisted into that same demented sneer - the bastard was enjoying this.

The air between them was so thick it would have had to be cut with a great sword as their eye contact never breaks, neither of them intending to surrender.

“Give me one reason not to slit that pretty throat of yours.” She snarls behind gritted teeth.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple grazing against the cool metal of her blade. He stares down at her and can’t help but admire her - eyes wild, long raven black hair uncharacteristically disheveled with some strands sticking to her forehead due to leftover dried sweat and grime, her pressed against him hard with only a flimsy shirt shielding her body from him. He doesn’t even try to hide it, letting his tongue slip out to wet his bottom lip, an undeniably lustful look in his eyes.

It takes her a moment to notice when she finally comes back to her senses after her adrenaline settles, a scowl painting across her face as the realization hits.

“You’re disgusting.” She hisses, pulling away from him, lowering her blade.

Despite her words, the way he was looking at her sparked something in her - something she had done so well to disregard and push down up to this point, but her resolve was weakening under his gaze.

He doesn’t respond, eyes never leaving her as they trail up and down her body, constantly returning back to her bare legs and thighs. And from the angle she stood, with the sunset behind her, her light colored linen shirt was nearly opaque and he could see the outline of her body. He feasted his eyes on her delicate curves, the way her hips jutted out and her waist dipped in above them, her toned arms flexing, muscles clenching. She was unquestionably sexy, and his craving for her had doubled if not tripled at the sight of her in this way, even after she pressed her dagger to his neck. Hells, even then.

She starts to back up as his gaze only intensifies - hungry eyes trailing her body felt like hot coals being dragged across her skin.

Before she can make it more than a couple inches away, his hands are grasping her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh to a bruising point, pulling her back to him and flipping them so that her back is flush against the tree where his had been, effectively switching the roles and asserting his dominance over her, as he’d been dying to do for what felt like centuries.

His icy hand comes up to her throat, closing his fist around it firmly but not enough to entirely restrict her breathing and pinning her against the wood, his face now close enough to feel her hot breath against his cheeks.

The rough bark digs into her scalp and back, his fingers press into the spot just below her jaw near her pulse point. He feels her pulse thrumming rapidly against his fingertips, he can hear her heartbeat racing in her chest.

“You wound me, pet… I almost believed that one.” He purrs, his cold breath and the tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine, and an unwelcome heat through her, pooling low in her core.

With one hand still on her throat, his other hand rests on her waist before languidly roaming the parts of her body that weren’t covered by his own pressed against it.

She feels helpless under his touch, all of her previously built up walls and her icy facade start to melt beneath him, but not without her brain chiming in and reminding her who he is and how bad of an idea this was.

“Let me go.” She whispers plainly, unable to muster enough nerve to yell or scream or fight back, settling for no emotion at all.

He smirks at her, his hand advancing upwards, his fingers laving over the side of her breast, causing her nipples to harden, peaking against the soft linen fabric of her shirt.

“Is that what you really want, darling? Your body tells a different story,” he hums, his finger now grazing her nipple agonizingly gently, disrupting any thought or intention of fighting him off.

She's unable to find a word that could suffice in telling him to stop, but also dear gods please keep going. Her body was taking the reins, and she blames it on having not had any sort of intimacy since long before the nautiloid. Only to avoid the prospect that she was truly enjoying this.

Her silence doesn’t suffice, though.

He tightens his grip on her throat, pressing his index finger and thumb on either side of her jaw to direct her face so their eyes meet.

“I need you to tell me what you want, pet. I can’t do anything for you if you don’t tell me what you want.”

She bites down on her bottom lip almost hard enough to bite through, a slight metallic taste hitting her tongue. Her body was trembling with the effort it took to contain herself, to not give in to him but it was proving to be an insurmountable task. The logical side of her brain wants to say no just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of her begging for him like he wants, but she can’t. The part of her brain that is apparently driven by the spot between her legs and the rest of her body is screaming over any logic and telling her everything she doesn’t want to hear.

“Harder.” She barely manages to choke out, her voice strained against the pressure of his hand on her throat.

He freezes, his body stilling and tensing up.

“What was that, darling? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He grits his teeth, his voice low and his mouth centimeters from her ear.

“Harder.” She says louder, placing her hand over his and pressing down.

Gods, he could’ve come undone right then and there.

Without another word, their lips collided in a frenzied and feral kiss, one that was inevitable, they both learned, judging by how effortless the kiss was - their lips melding and their tongues in sync as if they’d done it a million times before. Her fingers ran through his ivory curls, tugging at the roots and eliciting a groan from him that sent a chill up her spine.

He obliged her request, slightly closing his fist tighter around her neck, which chokes a moan out of her that he quickly swallows in another kiss. His free hand greedily continues to roam and grab at anything he can - her thighs, her ass, her breasts, her hips. He can't get enough of her, he swears even being inside her wouldn't satiate his desire for her. He wants to mark her, he wants to claim her, he wants her to be his, even if it was only for this purpose alone.

She hooks her leg around his, pulling him flush against her and feeling his hardened cock straining against his breeches as it presses to her lower stomach.

She almost gasps, disappointed but secretly pleased to discover that he was big, from what she could tell through his clothes at least.

She had hoped she could at least say he was small or that the sex sucked after it was all said and done, but she had an inkling that this was just yet another thing she would have to begrudgingly give him his due credit for.

He notices her reaction to the bulge in his pants, and smirks as he presses a wet kiss to her jaw, then rocks his hips forward to press himself against her even harder.

"This is your doing, you know," He breathes, a smirk evident in his voice.

Annoyed by his arrogant words and gesture, she digs her nails into his shoulder, a noise that's somewhere between a moan and a frustrated growl escaping her as he continues to suck on her neck, grazing the skin with his fangs.

“I’m starting to think you like having your life threatened a little too much.” She breathes.

He chuckles, lips still hovering over hers. “Only by you, darling.”

He palms at her ass cheek roughly, surely leaving a slew of intentional bruises so that she has a reminder the next morning, then smacking it - his frigid touch adding to the sting of the rough contact.

She yelps slightly, biting her lip in an attempt to stifle any noises she may make. He shakes his head, releasing her neck and bringing his hand up to trace her lips with his fingertips.

"No, no, sweetness, I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. For now, at least." He has a look as if he was planning something that instantly set her on edge - she never knew what to expect from him, especially not in this sort of circumstance.

"You're such an ass," She grunts indignantly, before he dips a finger in between her parted lips.

Almost as if on pure instinct, she sucks on his digit, swirling her tongue and laving it in her spit. His breath hitches as he stifles a pleased groan. She smirks pridefully, his finger still in her mouth.

"And yet, here we are, darling."

In rebuttal, she bites down on his finger just enough to hurt him, which causes him to hiss in pain. He shoots her a warning glance, then relaxes when he sees the amusement on her face.

