#its the sound of uncomfortable denial in his voice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnamon-galaxies · 26 days

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Unspoken Feelings

Pairings: Alastor x gn!Reader

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader, tension, lots of tension, unspoken feelings, hurt but also comfort?, Alastor is bad at feelings, inner conflict, suppressed feelings, does the ending count as (light) angst?, bittersweet ending, I'm bad at tagging

Summary: Loving you is hard, but being with you is harder. And being with Alastor is dangerous.

Wordcount: 1.9k

A/N: This one is very short compared to my other fic but full of (heartbreaking) tension.

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{Masterlist}

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You sat at the grand piano in the dimly lit lounge of the hotel. Your fingers glided gracefully across the keys, seamlessly transitioning between the notes with a captivating elegance. With closed eyes you surrendered to the enchanting melody, completely entranced by its spell. Your soft voice sang along, a subtle sound that harmonized with heartbreaking lyrics of the ballad that had such a special place in your heart, reminding you of bittersweet moments and cherished dreams.

Alastor sat not far from you in an armchair with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His crimson eyes remained fixed on you, captivated by your fervent performance that fully caught his attention. Though he heard you play before he had never witnessed such a fiery passion put into the music that came from your fingers. Your singing voice was enchanting, echoed from the high ceiling like a siren’s song casting a spell on every person who could hear you. It was as though you were revealing a concealed message and opening your heart to whatever you had in mind.

He closed his eyes while he let himself get bewitched by your spell, fully succumbing to your beautiful performance. Were you even aware that he was watching you? Listened to you singing and playing like a muse? He didn’t know it but also he didn’t care as long as you kept playing and filled the hole in his heart with the sound of your song, as a clenching feeling tugged on his stomach, clouded by a pang of longing. He knew exactly what he felt right now. How he felt about you, but expressing those emotions was a different story. He wasn’t good at feelings, let alone at admitting them. It was hard to even admit them to himself, just to begin with. He found himself caught up in denial for far too long and had blamed it on his mind playing tricks on him – he even preferred to diagnose himself as mentally ill than to just accept the fact that he had grown fond of you. Way too fond.

That he started longing for you.

Loved you.

Love.

He let out a dismissive laugh that was far too quiet for you to hear over the sound of the piano.

Love was a feeling he had never felt before. At least not in this way. He had loved his mother unconditionally. She had been the closest and dearest person to him that ever existed in his whole lifetime. And there were other people who were close to him and who he cared about. A lot. But nothing like this could be compared to what he felt in your presence. What feelings you evoke deep inside of him as he looked you in the eyes, felt your lingering gaze on him, listened to you talk and laugh with all your heart. The way his thoughts about you occupied his every breath and kept him awake at night because otherwise if he closed his eyes all he could see was your beautiful face haunting his mind like a tormenting ghost. Oh sweet hells, he even dreamed about you. Was this really the love people were so obsessed with and that was considered the most beautiful thing in the world? There was no way he could comprehend this; no matter how hard he tried. You possessed his every thought and made him question his sanity. It was an uncomfortable feeling that tugged on him, almost completely tore him apart. He hated it. But yet he didn’t want to miss it.

He opened his eyes again, watching your graceful silhouette moving in front of the grand piano and couldn’t help himself but smile contendly, his eyes glowing with sparks of joy. Though no matter how many feelings of happiness tingled in his guts, he felt heartbroken at the same time. Your relationship has always been complicated. You danced around each other, both too far to take the leap. There was so much on you that Alastor admired. Your view on life and your admiration for the smaller things. The way you animatedly gestured around while you told him a story and how your eyes sparkled with anticipation whenever you were about to do the things you adored the most. He admired your creativity and your talent, the passion you put into your music when you played one of your instruments and used your powerful voice to sing along. The way you danced with him as if you were a graceful swan. He also admired your strength and independence, your self-confidence, your stubbornness, your abnormal sense of humor and psychotic tendencies that always reminded him that you were in hell for a reason. He admired the way you weren’t afraid to show off your insanity, even implemented some of your sickest fantasies on hell’s worst spawns. He admired you.

Alastor took a sip of his whiskey. His thoughts made him sound like a fool – an immature and cheesy teenager – whenever he tried to unravel the clot that every oh so normal person considered love.

By now he was aware that he himself had become a victim of this cruel but also beautiful torture. But no matter how confident he was of his actions his own demons held him back to fully committing to you and the feelings he harbored in his chest, carefully tucked away in a heart shaped box. He was everything but a saint. He’d never be enough for you because he knew that he would never change. All he could give you was sorrow and pain and if there was one thing he didn’t want you to bear, it was you suffering from his incapabilities of being the lover you deserved.

The song came to an end and that was when Alastor noticed that he had swallowed his whole drink within the shortest amount of time. Not good, as he already felt the effects of the alcohol starting to cloud his senses.

Through the corner of his eye he saw you move and when he turned his face towards you, you caught him by surprise as he met your gaze. Time stood still for a short moment, his heart pounded in his chest as he returned your startled gaze. You obviously hadn’t been aware of his presence until now.

Alastors smile widened in amusement at your dumbfounded expression but he didn’t laugh. Instead, his voice was calm and smooth as he said, “That was quite the performance, my dear.”

You forced yourself to smile, trying hard to hide your embarrassment in front of him – unsuccessfully. What a cute sight, Alastor thought but shook off the thought as soon as it entered his mind.

“Thank you, Alastor,” you responded to him, your voice much more confident than your startled body language expressed. A wave of reassurance overcame you and you calmed down, recovering from the surprise of your unexpected listener. “It’s always nice to have a captive audience. Even though I would’ve preferred to be aware of it,” you then added with a soft voice, a genuine smile forming on your lips.

Alastor chuckled softly. “Well, consider me captivated, indeed.”

The room became silent for a moment as you and Alastor exchanged glances, the air heavy with unspoken words. There was a moment of silent understanding between you, a shared acknowledgement of the unspoken feelings that lingered beneath the surface. Alastor knew he had to say something, to break the tension between you, but the words caught in his throat, unable to be spoken out loud. It was one of those moments when he should have risen from his seat and approached you, embracing your delicate presence and pulling you in a tender kiss. It was what he had dreamed about for weeks, one of those perfect moments that needed no words but mere actions to confess your feelings for each other. There was no doubt that you felt the same for him. Alastor knew that you returned his feelings (at least in some similar way). You had to. Otherwise you would have acted differently in his presence, less nervous, less attentive in his personal needs, less affectionate. You would’ve maintained less eye contact with him, not lingering your gaze longer on him than necessary and not secretly stealing glances. Yes, he knew about it but not only because he could feel it when he was watched, but also because people had told him. Not only Charlie had tried to confront him about the supposed ‘tension’ between the both of you, but also Angel couldn’t help but joke loudly about it. Alastor was told how much you smiled in his presence, how much more vivid you behaved in his presence, that subtle tries of yours to catch his attention without raising suspicion. Well, your attempt to remain inconspicuous seemed to have failed – at least in the eyes of the other residents. If no one had told Alastor about it and he wouldn’t have spent time actively paying attention to your changes in behavior around him, he would have never noticed. Never guessed it. You were truly bad at concealing your feelings. Did you even try?

Normally Alastor would’ve laughed at this thought. But in this moment there was nothing to laugh about as the tension between you burned with a subtle passion, drawing the both of you to each other in an unspoken longing.

You loved him at least as much as he loved you.

You wanted him at least as much as he wanted you.

And you needed him at least as much as he needed you.

At least that’s what Rosie had told him when he had spent a whole afternoon conversing with her about that peculiar demoness that made him feel things he never thought possible. But yet, Alastor remained in his armchair, returning your loving expression with unveiled eyes. His breath was heavy and his heart pounded in his chest like a drum on a battlefield.

Oh, how much he wanted to touch you.

To get close to you.

To hug you.

To kiss you.

To make him his. For the rest of eternity.

