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blindmagdalena · 1 year

Note

how do you think homie would react to reader breaking up with him because they have very different morals (homie kills people, ik he's babygirl but he does just brutally kill people, reader is a pacifist)

-bree(sorry for multiple asks in short time :P)

cw gaslighting, imprisonment, manhandling. no more mr. nice homelander.

"Fine, listen, listen, if it means that much to you, I won't do it anymore," Homelander says, hands lifted placatingly. The way he says it makes it sound like he's doing you a favor. Like you're overreacting to a mild infraction. You stare, mouth agape. "This... This isn't some bad habit. You kill people."

"Yeah," he agrees, a slight strain creeping into his voice. "Yeah! Okay. And? Lots of people kill people. And typically, I only kill people who're also killing people." "Typically," you echo, at a loss. How can he be so flippant about this? It's like he hasn't heard a single word you've said. "You don't care. At all." "Why should I care? Why should you care? It's not like I'm killing people you like, or even know," he says, his exasperation with you intensifying. "But you love me. So just... Cool off, alright? Sleep on it. Before you do something you'll regret."

The shift in his voice when he says that runs a chill up your spine. "Are you threatening me?" "What?" Homelander laughs. "No! Of course not. Babe, listen to yourself. C'mon, I know you're upset-" he moves to take your hand, but for the first time, you yank it from his reach, crossing your arms. His hand hovers in the space yours had been for a moment, his eyes locked on the same spot. He inhales a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist before dropping back to his side.

When he looks at you, his gaze is bereft of any playfulness. Your denial of him has flipped a switch in him that you've never seen before.

"You're tired," he says, voice set low. Any traces of the lighthearted pretense from earlier has been dropped. "It's late. You have a lot to process. So, we are going to put this aside for tonight. You are going to come to bed with me, and we'll talk about it in the morning, when you're calm." "I am calm," you tell him, refusing to let him make you feel like you're the one being unreasonable. "Please move. I already told my friend I'm on my way," you lie. You wish you had. You wish you realized sooner you would need to. Homelander had always been so utterly devoted to you. He hung on your every word, met your every whim, loved you so thoroughly that he made you feel like his entire world. Only now have you realized the dangers of that kind of love.

His mouth twitches. "Which friend?"

You begin to answer, wanting to give validity to your fiction, but an awful thought occurs to you. Would he hurt them? "It doesn't matter," You reply instead, clutching your overnight bag. "I need space, and I don't want you coming to me before I'm ready. Please, move," you say, voice wavering. He was making this so much more painful than it already was. You do love him, but he's making you feel like you barely even know him.

Homelander taps his hands on his thighs, considering you. After a prolonged silence, just before you open your mouth to speak again, he claps his hands together. "Alright. Sure," he says, stepping forward. You step backwards. "Door's right there." You're immediately relieved, but there's a nagging feeling in your gut. "Thank you," you say softly, adjusting your grip on your bag. "I'll call, okay?" Homelander offers a sideways nod, seeming... resigned. You feel the guilt of it weigh heavily, and for a split second, you question yourself, whether what you're doing is right or fair. You have to steel yourself before your resolve falters. You need time away from him to collect yourself, and figure out what to do about the man you, as it turns out, know very little about.

Just as you pass him, you feel a sudden grip on your arm, and in a flash you're spun around, stumbling back into the penthouse. You stare wide-eyed for a moment, turning back around. Poised exactly as he had been before, Homelander stands in front of the door, hands on his hips. His brows lift slightly. "Well?" Your heart is racing now. "What are you doing?"

"Go on," he says, ignoring your question. "Door's right there."

Anger rolls through you in a heated wave. "I'm not playing this game with you," you say, moving to shove more forcibly passed him this time, but once again he catches you with a hand on your wrist, spinning you around with such ease, you may as well weigh nothing at all. Yet again you stumble back into the penthouse, tears welling in your eyes as you round on him. "Stop it! Get out of my way!" "Door's wide open, babe. All you have to do is get to it, and you can leave," he says, voice perfectly relaxed, devoid of any passion or empathy.

With a frustrated cry, you hurl your bag at him, and full on sprint towards the door. You get closer this time, but just as you reach for the knob, Homelander takes you by your shoulders and spins you right around. Your own momentum carries you further in. You barely catch yourself from falling, letting go a sob that's equal parts rage and heartbreak. Who is this man?

This time, you throw yourself bodily towards the door, screaming your distress, your anger. You do it again and again and again, and every time, Homelander spins you right back around. On the final attempt, as he once again redirects you, the force of your own momentum hurls you to the ground.

"Do you get it yet?" Homelander asks, cocking his head to the side, checking to see if you're picked up on this lesson in futility. "You don't call the shots here. You don't get to just decide we're done. Relationships go two ways, sweetheart," he says. That petname used to give you butterflies. It sounds sour on his tongue now. You hear him sigh, closer to you now.

"Didn't think you'd be that stubborn. But I guess I've always loved that about you when it wasn't pointed at me, huh?" He asks, a playful little lilt slipping back into his voice. You struggle when he scoops you up, you make an animalistic noise of pure aggravation, but it's as fruitless as ever. Homelander is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object, his grip on you like steel. He cannot be stopped, or even hindered, as he carries you towards the bedroom. He sets you down on the bed, and out of pure unthinking fury, you raise your hand to slap him across the face. The strike lands, but Homelander doesn't so much as twitch. Your hand smarts, you may as well have slapped a brick wall. You clutch your wrist, letting go another sob. It aches immediately, frail in comparison to his unyielding frame.

Cupping either side of your face, Homelander swipes away your tears with his thumbs, watching you impassively. There's patience in his expression, though it looks stretched thin.

"I know you're upset," he says, an echo of earlier, as if picking up right from where he'd left off. As if nothing of the last twenty minutes had even happened. "But we'll get through this. And hey, hey, I'm not even mad at you, okay? Because that's what it means when you love someone. You forgive them." You feel numbed by your own plethora of tumultuous emotions, strung out and exhausted. You close your eyes, unable to stomach the loving way he's gazing at you. He kisses your forehead, wringing a weak, hiccupped little noise out of you. "That's my girl. I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you?" No matter how gentle his hold on you is, it's inescapable. You have no choice but to face him, bleary as he is through your tear-welled eyes. Unable to push an answer through the tightness in your throat, you just nod.

"That's right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?" Those words break something in you. You lose whatever bit of composure you had built back up, and you begin to sob anew, an agonized sound. Homelander's expression twists. He's never liked seeing you cry. He's also never been the source of it.

"Shhh, shhhh, hey, it's alright. You're okay. I would never let anything happen to you," he says, as if he wasn't the very thing happening to you in this moment. He kisses your forehead again, your tear-streaked cheeks, and finally your lips.

You don't have any fight left in you. Not against the press of his lips, and not against the way he brings you under the covers with him, clothes and all.

He pulls you against his chest the same way he has a hundred times before, as if this is any other night that the two of you have fallen asleep in each others embrace.

You hug your arms tight to your chest, crying hard, while he rubs your back, hushing you. Comforting you, as any good boyfriend should.

"It's alright. I've got you," he says, his arms an oppressive force around you. "I've got you."

#oh boy is this ever some ANGST #fair warning this is kinda dark compared to my usual brand #also wtf it got long ANYWAYS #homelander x reader #homelander x you #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #my writing #angst #dark fic #the answer to your question is 'badly' btw!#THANKS BREE ILU #bree

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ladymarycrawley · 11 months

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Always by your side - Trent Alexander-Arnold

Request: Either for mason or Trent but then getting upset over their recent form and comments online and the reader comforting them

Warning: none, just some good fluff to cheer this little puppy up

Tag list: @masonxomount @chelsealover

That match seemed to have started in the best of ways with Liverpool leading with two goals scored in the first fifteen minutes of the first half but Real Madrid was able to flip the whole game to their advantage so that they would have the upper hand and beat the home team 5-2.

Needless to say Trent was absolutely devastated by the defeat, as it made it particularly hard to make it onto the next round. He has been going through a lot lately, career-wise, and this was just another thing adding to those that have been happening till that moment.

You knew comforting him would have been really hard but leaving him on his own, replaying in his head all the things he could've done right and dwelling on them, wasn't definitely an option.

You dreaded the moment he would cross the threshold of your house and you found yourself gulping out loud when your eyes caught sight of his figure doing so. His stare was fixed on the ground, holding a grudge that was pretty self explanatory.

"Hey"

He raised his stare only when the loud thud of your front door slamming shut and met your eyes, a veil of sadness covering them.

"Hey"

Trent almost threw his backpack on the wooden floor and lazily dragged his weary body towards you, to get that much needed hug from his favourite person that he knew would have been there waiting for him no matter what.

"Come here" You muttered against his temple, before pressing a kiss there.

The only things that could have made him feel better were, apart from a good cuddling session, some junk food paired with one of his comfort films he would have watched over and over again.

“We can-”

“I just need some alone time”

Well, you thought he would have loved to spend some time with you but you weren’t that sure after that brutal answer that resonated in the living room.

His answer instilled in you a sense of disbelief, as the option of him wanting and needing to have some time just for himself, to analyze the great loss his team just suffered, wasn’t acceptable. But you knew a core concept to every human relationship is respect so the only thing you could really do was accept his will and step aside.

“Uhm yeah, okay. I see” You stepped back from his body, as he already moved his arms away from your body, to leave him the space he needed.

He thanked you silently, with a half smile gracing his plumpy lips and walked the stairs that would lead him to your shared bedroom lazily.

You let out a nervous sigh as the sound of your bedroom door closing hit your ears, giving your brain the signal to start thinking about something that could have made your boyfriend happy for real.

A couple of hours passed since he went upstairs as it got really late and your eyes were getting heavy with sleep. The last thing you wanted was disturbing him but your body was really asking for some rest and you needed your soft bed to lie on.

The image of him dozing off, his quiet snores filling the room made you smile, sincerely happy to see him in a more serene state than the one he arrived home in.

You crawled on your side of the bed, wrapping your arms around his waist and hid your face in the crook of his neck, fully ready to close your eyes too now.

The one of you to usually play the big spoon would be Trent but that night you had to change your roles as he was really in need to be cuddled so you had to hand him over the little spoon title, for that night at least.

You soon joined him in the world of dreams, hoping he could have found some solace there.

When you opened your eyes in the middle of the night because your arms were starting to ache due to your position, you saw you weren’t the only one awake. The sight of him staring at the ceiling caught you and you didn’t know how to react: was it something you should have gotten worried about? Better to ignore it? Or run to him and tell him you would have gone on loving him no matter what?

“They hate me”

Well, the fact he spoke first made the start of your interaction easier.

“What?” You sat up as sleep was still deep in your body and and your mind, not fully realising what your boyfriend was saying.

“Fans, people that should be cheering on us when we’re playing”

Another sigh left your lips.

“Trent I-”

“I’m not at the height of the team I’m playing in”

You tried to suppress a yawn while trying to brush some sleep off your eyes to try to focus on what he was saying.

“Don’t be ridiculous”

“I’m serious, they keep criticising me every damn week and I’ve had enough. Do you read what they write about me?” He got seated too, as he did every time he got worked up over something.

“You shouldn’t read those comments, Trent”

“Yeah but when nearly everyone says something bad about you you start questioning yourself, I suppose”

“You really care that much about what a couple of frustrated supporters have to say about you? You’re better than that”

“I don’t know at this point”

You couldn’t accept seeing him in that state, it really broke your heart and if that would have made him feel better you would have gone and fought every single dickhead talking shit about him.

You took his face in your hands to look right into his beautiful, big brown chocolate eyes and lean your forehead against his, sighing.

“Don’t let those people make you doubt yourself, you’re capable of everything and I have faith in you”

Trent sweetly clenched his fingers around your wrist to take your palm away from his face to place a kiss on the back of it.

“I love you”

“I love you more. It breaks my heart seeing you like this. I know it’s been a hard loss but a bad game doesn’t mean a bad career”

“Yeah…”

“Give me one of those smiles I love”

Even if the room was dimly lit just by the bedside lamp on his side of the bed, you could clearly see the bright pink shade his cheeks took.

“I won’t go to sleep without a smile from you, I’m telling you”

A shy smile appeared on his lips as you giggled and brought your hand to the back of his neck to scratch it.

“Now we can go back to sleep”

“Can I be the little spoon?”

“Of course you can…but only for tonight!” You jokingly warned him as you laid back on your mattress as he scoffed, playfully tickling your sides.

After a moment of great sadness and despair it usually comes one filled with as much happiness as the suffering experienced before. The exact moment when it happened was the day Liverpool played against Manchester United on a chilly Sunday afternoon: the scousers beat the devils 7-0 and needless to say Trent was beaming. He took you in his arms as soon as he saw you while making his way in the tunnel.

“See? What did I tell you?” You contentedly said in his ear.

“Thanks” He smiled, a heartfelt one this time, one that could have lit up the whole Anfield in case of a power outage.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’ll always be here for you because I love you”

It was a vow, to take care of him and make him live the best life possible. A vow for life.

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander-arnold #trent alexander arnold fics #trent alexander arnold imagines #trent alexander arnold fluff #liverpool #liverpool fc #lcfc #premier league #premier league imagines #premier league fics #england nt #england nt imagines #england nt fics #football imagines #footie fics #football writing #football fanfictions

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mxtantrights · 1 year

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the off the clock kiss

this is a snippet from the famous dc!au that started with The Greatest Hits [read here] you don’t have to read it but a lot of things would make sense if you do.

You’ve kissed Jason Todd before so you’re not sure why you’re freaking out. It’s the same pair of lips. It’s the same guy. But it is different.

Before, when you two kissed, it was in front of everyone. Dressed up in costumes and caked in some brutal amount of mascara and concealer and foundation. In front of expensive cameras and microphones. In front of Harvey Dent, renowned director of American rom-coms.

That was work.

This? Right now?

Jason Todd with his back against your front door and you pressed up against him with your tongue in his mouth? Yeah this wasn’t work. Or, it didn’t feel like work.

He tastes like he looks. Which is a bit dangerous and something ginger or cinnamon dashed. You can’t tell which and honestly you don’t care in this very moment.

Kissing him feels like time is slowing down in the most peculiar way. You can feel time passing and you don’t want it to end. Not when you have Jason Todd pressed up against you like this. His hands on your waist, giving you soft squeezes.

You pull away first. When you do you notice he’s slow to open his eyes. And he’s got the most dumbstruck look on his face. You’ve never seen him like this before, which is why you like it so much.

You’ve proven to him wrong.

“I think I just proved my point that I can kiss with passion.” you say.

He opens his eyes filly now. Like he’s taking you in- he is actually. It’s hard to miss. He gives your a full once over. And then that signature smirk in on his face like any other time he’s about to reply with something witty.

“So you’ve been holding back on set because you want to defend my honor?” he asks in return.

You hit him over the shoulder and take a step back from him so you’re not chest to chest anymore. Though that doesn’t stop your heart from beating any more wildly than before. He’s still got his hands on you.

“I’m new to acting. I wasn’t just gonna French you in front of the camera!”

He clears his throat, “Well I wouldn’t have not liked it. But also, you should think about bringing that energy back to set.”

“Are you- is that a complaint?” you retort.

He grabs your shoulders, something you didn’t know you wanted to feel until he did it and now that he has you wanna feel it again. You try to pull yourself together for the sake of the conversation.

“Listen, hun, that was definitely not a complaint. I’m just saying maybe we dial it up when the cameras are rolling. This is the sequel after all.” he answers.

You nod you head. And then he’s letting go of you. What you’re thankful for is the sound of the music you had playing earlier in the living room that fills the background or he would’ve picked up the when you let out at the loss of his touch.

“Have you read page 79?” you ask.

Jason scoffs, “Of course. What do you take me for, a slacker?”

You do. And since you think he really hasn’t read up to that part int he script yet because it’s still early days of filming, you want to have to some fun with him. About a year ago you thought he was going to be a pain in your ass, and you were right for the most part. Now you think you’ll return the favor.

So you smile even though you lips are bit tingly from kissing him. And he smiles back at you innocently. You think to yourself he hasn’t got a clue what page 79 entails at all.

“Great then I guess you won’t mind if I ask Dent to move filming that part Monday?” you ask him.

And he’s nodding his head. Checkmate.

Jason peels himself off your door and opens it a crack. Then he turns to you “I’ve gotta head out, I’ll see you on Monday.” he says.

You nod too, “Yup. Page 79.”

“Oscar winning performance incoming I think.” he jokes.

You laugh at that as he walks himself out your door. With a quick reminder you tell him to text you when he gets home and he agrees. When you close it behind him you smile. Not at the joke. Not at you pranking him. No. At the kiss. You can’t believe you kissed him off the clock like that! And with tongue! He basically asked you to show him what passion you could bring to a make-out scene and you did, but damn.

Now you’re waiting for Monday to prove to Jason Todd once again that you can bring passion to kissing while in camera. And you are absolutely positive he doesn’t know that page 79 is a make-out scene because Jason is in the middle of a Jane Austen binge. He comes to set two hours earlier to read up to twenty pages of the script to get ready for the day and last time you checked he was around page 50.

This was going to be fun.

#dc imagine #dc fic #dc x reader #Jason todd x reader #Jason todd imagine #Jason todd fic #famous dc!au #dc #Jason todd

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objectumnonsense · 3 months

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a post (link) from @smutposting-ao3 unexpectedly gave me some inspiration and i banged this out (no pun intended) in like three hours (minus editing, which took. a considerable amount of time). content warnings for canon-typical gabriel shredding and some dubious consent

Sisyphus and V1's glaring contest was only broken by Gabriel physically stepping between them and clearing his throat. He turned to Sisyphus with his arms folded.

"What are you doing? I thought you said you liked it when you two met!"

"It started it!" he answered defensively, looking over Gabriel's head at it and frowning. He turned and glowered at it instead.

"Well?"

It signed several almost incomprehensible words in very quick succession, but Gabriel picked out "first loss beat bullshit" with a lot of accusatory pointing.

"...So he was the first thing you've ever lost to?"

It nodded, folding its arms.

Sisyphus laughed.

"That's all? No wonder you were such a sore loser then."

V1 unfolded its arms and looked ready to cuss him out again when Gabriel raised a hand to stop it.