“So feisty.”

He rubs her bottom lip with a second finger, a silent plea to add another into her mouth, which she promptly obliges.

She gives the second finger the same treatment as the first, her mind running wild with images of his cock in place of his fingers, how he might taste, the way it already weeps with arousal for her - it felt so wrong, yet she couldn't seem to get enough.

He pulls his fingers out of her mouth with a pop, his crimson eyes holding hers in an intense stare as he brings his still dry hand down to hook her underwear to the side, the cool breeze hitting her drenched cunt and making her suck in a breath. He makes a show of bringing the two fingers that had just been in her mouth down to rub her soaking folds, making sure that she was watching his every move.

"Fuck, you're already so wet for me." He moans, his voice low and gravelly as he slowly begins to spread her apart, the filthy sounds of her arousal like a song to his ears.

A loud moan rips through her as she throws her head back, the slightest touch embarrassingly already almost too much. Maybe it was the anticipation, maybe it was because it'd been so long since she'd been touched like this - or maybe it was just another testament to how badly she needed him. His touch.

"Rather sensitive, aren't we, pet?" He teases, dipping his head down to place a kiss to the part of her chest that was exposed by the low neckline of her shirt.

"Shut. Up." She growls, her hand gripping the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. The rumbling of his laughter echoes in her chest as his mouth stays pressed against it.

He presses wet kisses further and further down as he slowly moves his face lower, sinking to his knees in front of her.

She can't contain the gasp that escapes her as she peers down at him - his typically pristine and well groomed silvery white curls were a disaster as a result of her hands ravaging them, his eyes were dark and lidded, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Not to mention, the satisfaction that came from him being on his knees below her, knowing what he intended to do - gods below, it was almost too much to bear.

He raises her shirt higher, holding it up between her breasts and getting just a small peek of the underside of them - the temptation to rip the wretched thing off of her and completely bare her to him crossing his mind. He decides against it, unsure if she'd want to be fully exposed in case someone decided to come check on her.

He, personally, wouldn't mind any of the others finding them this way - that way they would know that he was staking his claim on her. He was well aware that he was far from the only one in the camp that had dreamt of touching her, and he planned on being the only one who gets to.

He straightens himself up so he can trail another line of wet kisses down her abdomen, stopping just above the waistband of her underwear. His eyes flick back up to hers, finding that she had been watching his every move - satisfied with how quickly she catches on to his desires, as if it were natural to her.

He hooks two fingers beneath the fabric on each of her hips, waiting for her to protest. She doesn't, instead she reaches her hand down and attempts to pull them down herself. He grabs her wrist, stopping her.

"Ah ah, allow me." He commands, his voice equal parts soothing and threatening. She drops her hand back to her side. "Good girl."

He rips the fabric down her legs, letting it pool at her ankles before he hooks an arm under her thigh and lifts it so that she steps out of them. He pushes them aside, keeping her leg lifted as he pushes her night shirt out of the way once again, revealing her drenched and throbbing cunt to him, at long last.

He practically salivates at the sight, his eyes burning trails all around it as he drinks in every inch of her newly exposed flesh. This causes her to blush for the first time during this encounter, suddenly feeling self conscious about her most intimate area. She feels the urge to cover herself, her leg instinctively moving to clench against the other. He stops her quickly, pressing her leg up even higher, stretching her already sore thigh muscles.

"Absolutely perfect. To think you’ve been keeping this all to yourself." He coos, his voice now softer, reverent, even. As if he were quietly admiring the finely crafted sculpture of a goddess on display in the foyer of a tabernacle.

With her leg now draped over his shoulder, he continues his attack of wet and hungry kisses up her leg. He toys with the knife strapped to her, running a finger along the hilt of the blade, then biting the leather strap on the innermost part of her leg, his lips brushing against the skin and causing goosebumps to prickle up.

He slowly continues trailing up to the apex of her thighs, pausing at the very top of her thigh and nipping at the plush skin.

Her arousal and frustration had started to truly boil within her, him taking his damn sweet time was beginning to piss her off all over again and she knew he was doing it deliberately. He was trying all that he could to get her to beg.

"Astarion, if you don't eat me out right now, I'm going to kill you."

She wouldn't beg, no. Threatening, though? Easy.

"Patience, darling. Good things come to those who wait."

She scoffs. "I'm starting to think you're stalling. Scared that you won't be able to live up to your reputation?" She taunts in an attempt to anger him enough to finally oblige her.

His eyes narrow, his once smug face falling into a scowl.

He quickly unsheathes the knife on her thigh, grabbing it by the blade. Her eyes widened.

"What the hells are you doing?" Her voice held a bit of unease as she watched him gently tap the tip of the blade, as if he were testing the sharpness.

He grins wickedly, his eyes flicking from the dagger back up to hers. "I'm going to shut you up. Open," he commands, bringing the hilt of the dagger up to her lips.

She shoots him an uncertain look, confused. He sighs, frustrated, then presses the hilt further until her lips parted, and she took it between her teeth.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the golden light shifting to a cool blue glow, the reflection of the moon glinting off of the recently sharpened and polished blade. She hadn’t realized just how sharp Lae’zel made it, and having it so close to her face this way truthfully made her nervous.

A twisted part of her enjoyed it for that fact.

He looks up at her, the sight of the hilt of the dagger that she'd threatened him with only minutes prior, now held between her teeth both ironic and unequivocally erotic.

"Much better. Shall we try this again?"

Satisfied with the outcome of his bright idea and the muffled groan of frustration from the only one who’d been plaguing his thoughts when he was alone in his tent, he returns to his prior ministrations, starting his trail of kisses right back where he'd begun them just at the side of her knee.

He repeats the process identically to how he'd done it previously, except this time he bites the top of her thigh slightly harder, eliciting a whimper from her, nearly causing the knife to slip out of her mouth.

"Careful, pet." He warns, a slight smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

With his face still right at the crest of her thigh, cool breath fanning across her burning hot flesh, he brings his even colder fingers back up to tease her folds. She jolts at the sensation, involuntarily crawling upward onto the tree, now on tiptoe with her leg that's still on the ground. He tightens his arm around her thigh, pulling it down on to his shoulder slightly as if to warn her to stay still. She obliges, flattening her foot back down and relaxing her posture as best as she can manage, the thought of making this take even longer agonizing.

His deft fingers work her slowly, touching everywhere but where she needed him most. The sounds of her slick arousal seemed much louder now that they’d both gone mostly quiet apart from their heavy breathing, and she feels that damned blush creep back up to her cheeks once again. 

She involuntarily yelps when his fingers tease her entrance, her walls instinctively clenching around nothing. She disobeys him by wriggling slightly, then realizes and quickly tries to cease her movements. He lets his thumb rest against her swollen and throbbing clit, refusing to move even an inch until she settles down.