But he knew his inner demons would show you no mercy. That he would just hurt you to a point of no return. And that was something he was determined not to allow under any circumstances. Something he would never forgive himself for. And he would hurt you. He knew that.

Alastor felt a lump building in his throat and held his breath as it was too painful to continue breathing with that pressure clenching his chest.

The both of you stood there for a moment longer, staring at each other but remained in your unmoved state, silently confessing to each other without a spoken word.

Without making a sound Alastor stood up, his hand wrapped tightly around his empty whiskey glass, knuckles whitening under the pressure. He offered you a small, toothless smile before turning around to leave. His heart was heavy from unspoken desires and the pain of his decision tore his heart into shreds as he left you alone. The door swung close behind him and Alastor couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss wash over him. He knew that loving you was hard. And being without you was even harder.

Cruel.

But it was for the best.

He could never love you the way he wanted to – the way you deserved it. And if protecting you meant tearing himself apart in the most gruesome ways possible, so it should be.

*****

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undercoverpena · 6 months

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iv. anchor me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter four of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. hand stuff (f receiving), illusions to the past, bi!frankie.

an: thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this after bake off and telling me that i can do the thing.

wordcount: 3.4k

The moment Benny’s (insistent) invite landed in your messages, you had expected the one from Frankie.

Phone in hand, tapping your foot, counting, barely making it to 30 seconds before the banner slid down your screen. Because, of course, the can’t-say-no invitation was on the day the two of you had a scheduled thing.

Unsurprisingly, his simmering annoyance hadn’t vanished when he came to pick you up—another thing insisted—and you came out to meet him.

I’ll pick you up. I can drive there and meet you, save you coming across town. I‘m picking you up. Means I get to make sure you get home okay.

The sound of the car door slamming into place as you lock up, turning to walk towards his vehicle to find him eyeing you up in a way that makes your cheeks burn and you want to hide your face.

He keeps having that effect on you.

Make heat lick up your spine, your brain forget its sentence or thought, and your eyes find themselves unable to stop dropping to his lips .

It’s why it takes all your strength to say, “Eyes up here, Morales.”

He does, although he does take a second. Licking his lips, before doing exactly that. “Do I tell you enough that you look good?”

Laughing, you roll your eyes. More for him. An act, a pretence. Because you’re trying to seem unfazed—attempting to ignore it, the flutters of wings in your stomach.

Having to focus on it more and more when he stops in front of you, the bill of his hat shielding his eyes from the sun, allowing you to see how they drink you in, swallow you. Practically smothering you in simmering heat that makes you want to tear your clothes from your skin.

“You’ve mentioned it a lot lately.”

He doesn’t move, a thing which makes the wings flutter worse. More intense. Practically beating them as you stare at him, fighting the urge to wrap your fingers around the back of his neck and pull his lips to yours.

To have him. Kiss him.

Remembering as you shift in your shoes, that you’re not with him. This is all an arrangement, a plan—a schedule, a date each week (or two) that Benjamin Miller fucked up.

Nudging him, you wink. “C’mon, I want first dibs of the food Will is cooking before you lot leave me with the scraps.”

You were outside in the backyard an hour, before a water gun soaks you.

Benny’s—of course—a stupid gift you’d purchased him, now used on the neighbours’ kids, with you caught in the crossfire.

By the time you’ve realised, you’re being flooded with apologies. Each coming from Benny’s tongue tenfold, rushing over as though he’d sprayed you in bullets and not water.

Your discussion with Will all but ended with a gasp as you stared down at your now transparent shirt. Watching his eyes lift up, trying not to glance or look.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I was—and then—let me show you where the towels are—“

You’re not sure who you laugh at more: Will or Benny. Holding a hand up, accepting one of the many apologies that fall, waving it all off, as your eyes scan the other guests, not finding the one pair of eyes you really want.

“It’s fine—can I, borrow something?” you ask, dropping your voice, “There’s kids around.”

Before Benny has even finished nodding, you make a beeline for the house. The one you know. You’ve been here enough times, dipping in through the side door, feeling your top cling to your skin more uncomfortably than it had outside.

That’s when you stare outside. Noticing that the gathering was closer to a party, it all loud and busy—even from inside. Suddenly grateful for the cover to spend a minute cooling off in the house. An excuse merged with gratefulness when you could hide and slide your shades off—wanting a drink, water, ice.

Suddenly needing a second.

Because all you’d done is eye-fuck your friend. The one you’ve seen naked—the one who looks more than good, and fucks even better.

The one, you suddenly can’t spot.

The glass in your palm lets condensation droplets slide down your wrist. The rim against your bottom lip, staring out at the people laughing, smaller kids being chased by Benny and his water gun. Eyes scanning, nervousness bubbling, mind beginning to worry you’re about to see him with someone else.

Like you have done so many times before .

You’re so lost in it, you don’t hear him, never mind feel him, until his arm snakes around your waist. The man you’d been missing—the one who’d been burning holes into your spine, but never coming over.

Now, though, he’s all warm mouth again to your ear, a whispered shh, as he peels your glass from your hands.

“You’re all wet, querida. We best get you dry.”

And then you’re walking, being led. Moving with ease as Frankie—who you hadn’t even seen come inside—was wrapping his fingers inside yours. Leading you, down the familiar hallway you’d helped paint several years ago, to the bedroom you still called Frankie’s, even if he hadn’t lived here in years.

You remember when you‘d knock on the very door to call for him, or hang out on the other side of the frame.

Frankie and Benny had shared this space before Frankie had found his own. The offer of your spare room had not been good enough—even if he painted it in, not wanting to be an inconvenience. How you’d sit on the bed that’s now for guests, perched, waiting for him before the two of you grabbed food or visited the movies. Simple things—friend things.

It isn’t like that today. His mouth slants over yours as soon as you’re both alone, pressing your back to the wall, devouring, licking into your mouth as you gasp.

Because the two of you could be caught. A shudder spreading out at the idea. The thought of the door being thrown open, making you groan into his mouth.

But, you’re not sure you’d care if you did.

You don’t fucking care if they all found you like this.

Lost, whimpering, desperate—all for him.

Not at his hand places itself around the base of your neck—lightly touching, pressing the smallest amount of pressure down, as he hushes your soft moans. His finger resting against your chin, the others slowly bury themselves in your underwear, giving you more reasons to be loud than be quiet—not something close to friend things.

“You been thinkin’ about me?”

The yes leaves your lips, but it is swallowed by a moan. It travelling from somewhere deep, flowing up, rippling out as you begin to writhe against his touch. Your eyes fixed on his—drowning in brown, sinking in as he curls his fingers inside of you. Beckoning, pleading with you to hand him what it is he wants.

Fuck, you want to give it to him. Had done from the moment you’d arrived, pulled up in the space outside Benny’s home—the former fixer-upper, turned dream house.

Frankie always looked good, even if his wardrobe was minimal. The back of him easy to pick out from a crowd, so broad you’re sure you could draw it with your eyes closed. You’ve stared at it so much—and that was before this all began. This, whatever this mutually beneficial thing is between the two of you, neither of you will properly name.

It’s why you kiss him, needing to taste his groan, lather your tongue in the way he says your name. Pronounces it. It more noticeable when your hand cups him—greeted by the hard outline of him against your palm, all noticeable, barely contained by his cargo pants.

“—tan bonita,” he croaks, throwing your hand away before placing it back to cup your cheek, forcing your head to his, the base of his palm catching your bundle of nerves as he slows his ministrations. “Be good for me, querida. And just focus on being quiet.”

A chaste kiss pressed, a signature on the dotted line—one you agree to as you chase his lips. Just tasting the beer-tinged air of his breath as he continues to bury his fingers inside of you. The sounds of it so vulgar, loud, barely muffled by the strangled whimpers you try to keep back.

“So good for me, tan perfecta.”

Your eyes close, lashes clenching. His whispered words make it harder to stay quiet, to be the thing he’s just told that you are.