"Enough, you two. We're not here for petty fighting."

V1 nodded eagerly when it heard the word "fighting" and started flipping a coin in one of its blue hands. Gabriel shot it a glare.

"Put that away. We still have to go over rules before we get started."

It rolled its eye, but obliged him, and he turned to address Sisyphus.

"You're sure you're alright with this? It's going to be really intense. I don't want to upset you."

"Angel, I've seen horrors of war and battle the likes of which would make weaker men drop dead at the thought. Nothing you and the weapon do to each other can phase me."

Gabriel still looked doubtful, but nodded and continued.

"Machine, if I or Sisyphus says the safe word, you stop immediately. You remember what it is?"

It nodded and signed "server" before he could ask.

"Good. Of course you know murder is off the table, but besides that, anything goes. Sisyphus, you should probably stand out of the way."

He heeded his words and walked to the back end of the chapel, where he righted a fallen pew and sat down in it. He nodded and gave the pair a thumbs up.

"Perfect. Now, Machine," Gabriel's voice boomed throughout the enormous room, wings and halo manifesting in a burst of brilliant blue light as he unsheathed his swords, "prepare for a resounding defeat!"

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, V1 leapt forward in blur of blue and gold. What followed was a near incomprehensible exchanging of blows, so swift and powerful Sisyphus had trouble telling what was going on. Sawblades whirled, coins gleamed, swords slashed, and blood exploded from the place where the two met. It was a complex dance to a rhythm only the two fighters could hear, and the sheer, practiced brutality was utterly stunning.

An explosion from a rocket sent the pair flying away from each other, V1 hitting the ground rolling and Gabriel hitting the wall hard. V1 looked for the most part unharmed, besides a few deep scratches in its Knuckleblaster arm. Blood stained its plating, but was quickly absorbed.

Gabriel, on the other hand, looked much the worse for wear. A magnet protruded from his thigh, surrounded by dozens of half-buried nails; his left arm and stomach were bleeding openly onto the floor; still, he laughed ecstatically.

"Is that the best you've got?" he barked. "Come on, let's put on a real show!" To Sisyphus's utter shock, his wings and halo glowed brightly anew, dazzling azure with tinges of gold chasing away the dim light of Heresy.

V1 narrowed its eye at him. With a flick of its Whiplash arm, it attached itself to him, and the fight began again.

It was somehow even more bloody than the last clash, but Sisyphus could actually track Gabriel's movements this time. He kept up at first, but soon he began to lose - badly. The machine tore at him again and again while he barely managed to get a scratch on its plating. With each hit he took, a breathless laugh bubbled from his lips.

Finally, with a well-timed ricochet shot straight through his chest, Gabriel fell to the ground, wings unable to carry his weight any longer. Sisyphus stood and made to walk across the chapel to the two, believing the two to be done. Gabriel raised a shaky hand.

"Wait a second -"

His sentence was cut off by a pained shout as V1 leapt onto him. In the blink of an eye, it had broken the clasp of his chestplate and tossed it aside, exposing his torn skin. Sisyphus managed to catch a glimpse of several weeping bullet holes before V1's hands were all over Gabriel, fingers finding as many wounds as they could and burying themselves in them.

Gabriel arched with a cry like a wounded animal, squirming under V1's ravenous touch. It shifted to spread itself across his body, one thigh between his and the other hooked around his waist.

With an obscene squelch of tearing flesh, its Knuckleblaster claws dug into one of the wounds, exposing muscle and sinew and sending even more blood showering onto its plating and the floor below.

Gabriel howled - an unsettling, desperate sound - and V1 pressed itself into him. His hands scrabbled ineffectually at its sides, its back, anything he could reach. Sisyphus shifted his gaze slightly and noticed the shaky but steady motions of his hips against its thigh.

The Knuckleblaster had torn at Gabriel again in the moments Sisyphus had looked away. This time, it pushed into his side, deeper and deeper, until the claws were buried to, well, the knuckles. The air left his lungs in a long moan as it slowly dragged them down, leaving long, ugly gashes in their wake.

Surely the machine was fueled enough by now. Gabriel was practically bleeding out underneath it and it still took more.

A barely-audible "Ma- machine, please," was the only sign Gabriel was still conscious. His arms had dropped to his sides and his head lolled.

Apparently V1 knew what he wanted, because it started shifting its thigh, grinding against him where he was apparently too weak to.

"Th-thank you, thank you, ggh-!"

He barely managed a twitch of his hips when its hand - the Feedbacker, this time - started massaging his bleeding side with the same rhythm it was grinding on him. They kept at it for a few moments more before, with a weak gasp, Gabriel convulsed for a moment, then fell totally limp.

Surely it was done - but Gabriel had warned him beforehand, after all.

The machine shifted its position over him and settled itself between his thighs, all four arms grabbing and pushing and groping. With a click of metal, its panel slid aside and it wasted no time in grinding itself against his still-clothed crotch.

A cold pit grew in Sisyphus's gut. Gabriel was unconscious, or at best barely hanging on, judging by the way he gave no resistance to its manipulation. Was this a regular occurrence for the two? How much did he know about what happened to him after he passed out?

He stood.

"That's enough, weapon. Server."

It whipped its head around at his words, and for a moment, he was frozen in place by the sheer, animalistic fury in its gaze. The center ring of its optic was pin-narrow, while the outer ring was so wide as to almost not be visible. Its wings arched, one hand instinctively reaching halfway to its back.

But only for a moment. Its eye refocused, its hand lowered, and it stood and backed away, raising its empty palms in a surrendering gesture. Sisyphus noticed how tense he had suddenly become, and that his fists were half-raised.

He attempted to shake the heavy cloud of - fear? disgust? something unpleasant and cold- out of his head and approached Gabriel.

He knelt at his side, laying a hand on his chest. His heart beat faintly - thank the stars - and some of the smaller scratches on him were already starting to knit together. Still, Sisyphus couldn't shake the strange, bone-deep feeling of apprehension from himself.

Gabriel was fine. He would heal. He just needed to get him home. (He forced himself not to think of how many times he might have been left on the floor here after the machine was through with him.)

He retrieved Gabriel's chestplate from next to him, and with the other arm, scooped his body up.

He was definitely unconscious. (And was he always this small compared to him?) Sisyphus held him closer to his chest - just so he wouldn't fall - and turned to face the machine.

It had been eyeing the trail of dripping blood left behind by Gabriel being moved, but met his gaze when he stared at it. It sat stock still, body language unreadable, panel long since closed. Besides the excess blood drying on its plating, it showed few signs the encounter had ever taken place. (Damned thing. What right did it have to look so unbothered when it had almost - almost -)

Neither moved for a few moments. Sisyphus wasn't sure what to say, if anything at all. (What could he say?)

He settled for a terse nod, turned on his heel, and rushed out of the chapel. (His steps were not hurried with panic. He was calm. Gabriel was fine.)

He felt the machine's stare on the back of his head until he was out of its sight.

#my writing #nsft #no fucking way am i maintagging this. if you find it you were lookin for it #cw gore #cw dubious consent #augh. is this even in character

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feasibilities · 1 year

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"Take All Of Me." Comandante Benjamin x Black/Non-White (Spanish-Speaking) Reader- NSFW☭

WARNINGS: Rough/Unprotected Sex, Dom/Sub Aspects, Spanking, Overstimulation, Teasing, Discussions of Racism, etc.

Author's Note: This is the first time I've written smut in years so take it easy on me! Also, I included some parts in Spanish. I'm a beginner with that too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1.2k

You're one of the most talented sopranos of the century. You were invited to perform at the birthday party of a rich French industrialist. After performing for a small group of the top dignitaries in the world, the home is suddenly taken over by guerillas. They are led by a brutal, yet mesmerizing chief--Comandante Benjamin. You wondered how an attractive man like him could commit such wrongdoings. In the chaos that surrounds you two, you have developed a covert fondness for each other. What will happen when The Commander wants to take your affair a step further?

The hostage situation was approaching its 3rd week. Hopes of escaping unscathed were stamped out by the spit-shined boot of The Commander. He provided the bare necessities but threatened us with a bullet to the head if we caused trouble. The owner of the mansion, Mr. Hosokawa, was murdered upon Commander's arrival. His body was wrapped in tarp and buried in the backyard. Luckily, no other hostages have been murdered.

For some reason, Benjamin took to you. You originally assumed that it was because of your prominence as an opera singer and the wealth you could provide him with. As you spoke with him, you felt something deeper. You saw an embittered man who has been crushed by the pervasiveness of corruption, racism, and inequality. You also saw a tenderhearted, impassioned man who craved peace—and companionship. You realized that you two have a lot in common.

Your fondness for one another started bubbling to the surface. You asked questions with obvious answers just so you could be in his presence. The sweetest smiles creeped across your face when he would joke around. You remember your heart skipping a beat the first time he called you cariño. He was more emboldened with his actions. He would watch you read or play piano with the most earnest expression. He would purposefully brush his hands against your when you two played cards. He would take peeks at your cleavage when you were distracted. Something was brewing.

You awoke to footsteps approaching your sleeping quarters. Noise couldn’t be muffled as your room was empty with the exception of a sleeping bag & a stack of novels in the corner. The only source of light was the moon shining into your window. You didn’t sit up until Benjamin entered. He had regular clothing on except his military jacket.

“Come on.” He beckoned you with a childlike tone.

Although you should’ve asked, you didn’t. You enjoyed his spontaneity. That trait was so far removed from your previous flames. Maybe they feel as if they don’t have to try since they have so much money to burn. Ben ushered you to ‘his’ master bedroom, that of which belonged to Mr. Hosokawa. Despite the circumstances, the room had a warm ambience. Benjamin would light candles at night. The Victorian-style door was swiftly closed behind you.

“I was thinking that we could-“ You started before you were cut off with a fervent kiss. Benjamin’s lips were soft & his tongue was sour from the Modelo he drank not too long ago. A desirous groan emitted from his throat. In a mood of toying with the brute, you pulled away & gazed into his eyes. You could’ve fainted with the way he looked at you.

“I can’t pretend anymore, princesa. Te necesito.”

“Then take me. Tomar todo de mí.”

You both stripped to nothing. He quickly scooped you up and laid you on the bed. You flinched when he licked the valley of your breasts. He took one in his his calloused hand and swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub. You moaned and watched him with an impatient expression. “Hurry up.” You mewled. He ignored your demands while he reached down to tease your folds.

“How long has it been since you’ve felt the touch of a man, mi amor?” Benjamin whispered.

“Long enough…”

In a moment of lust-fueled insolence, you grabbed his manhood & pumped a few times. His pre-ejaculate seeped between your fingers. His eyes rolled to the back of his head & his breathing staggered. Seeing him in this state of uninhibited pleasure was the sexiest thing ever. It was as if he finally surrendered. He suddenly snatched your wrist away and flipped you on your stomach. “I lead.” He fumed. You peered back at him with apologetic eyes. His energy shifted to something darker. He never spoke to you this way. You assumed there was still some unpredictability in his personality. Maybe he didn’t want to be at the mercy of some stupid rich woman. His insistence on power did grab the attention of international media, especially the pompous West.

“I’m sorry. I just thought-“ You cautioned, not wanting to provoke him any further. He interrupted you with a hard smack on your ass. You bit your lip out of fear & pleasure. “Let me lead and we won’t have anymore issues. Understood?” He asserted. The tone in his voice was more familiar to his underlings. You were one for the time being.

“Yes, sir.” You ached.

He slid into you & began thrusting with punishing force. No sound escaped your mouth as they were being fucked out of you. You felt him at depths you thought no man could reach. He anchored you still by your shoulders. Sounds of skin hitting skin and wetness filled the room. Animalistic grunts emitted from Benjamin. You started uncontrollably spasming around his dick & a sob of pleasure finally came out. The most intense orgasm took over your body.

His pace slowed to watch you tremble & see your white, viscous arousal leak from your pussy. “F-Fuck, Commander. Please let me cum…” You cooed. He responded by locking your hands behind you and deepening his thrust. You were disoriented beyond belief. Tears blurred your vision, and your pleas were useless. You were just a vessel for The Commander to use until he was finished. “None of those rich cabróns could fuck you like this, hmm?” He taunted. A loud moan came out as another orgasm hit you.

His way of fucking loitered on the boundary of pleasure & torture. At this point, you’ve came countless times. He was absolutely right—no one had ever fucked you like this. Your previous lovers were quite plain. They didn’t take initiative or had no stamina. Benjamin’s lovemaking was an anomaly, in the best way possible.

When he felt his climax approaching, he pulled out & flipped you onto your back. He pushed your legs back, so your calves rested on his biceps. He kept a tight grip on your thighs. “Watch me while I fill you up. Don’t close your eyes.” He asserted. You nodded and gazed at him in anticipation. He slipped inside of you again & thrusted agonizingly slow. He managed to hit your G-Spot with every move. “Mmm, fuck…” He groaned. The cracks in his facade began to show. You whimpered in response & clenched around him to egg him on.

Finally, his climax leaped up and grabbed him. His final groan sounded like it could’ve shaken mountains. You felt his hot seed pumping into you as he trembled. He bent down to kiss you feverishly. The semblances of tendernesses are what attracted you to him so much. You were ready to leave it all behind for him. Surrendering your prestige would be a breeze if it meant living a lifetime of obscurity with him. He pulled away from the kiss to ask a question that would change everything:

“You’ll always be here, right?”

#tenoch huerta #bel canto #comandante benjamin x reader #my writing #smut #writers #fanfiction #spanish speaking films #love #tenoch huerta mejia #2018 #mexican actor #comandante benjamin

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bisexual-horror-fan · 2 years

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"Needy Thing Ain'tcha?" Bo Sinclair X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Hey, hey, hey! This fic is for the amazing and lovely @eggsandbeer birthday! It was on Saturday but as you all know I was at the con and she was so lovely and understanding and was more than willing to wait because she is the fucking best. She got a special version with her name in it but this one it has been scrubbed out per her request for all you wonderful people to enjoy! Hope you like this brat taming Bo fic!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.4K. Bo Sinclair X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Established Relationship. Teasing. Taunting. Bratty Behaviour. Brat Taming. Spanking. Man Handling. Choking. Vaginal Sex. Outside. Public Sex. Exhibitionism. Punishment. Dirty Talk. Lingerie. Degradation. Possessive Behaviour. Biting. Marking. Orgasm Denial. Implications Of Road Head And Cum Eating.

—

He wanted to impress you.

You were just, fuck, you were something really speical. You were so good and cared about him and made him actually feel things, soft and warm and fluffy things, things that were arguably uncharacteristic for him.

He got a little swept up when he planned a date to help show that appreciation but he felt good about it, didn’t question it, and decided to just go with it.

You were shocked he went so hard to be honest. He told you to dress up which already gave you some pause but you still did, and did so happily, he had told you he wanted to, “-show you off-” and when you stepped out of the house in that cute long baby pink dress, all sweet smiles he was certainly impressed.

You slid into the passenger's seat of his truck as the compliment fell from his lips as easily as breathing, “Well look at you, fuckin’ beautiful.” He leaned over, a kiss to your cheek and you can’t stop the grin that spreads on your face.

Your eyes scraped over him behind the wheel after he pulled away from you, “Lookin’ good yourself. Busted out the suit for this one, eh?”

“Well I can’t have you showin’ me up now can I?” He teased with a grin as he turned the key and started up the truck..

“Oh no I am sure your ego would never allow that.” You replied easily as you bucked up and he reversed and pulled out.

“Hey my ego can take a lot more than you think!” He argued with that smile still on his face and you sighed, “I’m so sure.”

The drive took a while, you didn’t mind it, easy conversation flowed as the sun was setting, you were excited for a date night just you and Bo, going all the way out of Ambrose for it too was a refreshing change of pace. By the time you arrived you were really curious what he had in mind but he was refusing to give it up.

You parked and got out, were led by him, a hand on your lower back as he ushered you in the direction of his choosing. It wasn’t a super hot night thankfully, late summer in this part of the country can be brutal, the breeze was welcome. You’d try asking again but you knew he wouldn’t answer you and the location he had in mind should be close now and how right you were. Down the street a few more stops and there you were.

Soon seated across from him at a table in an admittedly very nice little French bistro, you had to give it up, saying to him, “Well I gotta say I am impressed.”

“Yeah?” He asked with that easy sideways smile that you loved, something warm playing in his eyes.

“Yeah! Didn’t think you’d know a place like this.” You admitted as you picked up your menu and looked it over, he picked up his as he asked, “What? Is it really that shocking?”

You didn’t even look at him as you responded, “I never said that.”

“Implied it plenty.” He said quietly, looking over the top of his menu and you glanced up to meet his gaze, a small shrug and a coy smile, “What you get out of what I say sounds like a you problem.”

Oh you were being real cute.

“Ha-ha.” He mocked and you smiled wider. Drinks and dinner were decided very quickly, you were pretty hungry and were excited to try it. You watched trays of food come by on their way to other tables and were dying for a bite.

After your orders were taken he was looking across the table to you as you leaned back in your seat, your dress suited you so well, his eyes dragged over you in a similar fashion to how yours did on him earlier. During that, musing about how he wanted to touch you when he noticed it. The hint of black underneath that cotton candy pink. What did you have on under there? He wanted to know.

He leaned forward, pointing to you as he asked, “You know in this lighting I think I can almost see through your dress.”

You scoffed with a laugh, “Oh really?”

“Really, looks real pretty.” He started and you fought him off with a comment of, “And I think you must be imagining things.”

He asked in disbelief, “What?”

“You heard me. Or maaaaybe you just wanna get under my dress.” You taunted further still.

“You think so highly of me yet again.” He sighed fondly as he adjusted in his seat.

He was being really nice tonight, really good to you but you were just in this particular mood that you happened to slide into, he thought you might catch yourself, reign it in maybe especially as he kept his mood even was still sweet as fuck to you.

You didn’t.

You got worse, you got down right bratty.

The warning look he gave you did nothing to dissuade you, if anything it spurred you on. You decided to make it worse, to tease him. You leaned forward, closer to him, pushed your chest out, let out the sweetest sighs and indulgent moans as you ate, let your foot slip out of your shoe and run up his leg, dangerously high on his thigh. Your foot was almost in his lap at one point as you eyed him, letting your fork linger near your mouth as you did. Your soft pink tongue between parted glossed lips running in the most tantalising fashion of the ends of the tines to make sure you got every last morsel of food.