“Look at you,” he coos. “So eager for me. I almost want to take that dagger out of your mouth and hear that sweet voice moan for me again.”

She bites down even harder into the hilt of the dagger to stifle the moan that threatens to escape her throat, certainly leaving teeth marks that she’ll have to hide in case anyone needs to borrow it later.

He chuckles, his eyes still trained on her face as he pushes ever so slightly against her entrance, his thumb pressing harder into the over-sensitive bud - savoring her every reaction to him. The way her brows knitted up, the way her glossy eyes widened, her hands clutching the fabric of her shirt and holding it close to her chest, the way the dagger shifted slightly in her mouth as her jaw clenched around it. She was a feast for his eyes and he intended to savor every bite. 

Finally, he decides to show her mercy and push his fingers further in, careful to move slowly and give her time to adjust. Her eyes blow wide and her head falls back against the tree, giving him a full view of her neck that makes his mouth water. 

Next time, he thinks to himself.

His fingers are just barely not too thick for her - the stretching only slightly uncomfortable and otherwise euphoric. He pumps in and out at a lazy pace at first, quickening over time as he feels her fully adjust after a while. She’s perfectly tight, her velvet walls clenching his fingers with every plunge into her depths. He can barely think straight, all rational thought having left him ages ago. All that he can think now is how badly he wishes it were his cock in her rather than his fingers - but as he’d told her, good things come to those who wait. 

She feels herself creeping ever closer to her peak as his movements become more and more rhythmic and deliberate, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit as his fingers piston in and out, hitting all of the right spots and driving her wild. Her body is buzzing, her legs trembling. She wants to resist how incredible this all feels, but gods, does it feel incredible. 

Everything that comes after this is a problem for later, right now, all she wants is to—

“Aah!” She yelps as he curls his fingers, the dagger slipping from her mouth and thankfully dropping to the ground beside them. 

He grins, continuing his ministrations. “Are you gonna come, pet?” 

She takes her bottom lip in between her teeth, scared to say yes in fear that he may stop and deprive her of her release just to spite her.

“Answer me.” He commands, his voice coming out as a low growl. 

She reluctantly nods.

“Use your words. Answer me.”

“Y-yes. Gods, yes. Just… don’t stop.” She whines, trying her damnedest for it not to come out as a beg, but rather a command. It was mildly successful.

To her surprise, he speeds up the pace, pumping in and out of her hard and fast - the way she so desperately craved it. She feels herself right at the edge, her orgasm impending - he can tell, as she writhes and whimpers over him. Just as he can tell she’s about to hit the peak, he stops. 

She keens at the sudden loss of friction and movement, her walls clenching down around his fingers even harder, her cunt throbbing and dripping onto his hand. 

“Why…” Is all she manages to say, her breathing ragged and her chest heaving.

“I want you to come on my mouth.” 

That alone could have sent her over the edge. 

She nods fervently, her hips bucking forward toward his face. 

He considers punishing her for being too hasty and too eager, but he couldn’t care less any more to keep up the game - he needs to taste her. He needs to devour her. 

He moves his thumb, making way for his tongue to replace it. He expertly strokes his tongue across her folds, her essence sweet and tangy on his taste buds. He swipes across her clit, causing her to jerk into his mouth, a string of incoherent curses leaving her lips. 

She drops the fabric of her shirt and threads her fingers through his hair once again, gripping it almost painfully. He groans against her, the vibrations of his voice against her causing her to see stars. 

He lifts her shirt out of his way once again, mouth never breaking from her, and growls in frustration at the piece of fabric that kept dropping into his face. Taking his growl as a silent command, she rips the fabric over her head and tosses it aside, now completely naked and bare to him as well as the cool night air.

His eyes widened at the sight of her, finally getting a full view of her breasts and the rest of her that was previously unrevealed to him. He breaks away from her cunt for a moment, both hands moving to palm her full breasts. 

“You are exquisite.” 

She’d almost prefer if he’d insult her, be cruel to her, say the worst things he can think of - that way she wouldn’t have to grapple with these new feelings that are bubbling up to the surface at how generous of a lover he’s proven to be, when only minutes prior she was sure that they shared a mutual hatred for each other. Maybe he was just putting on a show for her, like he always did. 

Yes. He’s putting on a show. He has to be, she thinks. 

She hisses through her teeth when he finally brings his mouth and hand back to her mound, wasting no time in resuming his prior crusade to make her come, pumping his fingers at a punishing pace, his tongue circling her clit in tandem. He keeps his free hand on her breast, pinching her nipple hard, causing her to roll her hips into his face. 

“That’s it, love. Take what you need.” 

For fucks sake, he’s going to be the death of me. 

His words, his mouth, and his dexterous fingers are a wicked combination - every single movement, every single word, every lap at her needy cunt is nearly too much for her to bear as she uses every bit of her remaining strength to keep from crumbling into a heap in the dirt. 

As requested by him, she continues to rock her hips forward, grinding down onto his fingers and mouth, his fingers hitting all the right places to drive her over the edge. She grips at his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his ruffled evening shirt, chest heaving as she creeps ever closer once again, and silently prays he has mercy on her this time. 

“Astarion, I’m—“

“I know, love. Come for me,” he says, muffled with his mouth still tongue deep in her. 

As if on command, she shatters, tumbling over the edge into free fall towards the hardest orgasm she’s had in months, perhaps even years. 

Her body shakes and writhes as she gushes on his tongue, but he doesn’t slow his movements, still pumping into her as she rides out her orgasm, pangs of unbridled pleasure crashing over her like tidal waves.

Her legs quiver, the leg that she was using to stand begins to buckle at the knee as all strength she’d had left from the day has finally been sapped from her body. She slowly slides down the tree into his lap, eyes closed and still reeling. 

She manages to weakly tilt her head forward, looking him in the eye for the first time with new eyes - unsure what that meant for her yet. She was half sure that she still hated him. Half. 

He grins at her, his own chest still heaving as he catches his breath, ruby irises lighter than before, a look in his eyes that she doesn’t quite recognize. 

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been dying to do that since the day I met you.” He says, popping his fingers into his mouth and licking her slick off. 

She swallows hard at the sight, her still sore and sensitive core starting to flutter again as he licks his fingers clean. 

“I still don’t like you, you know. You’ll have to do more than make me orgasm to change my mind.” She says, her tone unusually calm and amicable toward him despite her words. 

“Oh darling, who said we had to like each other to do that? In fact, I think it makes it all the more thrilling.” He brings his hand up to her cheek, gently caressing it and swiping his thumb across it. 

She puffs air out of her nose, a wry smile on her lips. “Who says we’re going to do that again?”