And the worst is, you know he knows it. Can feel his smirk against your jaw, the way the tip of his tongue swirls over your pulse as his hip pins you in place, his fingers continuing their wanted assault, keeping your feet rooted to the ground, head barely able to think about anything but this.

“Please,” you ask.

Eyes open, capturing his. Hooking in. Watching him drink it in, your request—your ask.

“Alright baby, I’ve got you,” he whispers, more breath than words, right against your cheek, finger drawing circles against your clit. “Always got you, haven’t I?”

It’s electric, and also fire. It surges and licks up your spine as you nod. As your throat goes dry, sound goes fuzzy, before he’s good—to you, for you. Alternating between filling you with the same fingers that built your furniture.

“Doing so well for me,” he says, nose against your cheek, fingers pumping—

In and out.

“Be good though, let me feel you squeeze my fingers—wanna feel you come, querida. Please. Please.”

Your eyes clench, feeling both nothing and everything. Because someone could walk in. Your teeth bite into your lip as you try to keep back the chants of his name. His fingers are so deep, feeling so good.

“Let go, querida.”

It falls from his lips like honey. Sweet. Almost sticky in how it clings to the air as your eyes open, finding him.

The first thing you think is: earlier was nothing on the way he’s staring at you now.

Doing more than devouring, he’s drowning in you—likely unaware you’re doing the same with him.

Each nerve illuminated, your ears slowly buzzing louder and louder as you crash your mouth to his and lick into his mouth as you still, tense and writhe all at once.

Then you are stars, feel yourself unknotting, all at once. In the bedroom that used to be his.

Frankie shouldn’t like seeing you in an old t-shirt of his, but he does.

Unable to tear his eyes away from you as he leads you to two seats, your laugh flowing—something he said under his breath, now forgotten, still swirling through you, forcing your eyes to close and your fingers to dig into his forearm.

He likes you like this—has always liked your laugh.

Blissfully aware that he should, but shit, he can’t take his eyes off you. Even if he knows he needs to—plenty of eyes around, ones who have always teased, always taunted.

You’d be so good together. You pair are so cute.

The comments go on, and on. Have done for years.

Except now, you’re dressed in him.

To most, it’s a simple, old tee splattered with paint. To him, it’s when the group of them painted Ben’s house. His eyes having drank you in, wishing he could wash the paint from your legs, unsure how you’re covered in as much as the wall.

Your clumsiness having painted itself against you, your own clothes ruined, before you’d purposefully (and intentionally) splattered yourself against him when you’d come in for a ‘hug’.

Now, you’re sitting next to him, curled under one leg, shades hiding where your eyes are—but he hopes they’re on him—wishing you’d be on him.

“You dry, querida?”

“Oh, jodete.”

Smirking, he takes a sip of his drink. Licking the front of his teeth, leaning forward.

“Rather fu—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Your tongue traces the bottom of your lip, slowly shaking your head. A part of him wanting to pull you close, have you in his lap. Fuck everything and just give in and—

“So,” Will announces. Suddenly there. Blocking the sun, pointing at an empty chair before he sits beside you.

And Frankie drowns his throat in beer.

He listens, while staring off, as Will asks how your friend is—when she’s back in town, because Ben won’t. You knotting and unknotting the end of the tee around your finger, chatting and chatting.

Something tightening inside of him when he catches sight of you, from the corner of his eye, throwing your head back as Will makes you laugh. Him trying not to grimace each time his friend does so.

Because Will is his friend.

A good one, a great one. Yet, when it comes to you, he always feels inferior. Less than. Somehow more broken more than—

“Fish?”

Will’s voice drags him from his thoughts, blinking. Thumb tracing the neck of his bottle as he nods.

“I said have you heard from Pope?”

He tenses. Frankie feels himself still. Back all straight.

The question cuts through his bubbling thoughts. Suddenly aware of the sound of his own heart in his ears. That knotted ball of things, the one full of rope, strings, steel wire, as it all tightens inside his chest—and in his stomach.

Worst of all, he then feels your eyes land on him. Searching, cutting through the sheets he throws up as walls, desperate to press something warm to him, keep him rooted.

He takes a breath, feeling you willing him to. Appeasing you, even if you’ve not asked verbally, finding himself easily able to.

It’s always easy with you.

Just like it was the night he told you. Confessed it. Whispered it out on the floor, his back to the wall in the same bedroom he just had pressed you against.

I’d suspected it, honestly.

Your fingers brushing, carding through his curls until you pulled his head into your chest. A whole other sea of emotions bubbling, both of his long loves out of reach—even if one had their fingers buried in his curls, attempting to soothe him. The rest of his confession dying on his tongue, letting it rot, fester.

Because that one was and still is harder to confess.

It desperate to escape. Almost coming out the night you’d suggested he found you repulsive. Not knowing how wrong you were—

“Um…” you murmur, eyes digging further into him, practically clawing. Not to hurt, but to pull him back. “I don’t think I have—not since before?”

Frankie swallows. His heart hammering heavier, lifting his eyes and landing on you—and it all goes calm. Your face, like it always has been, is like a blanket that smothers the leftover hurt and anguish, an anchor that roots him in place.

“N-no. Not heard a thing,” he says, as plain as possible. Direct. Trying to hide the shake.

Because he can still feel your eyes on him. Focused, unwilling to leave his face as Will mutters and mumbles about something until he’s shouted away, beckoned by an overzealous neighbour, Frankie plants a smile on for, not moving to greet or speak to.

You say nothing.

But you do lift your shades. Smothering him in warmth and kindness, and a bit of sorrow too. Your teeth nursing the skin on your bottom lip, picking and picking.

Fuck he wishes he could tell you.

He wishes he could tell you that Pope knew—knows. Had already guessed it. Teased him on it before he dragged it out of him in the cold, rainy depths of Colombia.

You just have a thing for friends, Fish. That it!

It had ripped from his throat then. Shooting, spitting in mixed English and Spanish as he told Pope his feelings for you—how long they’d been there.

How they were messy. The same as his feelings had been for him. That they churned and turned for months with the conflicting ones he had for him.

That it has shaped him—the thing that neither of them talk about, but had let happen the handful of times it did.

And now he was repeating himself, but differently. This time, he suspected there was something more there. Something there in your eyes in the moments after he’s brought you to pleasure, it twinkling, it licking into his mouth when you kiss him, softer, desperate in a different way.

“Are you okay?”

“Come to mine. Tonight. After.”

You release your bottom lip. Staring. Thinking. “Are you going to take me home after?”

He tries not to let his face shift, but he fails. It falls and drops out over his features as you take a sip from the bottle in your hand.

“Frank…”

“You like my bed.”

You roll your eyes, brow slightly arched. You’re faking annoyance, he can tell. He can tell because you’re ticking, pondering. Weighing up the options of what difference one night would make to your principles.

“It’s not because of that.”

“No?” you say, arched brow and laced in sarcasm.

Fuck, he wants to take your hands. Pull them to his face. Because he doesn’t feel like that for him anymore. He hasn’t. Not for a long time.

Not since before he showed up with his plan, and his lies, and his mission that ended with Redfly’s death.

He wanted to let it roll from his tongue that he meant it that first night. That he has hated all of your exes for the reason you must think, deep down—the one you’re unwilling to question or acknowledge for the same reasons he won’t.

Because he’s scared. Because he knows he’s only worthy of being a dirty secret—not something real. Not something stable and concrete, things you truly deserve.

And, he wants to respect your wishes, your rules. But, he also wants to wake up beside you in his bed. Wanting nothing more than to have his cake and eat it too, because how could he not? How could he not want you there for one morning, when he wants you there every single day?

That thought was the one he had shouted, it burning the air between him and the man he now doesn’t hear from.

You gonna tell her? Depends on if we fuckin’ get outta here, doesn’t it?

He didn’t. Even if he did make it out, make it back. You in his arms, sobbing, worries running from your mouth to his ear as he held you—silently sobbing into your shoulder for reasons he has never explained.

Which is precisely why he doesn’t reach for your hands. It’s why he lets the silence thicken before he answers.