It was infuriating. He was doing his best to be nice, to treat you well as a thank you for all you do for him and you were treating it like some big fucking joke. Acting rude and mean, making fun of him almost on any and nearly everything one second and acting like a little fucking tease the next. What has gotten into you? The worst part is he couldn’t do anything about it in public and he knew you knew that. If this was a meal at home he could have had you on your knees and “apologising” already, but that would have to wait.

When the check was brought you were finishing your drink and didn’t even see how much it was but you teased, “Sure you can afford a place this nice, Bo?”

He grit his teeth and said, “I dunno, do you think you can stop being such a brat-?”

It was that tone that made you start to doubt yourself, him dropping your full name at the end like that. Maybe you went a little too far. He rushed through paying before getting up and motioning for you to follow with a curt, "C'mon."

The abruptness of your departure, his grip on your arm as he led you back to the truck and the silence that fell over you both solidified that worry. He opened the door for you and you hesitated, one arm was on the top of the door and his other arm was still locked on your bicep, he squeezed and leaned down. Heart pounding you held your breath as his eyes met with yours and he said with a small gesture of his head, in a tone as firm as stone, “Get. In.”

Shit.

You really must have fucked up. You scrambled up into the passenger’s seat and as soon as you and your dress was out of the way enough he slammed the door closed making you cringe. You watched him stalk around to the drivers side and open the door, he slides in and you focus on buckling your seatbelt, refusing to look at him, eyes downcast. He shut his own door with much more force than necessary, you played with your fingers as a nervous tick when he did up his seatbelt and then started the car and pulled out of the spot. The best way you could describe his movements were angry, all tinted with frustration and a generally upset demeanour.

The silence kept up for a solid five minutes that felt much longer than that to you in the oppressive quietness of the car along with the tense atmosphere.

He finally broke the silence by saying, “Not even gonna apologise, huh?”

You took that moment to glance over to him, he wasn’t looking at you, eyes on the road, his whole body language was screaming how displeased he was with you.

“Apologise for what?” It left your lips without you thinking about it and you instantly regretted it. You were still a little too much in your mode from back at the restaurant and you were gonna pay for it, he laughed in disbelief, his eyes flicking to you as he asked, “You fuckin’ serious? Like you don’t know?”

He scoffed at the pause you took, trying to collect yourself for a proper answer and when you took a beat too long he filled in the blank, “M’ talking bout the way you were treatin’ me! I took you out to a nice fuckin’ place and you acted like a brat and a goddamn tease the entire time!”

The way he barked that out, so harsh, it made the fear sharper, made a pit form in your stomach. Maybe you should just apologise but before you could he was pulling the car over and with wide eyes you asked, “Wha-what are you doing?”

He laughed again, a shake of his head as he parked the car on the side of the dark country road between the town you just left and Ambrose, “You wanna keep playing dumb? M’ gonna treat you like you’re fuckin’ dumb.”

What the fuck did that mean? He left the car lights on, his seatbelt unbuckled and he got out of the car, he was around the front of it so fast and you made a move to lock the door but he flung it open before you could, “Uh-uh! I don’t think so!”

He reached over you, took off your seatbelt and you tried to get away, to the other side of the car to the driver's seat but he grabbed ahold tight, “You’re not gettin’ away that easy.”

He hauled you back closer, one hand on your face, gripping your lower jaw, making you look up at him and the other on your hip, the force of it was was near bruising, you squirmed and said through your slightly squished lips, “Bo, M’ sorry-”

“Shut it, s’ too little too late.” He said harshly, “Pretty lil words ain’t gonna sway me from this, you gotta show me you’re really sorry not just say it.”

You had been in this position before, had to apologise with more than just words before but now you were parked at the side of the road in the dark you asked him, “Here?! Bo, please, I-I’m really sorry but can’t we go back home? I-”

He cut you off again, “No, no I don’t think so hon, normally I might listen but you gave up the right to ask for niceties when you acted like that and kept on fuckin’ pushing. Well you wanna push me? I can push right back.”

You swallowed hard and he leaned in closer, his lips nearly on yours as he squeezed your hip, “An we both know I’m stronger than you, I can push a lot harder than you can.”

You knew there was no fighting him on this. You decided to start to try to make it up to him, lessen this at all if you could, “What can I do?”

“You can start by taking off that pretty dress so it doesn’t get wrecked.” He began and you hesitated, get wrecked? You knew he was capable of that, had wrecked lots of your clothes but how was he thinking of doing that this time, and he tsk’d, “Tick tock darlin’ longer you take the longer we are out here.”

It didn’t take much for you to fill in the blank of, “-the more chance there is for someone to catch you both out here-”

He took his hands off you and gave you another chance, generously, for you to do it yourself and you took him up on it, stripping off the long pink dress and once you did he whistled low, “Oh so you are a fuckin’ liar on top of being a teasin’ little brat.”

He gestured to what you had on. All black ensemble, lacy thin bra that showed off nearly everything, barely covered your nipples, high cut hardly there panties, the little garter belt cinched at your waist attached to the silky looking thigh high stockings and your cute matching black leather heels. Shit, yeah, you did wear all this, sure your date would end the way it always did, with him between your thighs, you were fucking with him earlier and now you were going to get it.

“I...I didn’t lie persay-” You began and his hands landed on your shoulders, a small shake as he said seriously, “Hon. Stop. Diggin’. M’kay?”

You needed to listen to him. A small nod as you were still holding the balled up pink dress, looking where you should put it and he said, “Toss it in the back seat.”

Isn’t that where you were both going to go? Were you gonna fuck on top of dress? That would ruin it all the same, wouldn’t it? You didn’t question, didn’t hesitate this time, you listened, threw it in the back seat and his fingers hooked in the straps of your bra and he tugged. He was taking a step back, you follow on instinct, out of the seat and falling in step with him as he leads.

Outside, he wants to do this outside, of course he does. You are brought around the front of the truck, headlights still on, he shoves you over the hood, his hands on your wrists he places your hands flat. His body is pressed to yours, so close, his hands start low, on your thighs and then he dragged them up, rough, possessive. His mouth is on your neck, kisses start before his hands meet your hips, one hand sliding between your legs, fingers drag up over your clothed slit, soaked lace shifting and a spark of pleasure making you moan. He waits for it to sink in before his teeth do the same, a hard bite that makes you yelp. “You’re fucking terrible, you know that?”

You whimper out a weak, “Yes.”

“Mmm I don’t think you really know.” He sighs, “But I’ll make you understand.”

His fingers circled your clit for a moment before he pulled back. You missed the contact of him but you weren’t left waiting for long, one hand on your back and the other came down onto your ass, hard. The rings he wore made the spank have that much more bite.

“You know you can’t be actin’ like that right? Just cuz we’re in public you think you can do anythin’ you want without consequence?” Another hard spank that stole your breath and you nodded, “I-I know!”

“Oh she knows, does she?” He taunted, another hit, harder still and you let out a pained groan as he then asked, “So why’d you do it?”

You should be honest, another hit as he grit out, “Well?!”

Three more in quick succession that made you sob out, “I-I th-thought it’d be fun!”

He stopped then. You did too. Did you really just admit that?

He turned you, slowly. So you were facing him again, his hand slipped around your throat, it fit there, like it belonged. Your ass burned and hurt as he pushed you against the grill of the truck. His eyes bored into yours in the low light, “What did you just say?”

“I…I said I thought it’d be fun.” You admitted sheepishly and he sighed, his grip tightened, “That's what I thought you said.”

He started to undo his belt one handed, you heard the jingling of the metal and the sound of his zipper shortly after, he talked the whole time he did this “You love fun, hmm? Just love havin’ fun even at my expense? How about I have some at yours?”

You whimpered as he choked you, grip tightened further and he said, “Get those fuckin’ panties off.”

Your hands acted as if they were magnetised to the wet lace, your fingers worked fast, you dropped them down your legs and his hand that was now free after opening his pants was hooking under your thigh, “Leg up.”

Compiling was second nature when he was like this, you feel him lineup, the fat head of his cock brushed up through your folds and bumped your clit and you moaned, head tipping back.

He choked harder, took more of your breath as he moved, pushed inside hard, barely any lube as he stretched you open. You groaned, a loud and long from the painful and sudden stretch, a moan of pleasure from him mirroring yours of pain and discomfort. Fuck, you were wet but he was big and with hardly any warm up, it hurt, it burned, he knew it and that made it feel better. He started to move, hard, fast, rough. His thumb stroked up your pulse point, tipping your head back further, you looked up at the starry night sky through tears that blurred your vision between the pain of him splitting you wide and the lack of air. You struggled to breath, his hand gripped under your leg hurt, blunt nails dug in, surely leaving crescent marks behind.

“God you’re so fucking tight-” he groaned, his hand left your throat, palming on of your tits instead, a pinch of your nipple causing the air you had been sucking down greedily to blend into a choked moan between agony and ecstasy. He leaned down, bites over your throat and shoulder, more marks, hickeys left behind as filth was muttered into your skin, “Stupid fuckin’ bitch you know that? Ruining our nice little date night out, ha, shit-”

He panted out, “Take it, fuck, take it-”

As if you had a choice, every harsh thrust inside made you let out a weak sound, a near wheeze from from the force of his choking, “-cuz even if you are too fuckin’ stupid for your own good, you’re mine, all fuckin’ mine-”

And just as the pain was giving away, just as you were starting to feel the beginnings of real pleasure, as your tight cunt was slickening and loosing up, you recognize it, that tell tale falter of his pace that spelt his end and you were able to get out a small, “No, Bo ahh, wait, don’t cum yet-”

When his hand covered your mouth and he gritted out, “Shut up.” before you feel him shove in one last time, all the way, shoving you harder against the grill, the jolt of pain made you clench on him and made him groan your name as he held deep and spilled inside.

You whined, legs trembling and eyes squeezing shut, fresh tears spilled, in pain, sore, frustrated, humiliated and exposed out in the open. He slowly pulled out after a moment, his hand locked over your mouth still as the cum immediately flowed out once he left, down your thighs, staining the tops of your stockings. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you released a sigh through your nose, you did it, made it through.

He hummed out, “S’ a good start. You can use your mouth on me on the way home, clean up the mess.”

You clenched around nothing and more cum dripped out of your abused hole as he untangled from you. “Now get back in the fucking truck.”

You listened, moved to your side of the car but before he got in he said, “You better not leak on the seat or you are cleaning that up too, you hear me? And what is that bra still doin’ on? Get those tits out.”

He was being really demanding. Your hands moved behind you, taking your bra off and getting into the truck on your knees, blowing him would be easier like this anyway, right? Maybe if you did well enough by the time you got back to Ambrose at least he might let you cum sometime tonight.

#BHF writing #Hope you all love it #Bo Sinclair X reader #slasher x reader #Been a minute since I have done something like this

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somedaylazysomeday · 2 months

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Winner Take All - Part Three

You're finally back in Cambridge, but you find that a few things have changed...

Nathan Bateman x fem!reader

Rating: Mature. Minors DNI

Word Count: 4,500

Warnings: Arguments, pettiness, minor references to child neglect and adoption, mentions of alcohol, sexual behavior, adult situations

Previous | Next | Masterlist

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No matter how long you had been away from the Estuary, stepping inside the bar always felt like coming home. In this particular case, you had only been gone a few weeks, but the point still stood.

You paused inside the door, soaking in the familiar atmosphere. The Estuary hadn’t changed a bit in the time you’d been gone, and you were indescribably relieved by that.

You hadn’t actually wanted to leave Boston, but you had been invited to a set of neuroscience conferences in Budapest, Hungary. A lot of the presentations and discussions had centered around Hungary and Austria’s contributions to the global neuroscience community, but it had still been enthralling.

Primary Enterprises, your own biotechnology company, didn’t specialize in neuroscience, but it played a role in many of the things you were trying to do. Attending the conference had helped you forge connections with bright minds who could contribute their talents to Primary.

It helped that you were willing to pay a retainer for occasional consultation work, and the steady pay was attractive to many people. Especially scientists, most of whom considered grant-writing tedious at best and a waste of their true talents.

Hungary had been lovely. Budapest's weather was colder than a typical Cambridge February, but you had prepared for that. It had snowed a few times, but you had been fortunate to avoid most of the hassles a heavy snowfall produced.

The timing of the conferences had meant you were in Budapest for Farsang, the Hungarian version of Carnival. There had been more parties than you could remember, ranging from Halloween-style costume parties - the scarier your costume, the better - to black-tie dinners. You had seen parades and block parties, some celebrations lasting long into the cold nights. It had been incredibly enjoyable, but you had been exhausted when you got home, and not just because of the jet lag.

The mass of time spent in seminars and networking - or partying - was why you hadn’t answered any of Nathan Bateman’s texts. Of course it was. But, when you were brutally honest with yourself, it had more than a little to do with a conversation you'd had about AI.

"It isn't even AI that they're running," he had scoffed, irritated by the uptick in the use of so-called artificial intelligence by everything from corporate websites to Snapchat. "It's a glorified text prediction machine, and a shitty one at that. Real AI is at the outer edges of possibility for modern science… with a few exceptions, of course."

You hadn't liked the turn of the conversation. Nathan had never spoken to you about the scars that marked his chest and stomach… but he hadn’t really needed to. You saw the way he winced every time you touched them, and you had witnessed more than a few of the nightmares that had forced him from sleep with panting sounds of terror.

“Yeah, well,” you had said instead of caving in and begging him to stay away from AI experimentation, “I think your talents are better used elsewhere.”

The suggestive lift of your eyebrows along with your pursing lips normally would have sent him into a distracted spiral, but Nathan had been fixated on his topic by that point. “Yeah, but… AI. Man, it’s just- It’s the most exciting thing in the world right now. There are so many possibilities, more than any other area of advancement. If one person could show the world what AI - real AI - actually looks like, the market would collapse for a minute, then it would fill with people who have a passion for the real thing.”

You would have argued. You could have. You certainly wanted to. But you saw the manic fascination in his eyes, heard the frank amazement in his voice when he talked about artificial intelligence. It was the sun and he was Icarus, and he was blind to everything else. Even still wearing the scars of his last flight, Nathan Bateman was strapping on a new and improved set of wings as he prepared for another attempt.

It wasn’t unusual behavior from him. Actually, you would have expected that he couldn’t leave it alone. But you weren't sure you could bear to witness a second incident. Despite all of your efforts and predictions, Nathan had wormed his way into your heart, not to mention your life. If something happened, there would be a very conspicuous hole where he had made himself comfortable.

And so you had withdrawn, pulling away from him and the new relationship you had started. Assuming it was a relationship at all. Honestly, you had been too busy having fun to dig into what exactly you were to each other. And after the AI conversation, you had hardly been motivated to find an answer. The point was that it had been disappointingly easy to step away. Nathan was a smart man. It hadn’t taken more than a few brush-offs and ignored texts for him to take the hint and you had stopped speaking for the most part.

Since the soothing surroundings of the Estuary had already put you in an honest mood, you could admit that your heart was a little sore with the loss of whatever you had been working your way toward. Getting together with Nathan had felt natural, almost inevitable, and it was gut-wrenching to step away for fear of the future he was chasing.

But this wasn’t the time for introspection, so you shook yourself and went to get a drink.

“Hey!” Mira greeted as you approached the bar. Her pretty face was wearing a wide smile, almost too wide considering how short your trip had been. “I was hoping I would see you before I’m gone.”

“Gone?” you repeated, trying to keep the tension from your voice.

“Yeah, I’m taking a temporary leave of absence, effective tomorrow.”

“Is… is everything okay?” You felt inane asking it. Everything couldn’t be okay, right? Leaves of absence were pretty well synonymous for bad things happening in someone’s life.

“My little family is growing!” she told you, and the smile suddenly made sense.

Your eyes darted downward before you could help it. You hadn’t known Mira was pregnant, but she did tend to favor loose, flowy shirts. And you had been more than a little distracted lately. “I thought you said never again after Anika?”

Mira shrugged. “I did, but she says she’s lonely.”

“Your three-year old is lonely, so you agreed to have another baby?” you asked, trying to keep your disbelief teasing instead of offensive. “She’s going to have an interesting adolescence.”

“No, I’m not pregnant,” Mira corrected, laughing. “My sister is… well, she’s not making some great choices. The state is looking for someone to take care of her son, Kiran. He’s about eighteen months old, and we’re doing well enough to bring him into our home. That’s why I’m taking the leave of absence. Noor and I can make full-time jobs work with just Anika, but two would be tricky. Plus, Kiran is going to need some help easing into the house. Little man hasn’t had an easy life so far.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Poor guy. It’s wonderful that you’re able to help out.”

The mood lightened as a dreamy smile grew on Mira’s face. “We already love him. We’ll just be fosters to start out, but we’re hoping to officially adopt him if things work out that way.”

“The leave of absence makes total sense. You need time to bond with him.” You grinned at Mira. “What is the Estuary going to do without you?”

“I have no idea,” she agreed conspiratorially. “Nathan will have to hire some good help if he wants to keep his customer base!”

A cold chill of foreboding went down your spine. “Nathan? Bateman? What does he have to do with hiring at the Estuary?”

Mira blinked at you. “He’s… the owner? He bought us out last month. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, but there’s no need to apologize,” you said, eyes already moving to the bearded man who had walked in through an employee entrance. “The person who should have told me just came in.”

With a glance over her shoulder, Mira nodded. “I’ll just leave you to that. But first…” She whipped up your favorite drink, tipping in a little extra alcohol. She winked as she slid it to you. “Just to keep the likelihood of a murder minimal.”

“Too late,” you muttered, but you accepted the drink anyway.

“Well, well,” Bateman drawled, watching Mira leave as he approached. “Look who’s finally here for trivia night. I thought you’d given up any chance of winning the crown.”

“What the fuck, Bateman?” you demanded without preamble.

He had the nerve to look surprised, dark brows shooting up. Infuriatingly, when he spoke, it was to ask: “Something wrong?”

“You know exactly what’s wrong,” you countered. “When did you buy the Estuary?”