He grins, bringing his still wet lips and face closer to hers, his breath smelling strongly of a mixture of her essence, wine, and a bitter metallic smell that was undeniably blood - she assumes he hunted not too long before he joined her in the woods. 

“You can hate me all you want, my sweet, but I know that nobody has ever made you feel the way that I do. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re crawling back into my bedroll, begging for another taste.” He taunts, his voice in that same low and sultry tone he did so well, the one that he knew had the power to melt anybody right into his hands. 

She narrows her eyes for a brief moment - then an idea flits into the back of her mind, a mischievous smile following suit. The game was now set, and she was ready to play. 

“We’ll see who begs who first, darling.” 

part two - ♡︎

#this was a wild ride #lmk if u like it hehe #astarion #astarion ancunin #spawn astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #if u squint #enemies to lovers #idk what else to tag this lol #my fics #aat

[coeurify]

𝐈𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤

pairing & wc : ellie williams x fem!reader. wc: 6.8k

description: a new girl sets her eyes on you, and ellie has no patience for it. you both pay the price for her attitude.. but oh if walls could fucking talk.

warnings: listen to if walls could talk by 5sos. harsh language, drinking, jealous!ellie. name calling, spit, oral!r receiving, fingering!e receiving. the nickname pup is used, dom/sub dynamics.

The air in Jackson was sweet tonight. You can taste the spring wind on the tip of your tongue as you laugh— the early may breeze filling your lungs with something crisp enough to freshen you. Something that settles on your skin with the same dewiness as the petals of flowers that bloom near the doors lining the main street.

Dirt from the gravel road kicks up into the settling sky as Jesse makes a move with his boot, pulling another chuckle from your lips. Your cheeks are as pink as the evening sky already, caused by the laughter that spills between your friend group. Four noisy twenty-somethings clambering toward the Tipsy Bison, spitting jokes between yourselves.

You find your focus setting on the pink and orange hues in the sky, looking much more painting-like than anything of reality. Your eyes follow each brush stroke with curiosity, the pre-game sips of liquor stolen from a house’s cabinet sitting low in your belly.

Dina appears next to you and pushes her shoulder into yours, bare skin pressed against each other. It was finally warm enough to rid yourself of the scratchy long sleeves tucked in your closet, and you were taking full advantage. A low-cut and thin short sleeve tucked against your body, which gained you whistles when you showed Dina earlier. The slam forces your head to tilt down from its place in the clouds. “There's a new group Maria let in,” your friend says, pulling your interest directly into her brown eyes. Those brown eyes shift to the girl walking beside you, who stares between the two of you with a smile. “You hear about them El? All I know is some of them are around our age.”

Ellie’s shoulders shrug, green eyes flicking from you and then back to where Jesse was now knocking through the door of the Tipsy Bison as he owned it. “Heard Tommy says it's about 6 of them, two around our ages, the others older. Seems like they caught wind of us and fought to get here.”

Dina nods along as Ellie speaks, bumping into you slightly as all three press through the wooden doors of the establishment. Jesse has already made his way to the bar up front, waving all of you over with one short movement that points to the empty stools beside him.

“Maybe we’ll make some new friends?” You suggest. You watch as Dina and Ellie both take seats on either side of Jesse, yourself sliding into the stool next to the auburn-haired girl.

The soft glow of fading lights above your heads paints everyone in a sweet orange tinge, flushed cheeks set on four faces from the quick walk across town. A soft song plays that you can’t quite make out, just a hum against the decoration-covered walls as the group begins chattering again.

“New friends?” Jesse asks, hand already wrapped around a drink he must have ordered the second he sat down.

“You would know what we were talking about if you didn’t run off in front of us,” Ellie muttered, nodding her head toward the familiar face behind the bar as he asked what she wanted.

“You know how Jesse gets, El. No mind on that one,” Dina smiles, hand coming up to mess his hair from its place. “There's a new group in town, some our age,” she explains to the man, who nods and makes an ooo noise.

“We don’t need more friends. Plus Jesse’s already frustrating enough to deal with,” Ellie cut into the conversation again, lips fighting back a grin.

“Why are you so on my ass tonight, Williams?” Jesse asked, a hand reaching to his chest in faux hurt.

“You just get that out of me,” Ellie shrugs.

“C’mon, you just don't wanna share your girlfriend with anyone else,” Dina motions to you, earning a very obvious eye roll from the girl beside you. “You barely let us get time with her.”

“Yea,” you nod, “Ellie’s just obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

“I am not,” Ellie mumbles into the glass that had just been pushed in front of her. Your eyes linger on her a little too long after her comment. They then fall back into their position staring at the bottles behind the bar, choosing between what you want. It doesn’t last long, your usual drink coming to mind.

Jesse and Dina bicker to your side, over something as ridiculous as the color of the sky outside, as usual. You don't pay it much mind, your head falling to rest on Ellie’s shoulder, glancing up at her as she takes a sip of what you assume to be whiskey.

“Order me a drink,” you hum, batting your pretty eyelashes at your girlfriend. She shifts a bit in her seat, looking down at you.

“Can I get a please?” She requests, eyes swiping away from your own as the words come from her lips. You make a face, eyebrows pinching together. “No?”

Ellie treats you to another eye roll, pretty emerald flashes that make you lift your head away from her shoulder, knowing you won. Ellie motions the bartender over, muttering the drink order she knew by heart.

You grin, placing a few loud kisses on her cheek. The act scrunches up her nose and brings the bickering couple’s attention back to you, embarrassing Ellie further. Jesse purses his lips together to make obnoxious smooching noises, rewarding him with a harsh shove from Ellie.

The drink is placed in front of you as Ellie and Jesse delve into another low-stakes argument, which you pay no mind to. You raise the glass for a sip, which is cut short by the door pushing open, gaining your interest.

Two young-looking people walk in, followed by Maria. She says something to the man and woman that you can’t make out. The man seems roughed up, and your mind seems to tug a string between him and the earlier conversation with Dina and Ellie. The girl beside him looks a little less nervous and less fucked up. Her eyes search the bar curiously, feet bouncing.

Maria sends them off with a short pat on the back, likely after some spiel about interacting with the residents. Dina seems to be watching the same show, already having hopped out of her seat to skip to you, grabbing your arm.

“That’s them,” Dina says, ignoring your partners who are still acting like children, now demanding the other can’t drink as much.

You nod, taking another long sip from your glass before slipping from the barstool to follow her. There isn’t even a whisper of apprehension on her features as she walks toward the two, but your feet drag slightly behind.

“Hi! You’re the new ones right?” She greets both, through her eyes fall on the bruised cheek of the man first. “Shit, you already get fucked up?”

Beside her your throat clears, warning Dina to not push too far. She doesn’t seem to get the hint, still reaching out to shake his hand. The man accepts, shrugging gently as his eyes shift around.