Because he knows he loves you.

“No,” he says firmly.

Hoping it’ll be enough. Hoping the finality of the word will inform you that, if anything, it’s in spite of the memory of his former friend, former brother-in-arms, former…

“I live closer to here,” he shrugs. Not wanting to admit that it’s for any other reason. “Means we’d be quicker to—“

“Morales!” you cut him off.

All stern, cute—as though he hadn’t had his fingers buried inside of you half an hour ago in his old room.

“How have you been sleeping?”

It’s a simple question, easy. Your lips around the straw, draining your cup before placing it on the grass, next to his empty bottle.

His fingers reaching up, itching the front of his fringe under his hat—your eyes following his movements, holding on to them, adding them to the mental notebook you’ve likely made.

Frankie shouldn’t be surprised that you remembered. The trip that lasted more days than it should have and left its own marks on you, too. Scarred you in ways that you can’t explain or ever get rid of.

“Fine. I guess, just…”

“I know,” you say with a faint smile. Forced. Placed there to soothe him, but it doesn’t do much.

You don’t play with the radio.

You don’t even really talk. Just drumming your fingers on the door, staring outside, letting streets pass the two of you, until he pulls up outside his place.

All the way, he thinks about apologising.

For everything, and yet for nothing all at once. His eyes sliding over to you as he drove down roads, turned his chin a little more to gather more of you as he turned a corner.

You don’t look at him until he turns the engine off. Head rolling on the back of the seat, the softest, most beautiful smile on your lips—one he wants to taste, feel moulded to his mouth. Capture and steal it, in case he never gets the chance to again.

“If you say you’ll stay, you haven’t broken the rules,” he whispers.

It is all quiet, except for the little noises made by the car as it cools and relaxes from its journey here.

Frankie hears you swallow, and then sigh.

“Won’t I be?”

Shaking his head, he turns to face you on the plastic seat. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb stroking soft lines, hoping it’ll ease you. Relax you.

“If you prefer me to take you home—“

Your eyes drop.

“—then I will. But…”

Your eyes flash back up to him, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Even under twinkling lights, he can see each fleck of colour in them.

“But?” you whisper.

And he drags his thumb across your skin. “I just really want you to stay, for tonight.”

Sliding your lips to the side, your fingers move over his, pressing his palm to your cheek, giving him a smile—a gentle one, reassuring, sweet. “I want the right side. When you let me sleep.”

Smirking, he nudges closer, going to kiss you, but finding himself pressing a kiss to your forehead—one brimming with a smile.

Only realising he’s done so when he retracts.

Little lines appearing in your brow, gone, vanished in the next second, because then you’re moving closer, your lips on his—and for a brief, but pleasant moment, he forgets all of this isn’t real.

Falls into it, lets himself live there as he runs his hand up your thigh, before he’s dragging it over his. Uncaring that there’s a bed some so many feet away, he just runs his hands over your cheeks, along your jaw, thumbs on your neck—as he groans against your mouth.

Swallowing your moan, he fights a smirk at the way you rock your hips against him. Hand moving to your hip, pinning you—chasing your lips before kissing you again, and again.

Not ever having enough. Always wanting more.

As he has done for years. As he’s thought about for years.

Because there may have been others, but since he let himself think it, it’s always been you. A notion he kisses against your lips, writing them with his tongue against yours, content, happy.

“Can’t wait to spread you out on my bed, querida.”

He feels your lips spread into a smirk against his. “Can’t wait to have your cock down my throat again, Morales.”

He groans. Loud, almost undignified. Unsure how he got to be so lucky. Your fingers digging into the base of his neck.

CHAPTER FIVE ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

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bonky-n-steeb · 2 years

Text

a clandestine affair —

summary || bucky can’t hold himself back when you look that gorgeous at Tony’s house warming party.

warnings || semi public sex, breeding kink, dirty talking, choking, fingering, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, bucky is horny and filthy af. PWP — MINORS DNI 🔞 if any of this makes you uncomfortable then please do not read!

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

I have no idea why I’ve written this, guess I’m just horny but then what’s new..

“Bucky, what are you doing?” You giggled as Bucky led you into a room. His entire body was pressed to your back and you nearly moaned as he sucked on your neck. You harshly chewed on your lip to stop the moans from spilling out. “We can’t do it here…” you tried speaking some sense into him.

“Why can’t we?” He rasped back as he continued his ministrations. You nearly lost your thought process as he nibbled on your neck before leaving the bruises with his tongue. “Because…” you trailed off as his fingers slipped past your dress and trailed up your thighs.

“Because we’re at a party!” You finally blurted out, but it didn’t really have an effect. He just hummed and continued until you were touching the wall. You reached down to swat his hand away, but he cupped your clothed cunt and you backtracked in your plans. “They wouldn’t know.”

Technically he wasn’t wrong, the party was going on in full swing at the lawn, and you were at nearly the other end of the huge mansion. It was a house warning party arranged by Tony and right from Clint to Sam, everyone with their families was invited.

“Bucky but…” your train of thoughts derailed as he began circling your clit through your soaked panties. You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead against the cool wall to ground yourself. “What if someone finds us?” Producing coherent thoughts was getting more difficult as Bucky played your body to his tune.

His lips were busy sucking bruises on your neck and his metal arm held your hip while his flesh hand was making you dizzy with its ministrations. “They won’t even notice we’re gone.“ his reply was muffled by your skin. The trail of saliva left behind by him cooled down on your neck and made goosebumps erupt.

You stopped protesting when he pushed your panties aside and ran his fingers over your wet folds. He hummed against the column of your neck and your eyes nearly rolled back when two of his thick fingers entered your drenched hole. “Oh Bucky…” you moaned out his name.

“Be quiet sugar, we can’t have them listening, now can we?” His voice was thick with lust and even that somehow aroused your more. You squirmed and tried to suppress your moans as his fingers hit that spot within you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers.

You stood on your tip toes as he fingered you and kept murmuring filth in your ear. “You hear how wet your pussy is, sugar. You can’t deny me this softness when you yourself need it so bad.” You felt your face heat up at his words, but you were loving every second of it.

You were already on an edge with the thought of getting caught and though it sounded sinful, it still excited you. His palm was rubbing deliciously against your clit and that combined with every other sensation had you clenching down on his fingers.

But right as you were about to cascade down the abyss of bliss, Bucky pulled out his fingers. Your eyes snapped open and you turned around to gawk at Bucky. You whined pathetically and he just chuckled at your struggle, “Have patience my dear, because I need you to make a mess on my cock.”

The sound that bubbled up your throat definitely wasn’t dignified. Just moments before you were worried that someone would find you, but by now you’d almost forgotten about it. Bucky knew what an effect he had on you, and he probably got off on it. It took him mere moments to turn you into a whiny mess.

Your palms curled on the flat wall as you heard him unzip his pants. You were breathing heavily as he pressed his cock against your swollen folds and rubbed it, wetting it in your slick. You choked on your breath as his girthy head entered you and he groaned out.

“Fuck,.. you’re so tight sugar. If it wasn’t me fucking you silly every night, I would’ve pegged you for a virgin.” Your entire body writhed like a leaf as he entered you inch by inch. You could feel his hot breath against your neck and every single cell in your body had become hypersensitive.

Bucky snaked his arm around your shoulder and the other held your hips, locking you still, and only then did he start thrusting inside you. There was this sense of urgency in his movements that you didn’t really understand, but whenever you opened your mouth to speak, only broken moans came out.

You tried your best to keep quiet, but you couldn’t stop your whimpers no matter how hard you tried. Bucky’s wasn’t holding back as he fucked you within an inch of your life. His hand on your hips snaked down to press tight circles over your clit.

Bucky pressed his metal hand tightly over your mouth to muffle your moans. “You gotta keep it low sugar, or someone will hear us.” Your walls pulsated around his hard length and he increased his pace, hitting deeper the before. “Oh you naughty girl, you like this, don’t you? You wanna get caught?”