“Last month.” Bateman ignored your glare. Instead, he put his attention on mixing a drink. The easy comfort of his motions as he reached for a glass and started adding ingredients only irritated you more. How dare he look so at home here? “Almost two months ago, actually.”

“Two months and I’m only hearing about it now?” You clutched your drink so tightly that you worried you would crack the glass. “And not even from you?”

That got a reaction. Bateman slid the finished drink down the bar, where its new owner pushed away his empty glass and gratefully accepted the full one.

In the meantime, Bateman had tilted his head down, fixing you with a sharp look over his glasses. “I was under the impression that you didn’t want to speak to me anymore. Or did I misunderstand all those texts you didn’t bother to answer?”

Okay, that stung. You pushed it away, not least because it was the truth.

“Well, we’re talking now.” You crossed your arms, leveling a stern look at him. “Give it back.”

He stopped short, halfway through reaching for another glass. “No.”

“This is ridiculous, Bateman.”

With another look over the lenses of his glasses, he started filling the glass with beer from one of the many taps that ran down the bar. “You know, I remember a time when you called me ‘Nathan’.”

You sighed. “Nathan-”

“No, I’m not saying I want you to call me Nathan,” he interrupted. “Just pointing out that you used my first name for a few months in a row and didn’t burst into flames.”

Another stab of guilt panged in your gut. “Yeah, I know.”

“You ever gonna tell me what happened there?” The question was casual, asked as he pulled another beer and set it beside the first. But you knew better - you could see the tension in his shoulders and knew he was worried what the answer would be. Bateman’s voice was softer as he added, “I thought things were going well with us.”

“They were.” It was a knee-jerk response, given before you could give it a second thought, but it was honest all the same. “Things were going really well.”

Bateman turned slowly, and your breath caught at the look on his face. You had never thought the term ‘bittersweet’ could apply to an expression, but that was what you saw when you looked at him. There was sadness in it, mixed with a measure of confusion and regret. But there was also heat, the intensity that had worn you down toward him so quickly when you became reacquainted.

“Give the Estuary back to Mira and Noor,” you said. If it came out a little breathless, you couldn’t help it. That look had you feeling distinctly off-balance, and you didn’t want to forget your original point.

“No.”

You frowned. “Is this because you’re pissed at me? Some kind of revenge thing?”

“No, this is what Mira and Noor want,” Bateman told you. “I only bought the Estuary as a favor for them.”

“I- I’m sorry?”

“You aren’t usually this slow on the uptake. See what spending time with people other than me does to your intellect?” Bateman shook his head at you. “Mira and Noor wouldn’t take the Estuary back if I offered it to them. They want to be employees, not own the place. They want to focus on their children.”

“Is that something they told you, or are you creatively filling in the gaps?” Suspicion was thick in your voice, especially since you hadn’t tried to disguise it. Bateman was well-known for his dislike of any power structure he wasn’t at the top of.

He smirked, and you knew he had guessed what you had been thinking. “They told me. It probably helped that I offered to let them keep their current pay rates. Kiran is going to need a lot of attention for the first few months, especially after spending time in the foster system. Not much time, but still. He’s a stubborn little guy and he’s already starting to walk. Noor is trying to baby-proof their house, but it’s hard with a toddler around.”

You didn’t miss the implication that Bateman had already met Kiran. He was clearly more involved with Mira and Noor than you had been, especially over the last few months. Your friendship with Mira had developed into one of the closest of your adult life, but you had started to associate Bateman with the Estuary. When you had decided to take a step back from your relationship with him, your relationship with your friend had suffered, too.

With that uncomfortable revelation, you forced a smile. “I would have thought the house was still baby-proofed from Anika.”

“Anika’s a smart kid,” Bateman said, twirling a bottle behind his back. Despite yourself, you found his dexterity impressive, but you made sure to roll your eyes when he tried to sneak a look at your reaction. “She likes to take the child-proof stuff off of everything and put it on everything else. Noor told me she locked every drawer of his and Mira’s dresser. Took ‘em almost an hour to fix it.”

Your smile was far less forced as you gave an appreciative laugh at that. “She’s quick for a toddler. You’d better watch out - someday, she might take the record for the highest grades at MIT.”

“And I would cheer her on and bring her in at Blue Book.” Bateman seemed to finally catch up on the orders. He braced his elbows on the counter. “So, when are you gonna tell me what’s really bothering you?”

“I did,” you insisted. “I don’t like you buying the Estuary.”

“It’s already bought and paid for, sweetheart,” he told you. “And that’s not the whole story, is it?”

You lifted your chin stubbornly. “It’s the entire story, Bateman. It’ll give you too much of a chance to cheat at trivia.”

That was a lie. Obviously. The problem was that it was too obvious a lie. Instead of making Bateman drop the subject, it only reminded both of you that it was a lie. More accurately, it was the cover story that had gotten the two of you together in the first place, providing you both with an excuse to spend more and more time together.

Bateman’s eyes darkened with what he had fairly assumed was a come-on. “Well, I’m sure we can find a compromise. Conflict-resolution is one of my many talents.”

You snorted at that. No one needed to know Nathan Bateman very long to see that his talents lie in causing conflict rather than resolving it. But you decided to bite anyway. “What did you have in mind?”

“A competition.”

“What kind of competition?” You already knew. Anyone would know, with the hunger on Nathan’s face. But you played the suspicious innocent anyway. He probably had something better than ‘we fuck’ in mind, and he clearly wanted to say it. You were doing your best to ignore how interested your body was in hearing him explain the finer points of his idea.

“The best kind, sweetheart,” Bateman told you, clearly savoring the chance to tease out bits of information. “We both know that running a business isn’t all about being smart. You have to have patience and control. Most of all, you have to know how to trip up the other guy… ‘Guy’ in the figurative sense, of course.”

You shook your head at him. Bateman had many shitty qualities, but no one could accuse him of being legitimately sexist. “Go on.”

“So I think we need to have a contest to prove who can use all of those qualities to keep this place going,” Bateman explained. “Because if there’s one thing that cannot happen, it’s that the Estuary shuts down because we couldn’t run it the right way.”

“Absolutely. The Estuary stays open, no matter what.” That was something you could whole-heartedly agree with. “But I still haven’t heard your explanation for a contest that will prove all of this.”

“I’m gettin’ there,” he chided, wagging a finger in the way he knew you hated. “Remember, patience is one of the things we’re looking for.”

You grabbed his finger the same way you always did, but instead of using it to toss Bateman’s hand back at him, you ran teasing fingertips slowly down the digit. Your skin ran along his until his lips parted around a shaky breath.

Then you tossed his hand back at him. “Patience and an ability to trip up competitors. Yes, I remember.”

With an evil look, Bateman nodded. “Okay, fine. The contest is simple. We each get a few minutes at a time to work the other one up. First one to come loses.”

You stared at him for a long moment - long enough that he started to tap his fingers on the countertop behind the bar. You couldn’t see the motion of his fingers, but you could see the echo of that motion in the way the muscles of his forearms danced.

“That was it?” you asked eventually. “All of that build-up for ‘you come, you lose’? No wonder you came up with this solution.”

“Will you shut up and listen?” Bateman asked, though it was hardly a question. “We’ll go back to my place. I’ve got a chess clock we can use to count time. You last longer, I’ll offer to sell the Estuary back to Mira and Noor. I win… you tell me what went wrong between us.”

The tension stretched between you. “Bateman…”

“I need to know,” he insisted. “Hard to analyze a plane crash without the black box.”

You kept your expression blank with no small amount of effort. Did Nathan Bateman need… closure? Surely not - that would make him almost human.

“Fine,” you agreed. “When are we doing this?”

“Now.” Even as he said it, Bateman took off the half-apron that was protecting his pants. You supposed there was a risk of them being soiled by the spilled drinks and random beverage viscera that always marred the countertop despite Mira’s best efforts to keep it clean.

“Now?”

Bateman tilted his head, looking at you over the top of his glasses again. It truly bothered you that you found that as attractive as you did. “You got any reason why not?”

You didn’t, so you shrugged and slipped down from your bar stool. Bateman beckoned you to follow him. After a brief stop in the kitchen to let Mira know he was leaving for the night, you left through the back door of the bar.

To your ever-increasing surprise, he led you to the building directly behind the Estuary. It didn’t look like much from the outside - a typical, bland structure with a handful of floors. The windows glinted in the the light of a dozen spotlights shining up from the ground. It was nice, but hardly somewhere Bateman would deign to live, and your confusion only grew when the building had a doorman.

“Good evening, Mr. Bateman,” the man greeted politely, offering you a nod as he held the door for you both.

Your murmured thanks faded into nothingness as you stared at your new surroundings. For all that the building looked like a typical design from the outside, the interior was cutting-edge. Everything was done in tasteful neutral grays, making the odd pops of color stand out all the more violently. There were several beverage machines at the front desk, along with a water dispenser. A sitting area at one side of the room had an elegant harp and a cello that must have been antique. A chessboard sat on the table between the two armchairs.

The multi-story foyer stretched up and up overhead, presumably ending only with the roof of the building itself. A water feature ran down the entire length of one wall, a Rube Goldberg-ian monstrosity that only just managed to be soothing rather than irritating. A grand piano took up most of the floor space, and you wondered whether music would clash with the water sounds or manage to meld.

Through all of your observations, you could see Bateman watching you. With a longsuffering tone, you said, “Trust you to get an apartment in the most ostentatious building in Cambridge.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bateman scoffed. “I bought the building and turned it into the most ostentatious building in Cambridge.”

You laughed despite yourself. Bateman shook his head at you, but you saw the proud smirk on his face as he led you toward the elevator. To your surprise - and minor disappointment - the elevator was utterly normal. Completely upscale and extravagant, of course, but there were no outlandish security measures.

“I was expecting a key or a secret code you have to type in,” you remarked, gesturing at the panel of buttons. “I’m sure your doorpeople are great, but you have to expect a crazed Blue Book fan to break in at some point.”

Bateman looked unoffended by the critique. “RFID tag. The doors won’t even open for anyone but me.”

“Where is the tag?” you asked curiously. It had to be somewhere common to all of his outfits, like his wallet or phone. But those were also commonly stolen. After a moment of thought, you privately bet yourself that it was embedded in his glasses.

“Wrong.” You blinked at him, but didn’t say anything else. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “You’re supposed to ask how you’re going to leave here. Maybe accuse me of trying to trap you here or something.”

You watched him steadily. “Nah, I think I could take you. In more ways than one.”

That startled an appreciative laugh from him. Your heart ached with the sound of it. When he was laughing, he wasn’t Bateman, the cold and unapproachable tech genius. No, the smile lines around his eyes and mouth transformed him into Nathan, a dynamic and deliciously clever man whose presence you found intoxicating.

That softness toward him wasn’t what you wanted at that particular moment, but your heart didn’t seem to care. Nathan glanced at you, then did a double-take to look back at you more closely. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Just wondering how many floors are in this place that we haven’t gotten there yet.”

“You didn’t press a button.”

It was true, but you gave a heavy sigh. “This isn’t my mansion, Bateman. Pick your damn floor so we can get this thing going.”

“There’s the romance I’ve been missing,” he said dryly, leaning forward to press one of the buttons. Apparently, you were going to the seventh floor.

When the doors opened, you looked around curiously. The building had probably started life as a series of offices, but Nathan had made some changes. Walls had been knocked down and rearranged, leaving a frankly enormous bedroom at the back of the building.

His bed was huge - a quirk he’d had as long as you had known him - but the room also held a minibar so large you weren’t sure ‘mini’ applied, and a sitting area sunken into the floor. It was reminiscent of a ‘70s style conversation pit, and you drifted toward it out of sheer fascination.

You snorted when you saw the multi-story windows in Nathan’s bedroom. With the ceilings extending up into the next floor, there was a bank of windows forming one full wall of the room. “I forgot you have a thing about windows.”

“Specially tinted,” Nathan assured you, standing in the conversation pit. The lowered floor left you looking down at him as he toyed with something in his hands. “We can see out but no one else can see in. Automatic sun shades from dawn to mid-afternoon. But you’re not here for a rundown of my architectural skills.”

He placed a chess clock on the pit’s table, bordered on three sides by the couch.

“You… are such a nerd, Bateman!” Nathan blinked at you, caught off-guard. It was a rare thing, and he recovered well, but you were proud of throwing him out of his suave attitude. “Only you would want to fuck to a chess clock.”

“Not fuck,” he corrected. “Well, not only fuck. Everything is on the table except whatever your limits are. For instance, I have no limits. Anything is open.”

You studied him, trying to gauge whether he was serious, but he just waggled his eyebrows. You decided to take him at his word, and that meant you needed to reciprocate. “No degradation, no physical abuse, no daddy kink.”

Nathan held out his hand. “Deal.”

Why did this abruptly seem like such a bad idea? You took his hand anyway, giving it a firm shake. “Deal.”

“Good. Get undressed.” He was a little too comfortable issuing the order, but he shrugged off your glare. “I can do it for you, but you didn’t negotiate against clothes ripping. I remember that you like that shirt.”

Your stomach twisted as you pulled the shirt over your head. It was one of your favorites - an incredibly well-worn Sweeney Todd tee shirt you’d had since college. That particular level of softness only came with multiple washes and typically meant it was going to rip soon, but it was comforting. You had no doubt that Nathan could tear it off of you, but you were also unreasonably touched that he had remembered how much you loved the shirt.

He finished before you did, and amused himself by sneaking little touches of every bit of you he could reach. The brush of fingertips against your outer thigh or running over your shoulderblade normally wasn’t enough to impact you so badly, but you had missed Nathan. And, in missing him, you hadn’t been with anyone else.

For the first time, you realized you might be in trouble.

---

Author's Note - got a little carried away and this fic would have been too long if I didn't cut it in half. There will be a second, spicy part tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #ex machina #ex machina fanfiction #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #fem!reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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msbigredmachine · 1 year

Text

TARGETS - 22 - Fight or Flight

Roman Reigns is an agent in the secret organisation The Authority and one of the world’s deadliest assassins. When he crosses paths with a mysterious woman during an assignment, he makes a life-changing decision that switches his role from the hunter to the hunted. (AU Espionage Story)

TARGETS MASTERLIST

————–

Jasmine's eyes narrowed. There was more to this, much more. And only Woods knew about it. "Who do you work for?" she demanded.

"Sweetheart, I am a television personality, that’s it," Xavier smirked. "Everyone knows that."

"That’s what you want everyone to know. What do you really do? Who do you really work for?" Jasmine pressed. "You only have access to that level of intel if you're an informant, which we all know you’re great at. So which one is it, Xavier? Who else did you sell your soul to other than the FBI? F.L.O.R.A.? The Authority?" Jasmine stared him down. "Both?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Xavier sneered.

Roman was done playing Mr. Nice Guy. Stepping forward, he seized the hem of Xavier's shirt and stuffed it into the surprised hostage's mouth. Then he pulled out his gun from behind his back, jammed it into Xavier's left knee and fired.

The bullet shattered Xavier's left kneecap, which disintegrated in an explosion of tissue and bone. A shrill, unearthly scream emanated from the man's throat, and he thrashed around wildly in the confines of his chair, nearly falling over in the process. But Roman grabbed the chair before it could tip over, holding it steady as the hostage writhed in agony, his brown eyes wide and glassy with pain.

Roman bent close to his ear. "Not so mouthy now, are ya, motherfucker?" he hissed, yanking the cotton material out of Xavier's mouth. "Fucking arrogant piece of shit. Who the fuck you think you talkin’ to?” Roman pressed the barrel to the other knee. “You better answer the lady's question, or the other leg's going too.”

Xavier gasped and shook violently from the pain surging through him. "Fuck!"

"You got three seconds, Woods. One, two..." His finger began to squeeze the trigger.

"Okay, okay! I'll t-t-talk." Xavier swallowed hard in an attempt to moisten his dry throat. "You’re right…I-I…I'm not exactly who the world thinks I am," he stammered, looking back and forth between the two assassins. "I'm a liaison, a middleman if you will. I assist independent contractors like your companies with assignments. I g-give them info on potential targets and sometimes if they need me to, I act as bait. I get a whole lot of money for it, and let's just say it feeds the adrenaline junkie in me.

"Both your bosses found out that you became involved with each other, and they weren't happy. Two competing agents in a relationship? It's bad for business, and it never looks good, going against your precious Code and all. So they teamed up and then sent you to the same contract, which was me, knowing more than likely that you would meet. It was a win-win situation for both companies, really. They gave me the details and I went with it, no questions asked. I was bait. That's all I've ever been."

Roman and Jasmine stared at each other, stunned.

"Remember Daisy, Jasmine? Your protégé?" Xavier went on, and cringed at the look in Jasmine's eyes as they snapped back to him. "F.L.O.R.A. sent her after Reigns on purpose. They knew she wasn't ready to be out in the field yet. They knew Reigns would kill her without batting an eyelash. Her murder was planned so you would find out about it and it would be an added incentive to take out your boyfriend."

Jasmine stood frozen. Floored. Her mind screamed. This had to be a lie. Daisy, brutally murdered, stuffed into a fucking washing machine, for nothing other than Jasmine's destruction. Why? What had Daisy ever done to deserve being used and disposed of like she was nothing?

Xavier looked like he was about to say more when he stopped. His narrowed eyes cut to the side, staring far away as though he was listening to something. Then he smiled for the first time since losing his left leg. "They know you're here," he announced.

Roman's brown eyes darkened dangerously. "How?" he demanded. When Xavier didn't respond immediately, the Samoan grabbed him by the shirt again, patted him down roughly. "I checked you for trackers and didn’t find any. So what did you do? Answer me!" he barked

Reluctantly, Xavier opened his mouth wide. "Look at my tooth. Left molar."

Crouching lower, Roman squeezed the sides of Wood’s jawline with his fingers, forcing his mouth to painfully open wider. Ensconced inside one of his teeth was a silver dental filling. Jasmine peered more closely at it. "Biological tracking device," she analyzed. "F.L.O.R.A. uses stuff like this all the time. They look like any ordinary part of your body, so it's virtually untraceable. We've been followed, that's for sure."

Xavier continued speaking. "Yeah, and they're coming after you now. It's only a matter of when they kill you, because they won't stop until you're dead. You're a threat now. They know you're the best in your fields and they're going to use every means possible to eliminate you."