“Ran into a group right before we made it here, one of your patrol groups found em’ and us. They shot both of us till we told them what we were here for.”

Dina nods, “Well, guess you got a warm Jackson welcome,” she grins like she’s the funniest person in the world as she says it, quickly introducing both herself and you.

“Will,” the man says in response, grinning. You can see Will relaxing slightly at the seemingly easy welcome he was receiving in the closely-knit town. You didn’t have the heart to tell him Dina was just like that, so you flash a smile back at him before your eyes follow the new voice. It was the girl, her eyes dead set on your face.

“Pretty name,” she comments, her blonde hair flipping behind her shoulder as her head tilts lightly. You glance away, hoping it was directed instead to Dina. Though the gaze that doesn’t break from your face seems to challenge that.

“I’m Jess,” the blonde adds quickly after, saving you from any embarrassment as Dina quickly jumps in.

“Oh! My boyfriend’s name is Jesse, how funny. Come on you have to meet them,” Dina nods her head toward the bar, where you can feel two sets of eyes burning into the side of your face. It seems Jesse and Ellie noticed your disappearance, chins tilted up in confusion as they watched the conversation unfold. For a moment you meet Ellie’s eyes, hoping she hadn’t heard Jess’s ballsy remark. But the way her jaw clicked told you she was already in a mood about the girl next to you either way.

Your shoes press into the wood floor, dreading the attitude you knew was about to come from your girlfriend regarding the two new bodies that followed you back to the seats. Ellie was always unsure of new faces and never bit back remarks that conjured up due to this. A tough face thrown on top of a slightly anxious body, Ellie believed the spitting words were just protection. It was a disastrous mix, one that often ended in arguments.

More familiar faces flood into the bar as the sun sets outside, the open space becoming slightly louder as people settle in. You hope it brings a sense of attitude suppressant to the auburn-haired girl you sit next to. A larger crowd usually shut her down. Some of this hope shrivels into a ball in your throat as Jess picks to sit on the other side of you. If you could tell the new girl she just sat on a fucking match you would have, but Ellie beats you to it.

Her arm stretches out behind you, the inked-on leaves now on display, sleeves bunched to her elbow. Her eyes meet Jess’s, but you know who the gaze is really directed at. Her arm purposefully presses into your back as she introduces herself, looking for a handshake. You can feel the fake confidence melting off of the skin that touches you.

“I’m Ellie, and she is my-” your girlfriend begins, nodding her head toward you.

In a move that stuns you both, Jess stares Ellie right back, cutting her words off. “I’m Jess. And she already introduced herself.”

It almost amuses you, the way Jess doesn’t shy under Ellie’s obvious glare and doesn’t bother picking up her hand to shake Ellie’s. Most people waltzing into a brand new haven wouldn’t exactly be keen on having such an attitude with the residents, but Jess was. The smug look on her face pisses you off just as much, glancing at the mouthy newcomer with furrowed eyebrows. She doesn’t pay any mind to it.

It takes a moment for those pretty green eyes next to you to look a little less eager to fight, leaning forward again and dropping her hand back to her side in defeat.

You let the small act go, eyeing Ellie once in a sign only you two understood. Her lips busy themself on the almost empty glass before her. “Nice to meet you, Jess.”

You can see Dina biting her lip, fighting back that laugh you are sure bubbles in her throat at the all-too-loud interaction next to them. Jesse pretends he didn’t see it, and you nearly thank the stars above when he speaks.

“Hey, let me order you guys drinks,” He offers as Will settles next to his friend.

Both nod, eager to get something other than water in their throats. You find yourself tuning out the conversation that follows, finishing off your drink with a few more gulps. Ellie beside you also falls silent, though that is a little more expected following what just happened. You trail along the various pictures and signs on the walls as you welcome the warmth in your belly brought on by the drinks.

You resort to nods and hums in response for the next while, only paying full attention when Jesse brings up Ellie’s name. “Most of us do patrols, I’m sure one of you will get put with Ellie or Dina on the first few, to show you the way.”

“Ah, you guys been on a lot?” Will questions, leaning in more to see all the different faces

Ellie nods, trying her best to be less bitter to Will, who hadn't done anything to create the redness on her face. “Yea, kinda all we do,” she answers with a slight shrug. A piece of her hair falls to her cheek and you bite back the urge to move forward and brush it away, twirling your finger around the strand like you would in private. Ellie was already embarrassed enough though, so your fingernails make patterns in the wood top of the bar instead.

Dina calls your name next, eyes falling onto you, “She works with the farm though, all the animals and crops.”

“Oh,” Jess budges in, tilting her head toward you. “Maria mentioned that being an option, do you like it?”

“Yea,” you shrug, finger following the rim of your now empty cup. “It’s fine, boring sometimes.”

The slightest bit of attention you had given the blonde had an immediate effect on Ellie next to you, who sighs loud enough for only you to hear. The next moment you feel a hand on your back, fingers dancing over where the shirt you wear meets your pants. They grip around your side like a child looking for attention, squeezing gently to tug your stool impossibly closer. Quickly you swat the hand away, denying eye contact with the girl beside you.

Ellie doesn’t take the defeat, placing the shooed-away hand on your thigh next, burning with what you can only assume is possessiveness. You can hear her gulp another drink down next to you in another plea for your attention. You let this hand stay, finding comfort in the small circles that Ellie’s thumb draws over your jeans, but refuse to meet her eyes. You can feel annoyance chipping away at your chest, its nasty claws digging over the softer wanted feeling that appeared from your girlfriend’s acts.

Jess seems to notice the show, glancing away for a moment to regain a sense of comfort as Ellie finally pulls away. Her elbows make their appearance on the bartop as she leans her chin into her palms. “Hm.. can’t be too boring with people you know around… I’ll have to tell Maria I’m interested.”

There’s a slight tilt to her voice, one you can’t decipher between friendliness and .. more. It sends your head spinning in confusion. She saw Ellie’s hand on you, heard Jesse clear his throat at the words, and still smiled gently at you. Dina interrupted quickly with some bullshit about stables— but it was already too late. The tension drips from the air and right into your empty cup, filling it with a stronger burn than alcohol.

The bluntest edge of Ellie’s nails digs into your pants, drawing a small noise from your mouth as your head snaps her way. Neither of you looks away for a long second, the game ending when her hand finally falls back to her lap.

Soon Ellie’s leaning in, trying you again as she becomes touchy. The usual unnerved energy that pulses in the girl when trying to give you affection in public is gone, lips pressing to your cheek and jaw in a showy way that brings Jess’s eyes on and off of you two. You can feel your cheeks redden at the act, biting back any urge to turn and slap her lips away. You hope ignoring it is enough of a sign, but Ellie only ends when she can see the flush on your face herself.