Your clammy hands slipped on the wall and Bucky was the only thing holding you up. “Is that why you’re wearing such a slutty dress?” You were just wearing a cute sundress, but your eyes watered from the intensity of the whole act, and Bucky turned your face around a bit to lick up at the salty tears.

“Oh sugar, I saw how wonderful you are with the kids and I couldn’t help but think of putting my baby in you. And no better time than now, right?” He was thrusting up into you like a man possessed and you gulped when you finally realised the reason behind his urgency.

“God, you’d look so fucking gorgeous all full and swollen with my child.” The more Bucky talked, the more he pulled you into his fantasy. “Bucky… yesss!” You slurred as you spoke. “Yeah sugar, don’t worry. I’m gonna fuck you so nice and deep that you’ll make me a daddy.”

You sobbed into his hand as your suddenly came. This orgasm hit you out of nowhere and shook you right through your core. Your legs trembled and Bucky tightened his hold on your to keep you from falling. Your entire body felt electrified as you writhed under him.

“See, you’ve made such a mess on my cock, just like I wanted. Good girl.” You were nearly nearly boneless and yet his praise went to your head. You were so sensitive that you could feel the course material of his pants against your thighs as he pressed against you.

“Tell me sugar, you gonna make me a daddy?” His question had you shaking your head passionately. He flicked your swollen clit and you feared you’d come again soon. His hand slipped lower from your mouth and curled around your neck. You arched your back such that your head was resting on his chest as he rammed into you.

“Did I fuck you dumb, sugar?” His voice had become breathy and hoarse. You didn’t know whether it was a rhetorical question or not, but you didn’t have much time to ponder as he answered it himself. “Guess I have.” He chuckled darkly in your ear.

You were still riding the high of the first orgasm when you felt the next one approaching. “Kiss me..” you blurted out even though it was barely above a whisper. Bucky turned your head again, and crashed his lips down on yours.

You didn’t really have the energy to kiss him back, but you happily let him guide the movements. The kiss was passionate as he explored your mouth with his tongue and his hand tightened just a tad bit on your neck, but that was enough for you to cum harder than you ever had.

You lost the sense of time as you crashed through the waves of overwhelming bliss. You felt Bucky cock twitch inside you and the feeling of his hot cum filling you up had your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Drool collected at the corner of your mouth and Bucky hummed as licked it off.

Bucky placed his metal arm on the wall as you caught your breath and you too heavily leaned on him. You could feel his cum trickle down your thighs as he pulled out and you sighed. “We..” you cleared your dry throat before speaking. “We gotta go home. Can’t go in front of them like this.”

Bucky hummed as he readjusted your panties and dress until you were at least presentable. Though one look at your dazed eyes was a give away. He was quick to zip up his pants and he hissed as he did. You leaned on his as you walked out of the room and roamed the halls until you finally found the back exit.

“Oh god, there you are!” You both stopped dead in your tracks when you heard Tony’s voice behind you. “We’ve been searching you everywhere. What the hell were you doing?” Tony’s smile dropped when you two turned around and you could bet he knew exactly what you’d been up to. And with a very straight laced voice, Bucky replied,

“We were christening your house.”

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thisfanisgonesorry · 9 months

Note

please make a part2 to ironhead where he actually ties up a vibrator to her…….pretty please….

thank you for the req cutie pie!! i have another hobie fic coming out in a few days and then probs going to a diff fandom until i get possessed again (aka ill get halfway through my carlos drabble and then ill end up coming up w/ another hobie fic)

tags: overstim YEAHH, touch denial, bondage, shibari but less than before, dom/sub, i mean v heavy dom/sub. cums in pants.

my beta reader thinks i lace these fics with crack

pt 1 >> IRONHEAD listening to let me hear you scream - ozzy osbourne

✰ “Y’re doing great, love.” He purred me through my orgasm.

I kept my eyes harshly closed, wrists tied above my head and legs tied together with a magic wand held nicely in place by firm ropes. I writhed helplessly against the restraints, the sensitivity getting worse with each moment.

“Calm down, baby.” He whispered, pressing his large hand on my stomach to push me against the mattress in hopes to ease the movement.

“Hobie, please.” I cried.

“Tell me that wit’ y’r eyes open.”

I opened my eyes lazily, trying desperately to look up at him. He was knelt next to me with wide legs, hovering over me. All I could focus on was his aching cock, stuck in the confines of his tight jeans. He was so hard that a wet patch was forming through the fabric, yet he was in complete control.

I let out a pathetic whine at the sight, knowing there was nothing more appealing to my lust-addled mind than to touch him and get him off.

“Love.. Are you cryin’?” He cooed softly.

“It’s too much.” I pleaded with him.

“Y’re only 5 in.”

A choked cry clawed its way from my throat at his words. The stickiness on my body was driving me crazy, covered in sweat, spiderwebs and cum; the view to him was nothing short of immaculate but he simply sat there like the world’s most self controlled man.

“Let me touch you.” I whined. “Please, Hobie.”

“No.”

“Please! You’re so hard, ‘s cryin’ for me, wants me so bad.” I sobbed. “Gonna twitch under my fingers.. Twitch on my tongue, gonna—”

“You’re riling yourself up.”

“Hobes, ‘m gonna cum, please, please, please.” I helplessly begged.

He took in a sharp inhale, steadying his breathing as he watched carefully, running his hand up and down my thigh. “Go on, love. Make it real pretty. Let m’hear you.” He spoke, attempting to speak clearly to show just how restrained he was.

I let out an incoherent mess of cries and begs, cumming all over the wand and squirming against the restraints again. His other hand began to brush my sweaty hair out of my face, watching the way his torture made me unwind.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He gritted his teeth, trying to contain a groan.

“Mhmphf— Hobie.” I whimpered, the orgasm dying down and the burning overstimulation returning.

I used all the strength in my body to stop squirming enough to push myself onto my side, pressing my face into his strong thigh, the position was uncomfortable due to my wrists being tied to the headboard but it was the price to pay to feel him against my skin.

“Darlin’..” He laughed nervously.

“I need it.” I moaned, looking up at him through hazed, cock-drunk eyes. I nuzzled my face pathetically against his jeans. “Need you, need you so, so, so bad.” I rambled.

“You have me.” He answered, his voice shaking slightly.

A loud moan, followed by a loud ‘ah, fuck’ filled the air. I brought my knees to my chest as comfortably as I could with my legs tied together. Small whines, gasps and pants filled the air as I desperately tried to get closer to the handsome man watching every move I made.

“Y’re so desperate, ain’t ya?” He teased lightly, keeping his hands to himself, knowing otherwise he would probably break his iron will.

“Please.” I sobbed, 6 orgasms in and completely ruined beyond belief.

The squirming, thrashing, writhing, tugging, awkward angle and general length of the entire evening meant all 3 of us were worn down. The third, loud as day, snapped. Hobie perked up when he heard the sound of the webbing breaking, freeing my wrists from its hold. He was kind of impressed briefly; my hands quickly wrapped around his waist in a hug, pulling him closer to me.

“I should punish y’for that.” He spoke softly, stroking my sweaty hair once again. Though the fact I simply pulled him into a hug instead of going for his hardness was what convinced him otherwise.

I shook my head to say ‘nuh-uh’ as I pressed open mouth kisses on his jeans. “Close again.” I warned. “So close. I can’t—”

“Y’can do it, love.” He spoke sweetly, his hand gripping the back of my thigh to keep me in place as his other left my face to harshly grip the bed sheets. He leaned back slightly for a better view and that’s when he wrecked himself.

My hips jerked and spasmed, simultaneously grinding into and away from the vibrator. My breathing was racing and the sounds eliciting from my body only raised more and more in volume.

“Right there..” I pleaded.

“Let me hear you scream.” He groaned.

There was not much else I could do but abide by his request, though in the mindless state (despite the fact it was quite intentional), I reached to palm him through his jeans, crying his name out in several moans.

I could feel him switch under me as the sounds left my throat and hung heavy in the air. His hips jerked to the movement before he grabbed my hand harshly.