"And you were one of those means, right?" Jasmine questioned. "You're just another pawn in their chess set, and now that you've hand-delivered us, you're worthless to them now. You do know that, right?" she asked, a touch of satisfaction swelling within her when his expression fell. Evidently, he didn't. “Aw, Mr Austin Creed. You of all people should know that in this fucked up world we’re all a part of, loose ends are always cut out. And you are the walking embodiment of a loose end.”

A sharp sound echoed across the room, and Xavier tore his eyes away from Jasmine to find a Swiss Army knife in Roman's grasp. He took in the two people standing in front of him with murderous expressions on their faces, and swallowed hard. "Come on, you're not going to kill me now, are you?" he squeaked. “You do realize that if you do, you’ll be doing the bidding of the very people that want you dead.”

Roman seemed to be thinking it over, almost like he was having second thoughts. "You right," he replied, moving behind Xavier's chair. "But like she said…no loose ends."

Xavier shrieked as pain seared through his throat, blood instantly poured from his mouth. Jasmine gave the chair a swift, brutal kick, sending it toppling over with Woods still bound to it. He gasped as he crashed face-first to the ground, lying awkwardly on his side. He managed to glance up to see Roman's blade was now stained with blood. His blood.

"What...what the fuck did you do to me?" Xavier croaked. Roman peeled off his gloves, not bothering to make eye contact as he explained. "I just cut you open. You're going to lose a lot of blood in a short amount of time. You'll feel lightheaded in about ninety seconds, then you'll be dead within twenty minutes." Roman stared angrily at the fallen man. "If we do die, then at least you'll go down with us.”

Gasping for air, Woods tried to plead for his life. “Please…please don’t leave me here,” he sputtered, blood spraying outwards with every word he spoke. “I can help you, I can get you out of this. You need me!” He stared pleadingly at Jasmine. “Come on Tatiana…Jasmine. Help me.”

Jasmine had her hands clenched into fists at her sides, eyeing the fallen man with anger and disdain. “Get yourself outta this mess first, then we’ll talk,” she replied coldly, then turned to her current partner in crime. “Come on. We need to get out of here before they arrive."

Together, they disappeared through the back door and rushed into their SUV. Roman ripped the vehicle into gear, backing out of the parking lot and speeding off.

"They're a step ahead," Roman murmured, his brain whirring, searching for a solution. "They've been a step ahead of us ever since we met each other. He was right. They won't stop until we're both dead."

Jasmine made no response. She was unable to, still spooked by everything she'd just heard. Poor Daisy.

"We've gotta take them out," Roman continued.

His words sent a jolt coursing through her, with the same force as a bolt of lightning. “What did you just say?" she turned to him. Surely she hadn't heard him right.

"Our companies. We have to take them all out if we're going to survive this," Roman repeated, making a sharp turn to the right.

Jasmine gaped at him. "You want to take out an army of assassins? No, not one. Two," she added. "This ain’t fuckin’ John Wick. We have to run."

"If we don’t stand our ground, we are going to be running for the rest of our lives! Do you want that? I don't!"

“Have you even stopped to think about what you’re suggesting?" Jasmine said, "There's only two of us!"

"It’s not a suggestion, Jasmine. We fight back. It’s our only way out and we’re gonna do it. That's final."

"So what, I don't have a say in this?" she glowered. "Your word is law now?"

Roman started to respond when he looked through his rearview mirror to see a sleek silver Mercedes charging towards them. "We got company."

Jasmine grabbed a sniper rifle from the bag of weapons they retrieved at the Courthouse. They may not be able to take them all out, but they could at least start with these. She crawled into the back and popped down the reclining seats to give her room. Sliding open the side door of the SUV just a crack, she stuck her arm out, aimed at the Mercedes and fired. The driver was hit right between the eyes and it swerved into a ditch. But right afterwards, a black Ford Explorer swung into a lane, joining in the hunt. Two men were in the front seats, and they opened fire. Another car, a black Subaru, had joined them on the left side, where heavy machine-gunfire exploded. Jasmine threw herself back inside. "Shit!"

"Give me a gun!" Roman yelled.

"What?"

"I said give me a gun!"

"You're driving!"

"This ain't my first gig, sweetheart," said Roman, "now do as I say."

For a brief moment, Jasmine was tempted to give him an earful, but decided against it and reached into the bag, thrusting a handgun at him. That very moment, the Subaru raced up to the driver's side, and Roman sprayed bullets into the side of the car, which swerved erratically and disappeared from sight.

Jasmine fired at the Ford Explorer. In one fluid motion the driver swung round the back of Roman's SUV and veered up along Roman's side, hoping to catch the Samoan while distracted with his driving. But the other side of Roman's SUV also had a sliding door, where Jasmine was waiting with two guns in hand. She got the windows but missed the tires.

A fourth vehicle, a Range Rover, pulled up next to Roman when he wasn't looking, and Jasmine saw the passenger aim at him. "Get down!" she screamed, throwing herself forwards. Without waiting she drove Roman's head down with one hand and drilled bullets into the Range Rover with the other.

"Ow! My head!" Roman shrieked from underneath Jasmine's powerful grip.

"Sorry," she quickly released him, and nearly fell out of the moving vehicle when the Ford Explorer slammed into the back of their SUV. Roman hit the accelerator, moving it hard. "Incoming!" he shouted, looking to his right. "Your side!"

Jasmine aimed and pulled the trigger, dismayed to hear the dull, hollow click from the chamber. Shit, she was out of ammo. She tried to get another weapon, but she knew it would be too late.

"Duck, Jasmine!"

Her instincts prompted her to obey, and she heard Roman's bullets flying above her, followed by a resounding crash. She looked behind her and saw nothing but road and debris. "Hostiles eliminated," she reported. "We're clear."

"The train station's up ahead," said Roman. "We ditch the ride and hop on the train to Vermont."

Racing into the station, they slowed to a brisk walk, trying to blend in. They had enough money to quickly purchase two tickets at the counter, then searched for the train to Vermont. They slipped into the back of the coach cabin just seconds before the door shut.

The couple sat slumped in their compartment, exhausted and wired at the same time. The coach had a few passengers, so it was relatively quiet. As the adrenaline wore down, they both realized that they hadn't slept in two days was starting to affect them. But they didn't know if they could sleep when they knew the next attack could come from anywhere. Roman already didn’t like the fact that they were right next to the windows which meant they could be spotted more easily. He looked across at Jasmine, and it was only then he realized she was sitting opposite him instead of next to him. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line, her arms were crossed tightly as she glared out the window. Even with the table separating them, he could feel the fury emanating from her. "Jasmine..." He hesitated at first, but then fucked the consequences. "Babe, what’s wrong? Why do you look so mad?"

"Take a guess, genius," she spat, still not looking at him, stiffening when he came round to her side of the compartment and sat next to her. "Look at me." His voice was soft, pleading as he tried to sweet-talk her. His heart sank when she didn't budge. "Baby girl, please. Let me see those beautiful eyes." He cupped her face in both hands and turned her to him. “Talk to me,” he persuaded her.

"What are you thinking, Reigns? Did you see what happened back there?” she scolded him, “That was just a handful of them, and you want us to take on all of F.L.O.R.A. and the Authority by ourselves? We can't. And it's not like we can trust anyone else to help us because they have to look out for themselves." She paused to reel herself in before she exploded on him. Then, taking a deep breath, she continued. "Look...we have to get out while we can. Have to. It's not cowardice, it's self-preservation. I don't care how long we run for as long as I'm with you, okay? All I want to do is protect you, and I would rather die than let anything happen to you. Roman, I love you-"

The Samoan’s heart skipped a beat. Jasmine loved him. His expression softened at her words, his eyes reflecting the love she just declared to him for the very first time. Jasmine's gaze was impassioned as she met his chocolate irises. "I love you," she repeated. Softly. Boldly. Meaning every syllable she uttered. "I love you so much...You're all I have left and I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you."

"And you won't," Roman vowed, "I promise." Slowly, he reached up to rest his palm against her cheek, gazing into her eyes. "You are so beautiful." Dipping his head, he covered her lips with his, kissing her with all the love he possessed inside him. Jasmine returned his kiss ardently, holding him tightly and never wanting to let go of him. When they finally broke apart, Roman put his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, while Jasmine rested her head on his shoulder. "So...what now?" she asked, letting her fingers trace his forearm.

"We're going to lay low for a while, try to regroup." His eyes narrowed as he stared out the window. "There's only one place left that we can do that without being found."

"Where?"

"At a friend of mine's," Roman smiled at Jasmine. "I've been meaning to introduce you two. I think she could make do with some female company."

“Speaking of company…” she gestured towards the window. Some of the surviving assailants had made it to the train station and were actually peeking through the windows in search of the trains. Thinking quickly, Jasmine turned to her boyfriend

“Kiss me again,” she told Roman.

“What?”

“Kiss me. PDAs embarrass people.”

Shrugging at the strange request, he obliged her anyway. Any danger they felt quickly faded away from the moment their mouths came in contact with each other. He sucked on her bottom lip, then he used his tongue to tease her lips to let him in. Roman and Jasmine took it slow, the soft smacking of their lips ramping up the sensual tension. Jasmine had to stop kissing to breathe a little better, her eyes on her man as her teeth grazed her lower lip. Roman had a huge smile on his face.

“Ya know, this is the first time you’ve ever told me you love me,” he informed her, his gaze soft and his voice husky.

Jasmine giggled. “Well, better late than never.” When she went back in and finally allowed her tongue to glide with his, it was a wrap. Roman’s tongue darted in and out, practically fucking her mouth with his tongue and making both of them moan with need for the other. Kissing Roman was in all honesty, one of her most favorite things to do. Every single time his lips molded with hers she was reminded about how soft and tasty they were.

Soon enough, the train began to pull out of the station. The couple was still engrossed in their makeout session. Jasmine’s suggestion was working a treat, as passengers and passers-by avoided them for fear of looking like creeps. Jasmine’s eyes were glassy and a giddy smile lit up her features as Roman broke the kiss temporarily. She was warm all over. It was definitely one of the sexiest kisses they’d ever shared.

“The train’s moving. I think we gave them the slip,” Roman mumbled, raising his head to check.

Jasmine promptly pulled his face back down. “Who cares? Don’t stop,” she breathed.

“So needy,” Roman laughed, more than happy to give her what she wanted.

————-

Who are they off to see? The clue is in the fic, lol.

Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

Please leave comments, I still love comments! ❤

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #targets #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns smut #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns imagines #the bloodline

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deada55 · 7 months

Text

A Night In

for kloktober day 6: comedy or tragedy

synopsis: Dethklok, the #8 economic power in the world and the most decorated all-female death metal band the world could imagine, has a night in.

fun stuff: some slight nickles, less ambiguous skwisface.

tws: lots of puke.

When Pickles sawed off the top half off of the chip bag, she left the greasy silver ring on the countertop.

“Hey, you know those, those uh,”

Hopefully, the res on her fingers wouldn’t have a taste, but she interrupted herself to lick barbeque chip cheetle off of them like she wished it would. She bit underneath her nub-nails to get every last sticky-salty bit.

“Those neck traction things you and Stina keep talkin’ about?”

“The what?” Natalie could barely hear over her own chewing, arms full of freshly-washed celery. Munchies and being on a fitness kick didn’t mix, but it was working out pretty well. Her teeth were like a whale’s, like a striped cornfield of celery strings trapping themselves in her teeth.

“The neck traction sling. Around your head? With the… the door?- Hey, wanna take a shot with me?” Pickles poured two shots of Everclear without waiting for an answer, leaving cloudy streaks on the outside of the bottle. Natalie was always good for it, and Pickles poured without expecting an answer.

“Neck traction thing?” She sucked celery juice back into her mouth through her teeth. Real cute, Nat.

“Yeah. What if we got two of ‘em and you used ‘em like a bra?”

…

“Pickles, that’s fucking brutal. That’s fucking great.”

“Yeah! Like for an album cover?”

“Yeah- Oh my god, I love celery-”

Natalie’s eyes were agate pink and she was put away celery like she worked at Walmart. “Even if it makes my tongue numb.”

“Dude, your what?”

“My tongue hurts when I eat it but it’s so good. Allergy or something.”

“Nat…”

“What?”

Pickles shook her head. Natalie wasn’t the type of person you oughta talk your feelings to, even if they were good. She took things a little far, she was selfish, she was haughty, and Pickles loved being her friend. Even without saying it, Pickles liked to believe Natalie thought the same way. She couldn’t ask, but she could watch them scarf celery in the same sweaty clothes she’d worn at the bar, with stringy hair and mascara raccoon-eyes.

“Here.” She put the glass into Natalie’s hand. “Ready? Three, two, one-” Dink it and sink it, without even a choke.

“Aw, shit, we shoulda tried the arm thing. Where you… you link arms?”

In the other room, Murderface shouted above the sound of The Bachelorette, “Jesus fucking Christ! Trana!” Like it was a recording, there was a response in perfect time, hysterical, mucus-y and loaded with “more” yet to come:

“Stops yellings at m-me!”

“Trana, Trana… sits up, come ons, sits up,” The lilt in Stina’s voice was martini-high and impatient but way better than Wilma’s furious monologue of grievances to no one in particular, describing how Trana was fine one minute and covered in puke the next. Trana leaned over and deposited some more on the floor in front of her. It wasn’t uncommon. The running theory was that Trana just couldn’t hold on to that much liquid at once. Compared to the rest of the band, Trana had a tendency to be messy, but her tolerance was fine compared to any other girl her size.

Pickles and Natalie did some eyebrow lifting until Natalie cracked up. Natalie closed the distance and got all up in Pickles business, speaking low through giggles: “Hey, Pickles. Pickles. What if we go watch The Little Mermaid in your room?”

Natalie swallowed the lingering plant mass in her numb mouth and dropped her shoulders when Trana started to cry and Murderface started telling her to “clean this bullshit up!”

“Shit, we gotta check on her, don’t we?” She’d already stepped towards the sound.

In the living room, Stina was trying to tie up what dry hair Trana had while she was trying to move forward and slump to the floor. “Shh, Trana, stays right here where you are, don’ts move, stops-”

Through sobs and belches, Trana started to mumble, “Ok, I cleans it up, I can dos it, I need…” still spitting up mouthfuls.

Natalie grabbed her from behind by the armpits to scoot her back onto the couch. Luckily, Trana didn’t fight this time. Pickles put a stray trash can in Trana’s hands and rested a hand on her wet forearm, which was a horrible mistake, but taking her hand away wouldn’t make it smell less like Trana-puke. It didn’t scare her: when Natalie moved Trana back, Stina moved back to sit fully on the couch, providing space for Pickles to perch on the coffee table right in front of Trana with her boots sitting in the puddle of pink, wet flakes.

“Hey, don’t worry about it dude, relax... Wilma’s full of shit.”

“I’m what?! Are you seriousch?”

Pickles whipped her head to the side to talk to Wilma directly. “Yeah, I sure am fuckin serious! Dooya really think she can do that right now? Jesus Chriest!”

“Look at this schit!”

“Dood, we pay people to clean it up!”

“Oh, yeah… Wait, not until the morning!”

“And?! Get a fuckin’ towel to cover it like we always do and keep your fuckin’ shoes on!”

“Stops,” said the metal trash can sitting on Trana’s knees. Pickles turned her attention back for a moment to shush her, putting one hand on the trash can to keep it from spilling on her if Trana suddenly stopped holding herself up. Wilma sucked her teeth.

“Sure, sure, I’ll keep my damn shoesthchs on when you shtop talking about my ‘crusty cliffhangersh’-”

“AYE. DOHN’T. DOO. THAT! Get it right! Fuck! Fucking listen to who talks to you, are you deaf?-”

Stina uncrossed her legs and let her hand fall from Trana’s shoulder to her the small of her back, and looked over her shoulder at Wilma, interrupting Pickles.“Look, Murderface, I’m stop talking about yous fucking toes when theys am look normal-”

Trana moaned and heaved up a short splatter. “Aw, sees what they dos to Trana, look at hers!” Stina started to rub her back again until Trana leaned towards her…

Natalie came back into the room like the smell of toast at the start of an aneurysm, and there was an awkward silence save for Trana sighing and coughing until Natalie cleared her throat.

“ ‘Sup?”

She froze up looking at the coffee table with eyes so thickly glazed they may as well have been strawberry-flavored donettes.

“Whats, Natalies?”

“What’s whats? Which whats?”

“I said whats Natalie! You am not makings any sense, ‘ ‘sup, fuckings’...”

“Hey…” Trana interrupted, taking her head out of the trash can. The wet front sections of her hair were stuck to the inside of its metal walls, and she grew fidgety. “I’m… I think I wansts go to bed, please.”

Pickles reached forward towards Trana. “Ahlright, Wilma, can you-”

“Oh fuck no! You can’t just dump her on me this time.”

Pickles could have smacked her, if it wouldn’t send her ice skating in sick. “Jesus fuck, Murderface! Shit! I just wanted to ask you to take the damn trayshcan, that’s all.”

“I’ll help her get inside of hers room. I need to change clothes anyway.” Stina got up and Natalie took her place beside Trana, pulling all of her brown hair back, committing herself to dirty hands. With the trash can placed gently on the ground, Natalie held Trana up with an arm around her back, which seemed to be the only dry part of her. Trana was better on her feet than Natalie expected, and they walked up the stairs together.

To avoid breathing too deeply through her nose, Natalie scratched around in her mind for some small talk. Trana reeked of chunky, pink pineapple juice and cheese. Something wet and bready squished under Natalie’s fingers as she led Trana around by her waist. “Trana, you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“You have to stop drinking like this. At least give us a fucking warning, ok? We-”

“Natalies, I fucked up with the wines, ok? I knows what I’m doins-”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah seriouslies! Only serious, total confidensk, I’m, I’m so smart Natalies, you have nos ideas how much. You…”

“Trana, you are smart, ok?”

“Yeah, I ams! I’ve.. am so smart!”

“Pick up your feet.”

…

Stina didn’t want to hang around Trana’s mess and went off to her room, followed by Murderface. Higher than the motherfucking night sky, Pickles kept watching the Bachelorette from the floor in front of the coffee table.