The next few minutes go too fast for you to make much sense of. Ellie has fallen completely silent, whether from anger or embarrassment, you aren’t sure. Jesse and Dina have started a much more lightweight conversation about Will and Jess’s travels here, which Will happily chats about over his drink.

There's a loud hum to the bar, mixing voices from all angles of the small building swirling in an annoying sort of way that have you tapping the empty cup. “Do you want another drink? I can order you one when I ask for my own,” a voice asks.

It’s not Ellie’s, instead, brown eyes meet your own. It was Jess, a small yet all too confident smile on her face as her fingers brush against yours that rest on the cup. It’s soft enough to be passed as friendly, as were all her words on the outside— but it doesn’t matter. You all knew.

Hell breaks loose the moment Ellie’s eyes see the touch. You can feel the flames licking your cheek as the much more familiar tone of Ellie filters into your ears. “Are you serious?”

“Ellie-“ you warn, ignoring the blonde’s words to find the flushed and freckled face of your girlfriend. Ellie is too far gone in her little ball of anger to listen.

“Are you stupid or really just that fucking ballsy?”

“Excuse me?” Jess blinks innocently, “Was just bein nice?”

The question sends the whole group silent, five sets of eyes falling on Ellie. A shocked sort of laugh bubbles from Jesse’s mouth, who is quickly elbowed by Dina. You take the comment as your cue to go, stumbling off your stool as you grip Ellie’s arm, forcing her off her own as she continues grumbling insults about Jess’s apparent flirting.

“She doesn’t even fucking like blondes by the way, she-” and then your hand is slapping over Ellie’s mouth before she can get loud enough for more patrons to hear, nails digging nastily into the fat of her cheek.

She pushes the handoff, grabbing your arm, “Mine, you got it? She’s mine. I'm the one taking her home to--” Ellie starts again, cut off by a yelp as you slap her arm hard enough to cause the quick death of that sentence.

“I'm gonna take her home,” you explain with an apologetic grin as you step. Then your face dims a little as you look at Jess, shooting her one of your confused glares before twisting away. With your arms wrapping around Ellie, you pull her through the crowd. Dina’s muffled voice saying something along the lines of, “Don't try it again,” is the last thing you hear.

Ellie continues to speak into your hand, mumbling nonsense of repeated, “mine,” “fucking fuck,” and other jealous blabbering as you step out into the now dark street.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

The walk home was eerily quiet, both of you having untangled yourselves from the position you pushed out of the Tipsy Bison in to instead walk alone. You mull over your next choices for the night as lightning bugs play their part in distracting Ellie. You can still feel the anger radiating off of her as she harshly slams the door of her garage home open, flooding you both with the dim lights that hang from her walls.

“You are so fucking lucky I didn’t do something in public,” a voice seethes, walking the opposite body back against the now-shut door.

But it’s not Ellie leading the movements, nor saying the words. She is the one backing against the shut door as your mouth falls open to continue the rant.

“Acting like that in front of everyone? Grabbing at me and talking like you own me?” You scoff, a familiar feeling inking into your skin as Ellie shys under you just slightly. The power trip was already building inside of you, making you feel ten feet taller as you stare at the girl under the golden lighting.

“That .. that fucking girl was flirting with you!” Ellie argues, arms crossing over her chest in a way that made your eyes fall on the deliciously flexed muscles there.

“And so you treat me like a piece of meat to stake your claim over?”

Ellie blinks a few times, shaking her head to try and answer your biting remark, “That isn’t-“

You step even closer, breath fanning against Ellie’s nose and lips as you speak. You like how the small act has Ellie shivering beside you, pretty soft skin gaining a pink tint. “You have no idea how badly I want to parade around what happens behind closed doors Ellie. Because god, do you like to act like you’re the one with any control.”

Ellie doesn’t dare reply as you continue speaking, instead trying to look anywhere but your face. “Palming at my thigh.. kissing me like you’re some needy bitch, declaring mine in front of our whole friend group? And then implying you were gonna take me home and fuck me? All because some girl couldn’t take a hint?”

Ellie, still against the door— shakes her head. You watch as her throat moves in a gulping motion. “She was all over you, you can’t be mad I got upset,” she says after a moment of building confidence, making a move you both knew would end badly by pushing through your body to pace around the small space. One of her hands comes to play with a finger on her opposite palm, comforting herself.

“I’m not mad at you for getting upset, Ellie. I’m mad you act like you have any ownership over me. I’m mad you had the nerve to say that shit knowing perfectly fucking well who does what when the door closes.”

Ellie won’t look at you, unsurprisingly so as she moves to a more bratty-sounding tone. “Oh, Jesus Christ how awful someone may think you bottom, babe. You’ll survive. Maybe you should try it.”

For a moment you say nothing, toeing the incredibly thin line the two of you are walking on. You know Ellie well enough to see through the game she’s beginning to play, searching for reassurance and attention with chipped remarks and arguments. You also know Ellie’s ego was sore from tonight’s events, creating an even brattier version of herself. The last comment is an open invitation to make her regret the words.. regret her touchy attitude tonight.

Of course, you take it. Of course, you bite on the bait Ellie had set before you with sharp teeth, licking your lips.

“And you’ll survive not touching me tonight,” you shrug, kicking off your shoes as you walk to the bed you spend nearly every night in. You plant yourself directly on the edge, following the sound of Ellie’s shoes dragging. There's a slight sweat building on the nape of your neck as you recount the events from earlier, perfectly clear images of your needy girlfriend coming to the forefront of your mind as you continue your half-hearted anger.

“What?” Ellie mutters, finally meeting your eyes.

“You did plenty of fucking touching with the show you put on tonight, think you met your limit,” you answer with a sigh, peeling the jeans from your legs in a slow movement, knowing it will catch the attention of green eyes. There is no ignoring the immediate hitch in her breath that follows. Ellie was easy to get worked up, no matter how much she would deny that if you ever told her so. You already knew tonight was going to be so much fun.

“C’mon that’s not fair,” Ellie mumbles, emphasizing each word in an attempt to stump any building whines.

“I'm tired Ellie,” you answer with a small fake-sounding yawn. “I don't want to argue, come lay down,” you pat the spot next to you on the bed, innocently enough that Ellie actually trudges over and sits next to you.

“I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have. Imagine a girl flirting with me, how would you react?” Ellie muttered, knowing full well she would not get an answer she liked.

“Not act like a jealous bitch in front of everyone, woulda just left,” you criticize softly, though there isn’t too much bite, you both know you were just as jealous as her. “Would’ve taken you home..” you sigh, fingers finding the buttons of her shirt, “remind you who you belong to..”

Your hands move to her front, unbuttoning the flannel that she wears, pulling a shiver from her after your words. It's a simple act you two had fallen into the routine of ages ago. Undressing each other before bed, grabbing pajamas, pressing kisses to sore spots after a day of work, massaging muscles. A small sign of affection that was often done over comforting silence. Today’s silence however was a little more charged.