“Don’t..” He whispered, halting the movements though the pressure of it pressed against his dick was still enough.

“Please.. Need you.” I tried to whisper back, though it definitely didn’t come out like that. I continued pressing open mouth kisses on his jeans and trying to move my hand from under his.

He furrowed his eyebrows, breathing heavily and trying to gauge what the correct thing to do was as my hips continued to stutter against the wand, he kept a keen eye on me, his grip letting up just enough that I could stroke him at the speed he chose, limiting the movements.

“Y’re filthy.” He groaned, watching me lick a stripe up the fabric. His hips jerked at the sight and his composure was falling slowly.

He found himself giving in to my touches as I squirmed at my own pleasure. “Fuck, so much.” I breathed, mouthing his pants. “Ain’t 7 enough?”

“But y’re making m’feel s’good.” He panted.

“Can’t stop cumming.” I whined, feeling it get closer again as I desperately palmed at his cock; silently waiting for the permission to pull it out of his pants, the fact he was even letting me do this much was kind of a miracle.

HIs hips kept moving against my hand as he praised me quietly, watching me squirm into him, taking the punishment like a champ. He let out small moans and groans as he watched me palm him, nuzzling into him, pressing small kisses onto him, doing whatever I could in my goddamn right to worship him.

“Ngh— Fuck, ‘m cummin’ again—” I moaned, the downtime between each one was getting shorter and shorter and there’d either peak when I reached a moment of constant orgasm, or I believe I’d simply go numb and feel nothing but overstimulation and be a whining, crying mess, unable to orgasm any more.

His breathing hitched in his throat, he watched me writhe with that stupid lopsided grin, his jaw slack in awe as he desperately tried to fill his lungs with air. He felt that warm feeling in his stomach, noticing the telltale signs. “Shit, wait, y/n—”

His eyes closed, his jaw fell open and he gasped for air, small groans leaving his throat and his hips stuttering in place. His large hand forced me to stroke him through it, as he quickly accepted his fate.

“Fuck.” He hissed. “Let’s get y’fixed up, pretty baby.” He spoke quickly, pushing me off him, trying to be gentle despite his speed. He turned off the vibrator and let me relax, my tense body finally slump down into comatose limpness.

“Did you..?” I panted mindlessly.

“Shut up.” He mumbled, grabbing his pocket knife and slicing the webbing again, careful enough to not damage the wand, but quick enough to lay me down.

“Mhm, need’a washcloth.” I sighed, finally given a moment to sit back and catch my breath, finally able to relax after the considerate torture he put me through. “Feels gross.. All sweaty 'nd sticky.”

“I can see that.” He responded.

I laid on my back, watching him through heavy eyes, he scrambled to discard the webbing that was tight on my legs and waist, collecting the loose web still stuck to the headboard, to put the wand away and then to get the damp cloth I needed to clean up.

He tried to stifle a laugh when he saw the wet patch on the bed. He knew, in this moment, he wasn’t one to laugh, but he found the view slightly impressive. He ran the damp cloth over anywhere that looked particularly gross, starting with my face for obvious reasons.

“Anythin’ else y’need, love?”

“Dunno.” I hummed, he sat over me, removing his t-shirt and helping me put it on my body. It was worn, but it smelt like him. “You gonna let me see the mess you made?” I commented as he held my body upright.

“I.. No.” He spoke. “Y’look tired, darlin’.”

“You embarrassed?” I asked softly.

“No..” He shook his head again, “A little. Just.. Fuckin’.. Gotta wash these now.”

I sighed, rolling onto my stomach and taking the pile of pillows in my arms, knowing that Hobie would come take his place underneath me soon enough, he just has to rid himself from his excitement.

He ran his hand smoothly down my spine, feeling the muscles relax under his fingertips.

“Go to sleep, darl’, ‘m gonna be a minute.”

“Wash ‘em tomorrow, I want you now.”

He took a sharp inhale, before finally giving in. “If I can’t get the stains out, you’re on clean up duty.” He threatened, though it was clear to tell it wasn’t genuine. He quickly slid into clean pj shorts before snaking his way into bed and pulling me away from the wetpatch and onto his chest.

“Hobes, missing somethin’.” I mumbled the reminder, being taken by sleep as I felt the warmth of his arms wrap around me.

“Mhm? What’s that?”

“Where’s my ‘y’did so good’?”

“Y’did so good.” He huffed in amusement, placing a soft lingering kiss on my neck. “Y’took that real well, jus’ took everythin’ I gave ya’, ‘nd y’looked so pretty doin’ it, too. Wasn’t too much, was it?”

I shook my head weakly. “Was good.” I sighed, nuzzling into his neck and letting myself give into the exhaustion.

“I love ya’, darlin’.” He said finally, continuing his whispers of praise.

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

Note

Howdy! May I request Caine and Jax with a reader that comes back from abstraction but doesn’t remember anything about them or themselves? I think it would make for some good angst material. Have a good day/night!

Back from the 'Dead' (Caine and Jax x Mended!reader)

i dont know if the fandom has made a term for unabstracted people for fic stuff but i like the way mended sounds anyways YES MORE ANGST!! yipee! gonna probably be flip flopping between answering requests and finishing my art wips tonight so!! listened to this song while writing this, feelings were made jack stauber // just take my wallet

You wake up on the floor, not knowing where you are. Everything before you opened your eyes is a quickly fading blur of darkness, far too fleeting for you to grasp and make sense of. Your body hurts, a dull ache seeping down into your core. As your sight clears, you can't make out where you are... you appear to be on a stage of sorts. You can't bring yourself to move, even after the pain becomes bearable. You feel so tired. Eventually, someone approaches you

CAINE:

youre torn back to reality as a loud chattering voice fill your ears, talking almost a mile a minute. looking up you see a short man with a set of teeth for a head. he keeps repeating something that, after a few seconds of processing, sounds like its meant to be your name

hes also throwing in names of endearment, namely "My Dear"

you cut him off mid sentence after he fails to pause between his words, asking who he was and where you were

in an instant he stopped speaking, jaw hanging open and hand paused mid gesture

he doesnt ask if youre joking, i dont think caine would be in that kind of denial

on one hand, i can see him trying to jog your memory, but on the other hand i cant help but feel that he would accept it. maybe its because he doesnt want to stress you out more when youre already in a murky space, fearing that he would accidentally undo your sudden mending

its so weird for him, you were his first love and first partner; and now hes grieving your loss. except youre still here. you still have your mannerisms, but none of your memories. he truly doesnt know how to go forward

gone, blanked, erased, deleted even

he has to stop himself from calling you the nicknames he once called you

he still tries to foster a new relationship with you, but whether or not you would fall in love with him again is up to you

bonus angst, imagine you do fall in love. just not with him. like can you imagine how much that would hurt

the longing looks, the way he would attempt to reach out to you only to stop with his arm half-outstretched, the stumbling of words as he tries to stop himself from spilling how much he loved you

even if you ever abstract again, or you somehow leave the digital world, he would still go on to love you just the same. in fact, i dont think he would ever move on from the heartache

theres a visible change in demeanor in him, too, he seems a little more. fake?

JAX:

he sprints towards you, he doesnt care at all if someone hears his footsteps pounding the ground, just as long as hes there to make sure its really you. and sure enough, it is

similar to caine hes asking you how you managed to come back, not even noticing youre confused and uncomfortable face as he placed his gloved hands on your shoulder firmly and pulled you up

similar to caine as well, you have to cut him off in order to get him to stop talking, having to assert your voice firmly in order to get him to back off

you ask him who he is, where you are, and what he meant by 'coming back'

denial

this man would be in denial i think

like deep down he knows theres something going on with you, but he doesnt want to acknowledge it

hes not really outright romantic with you, since he doesnt want to actually. screw his chance to reconnect with you up, you know. i mean he can kind of see it from your perspective, you just wake up and some guy is already trying to make out with you? yeah no, he would be put off too

i think jax would have more luck trying to rekindle something with you simply because unlike caine, he doesnt carry the same fear of you abstracting again

i think, as an added thing to think about it jax's feelings of hurt and grief coming to a head and he kind of. unintentionally snaps at you, telling you to stop messing around and drop the act

overall sad stuff

constantly trying to get your attention through being a nuisance, kind of like when you guys first met and he started catching feelings

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x you #caine x reader #caine imagine #jax x you #jax x reader #jax imagine

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cherrypikkins · 2 months

Text

FE3H OC Short Fics - Kitt Burgess

some short writings that feature my monster baby Kitt and their somewhat unsettling encounters with some of the students at Garreg Mach, namely Felix, Ashe, Bernadetta, Sylvain, and Claude.

uhhh cw for blood, injury, body horror(!), and death of a tiny animal

be warned and enjoy!