“Stina, is it really that bad?”

“What’s really that bads?” She always looked phenomenal, laid up in an old bra and a pair of plaid cotton pajama shorts. She changed just in case any lingering traces of Trana were stuck to her. Wilma struggled to keep her eyes up in Stina’s hair. They kept falling into the gap of Stina’s cup and thinking about how warm her breasts might be…

It made the topic at-hand more embarrassing, but she’d think about it for weeks if she didn’t bring it up. Fuck, she’d probably obsess about whatever Stina said anyway. Trana was always kissing Stina’s feet, but Wilma definitely was a victim to the appeal.

“Uh, my toes.”

Stina moved the guitar off her lap and looked off towards the corner of her throw.

“No, it amns’t horrible. You just need diffterent sandals.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what’s ams cliffhangers. When your toes am over the fronts.”

“You’re just jealous since you rolled your ankle-”

“Ams no one jealous of fuckings… platform flip flops. Eugh.”

Wilma laid on the foot of the bed on her back, flipping through the contacts on her dethphone while Stina practiced until she noticed the sound getting less crisp and less regular… Stina’s head drifted back before her fingers stopped moving, and she fell asleep with her mouth open.

Wilma slid off the bed slowly, but not softly enough to keep Stina from snapping back to life and twitching her fingers over the strings again. “Where yous going?”

“To bed.” Wilma’s chest got as tight as a shrunk grow-a-dino sponge with a sudden awareness of the size and shape of her shadow across Stina’s bedroom floor.

“-If you wants to. You can stays here, too.”

Wilma laid down where Stina patted the bed, closer than she expected. She slept alongside her, fluttering with validation and buzzing with fantasy.

#kloktober2023 #nickles #skwisface #metalocalypse fanfic #metalocalypse #mtl fanfic #mtl #ladyklok

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random-mha-thoughts · 2 years

Text

Burn (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: You've been going through a personal situation with someone, Bakugou makes a suggestion to help you feel better about it.

Word Count: 1978

Warnings: Broken relationships, burning things, DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME WITHOUT PROPER SAFETY PRECAUTIONS

Tags: @theyenvymarleyyy @yamichxn @liviitehe

A/N: So... I'm back with another story... I've been going through some stuff since winter and this was the best way I could vent some of my feelings out, so just let me have this please. I wrote it in like January and stepped away from it for months so I could edit it without being in that same emotional mindset, so I hope you guys enjoy it still!

"Babe, what are you doing?"

I hear his shuffling footsteps behind me as I'm rolling a small lump of dough in my hands. For a moment, I wince because I already know I'm going to get a lecture and Bakugo likes to get his full 9 hours of sleep like a responsible person. But I don't look at him, instead choosing to concentrate on getting just the right amount of dough into my hands. "I'm baking cookies," I answer simply.

He groans. "It's 4 in the morning, why the HELL are you baking cookies?"

I hesitate placing the balled dough on my kitchen scale for a beat before returning to my rhythm. There are so many ways to answer that question, many of them would worry him. Hell, they worry me. So many answers that would require an unraveling of complex emotions that I'd rather not think about, nor would I prefer to visit right now because I don't feel like crying in the middle of the kitchen at this time of night. But at the same time, the fact that I am making cookies at a nocturnal time is cause for worry.

It means it's getting bad. Again.

I sigh, plopping the neatly rolled up ball onto the baking sheet next to me. "Because I've lost control of my life." That's not a bad way to start, I guess.

Bakugou groans again - I can already see his head thrown back exasperatedly even with my back to him - and he approaches my workstation. His annoyed gaze darts between the bowl of cookie dough, the parchment paper lined kitchen scale, and the baking sheet. He studies me, crimson eyes narrowed in light disappointment. I don't even laugh nervously as I usually would. He sighs and turns to wash his hands. I continue portioning the dough out carefully, Bakugou taking his place next to me and helping me.

We work in silence. I know he's less than enthused about being woken up in the middle of his beauty sleep to do something like baking, but I'm pleased that he doesn't ask questions (yet).

Once the cookies are in the oven baking, we set the timer and Bakugou slides them in the oven before turning to me arms crossed. "So, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

Standing across from him, I needed to hold onto the cool countertop for support. I've been wondering how to tell him for a while. This argument I had with someone else had nothing to do with him, but he's the closest person to me. He deserves to know at least what's going on, I just didn't know how much I should tell him. There was a chance he'd think differently of me, knowing I have some ugly thoughts.

"Come on." His tone softens. "For the past few weeks, you've been more quiet, less talkative, you're spacing out more, you're doing some weird new things," he motions to the dirty dishes on the counter, "And Sundays are your designated going-out days but you've been skipping them. What's going on?"

I look down at the floor. "I've... just had a lot on my mind lately." It's not a complete lie.

"Obviously, it's something you're not telling me. I know you're not being totally honest. Spit it out."

The line about being honest triggers a wave of memories, sending a wave of melancholy chaos so brutal I slide down to the cold floor to stabilize myself, curling up into a ball. A fresh wave of sobs threatens to come out as I cover my mouth.

"W-Oh sh- Babe, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's fine," I manage out shakily, my voice already higher and cracking. "I needed to tell you sometime and I've been neglecting you, I'm sorry." I motion for him to sit next to me, swallowing the rock in my throat.

I tell him everything. Every detail of my slow burn argument that lasted almost a whole week, starting from inciting events weeks ago to the climactic end last week. All my regrets, my mistakes, my anger, my insults, my self-doubt, my regrets, all the unspoken words I've kept to myself. Everything rushed out of me to the point where I was sobbing and shaking, Bakugou cradling me in his arms. I thought I would've been able to handle it, pushing it down for me to handle and process later, but later never came because I was trying to delay facing them. My fear of showing him the innermost darkest and broken parts of me that I thought would push him away. I realize I'm more of a mess than I thought I was; I let it build up by myself until I became a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor.

Katsuki stays silent, running his warm hands up and down my back and listening to everything I had to say, even if they weren't exactly coherent from the sobs.

"I knew something was wrong when you suddenly stopped going out and never told me anything." He pauses thoughtfully. "It must be hard to deal with mean thoughts since you're the nicest person I've met, but having them every once in a while doesn't suddenly make you a villain or something. They just come from feeling something, it's just human nature." He pulls back to look at me and wipe the tear trails off my face. "I still love you. I'm here for you, I won't leave just because you want to insult someone who hurt you. I think it's pretty hot, actually."

I manage a giggle, another tear falling. "Of course you would think that."

He wipes it away with the pad of his finger and smiles at me. "You're my superhero. I'm sorry you're feeling this way. I'll do anything I can to help you through this, if you'll let me. I know how hard it was to tell me."

I huddle against his chest, sitting between his legs to catch as much warmth as I can by hugging his arm over me. "You know, I didn't want to think about my feelings for so long. I wanted to ignore them as much as I could because I thought they were bad. I thought ignoring them meant being able to move on. I ran away from them until I was baking cookies at 4 am just to distract myself. I just... want to face them and be done with them."

"So burn 'em."

I stop tracing the back of his hand. "What?"

"Burn them. Y'know, like how spies burn important documents that they don't want other people finding."

I stare at him blankly. "What are you trying to say?"

Katsuki sighs. "You're the kind of person who needs to get things off your chest or it'll eat you alive. I know you still have a lot to say that you can't tell me, so just write what you feel. No sugarcoating. Exactly how you want to say them. And then, once it's out of your system," he snaps his fingers and creates a mini explosion for effect, "Burn it. No one else has to know."

The idea sounds perfect. I can be completely honest to myself, no matter how childish or insulting I will probably sound. And maybe some of my anger will be quelled by some form of destruction, I guess.

"You're doing the burning though, since you're so used to it."

A week later, Katsuki and I stood outside in our concrete backyard in the dark night. There was no wind to bother the fire or make a sound. I huddle close to him, looking at the inked looseleaf in my hand.

The night I wrote these words, I was angry and vulnerable. Hesitant to start at first, I could stop myself after the first sentence. My thoughts barely echoed in my mind as they were reproduced on paper. The experience was in a limbo between autopilot robotic reproduction and furious out-of-body possession. The only thing I vaguely remember is how rhythmic the words flowed out of me and the red-tinted vision of me screaming them out into an abyss without consequence. I couldn't even recall anything I'd written, despite the same insults dangling behind my tongue for days. I felt lighter, freed, but afraid of what I might've said. I tucked the paper away without reading it for days.

It wasn't until a few hours earlier that I decided to revisit them. The person's voice was furious, almost like they were never allowed to speak before, but now they had free reign. This person was a prisoner standing on their field to be executed and desperate to have their last words heard before they croaked. Honestly, I would've been repulsed, only pitying them for their terrible decisions and upbringing that led them here. But these were mine. I'm the villain who had to take accountability.

I wish I could say I didn't mean them, but I wrote them, my intent is obvious. At least I can say I'm not proud of them. I said what I needed to say, now no one needs to see them. I'm going to let that side of me go.

Katsuki takes the paper from my hand. "Not gonna lie, this would be the first time I've intentionally set fire to something."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're telling me you've never tried to set fire to something before?"

He opens his mouth to object, but then closes it. "Okay, stupid drunk things don't count, I was under the influence." He takes a breath. "You ready?"

I nod, bracing myself.

The bottom of the paper erupts into a single brilliant flame, sending my heart into a frenzy at my instant danger reflex. My body tenses being this close to fire, but I relax as I focus on the bigger, beautiful picture. A weak halo surrounding us and illuminating the pavement, the spotless paper being consumed quickly, the flames ascending up and leaving charr in its place, the gradient of a blue base bleeding into blinding yellow and white outlined by an orange border. I watch as my messily scrawled words disappear like a dark curtain sweeping across it, rendering it useless as only the smell of smoke and ash take its place.

I embrace his free arm. Words wouldn't be enough to describe how grateful I am for him standing by me this entire time, supporting me, being available for me to open up to him, being my safe space, witnessing this with me.

The timeless moment bitterly ends as the last of the paper chars to black, the flame fizzling out into blue until only dark grey smoke remains in the darkness. I follow the trail up into the night sky as if hoping to catch a glimpse of my words flying away.

"You okay babe?" Katsuki whispers, not wanting to disturb the stillness.

I let my body relax. My chest feels strangely lighter but filled with a newfound relief. Is this what spiritual cleansing feels like? The darkness around me is almost dreamlike. "Yeah," I breathe, allowing myself a moment to come back down. "I feel much better."

"And now you understand the joy of setting things on fire." I can hear his smirk.

The punch I want to land on his face turns into a light tap on his arm as I snuggle closer to him. "Thank you for this."

Katsuki plants a kiss on top of my forehead and his arm engulfs around me. "It's the least I can do to help."

As we finally drag ourselves inside, I imagine the paper that's just burned in front of me, the inked words on it already forgotten. I'm satisfied with letting them go, knowing they can't hurt anyone else and I wasn't attached to them enough to be sad.

Whatever I wrote will be a secret even I don't know and what I set free.

#bakugou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou angst #hurt/comfort #gender neutral reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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gatzilksis-2 · 2 years

Text

The Unbreakable Smell Spell, Pt. 5

Part 5: Another

(Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4)

"Are you excited?" The Brad shoved a pile of clothes into his favorite green gym bag.

Danny packed, too, though far more organized. His stuff was actually folded. Danny stared at the clothes; he'd almost gotten sick on laundry day. He had carried a sweaty pair of Brad briefs with him to combat the "good" smells of detergent and fabric softener. "No."

Danny gave a short answer so as not to piss Brad off. The giant man zipped his bag shut and stepped backwards to Danny. He pressed his big ass in shorts to Danny's back. PHWRRRR-BRRRRT!

Numerous farts already hung in the air, and this one was added to it. It left a warm spot on Danny's back. The student couldn't help breathing it in; it was so much better than his clean clothes. "Do we have to go to my place?"

"You're the one who said your mom would kill you for missing Thanksgiving dinner." Brad turned Danny's head towards him and leaned close to belch. It smelled like old food and meat, but Danny let the stench in.

"She would, but how am I supposed to eat normally around them?' Danny zipped his suitcase and sat beside it. "Obviously, the food is gonna smell horrible, and--"

"And we'll be right there to keep your air bad." Brad turned his ass to Danny again. BWRRRRrrrrrr-PRRRrrrrr!

Danny whiffed it. He hated it was getting to be a habit. He forgot how gross it was supposed to be. It was all he needed; the world had too many fragrances for his liking. The only thing that could keep him from them was the Brad.

"You said we..." Danny had barely noticed the change in pronoun. The smell around him was the one he needed most, the horrific nightmarish odor of beef and eggs and death churned out by the digestion of a mischievous near-giant.

"Oh, did I not tell you?" The Brad turned with his usual dark smirk. Sweat glistened on his face. "I extended the smell to another dude."

Danny gasped, the fart gas and natural body odor in the room entering his mouth. "You cast the spell on another guy like me?"

"No." Brad's smile widened. He was so proud of himself at whatever he'd done. "I widened the spell so there's someone else you can smell."

"What?" Danny had heard his roommate perfectly fine, but he didn't want to sniff another guy, too. One gross alpha-male was more than enough to be forced to sniff. "Who?"

"That's a surprise." Brad bent over in front of him. A used dryer sheet was thrown into Danny's face. The smaller boy swatted his hand to get it away from him.

The lavender left its mark in the air. Danny leaned closer to Brad's ass. He sniffed the jock's musky ass, remnants of past blasts of flatulence around it.

Brad chuckled. BWRRRRP! PHLRRRRrrrr...

It descended into silence. Danny took deep breaths of the putrid air. The lavender smell was gone right away, but Danny continued to sniff between the two big ass cheeks. He pulled his head away and blushed.

Brad jiggled his ass in the same spot. He smiled over one buff shoulder. "You seemed a little eager for that one."

Danny didn't argue. There was no point. If he did, it would only end up in more brutal farts. They might smell better than anything else right now, but Danny was far from actually liking them.

The two young men took their bags down and out of their dorm building. A stretch of sidewalk led to the student parking lot. The university was quiet, most people already having returned home for the break.

A tan, blond man almost the height of Brad leaned against a gray car. He was bulkier and his eyes were wider and green instead of blue. Danny had seen this guy in passing, but he didn't know who he was.

He looked like he could rip some nasty farts, and Danny realized that was the point.

"Sniffle, this is our companion and your new fragrance, James." Brad presented James as if he was a new car on a game show. He clapped a hand on James's shoulder as they both chuckled the laugh of meatheads.

Danny wanted to run. He could get a bus or hitchhike his way home for Thanksgiving.

It wouldn't work. Even if Danny could get away, he would inevitably become exposed to the smells the word labeled as good. He would get sick to the point of possible death without Brad (or apparently James now). For now, riding with these men was Danny's only option.

"Can we test it?" James asked eagerly. He pushed himself off the driver's door, green eyes appraising Danny's small form. "I can't believe it's real until we do."

"Okay." Brad leaned past Danny to open one of the back doors. He leaned close to the small man's face with a demanding stare. "Get in, Sniffy."

Danny sat down in the car. Brad shut the door behind him like a limo driver. Danny took a breath, and his stomach immediately started rolling. James's car smelled purely like new car.

Danny had once loved the smell, but definitely not now. It smelled too clean, too fresh for him to accept. He leaned between the front seats, trying desperately to reach the driver's seat and pick up the James farts pushed into it.

The back door he'd entered through opened again. Danny leaned back. A tan hand caught his shirt and forced him against the seat. Danny was about to be sick, the new car smell too potent even with an opened door.

The tan shorts of James appeared over his head. BWORP-BWRrrrrrrRRRR-RRRR!

Danny was relieved almost instantaneously. James's farts smelled different than Brad's. The Brad took the award for smelliest, but James's gas was more sickly, warmer and a little spicy. The blast was long and powerful enough to save Danny from the new car scent.

James stood outside the back door. He turned to laugh at Danny, just as the victim was taking an elongated sniff. "Oh my god! The Brad was right! This spell is real."

"No shit." Danny sat up to catch his breath. The "good" smell was starting to come back a little. "Can we go?"

"Aw, he loves it." Brad laughed and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and flopped onto the front seat. "If you're that eager for the rolling Dutch oven..."

The driver's side door opened for James. "Ironically, I have to get gas first."

James settled into his seat and started the engine. Danny felt sick, not from new car but from the necessity of smelling farts. He needed them, and he hated it.

Brad swiveled in his seat with a new smirk. "Hey, don't you like the smell of gasoline?"

Danny sighed. "I used to..."

#eproctophilia #farts #eprocto #fart kink #gatzilksis #flatulence #fart fiction #fart stories #male fart fiction #male fart stories

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andormeddows · 2 years

Text

FEAR AND LOATHING . BILLY HARGROVE

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader.

Summary: The one where you face the consequences of watching Billy being hurt by his father.

Word count: 3437.

Notes: This is a sequel to Respect and Responsibility. I hope you enjoy! Keep in mind that English is not my first language. Sorry in advance for any mistakes.

Warnings: Shameless angst, underage smoking, cursing, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood.

Masterlist is here! The sequel, Miscommunication and Misunderstanding, is here!

PLEASE, CONSIDER REBLOGGING THIS AND/OR GIVING ME FEEDBACK, I WOULD APPRECIATE IT A LOT!

Eddie Munson knocked on your door.

“I’m ready!”

You wrenched the door open and descended the trailer steps. The air was cold, the sky was blue – a faint shade of blue – the grass was damp, and the sun was hidden behind the forest trees. Except for birds chirping in the forest and a radio playing nearby, your surroundings were eerily quiet.

“How are you? How was your weekend?”

“Oh,” you shrugged, but your mind was flooded with unpleasant memories. “Yeah, alright,” you vaguely answered as your eyes avoided his. “How’bout yours?”

“Yeah, alright,” he shrugged. “We finished another D&D campaign yesterday.”

“Oh, how was it?”

“We were… All brutally killed!” Eddie suddenly jumped in front of you as a fake menacing expression molded his features. His voice echoed in the trailer park.

“Eddie!” You laughed at the exaggeration and pushed him to the side to open the passenger door of his van.

Once inside, he started the engine. “Choose our soundtrack of the day.”