Of course, you had already pulled your pants off in a sign to Ellie that you were not joking about the no-touching statement, not allowing her any whisper of her fingers against your own. The flannel pools down her arms, letting you toss it into the small hamper near the window. The outside air commands it warm enough to also tug Ellie’s undershirt off, and she hums in approval when your fingers linger on the bare skin over her ribs, leaving only the fitted sports bra left. Next is her jeans, purposefully pressing your hands a little harshly into her hips, hoping to catch a small hint of Ellie squirming from it. She does, of course. The motion presses a heat in between your thighs, one that had been growing since Ellie and you had gotten home.

“Go grab stuff to sleep in?” You ask, though Ellie knows it isn’t a question. She stands, rummaging through the unorganized dresser near her bed to pull out a pair of sweatpants for herself and a larger shirt she wore often for you. Your shirt is quickly discarded, gaining the attention of Ellie’s wandering eyes as she holds the clothes close to her chest. The way she bites the inside of her cheek is enough of a sign that she’s frustrated you did it yourself, but no words follow the action.

El tosses you the shirt, one that smells like her in all the right ways as you tug it over your head, watching it bunch up at your hips. The second part of the plan building in your mind dictated no sleep shorts would follow, but Ellie seemed to not have grabbed you any pants, likely for her own pleasure of looking at your bare thighs. You press back into the bed, head finding the cold pillow at the tip of it as Ellie pulls on her sweatpants. The sight of her fingers curling around the fabric alone is enough to tighten your lower stomach again, slightly regretting your no-touching decision. Soon she follows your lead, climbing under the blankets to your left, small breaths of air leaving her lips as she looks over at you. “Can I at least lay against you?”

You shake your head in answer, watching Ellie shift uncomfortably next to you. “Baby-” she tries again, finding your eyes in the soft light. Your lips pull into a straight line with another sign of no, leading to groans from your girlfriend as a flash of auburn hair pushed back into the pillow dramatically.

The room falls into quiet again, the only noise that of shuffling sheets and the crickets that lay in the growing grass outside. When Ellie’s breath calms into a more tired sounding pull, you glance up to the ceiling. You let your mind fall into the building plan laid out in the dark ceiling above you. Your eyes press closed, cloudy paintings of Ellie leaning against you, Ellie grabbing at your thigh in the bar, kissing you, her angry little breaths that built as Jess spoke more— they all flood into your mind. You could act mad all you want, and maybe you were a bit angry at how Ellie liked to put out this image of her holding the power, but really the jealousy had you feeling warm all over.

Your palm presses against your chest, the pads of your fingers denting into the cotton of the shirt you wore, dragging down in a way that had you squirm just slightly. You would much rather it was Ellie’s hand that found your panties next, looking up at you from her knees as she waited for the next command. But it wasn’t, and you were much too stubborn.

Your fingers dipped under the elastic of the lace, shimmying them down slightly. Ellie stirred just a bit beside you but didn’t seem to notice what was happening yet. “Are we really just gonna lay here in silence?” she asks. Too focused on the pad of your fingers running along the slightly wet slit, all you do is hum in response. The wetness that dashes your finger is used as a helper as you rub circles on your clit.

The almost silent response seems to finally draw Ellie’s eyes to you, though the only light of the strings near her wall leaves little to be seen. What Ellie does notice, dim lights or not, is your eyes squeezing close. She noticed the motion of your arm, following it down to where your fingers are moving between your thighs. It sends her sitting straight up, which you can feel in the dip of the old mattress.

“What are you doing?” Ellie begins, cut off but the shush that you respond with. “Makin’ myself feel good,” you grumbled, as if it was annoying you that she watched. In reality, it just made the tightness in your stomach further, a tightly knotted rope that tugged in all the right ways when you felt green eyes searching over your body.

Ellie doesn’t answer for a few more moments, transfixed by the motion of your fingers, unable to put an end to the whine that finally sounds, reaching your ear right as you press a particularly hard swirl to your bud. “Let me,” Ellie croaks, moving to settle toward the end of the bed. From this angle you are sure she can see everything, even more so when you press your thighs open more, your glistening center on full display for your squirming girlfriend. The plan was working just as you assumed it would, her bratty mouth quieted by the sight.

“No,” you deny her, a small gasp following the words as you look at her. The sight is enough to bring another pool of wetness to your slit, which your fingers dip down into, pushing one digit into yourself. Ellie whines even louder than you at the sight, “Please, I’ll be good,” she tried again, a sweeter twinge to her voice that you knew was all an act. One you wouldn’t buy into despite how you imagined it was her fingers as you added another.

Your mind struggles to find the right words, but Ellie waits patiently. “Good?” you criticized, “Were you good when you acted like a brat out tonight? Were you good when you argued with me?”

The words are as stern as you can make them, urging your gaze to stay on her instead of falling back against the pillow. “Told you no touching, that’s the end of it,” you mumble. The wet noises of your fingers moving in and out of your center have Ellie salivating, licking her lips quickly as she eyes you. You can see the way her pupils dilate, you watch as her body goes a little less stiff. The earlier anger and insecurity that has been building against her freckled cheeks and sore muscles dissolving just like you wanted them to. You needed her to forget about the annoying girl earlier, and focus instead on you. on you two. You needed to carve away the brattiness in the only way you knew how making her beg for you.

You let a few moans pass your lips, hips bucking gently. You can feel the fire building in your core, knowing soon you will reach your peak.

“Please, I'm- sorry, I'm sorry baby please let me touch you. need to touch you,” Ellie rattled on.

You let her continue for a moment, her babbles filling the now thick air of her garage, pounding against your mind as it slipped away. When you finally feel yourself reaching the wave of pleasure in your lower belly, you stop, effectively edging yourself away from an orgasm.

“You wanna help me feel good?” You question, fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs closed to ease the ache as you stare at Ellie. She nods quickly, strands of hair following messily in the movement’s wake. “Still don’t-“ you breathe out, “Still can't touch me, but you can use your mouth. Hands to yourself baby,” you begin, but before you can even finish the sentence Ellie is laying between your thighs, hands balled together against the blanket, her hot mouth pressing into you before you can even process the action.

It draws a surprised noise from you, your head pressing back against the pillowcase, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Ellie listened, of course, she did, her hands staying put against the fabric of the sheets. Her mouth dug into your pussy like she was starving, nose bumping into your clit messily, licking up all of the slick that had drooled from you from your own fingers, now gushing out more and more regularly from her ministrations.

“Fuck,” you moan, flushing as your lip quivers. “You were fucking born for this Ellie, such a good mouth, so much— much better using it to do this than bein’ a brat,” you spit, fingers finding the short strands of her hair, pressing her face even closer into your folds as you searched for your release. Ellie whined against you, and you watched as her knuckles flexed, obviously fighting against grabbing at the flesh of your thighs.