Felix

Kitt had a habit of skipping training, and Felix was always getting on their case. Sometimes he even had his sword out, challenging Kitt to expose the strength he knew was concealed within. They suppressed it like a sordid secret, and Felix was determined to carve the truth out with his blade if he had to.

This time, Kitt made him regret it. Almost.

His knuckles were white on the hilt of his blade as his back pressed against the wall. A massive shadow fell upon him. He had been hoping for a simple sparring match when he cornered Kitt. Never did he expect to be cornered in turn by a fearsome beast of scale, shadow, fang and claw, forcing him to weigh his chances of making it out alive.

"Swordsman," it acknowledged in a voice that was unmistakably monstrous, yet unmistakably Kitt's.

Felix gritted his teeth. His lip curled in a fierce half-grin. "That's some trick," he said, attempting his usual scoff. He could convince himself he was unafraid, if he tried hard enough.

The thing that was Kitt laughed and laughed and laughed. Its throat dripped with ichor and cruelty. Despite his misgivings, Felix found something strangely poetic about this whole scene. It evoked the stories Glenn used to read to him - not of knights and chivalry, but of fearsome monsters… and those who hunted them.

"You asked me not to hold back, and thus I obliged." It appeared to pace calmly, until Felix realized it was moving into an attack position. "But are you sure you're ready for this? I've sunk my teeth into stronger, sturdier knights than you, Swordsman. With neither shield nor armor to protect you, your flesh will only rend quicker."

Those words made his temper flare, banishing all hesitation. "You'll find that I'm no knight, Beast," he growled with fury and anticipation. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

Kitt laughed louder still as Felix kicked off the wall, lunging forward into glorious battle to test his blade. Not against knight or bandit, but against a creature he had seen only in storybooks and nightmares alike.

Ashe

Kitt strolled through the ancient halls of the monastery, humming a vague tune. Their footsteps paused.

Something scurried in the corner. Their instincts flared. With inhuman swiftness, Kitt was upon the mouse within seconds. Amber eyes gazed with listless curiosity as it wriggled helplessly in their palm. The mouse barely had a fighting chance before it was stuffed into the jaws of a beast that was beyond its comprehension.

Kitt wrestled the tiny critter with tongue and teeth before gulping it down, tail and all. There was a moment of uncomfortable wriggling. Then all was still.

Satisfied, they turned a heel - and came immediately face-to-face with Ashe.

The boy's face was white as a sheet. "Kitt… did you just…?"

Kitt's head tilted, eyes forming slits. They leaned in, just an hair's breadth nearer. That slight but sudden movement was enough to make Ashe flinch.

In that moment they both knew - it was too late for denials. The boy had seen everything.

A hair-splitting tension filled the darkening corridor.

Kitt mused, eyes flickering briefly to the side. Then they smiled, as if they didn't have a mouse trapped in their teeth just seconds ago.

"Let's keep this between you and me. Okay, Ashe?" Kitt suggested sweetly. They had probably meant to reassure him, never realizing just how threatening they sounded in that moment.

Ashe dared to meet Kitt's eyes just once, and for a brief second, he caught a glimpse of something horrifying. Something not unlike the ghosts that haunted his nightmares. And yet, he found himself unable to look away.

"R-r-right. Not a soul," he stammered with a weak grin. Not that anyone would believe him, anyways.

Pleased, Kitt gave him one last good-natured smile before pivoting and continuing their way along the corridor, making noises like they were cleaning their teeth with their tongue.

Ashe felt his knees finally give in as he sank to the floor, feeling faint.

Bernadetta

Bernadetta, as usual, was hiding. This time her refuge of choice was a sturdy shed where she huddled in the dark, sniffling and shaking. Right now, she wasn't hiding from anything in particular, but her chest was wracked with the familiar pangs of anxiety and terror such that being, no… breathing out in the open was unbearable…

The door to the shed swung open. Bernadetta shrieked as daylight flooded in. She stared up fearfully at the figure at the doorway, eyes widening.

"K-Kitt?" she gasped.

The figure cursed and - without warning - lunged. Bernadetta screamed as Kitt made desperate apologies that were all but incoherent to her. Something that sounded like 'there's no time to explain' and 'it's happening now', and other nonsense that Bernadetta was too panicked to comprehend while being manhandled out of the shed.

It took Bernadetta a moment to realize that she was effectively being shoved out of her own hiding place, and Kitt had claimed it for themselves. She stared in complete bewilderment as the door slammed shut in her face, with Kitt still inside. The last thing she saw was a look of pain, fear, and regret…

"Kitt? Wh-what's wrong? A-answer me! P-p-please!" Her anxiety was replaced by concern, much to her surprise.

Disturbing noises emanated from the shed as though something writhed in the dark, gouging the creaking wood. Kitt's voice was halfway between a growl and a groan. "Bernie… Whatever you do, don't let this door open… Promise me...."

"Wh-what? Why?! Kitt? Tell me what's going on…" Bernadetta stammered, reaching for the handle.

The entire shed suddenly rattled, as though something massive was trying to escape - violently. The wooden panels threatened to splinter and buckle as it slammed against the door.

"LET ME OUT! TRAITORS! MURDERERS! DEFILERS! HOW DARE YOU! LET ME OUT OF HERE, I BEG OF YOU! BEFORE THEY COME... BEFORE I TEAR YOU APART..."

Bernadetta flinched and dropped to the ground as an otherworldly howl, desperate and enraged, filled her ears.

"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE FOREVER, COWARD! WHY DID YOU ABANDON ME? WHERE IS YOUR MERCY? WHERE IS MY JUSTICE? I WON'T FORGIVE YOU! SOMEONE SAVE ME! PLEASE! IT HURTS! I'LL KILL YOU!!"

The sheer hatred and agony in Kitt's distorted voice left her terrified, yet somehow filled with sorrow and pity. She remained rooted to the spot, not understanding anything or knowing what to do, as the monstrous seething finally ceased…

A puddle of black ichor had formed at the door of the shed, staining her shoes and hissing with vapor. All of her instincts told her to run away, fast as her legs could carry. And yet, something in her heart broke as she grappled to comprehend what Kitt must be going through right now.

Her hand grasped the handle of the door before she could stop herself.

Sylvain

Sylvain was the first and only one to see Kitt collapse out of nowhere. He lunged towards Kitt as they crumpled to the ground, seizing violently. Their bones creaked and cracked, and the veins on their arms darkened…

"H-hey! Kitt, you okay? Talk to me," Sylvain pleaded. His hand hovered, desperate to help but afraid to touch. To say that he had no idea what he was dealing with would be an understatement.

"Syl…vain…" Kitt hissed between clenched teeth, clutching and clawing at themselves in pain. "You need to…get away from here… AGH!!"