“Do you have anything in mind? You know I like the Iron Maiden ones you presented me,” you mused as you opened the glove compartment above your legs and blindly grasped two cassette tapes. “Here we have… Dio and Deep Purple. Deep Purple is a cool name for a band.”

“Oh, is it Burn? My uncle gave it to me! Shall we listen to it?” Eddie extended his right hand to you, and you placed the cassette tape on it.

Eddie pushed it in the slot and the first song blasted through the speakers. He drove off. The van windows were open, and the wind caressed your skin as Eddie happily sang the lyrics of the song. Routine. Every morning had been essentially the same since you moved to Forest Hill Trailer Park and Wayne Munson offered a ride to school on Eddie’s behalf when you randomly met at the supermarket on a Saturday afternoon. Why would you refuse when the walk to the nearest bus stop lasted, at least, twenty minutes? You needed twenty more minutes in bed. For sure.

When Eddie parked the van in Hawkins High School, you hopped off it and thanked him for the ride. He stayed behind to wait for one of his friends. You pushed the double door open and entered the main corridor. Your fingers involuntarily tightened around the shoulder strap of your shabby bag, and you gulped. You had had no contact with the blonde-haired boy since the ride from his house to yours and there was no clue about how your secret meeting of the day behind the gymnasium would play out. Would he even show up? Or would he ignore your existence now that you possessed ugly details about his private life?

“Aren’t you tired of being a loser, Harrington?” Tommy Hagan’s laughter echoed in the crowded corridor.

A few heads turned in his direction, including yours. Steve Harrington had been surrounded by Tommy and two friends, who stupidly sniggered at Tommy’s words as he reached for Steve’s right arm to pitifully squeeze it. Slowly approaching the scene in the corridor, your eyes registered Steve’s beaten-up features, and your eyebrows involuntarily contorted in a disgusted frown. His face bore different shades of purple-green ecchymosis; his right eye was slightly swollen; and his forehead, his nose and his chin bore cuts.

Steve impatiently shoved Tommy’s hand away. “Fuck off.”

“What?” Tommy intently glared at and menacingly stepped closer to the brown-haired boy. The scene was rather comic, since Tommy was slightly shorter than Steve, and, well, based solely on his height, Tommy wasn’t menacing at all.

“Fuck off,” Steve repeated in an evidently annoyed tone.

Someone lightly touched your arms from behind, and you stopped walking to turn to the person responsible for the gesture. Chrissy sweetly smiled at you. “How are you?”

“Yeah, alright,” you promptly lied as you swiftly hugged her.

“Yesterday, on the phone–”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for bothering you. I shouldn’t have. My parents… They were fighting again, and I was upset.”

Truth be told, you had called Chrissy to ease your mind from the torturing loop it had been trapped in since watching Billy Hargrove being hurt by his father. It was brutal. It was gross. It was humiliating. It was terrifying. And the memory of it was consuming you. The blonde-haired boy had threatened to somehow hurt you if you didn’t stay quiet, but, honestly, how could you? Never in your life had you experienced such violence. Not at home. Not in school. Surely, people in school engaged in fights every now and then, but you were never part of the crowd, you were never trapped in them, and, surely, you were never an aim. Until last Saturday night, when Neil Hargrove shouted not only at his son, but at you.

Chrissy nodded and caressed your arms. You knew she wasn’t entirely convinced. Fights between your parents eventually happened, but they had never hurt you to the extent of calling Chrissy desperately sobbing against the telephone handset. She knew something had happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it. Yet. “You can count on me. You know that.”

“Yeah, thank you, Chrissy,” you faintly smiled, and your throat uncomfortably tightened to suppress the urge to cry.

“Hagan and Harrington?” A new voice chanted in the crowded corridor. Eddie Munson wildly smiled at the scene before him as he crossed the corridor with one of his friends. “That’s new. That’s new, everyone!”

“Oh, shut up, freak!” Tommy bellowed at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be commanding that fucking stupid club?”

“Whoa! D’you kiss your mother with that mouth? Show some respect!” Eddie provoked. “The Hellfire Club doesn’t support this language! Maybe you should join us to learn some manners. We have exclusive shirts!”

“Jesus Christ, Munson! Fuck off!”

A devilish smile contorted Eddie’s features and he gave Tommy the finger before disappearing in the crowded corridor.

“Well,” Chrissy squeezed your hands, and you turned your head to her. “Are you feeling good enough to come to practice later? I can cover for you if you need.”

“No, don’t worry. I brought the uniform.”

“I’ll see you later, then, yeah?” Chrissy sympathetically answered and swiftly disappeared in the wave of students arriving at Hawkins High School.

You intended to follow Chrissy and go to your first period classroom, but Billy Hargrove’s voice echoed behind your figure in the crowded corridor. Your heart suddenly dropped to your stomach, and your feet stayed rooted to the floor. “Oi, Harrington! What a mess!”

Not only did Tommy and his friends laugh at those words, but also some students entertaining themselves watching the scene. He lightly squeezed Steve’s shoulder and sympathetically eyed him. “Geez, are you okay, dude? Who did this to you? Do you want me to go after them?”

Steve glared at Billy. Everyone quickly quietened. Students rushed by, but, startled by the silence, chanced a glance at the commotion. Then, Steve suddenly snapped and violently pushed Billy away. The tense silence was swiftly replaced by the loud thud of Steve being violently pushed against the lockers. Billy’s hands tightly gripped the lapel of Steve’s jacket. You blinked. Neil and Billy were in front of you, and you were laying in bed. You blinked again. Billy and Steve were in front of you, and you were standing in the middle of the corridor.

You might vomit.

“You never fucking learn,” Billy spat through gritted teeth. His features bore a disgusted frown, and his neck, a bright shade of red. “Did that dish shattered on your head melt your brain? Do you want to fight me again, King Harrington?”

Steve remained silent. A discreet smile had curved the edges of the blonde-haired boy’s lips, and an intent glare studied Steve.

“I was being reasonable until now, but I see you prefer to be humiliated,” Billy provoked. “You like to be stepped on. You feel useful. You feel seen. You feel pitied.”

Again, Steve remained silent, and, at the lack of a response, Billy audibly laughed. Everyone waited in anticipation for something to happen. Billy precisely knew how to destabilize his enemies. He had had the best coach. For years. And, now, he was eager to use his knowledge as well as his muscles. Because he knew he would win. Every time. Or, at least, for as long as he remained in the Hawkins High School throne.

“Is that how you get to fuck these bitches? Is that how you got to fuck Wheeler?”

Steve punched Billy in the face, and the students hurriedly stepped away from the boys while gasping and pushing each other. Tommy Hagan loudly laughed and cheered for Billy, who snorted at Steve and touched his right cheekbone, which was brightly red because of the punch.

“Here we go again, King Harrington!” Billy pushed Steve against the lockers and used the temporary disorientation caused by the impact in his advance to punch Steve in the stomach with no resistance from the latter, who groaned and hunched forwards. “Shall we continue? Or are you still recovering from Saturday?”

Steve gasped for air, and someone violently pushed you from the spot on the floor your feet had been rooted to. You tumbled sidewards and confusedly searched for the source of the push. Your eyes registered a dirty-blonde hair, a brown jacket and, then, a slender figure stepping into the fight. Jonathan Byers shoved Billy away from Steve, and Tommy promptly glared at Jonathan to warn him Billy had backup. Then, another slender figure followed Jonathan. Nancy Wheeler. You recognized her styled hair. She rushed straight towards Steve.

“Leave him alone, Hargrove,” Jonathan Byers firmly threatened.

Billy, defiantly smiling, slowly licked his lips and intently studied Jonathan’s figure, then Nancy’s. “Wheeler! Oh, thank God your girlfriend and her friend are here to rescue you, King Harrington!”

Nancy had pulled Steve from the hunched position, and he painfully painted. His left arm was propped on Nancy’s shoulders, and his right arm rested on his belly. Nancy delicately touched Steve’s face, but he immediately flinched. Her lips moved, but it was impossible to listen to her. Billy intended to step towards Steve, but Jonathan interrupted him by punching him in the nose, which left Billy swiftly disorientated. He hated the sensation, it reminded him of his father. Blood had started to ooze from his nostrils. “Oh, Byers. This is dirty.”

Jonathan intended to punch Billy again, but the blonde-haired boy managed to hold his fist and push Jonathan away from Steve. Jonathan stumbled and bumped against a few students before crashing on the floor.

“Jonathan!” Nancy desperately exclaimed and shot her right arm in his direction.

Billy defiantly smiled at Nancy as he stepped towards Jonathan to fist his jacket and turn his body upwards. They briefly faced each other before Billy punched him in the nose as payback. Jonathan groaned loudly as his shoulders, followed by his head, hit the floor. Then, Billy stepped towards Steve.

Nancy rapidly stood between Billy and Steve and sternly glared at the blonde-haired boy. “Leave them alone.”

Her voice tone was intimidating for someone who was so thin and, therefore, seemed so fragile. Jonathan had pushed himself halfway up from the floor, slightly panting because of the harsh impact against it. Billy fisted Steve’s hair and pulled his head up to mouth against his right ear. “Another time.”

Then, the most terrifying thing happened. Billy spotted you amongst the crowd. He stared at your figure and licked his lips. You distinguished blood staining his teeth. Once again, your feet stayed rooted to the floor. His fingers involuntarily traveled to his nostrils and carelessly wiped the blood that had oozed from them. Then, he swiftly walked past you, and the only evidence left of him was his cologne floating in the air.

You sighed and blinked. Your heart thumped loudly, and your hands sweated abundantly. You felt hot. Your surroundings moved in slow motion, and you might vomit. The ringing of the bell echoed in the corridors and reached your ears, but your mind refused to process the sound, so you remained paralyzed until someone bumped into your left shoulder. Your engines jolted back to life, and you ran to the nearest bathroom.

The first two bathroom stalls were occupied, so you locked yourself in the third one as you desperately suppressed a sob. You were scared of Billy. You were sad for Billy. And you were sorry for Billy. You had unwantedly dipped a toe into his life – well, in fact, you had unwantedly dived into his life –, and, now, you had no clue about what to do with the ugly details that had unfolded before your eyes. To make matters worse, you were navigating a turbulent sea, his turbulent sea, alone since he, himself, openly refused to talk about the situation by promptly shutting you up when you intended to apologize for it. Billy felt embarrassed about it. About his father, about his mother, about his family, about himself. About the abuse he constantly endured. God, he had threatened to somehow hurt you if you didn’t stay quiet. He certainly had no intention of revealing his private life to anyone. Not in the way it was revealed to you anyway.

And, uh, there you were, constantly sobbing for him. Because he was silently drowning. Because no one had offered him a hand. Because kindness was a distant childhood memory. You rested your forehead against the stall door and shakily sighed. Then, you closed your eyes. Your throat painfully burnt, and you swallowed saliva in an attempt to ease the uncomfortable feeling. Someone flushed the toilet and unlocked the stall door. Your mind accompanied the steps from the stall to the sink and the water running. When the bathroom door closed, your surroundings were silent again, and a sob echoed around the room. You immediately pressed your hand over your mouth, but it wasn’t enough to suppress the strangled cry produced by your throat. In a matter of seconds, tears had filled your eyes, and you were copiously crying.

The other person flushed the toilet, and you felt utterly embarrassed about them hearing you, but they left the bathroom without uttering a word. You slowly sat on the toilet lid and rested your face on your hands. The last sobs echoed in the empty bathroom. Your muscles maintained your body in the same position until the last one had rolled from your lips. Then, your fingers traveled to your eyes and rubbed them.

When you unlocked the stall door and approached the sink, you stared at the reflection of your figure in the mirror. Ugh. You washed your face, checked your clock, and, since you were considerably late, you definitely had no intention to enter the first period classroom and catch everyone’s attention, no; so, you left the bathroom to wander through the empty corridors to the second period classroom, but you were interrupted by Ms. Kelley, the guidance counselor, who carried an empty water bottle. Damn you and your bad timing.

“Oh, dear, good morning,” she kindly smiled at you, but you noticed her eyes intently studying your features. You had never talked to Ms. Kelley and definitely had no intention to, so you timidly smiled at her and discreetly quickened your pace. “How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, good. I missed the alarm clock this morning and lost my ride,” you turned to her and, walking backwards, promptly lied as your throat, again, uncomfortably tightened to suppress the urge to cry.

“Alright, off you go.”

You nodded and turned from her. Once you reached the corner of the corridor, her voice reached your ears again.

“My door is always open, yeah?”

You nodded again and disappeared behind the corner of the corridor.

The offer rang inside your mind for the rest of the day. An escape. Ms. Kelley was trustable, right? Chrissy had told you she had no permission to talk about the matters brought to her, so it would be safe to tell her what had been haunting you, right?

“Hey, how are you?” Chrissy quietly approached you after the cheerleading practice as the other girls were waving one another goodbye and leaving the gymnasium to take a shower or go home.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I feel better.”

And you indeed felt better after the usual rush of adrenaline stirring inside your vessels. You had no need to lie for once. You gathered your towels, bottles, and clothes from the bench in silence. Your heart had been thumping in anxiety since the final minutes of practice, and you suddenly felt cold. The palms of your hands had become sweaty. The time had come.

You left the gymnasium together, but, as always, parted ways since you usually took a shower – uh, bullshit, you usually met Billy Hargrove behind the gymnasium – and Chrissy usually went home.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you muttered as you slid your arms inside the white Hawkins High School zip-up hoodie.

“Call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, and, once she had disappeared in the corridor, you turned from the locker room and ran to the nearest gymnasium exit. Your fast pace carried your body to the back of the gymnasium in mere seconds. Blood thumped in your ears.

There he was. Leaning against the wall.

At the sight of you, he smashed the cigarette he had been anxiously smoking under his boot and nearly sighed in relief. You hesitantly approached him. You had anticipated the moment and imagined countless dialogues, but, now, your mind was completely blank. You had no clue about what to say, and, for a millisecond, you needn’t worry as he firmly kissed your lips, which thankfully dismissed any effort from you to talk, while his hands eagerly touched your waist and he lightly pushed you against the wall.

His lips fiercely worked against yours, and your hands nervously rested on the junction between his neck and his shoulders and involuntarily squeezed his skin as your mind desperately searched for words. You felt anxious and it showed.

“What’s wrong? Why are you trembling?” Billy confusedly asked, but he immediately regretted voicing his concern because a hint of anxiety stained his voice. His mind was highly alert to changes in your behavior and your trembling body was a red flag.

You licked your lips and forced yourself to smile. “I’m cold. ‘S all.”

Your hands framed his face, and you kissed him. He gladly welcomed the gesture and fervently reciprocated it. The more you kissed, the less you talked. His hands harshly squeezed your waist before descending to your butt. He unconsciously set a fast pace to the kiss, and, when he noticed he had pressed his body against yours, he panickily refused the contact by discreetly pulling his body away from yours and maintaining them an inch apart. He desperately hoped you would ignore his heart thumping against his ribcage.

Then, you suddenly hugged Billy. For a millisecond, he remained paralyzed in your arms. His mind had short-circuited. The silence was tense, and you desperately waited for him to reciprocate the gesture, but his body violently refused it. He jerked away from your embrace and, as soon as your mind processed the movement, tears filled your eyes. He glared at you. There. The menacing aura, the explosive behavior, the intense anger.

“Billy…”

He angrily frowned, perhaps annoyed that you talked, and slowly backed away from you as blood thumped in his ears. In that moment, he loathed himself and feared you. He loathed himself for being weak and allowing his father to humiliate him in your presence. He feared you for possessing ugly details about his private life. And he feared you to the bone because he had no control over what you did with them whatsoever. And you had chosen to pity him. And that was new to him.

You silently pleaded for him to stay, but he shook his head. Maybe in anger, maybe in disbelief, maybe in disappointment. Maybe in confusion. The movement was quick, almost imperceptible, and he stormed towards his car. He rounded one of the corners of the gymnasium, and you ran after him.

“Billy!”

“Stay away from me,” he abruptly turned to you and menacingly warned through gritted teeth.

You might vomit your heart. You observed him with a pained expression. He reached his car, wrenched the door open, climbed behind the wheel, shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine. Then, he recklessly accelerated the Chevrolet Camaro through the road.

The sequel, Miscommunication and Misunderstanding, is here!

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #nat writes

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aphroditestempleimagines · 2 years

Text

The Obsidianite Jewel

A reader x Chevalier Michel fanfiction

Chapter 4 >> Chapters Masterlist

Warnings: 16+ ☆ Kissing, Violence, Blood, language

Summary: It all started when your fiancé, Prince Gilbert, brought you to the palace of Rhodolite. He hoped he would find the secrets of the princes. Instead, he lost your heart to the brutal beast.

Knock knock knock

Three soft pats on the door pulled you away from your thoughts. You didn't have enough time to respond before the door opened slightly to let Gilbert inside. His long black cape draped over his left shoulder to the floor, his embroidered jacket peaking under it. He used his polished cane to walk towards you as you sat at your vanity, each step he took exhuming an unmatched elegance.

"How are you this evening my dear?", his silky voice caressed your ears as he combed back your hair, "Are you ready for the ball?"

You could see his expression in the mirror before you. He was smiling, brimming with confidence and plans you knew nothing about. But his touch was sweet and careful as he raised your chin enough to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

"All that's left is to pin my hair up", you said lifting a few strands. Gilbert caught your hand in his and delicately kissed your fingers.

"Don't", he said tracing your bare shoulder with his gloved hand, "This is a nice dress, let them spray down your shoulders like a waterfall"

You craned his head closer after he leaned to place another kiss on your neck. Then, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body against his as he rested his chin on your shoulder. You looked at each other through the glass of the mirror.

"We're gonna make lots of friends tonight, my dear", he leaned his head a little so that it touched yours, "This ball is to strengthen relationships after all"

He coloured the "strengthen relationships" part a little too much for it to be sincere. Not that many things he said with a smile were. He lifted his hand to brush your cheek, his red eye fixed on your expression as he did.

"I'll be a tad late tonight my darling, so be good and careful for me"

"Why?", you frowned not so much because you cared but because you knew his answer.

"If I tell you, my dear, I'll have to kill you", his smile never wavered.