“Put them.. put them behind your back,” you grit through your teeth, allowing no wavering to your words. Ellie knew what you meant immediately, green eyes looking up at you as she did as she was told, wrists grasping each other behind her back.

It’s a little mean, the way she has to shimmy around with no arms. The way you can see her blunt nails fig unto her skin to keep it from trying to find your skin like her body was begging to have you. Your own body was gasping for something similar, over-sensitive from your previous work on your clit.

“Such a good girl, Els” you breathe out, hips bucking into her face. “Gonna come, you’re taking it so well, pup.”

The pet name seems to render her almost useless, freezing up against you as you grind down into her mouth. She comes back a moment later, tripling her efforts as her lips come to wrap around your clit, sucking harshly.

You let a loud, messy sounding moan out, not caring who may hear outside. Not caring if it gave away too much of how you felt. With a girl as pretty as Ellie between your thighs, who would care?

She doesn’t allow herself more than a few panicked breaths, solely focused on making more noises empty your lips. She suckles against you particularly hard after you shift, and that’s the feeling that sends you toppling over the edge. A choked noise rips past your mouth before you can stop it, slick spilling all over Ellie as she desperately tries to collect it all. Your still moving hips leave that difficult, getting her lips and cheeks glossy as well. Your nails don't leave her scalp, scratching gently in a repeated motion. It has her pulling back from your core, blinking slowly, dazed as she stares at you.

“You’re being so good for me, baby,” you gush, riding out the leftover feelings from your orgasm. Your wall is breaking, craving your pretty girlfriend’s hands on you too much to keep up with the punishment for much longer. “Could never want anyone but you, y’know that right?” You huff, hand grasping her hair in a sign for her to lift up. She does so easily, hands on either side of the bed as she hovers above you, her lips ghosting over your own.

“No one could compare to my needy girl,” you coo, brushing your lips against hers. The words drive home a point you hadn’t yet made clear. Jess had no chance, no one did. No one could ever be Ellie. Your Ellie.

There’s nothing else around you now. No light, no sounds. The world is silent and dark, Ellie being the only source of light in your eyesight, in your ears, and your mind. Nothing deviated away from her as her lip trembled. The look of her has you quickly flipping your positions, settling nicely straddling over her, and finally blessing her with your hands against her as you lean over her. Your fingers find her jaw, pressing her mouth open in a soft motion. She wastes no time parting her lips further, tongue lolling out for you like she knew what was coming. When a string of spit falls from your lips and onto her waiting tongue, she accepts it gladly. “so good,” you uttered, shivering as she swallows.

“What do you want, baby?” You ask next, deeming she has listened nice enough to be rewarded.

“Let me kiss you,” Ellie whispers, sniffling gently as she adds a soft, “please.” You grant her wish, leaning to press a kiss to her waiting lips, the sound of approval she gives reverberating against your connected mouths.

“Such a perfect girl,” you blabber, stomach swirling as you watch her slip into that delicious space you always brought her to, whiney and wordless— looking at you like you were the only person in the whole damn world. Your words die off with another kiss, hand finding her boxers, dipping into the fabric. It greets you with a large wet spot, the dripping core of your girlfriend the obvious culprit. Ellie whimpers against your lips, and you swallow it like it's the most delicious thing you’ve ever been given, kissing her harshly, biting at the bottom lip.

When one finger sinks easily into her folds, you hum against her, lips dragging to her ear to mumble against it. “This is what you wanted the whole time, hm?” You ask, another finger dipping into the mix as you feel her walls grip around you. Like it was made for you. “Wanted me to get mad at you for acting like a needy whore.. wanted me to take you home and fuck you, let you know you’re the only one I want?” You accuse, nipping at her ear lobe as your digits curl, pulling another whine from your girlfriend.

The words are as true as they can be, and Ellie knows that. She acknowledges this with a nod of her head, and you don’t push much further. “Fit perfectly around my fingers, pup. Fuckin made for me,” your voice calls against her neck as you bite into the skin, a yelp from above you following it. She grinds into your fingers, and you allow it, following the rolls of her hips as you hit that spot that left her gasping.

“No one could ever get me like this, even as bratty as you are,” you promise, twisting your hand in a way that has her thighs moving without much permission from her mind, thrusting up into you. “Want you to soak my fingers, baby,” you nip at the nape of her neck, hot breath wetting the skin as you pull back. The quickening pace of your fingers has her delirious, mouth dropping open to pant.

You swear it may be the prettiest sight, and you pull back to get a full view. Your hair falls from its place, sticking to your sticky forehead, eyes focused sharply on Ellie as her cheeks became a deep cherry red, freckles disappearing into the red flesh. You want to reach forward, want to feel her gasp against your lips as you continue to hit her sweet spot over and over, but the way she pushes out sweet little moans is a much more gorgeous sight.

“What would our friends think?” You ask lowly, pressing into her harshly. “If they knew you were the whining whore under me hm?” Ellie cries out in response, shaking her head gently.

“Think it’d be funny. Them knowing that tough little Ellie is really just a bratty little bitch,” you croon, tone sickly sweet.

“Baby,” she cries, nose wrinkling as she pulls her eyes shut, “Please let me come, ‘m so close.”

The air around you is sticky, collecting on the skin of your arms and back as your wrist burns, quickening your movements with twists and scissoring movements. Ellie becomes too loud for her own good, teeth sinking into her lip to quiet it at least a little before she wakes the animals or people outside of these walls. Part of you wants them to hear, wants them to find the little pathetic sounding noises that pour from Ellie. Want someone to know it you who gets Ellie like this. Gets her squirming against you, begging for, “more,” and “harder.”

Who were you to deny such a handsome girl after all? With another thrust of your fingers, you feel her clench around you, her chest pausing as the feeling overwhelms her. The wetness spills over your fingers soon thereafter, leaving them even slicker as you continue. You were far from done with Ellie.

Ellie lifts her head, staring down at your fingers that disappear in and out of her clenching pussy, “please, no more.”

“You were actin needy all night,” you push, words partnered with another thrust into the wet center. The sound it makes is filthy, a devilish grin finding a place on your lips. “So you can take as much as I want to give you.”

The may night covers around any sounds that spill from the small garage, walls acting as protectors for what really happens behind them.

perm taglist: @rxllingstones @hrtsellie @elliewlums @callmekittenandyourmajesty @gr1mreaperbarbie @imyour-favouritegirl @haiixo @dankpunks @machetegirl109

tags for this fic: @anchoeritic @dyk3ification @prrimordiais @totheblood @shesluxurious @jakesullyslongshlong

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #sub ellie 🔛🔝