You let out a sigh before nodding. There was nothing else to do. You could help him if you wanted to, if you cared to. But so long as he kept you at this distance you could never even think of aiding him in whatever scheme he cooked. You stood, pushing him away with a caring smile so he would not be misled. You were still betrothed after all. You chose a headpiece adorned with flowers made of sapphires. The chain dripped elegantly over your locks. You saw him smile in pride at your reflections. As you began however to walk towards the door his hand halted you, spinning you around to face him.

"Gilbert?", you asked, his hand cupping your cheek, "What is it?"

He lifted your chin so that your gazes met. His expression was serious now, much more than you had ever seen him. It was not threatening by itself, but seeing the smile disappear from his handsome face spread a dread equal to seeing dark clouds on the horizon of the open ocean.

"I'm not a trustworthy person", he said as if it was a mere fact to him, "But if you trust anything about me trust this: I'll never do anything to hurt you"

"Gilbert?", you frowned but his eyes had already drifted away.

He combed your hair to spray over your shoulder, covering it up a little. He seemed utterly focused on that task before waving his head as if waking up from a trance and giving you another smile.

"Have fun", he said at last, "And make Obsidian shine. Even a hundredth of your own radiance would be enough for it"

Unwillingly, you left him behind as he urged you towards the main corridor. You saw him disappear in the lower staircase as you looked over your shoulder.

"Ow!", the voice startled you more than the slight pain of your body bumping onto another. You looked ahead and you saw a young man dressed in pink, his strawberry blonde hair flowing over his eyes as he leaned to massage his foot.

"Don't you look where you're going?", he asked annoyed. As you finally gazed into his blue eyes his identity lighted on you.

"You're prince Yves, aren't you?", you asked.

"Yeah", he crossed his hands over his chest, "And you stepped on my foot"

"I'm sorry", you meant it. It didn't take long for his frown to disperse as your sincerity shone.

"No matter", he shook his shoulders, finally stepping on both feet to show he was alright, "I suppose something must have distracted you to not notice me."

"Yeah", your tone came a little sadder than you would like. Surprisingly, the prince seemed to notice that.

"Hey...if you want I could make something from your country....if you tell me how.", he crossed his hands in front of his chest before adding in a haughty tone, "I mean, I'd like to try something from far away and you might as well come for a taste test"

You were baffled by his sudden kindness. He did not look you straight in the eyes as he offered it, and yet it was obvious it was carefully thought out by someone who understood your situation.

"Thank you", you murmured and he finally turned to face you. A soft smile adorned his pink little lips, beautiful as he. "If I could trouble you a little more...", you continued, "could you tell me which way is the ballroom? I'm still not used to this layout"

Yves beamed for a moment at the sight of your honest smile. Soon however he covered that smile again under a mask of pride. "I suppose it's the right thing to do as a host", he said and nodded to follow him.

It was not long before music reached your ears, echoing over the marble walls of the castle as you climbed down to reach a golden double-leafed door. As you reached the engraved handle you felt the prince's presence leave you. You turned just in time to catch him climbing back up the stairs.

"Aren't you coming?", you stepped toward him.

"Me? No", he smiled as if he couldn't care less, "I'm not really wanted in these things"

"What? Why-"

It suddenly dawned on you. His heritage must have been a hindrance as he grew up among the people who hated his other side, justifiably so. But today was different.

"Shame", you fixed your expression, giving him a knowing look, "All four kingdoms attend this ball...everyone is welcome."

You caught his gaze shifting towards the door. There was a longing in his eyes as he looked at the door.

"Come to think of it I'm the only one from neither kingdom of these four", you raised your gaze, unable to hide your smile through your act, "I'd certainly feel better the more friends I had in that place"

"Well that's just...", Yves breathed in and out as his cheeks reddened. He didn't seem to have seen through your theatrics, as obvious as they might have been. "I suppose I might pop in later to check on you.....for a bit"

You smiled to yourself. "I'll hold you to that", you told him as you moved towards the door.

You knocked on the hardwood and two servants opened the door at once from the inside. You threw one last look at Yves before walking inside.

The moment you stepped through the door, the warm atmosphere enveloped you. The candles burned hot in the golden chandeliers, casting their light over the colourful marble floor. There were already a few people who had taken to their partners to dance, swirling skirts and capes creating an image right out of a fairytale. Long tables stretched from one side of the room to another, filled with delicacies from all four kingdoms. The king sat on a throne on the balcony opposite the door, gazing at his guests and subjects from up high. As the violins entered the adagio part of the song, their melodious song slowing down from the previous allegro of the waltz, the attendant on your left announced your arrival in a loud voice. You straightened your back, gathering your dress' skirt just enough to protect you from a fall as you descended the large staircase.

You immediately distinguished three presences in the room. One was that of prince Leon. Drowned in a crowd of men and women alike, his bright smile seemed to ease the stressful atmosphere around him. Another was that of a man dressed in an expensive coat with spotted fur. You had seen him once before and recognised him as Silvio. The master tradesman had become the centre of a group of merchants from all four kingdoms. Last, in the far back of the room, stood Chevalier. The brutal beast himself, unlike the other two, was the furthest from surrounded by people. With each fall of his shoulders, he exhaled air of dominance, harvesting fear from all those that dared come close. A few trembling nobles that walked his way did not stay for long. After a rather calm talk with him -from his side at least- they turned away, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as they turned their back on the prince. It was rather insulting, and seeing how the others got so much attention you could not help but feel frustrated that Chevalier only got looks of suspicion and fear instead of adoration. It was...what you felt Gilbert should receive. But even he was approached by more smiles, as insincere as they might be.

You dexterously moved across the room, avoiding the dancers and other groups, and made your way to the second prince. The moment you saw his blue eyes you were hypnotized, your gaze drowning in his.

"Good evening prince Chevalier", it was so easy to smile at him as you gave him a slight bow. He returned the gesture, not straying from formality. As you opened your mouth to start a conversation, not having settled down on what to ask yet even as you began speaking, another voice rose to cover yours.

"If it isn't the princess of Istidor", you knew it was Silvio approaching you before you could turn as his cocky voice was accompanied by the jingling of his innumerable jewels, "Where is that bastard, huh?", he added, "I came all the way for this ball and he's hiding? What is he up to?"

You could tell a clever lie or you could feign ignorance and you would appear differently to him if you used one or the other. You focused before you again, only then noticing Chevalier's disappearance? You frowned before you could process the thought and control your face. You turned to face Silvio.

"Oh, he's secretly replacing my favourite book that fell in the fountain yesterday with a new copy", you placed your hands together over your heart, urging a blush to grace your cheeks, "He's so sweet. He doesn't know I saw him carry it."

"Sweet?", Silvio scoffed as he placed his hand on the wall, leaning on it, "And a book? He should have gotten you a necklace too. That's what I would have done".

His tone was derisive as he spoke. You kept your smile plastered on your lips. You were not a princess of Istidor here, but a future consort for the kingdom of Obsidian. Your actions reflected on them and, seeming as your alliance only worked to ease tensions between Obsidian and other countries on your family's good name, you had to keep up appearances. No, you were not the daughter of the first prince here, you were not in line for any throne, you were an innocent girl with whom the Black Tiger found himself infatuated and tamed his gruesome ways. That was the story. That was what they needed to believe.

"Prince Gilbert knows what I like, prince Silvio", you stared upwards like a lovestruck girl, "If I wanted jewels he would have brought them to me before I ever wished for them"

"Oh yeah? Well-", as his brows furrowed a clap on his shoulder stopped him.

"There you are", another of the princes you had seen in the round table room came over before you ever heard him. From his short red hair and impressive build, you recognised him as none other than the first prince, Jin. He was accompanied by another familiar presence, the one of prince Keith from Jade. "I remember you promising me a nice contest with scotch", Jin addressed Silvio, "Or have you changed your mind? Not many people can hold their liquor against me"

"Absolutely not!", Silvio protested, shaking Jin's grip off. He smiled pridefully and said in a scornful tone, "You're going down old man"

"Well at least I hope you make some good of that threat", Jin draped his arm over Silvio's shoulder as he dragged him away, "I'm postponing my sexy time with a rather busty lady for this"

Once again Silvio threw Jin's arm off him with fervour before shoving him forward. "Don't mistake me as one of them!", he cried, "You're already drunk and we haven't even begun, big talk"

"Are you alright?", Keith's soft voice made you turn away from the other two princes, "He wasn't too rude, was he?"

"What?", for a moment you were surprised by what you heard. "No", you smiled comfortingly, "He was just interested in his friend"

Keith frowned. "Come on. You don't really believe that do you?", he said, a dark shadow clouding his eyes for a moment.

"If he wasn't it's his lost", you shook off the heavy atmosphere that had begun to surround the pair of you, "My fiance is quite the special person"

You saw Keith massage the top of his nose, right between his eyes. He sighed. "Yeah that's one way to put it"

Indeed it was. You had chosen your words carefully. It had become an inevitable habit when dealing with Gilbert. You could not lie when facing him. But neither could you entrust him with the whole truth all the time. Especially when it concerned your own opinion of him and, most importantly, his methods and goals.

At that moment you spotted a pink presence make its way threw the crowd. You excused yourself and approached Yves as he walked alone. You stopped however as you saw the many nobles turn their faces away and towards each others' ears as he passed by. You had brought him there. You had to do something about this. Your eyes fell on the orchestra and you smiled at your idea. You swiftly made your way to the maestro and requested a country dance. He objected a little at first, pointing out the many important people that were gathered in the ballroom but you convinced him after further pointing out the number of young people. As the flute played the first cheerful notes you ran as properly as you could and grabbed Yves by the hand, pulling him on the dance floor before he could protest.

Soon a lot more couples joined the two of you in two lines, one for the men, one for the women. The dance began with dancing with each other from across the space that separated those lines. As the song moved along, you split into smaller groups that formed smaller circles, exchanging partners with the members of your group. You glanced at Yves and were delighted to see his face beaming as he danced hand in hand with you and the other members of your group, without any prejudice from them. In the next verse, the groups split, falling back into pairs that formed a line. Another verse and you began to exchange partners with the pair next to you.

"Well this is certainly amusing!", Clavis beamed as he caught your hand at the end of the line. You and he danced around and away from the others as you joined the larger circle that had begun to form around the others. "Nothing to say?", he twirled you around, "Is the flower that blooms in adversity too astounded by my dashing presence??"

You didn't know whether to blush, laugh or get angry over his words.

"Again, my name is y/n", you said as you linked your arms through your elbows, "And I'm afraid your dashingness was lost on me"

"Ah shame", he said, not having minded your response at all, "I might have to make a more profound impression on you"

His smile could only be described as mischievous as he finished his sentence and the two of you changed partners again. At the last moment, your approaching partner was pushed away. Your eyes still focused on Clavis, you were startled by Gilbert's arms pulling you close as he took your partner's place.

"Seems like you're having fun, little bunny", even though he was smiling you could feel by the slightly harsher touch on your waist that he was annoyed.

You brought his hand that held yours to your lips and placed a small chaste kiss where his glove ended. "I am now", you said.

He pulled you closer in a swift move, so that you held his body with both hands, releasing his. He cupped your cheek, brushing over your skin with his thumb. "You seem to have done a good job upholding Obsidian's good nature", he praised. As the music came to an end he kissed your forehead softly. You did not expect him to be this proper, even in a room like that. Without pulling away to look at your face he said, "Meet me in the garden, alright? I'll be there in a bit"

He pulled away and nodded towards the door. You sighed exasperatedly. Honestly, he was very hard to deal with sometimes. It was not hard to guess what he wanted but even so, it struck you as strange that he told you to wait for him.

You gazed around the room. Everyone seemed to be having fun now as a new song of the same cheerful beat began to play. Yves was speaking, very animatedly, to his brothers. He looked much happier than when you saw him before. Clavis was, in his own words, dashingly talking to a number of foreign nobles, some even from Obsidian. Your eyes fell at the spot in the far back, where the white tiger once stood. Chevalier had long disappeared.

"Yeah, why not", you murmured as you made your way to the door that led to the gardens.

The night was fair and warm. The last frosts of March had long since disappeared, giving their way to a warm breezy that rejuvenated all the flowers in the Kingdom of Roses. The garden was the greatest representative of said kingdom. You could not make out the colours as well as you'd like under the dim starlight, but the blossoms were no less stunning. Your heels clicked softly on the cobblestone path as you walked further in. As the wall came into view, so did a small gazebo. A warm light flickered behind the roses that climbed its metal construction, the shadow of a man dancing to its rythm. Your dress caught on the thorns as you climbed the few steps to look at your companion. You tried pulling it away; once, twice...the third time your dress came loose and you tripped backwards to the gazebo's floor. As you lifted your head you were met with clear cerulean eyes.

"There really is no end to your clumsiness, is there", Chevalier returned his eyes to his book, calmly flipping its pages under the candlelight.

"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose, Your Highness", you underlined the last part quite a bit and caught a small scoff escape the prince's lips. "What are you doing here?", you asked.

"Isn't that much obvious?", his voice remained devoid of emotion.

"Alright, perhaps I should have asked <<why>>"

"Perhaps that would had been a more worthwhile question to ask"

You could not help but smile at his unwillingness to invest in pointless social talk. You tried to raise yourself up but flinched as the cracked skin of your elbow sent a small sting of pain to the rest of your arm. Chevalier frowned and put down his book before pulling your arm to examine.

"It's just a scratch", you said as he brushed his thumb on the unmarked skin below the wound.

"Indeed", he said calmly but his eyes did not leave your skin, "Still, you should-"

He halted his words and turned to his side. His hand went straight to his sword as he stood. Now that you were focused on reality once again you could hear it too; the sound of careful footsteps approaching, and the sound of the rose bushes being constantly disturbed by the unwanted and most definitely dangerous visitors. As you stepped out of the gazebo's concealment you saw them, a dozen soldiers with concealed faces and masked colours. You did not know their origin but you could guess their intention.

"Well, little lady", one of them said as he drew his sword, "I think you know what follows. Come with us and you won't get-"

He stopped his sentence as his eyes fixed on someone behind you. You gazed over your shoulder and saw Chevalier, sword drawn, step outside the gazebo and come to your side. You took a step forward.

"Oh, let me assure you he is not the one you should be worried about", you said seriously. You were the future consort of Obsidian. But yes, you were also the princess of Istidor. And old habits die hard, as they say.

They were anxious, nervous by Chevalier's presence. But you did not know any of them, not through your connections nor Gilbert's, which meant their boss was somewhere else. So they would soon have to decide, under this pressure, who they feared most. One of them that was close to your right suddenly reached for you. You stepped to the side, letting his hand fly by you before grabbing it from further up and pulling it behind his back. You kicked behind his knee and let him fall to the ground before placing one foot on his back to keep him down.

"You want me to come with you?", you scoffed, "You are welcome to try"

One of them drew his sword and tried to charge at you. "You're allowed to kill me, huh? Interesting", you said as you lifted your dress to retrieve the two daggers you had strapped to your leg.

"No, wait!", cried the man that had addressed you first.

Going undercover had meant disposing of their heavy armour and you could take full advantage of that. With one dagger you hit his sword away, enough to miss your chest. With the other you cut at his wrist, the sudden faintness getting him to drop his weapon and clutch to the new wound. Another soldier came from behind you. You did not know if you could dodge. But then you wear him fall to the ground, and you turned to find Chevalier standing over the man as he held his sliced leg. Thick blood trickled down the prince's blade, hardly enough to quench its thirst. A slight panic broke among the soldiers as they charged altogether, allowing you to use their weapons against each other as you chose each step strategically. One misstep and your heel caught on your skirt, your body plummeting towards the cobblestones. But an arm held you and pulled you back up, and you saw Chevalier dealing with another pair of your assailants in a similar way as he did with the first. One of them chose that moment to bring his sword to you, only managing to block it by bringing your blades together. But even by the mere weight of the long sword, it was impossible to keep it away for long. Luckily, the leader himself pulled the man away. So they were only meant to kidnap you after all. Chevalier disposed of the last of his attackers before turning to the man and pushing him down.

"Enough Cyril", Chevalier said as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "I'm already going beyond reason not killing you for this insubordination"

He did not go on to further explain neither his decision nor how he had recognised the man.

"I'm sorry you-"

"Hi miss, I'm sorry", said Cyril as he waved at you from the ground.

"They're soldiers to my Jester brother. He probably thought kidnapping you was a good idea to pressure Obsidian", Chevalier said.

"No he...", Gilbert's words came to your mind, "He knew about this., that's why..."

A few laughs sounded from the castle. More steps approaching.

"Make Obsidian look good", you murmured, "Only works if we make Rhodolite look bad"

Rhodolite's strength came from two factors from what you knew: its princes and the support of the other kingdoms. Even Jade, who remained neutral, had sided with Rhodolite many times in the past whenever it acknowledged an injustice against the kingdom of roses. Gilbert sought to do the same as always. Corrupt the enemy's strength, one piece at a time. Whether it was the attack or Chevalier those people saw in this state, the result on Rhodolite would be the same. A breaker of trust, as they failed to protect a beloved guest.

You took off your shoe and cracked the keel on the cobblestone, then wore it again. Then you shoved your daggers in Chevalier's hands and pushed him away.

"You need to leave now. Everyone does", you urged, "This is what he wants"

Chevalier took one look in the direction of the voices. He frowned sceptically, everything you had thought yourself already having been run by his mind. He grabbed Cyril by the hood and walked to the gazebo to put out the candle. You left him behind to deal with the scene in a matter he saw fit. It was his kingdom that was mostly affected after all. You ran on the tips of your toes until you reached a suitable distance from the voices. Then you stepped down normally and faked a limb as you walked closer. You found a few foreign ambassadors, lost deep in conversation as they promenaded down the path. At the sight of you, they stopped.

"I'm alright", you said in an awkward smile as thry showered you with questions, "My heel broke you see and I fell on the stones further down"

As you finished your sentence Gilbert appeared behind them. His prideful smile disappeared once he took a better look at your dishevelled self. His red eye was particularly concerned with the graze on your elbow.

"You should keep your eyes on her more often, prince Gilbert", one of the ambassadors said, "You wouldn't want Istidor's jewel to come to harm"

"Yes you're right", Gilbert glanced behind you once, his eyes clouded with anger as his thumb stroked your chin, "You're absolutely right".

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