Alarmed, Sylvain placed a hand on their shoulder to hold them steady. His eyes widened as a black and inky substance pooled at his fingertips. To his horror, the veins on Kitt's arms began to split and crack, oozing black ichor that encased their limbs and form. He flinched as onyx black scales began to erupt, rippling and razor sharp. Then came the spikes, jutting out painfully as they burst from Kitt's very flesh…

Sylvain drew back, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. It was a scene that hit too close to home, for it was strikingly similar to the way Miklan had transformed…

By now, Kitt had curled up into a kneeling position, shuddering as they braced themselves against the waves of pain. Covered in black scales, they were nigh unrecognizable. Then came the fangs, and the claws. Amber eyes blackened with corruption and caved in until they were wide and hollow as the void. Black ichor gushed out, a horrifying mockery of weeping…

"Goddess…" Sylvain inhaled sharply, staring at the otherworldly being that Kitt had become. The desire to help overrode the instinct to run, and so he reached out tentatively with a hand. "Kitt… I'm so sorry. Does it…does it hurt?"

The creature screamed at him, its voice shrill and unearthly, no longer a human but a being of rage and agony and hatred and sorrow. The moment it lashed out, Sylvain refused to turn away. Instead, he braved the creature's claws and fangs to pull Kitt into a tight hug.

Kitt's eyes widened as Sylvain murmured into their ear. "It's okay… I'm here. I'm with you. I won't leave you alone. I'll help you get through this - I promise."

Sylvain tightened his grip as Kitt wept ichor and blood upon his shoulder.

Claude

Kitt sighed with weary relief as they sank into the water, submerged to the shoulders in its cool and calming embrace. The scales that covered their body glittered faintly under moonlight. There was something about the monastery pond that soothed the familiar pains of their transformation. Their limbs still ached and their veins still burned, but it was far more bearable this time. Most important of all, however, the peace and serenity of this moment. For now, the monster within was quiet. Resting. Basking.

Kitt's mind began to drift, reflecting on past events. It was but a second too late before they noticed the sudden footfalls approaching.

Claude arrived just in time to see something dip beneath the surface with the slightest splash. He smiled wryly.

"Not quick enough this time, I'm afraid," he reprimanded light-heartedly.

Hiding under the rickety dock, Kitt felt the wood above their head creak with Claude's weight.

"We both know that there's no use hiding, friend. So why don't you come out and say hello?" Claude's eyes flitted across the pond hopefully. "No? Well, it was worth a try…"

His voice was more playful than threatening. But Kitt knew how Claude's mind worked. Even if it was a game, he played to win. And he was just as determined to find out the secret of the monastery's pond as much as Kitt as desperate not to let him.

Claude heard a faint splash underneath his feet and smirked. "Aha. As I expected, looks like our little water bug is hiding under the pier. Let's have a look at you…" Kneeling down on the dock, he braced his hands on the edge of the planks and craned his head down to have a look underneath…

A pair of cold, scaly hands grabbed the back of his collar and pulled with startling strength.

"Woah, wha-"

He barely had time to react as his quarry turned the tables on him, hauling him head-first into the pond with a resounding and unceremonious splash.

Claude's head submerged briefly before breaching the surface with a gasp. His arms flailed in the water as he looked around wildly for the one that had pulled him in.

Aside from his splashing, the pond was tranquil and empty. He was alone. But not quite.

He turned his head to the sound of hurried footsteps, running away barefoot from the pond. A familiar figure fled in the distance, but escaped into the shroud of night before he could fully recognize them.

Soaked to the bone, Claude clicked his teeth in good-natured frustration. A clever play, he admitted with a quiet grin. He was zero-for-one now, but the game had just begun.

There is now a part 2 :)

#fe3h oc #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #felix hugo fraldarius #ashe ubert #bernadetta von varley #sylvain jose gautier #claude von riegan #cw blood #cw body horror #cw animal death #cw injury #fire emblem three houses oc

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trashytoastboi · 9 months

Note

Hello good and generous Senpai!! I hope loadshedding eased by you, as it did by us :) if senpai has a moment to spare.... And would grace us with their amazing writing skills of perhaps a Killer Hard Dom x Reader? 👉👈 Thank you! Keep up the amazing work💖

Aw shucks when senpai calls me senpai it really hits different. You got me feeling all bashful and stuff 🤭 Its been such a long wait and I apologise dearest senpai, hope you enjoy ^^

NSFW Scenario: Hard Dom! Killer x F! Sub! Reader - A Hard Brat to Tame.

(Female Pronouns)

Warning: NSFW {Dom/Sub dynamics, Spanking, Fingering, Oral, Mating Press, Doggy, Punishment, Bondage (kind of), Orgasm Denial, Body Worship.}

Word Count: 3,006 words

🍜 Killer 🍜

“Looks like fun, can I join in?” {Name} mused, her hands perched on the arm of a stranger who dealt the cards for this game. Killer twitched uncomfortably at seeing how close and flirtatious she was acting with a complete stranger. Her smug little glaces accompanied by a smirk told Killer that she knew exactly what she was doing in trying to make him jealous. He had been dealing with her acting like a brat the entire day and struggled immensely to keep his patience and composure even in the face of her obvious provocations. Despite his multiple instances of what some may call mercy, she refused to cease her warpath.

{Name} had complained about being neglected by Killer, it wasn’t the case and she knew it. She delivered the practiced sob story and he could only muster a sigh on every repeat. The real story without any of her choice embellishments is a simple situation of Killer rejecting her advances the previous night because he wanted some well deserved rest. Being the usual brat {Name} is, she expected a snap of her fingers to make Killer pamper and please her. Sometimes he was kind enough to indulge these exorbitant demands, other times he put his foot down and disciplined some sense into her. This was one of those times where she wanted to be pampered, and Killer, who had spent an entire day fighting and running around with the crew trying to keep the peace or letting hell break loose just wanted a rest after.

Killer now suffered {Name’s} ‘wrath’, and her revenge came in the form of taunts, jeers and repetitive prodding. Anything in her arsenal she could use to intentionally irritate him, she used. Now Killer sits, gripping his tankard tightly while seeing {Name} hang on the arms of strangers who obviously ogled her.

Hours passed, and they were back at the ship. The crew sat around some talking, some drinking, others passed out and a few sat around the table trying to master a new gambling game. Killer was the reliable one who remembered all the rules and was teaching the others to play. {Name} sauntered over to the table where Killer was sitting. She asked the table if she could fetch more drinks. Her smile seemed friendly on the surface, yet Killer couldn’t stop his feelings from building. He offered to help her carry the drinks and excused himself from the table. He stops {Name} in her tracks, “Behave yourself.” Killer lowered his voice and sounded threatening. She just smiled at him, whipping around as she strutted back to the table of half drunk pirates.

An utmost act of defiance, she persisted with her disobedience. Finally Killer had enough and his patience snapped. He walks over to the table, “{Name} my room, now.” He demands. She scoffed and ignored him. Killer shook his head, he lifted her easily and threw her over his shoulder, taking long strides through the ship to go towards his cabin. He didn’t care about all the odd or knowing stares that came their way. {Name} kicked up a fuss about being carried like this, of course in her mind she was more than happy to finally get the reaction she wanted out of Killer.

Despite her various complaints and protests, Killer would not relent. He arrived at the last stretch and finally had enough of the bratty attitude. He clicks his tongue. SMACK. He spanked her, hard. A surprised yelp fell from {Name} who seemed so shell shocked at the sudden spank, she settled quietly without any further fuss now seeing how serious Killer is. He typically would have given a warning first, and a little more leeway. Considering the extent of her behavior he realized he had been far too lax.

Killer walked inside his room and kicked the door closed behind him. He set {Name} on her feet and combed his fingers through her hair. “I hope, for your sake, you’ll behave and take your punishment like a good girl.” Killer’s voice sounded sweet, even with the phrasing it was not a hard insistence, he told her to behave and nothing else. Even though her pride wanted to fight against him more, the atmosphere suggested that he would not be messed with any further. {Name} shut her mouth and agreed. Killer smiles slightly under his mask, “Take your clothes off and have a seat on the bed.” He instructed. She did as she was told and looked up at Killer, he looked down at her both in the figurative and literal sense. The way he towered over her made him seem so daunting and intimidating.

Internally she cheered seeing how commanding and straightforward Killer is acting, he may have called it punishment but he is giving her exactly what she wanted. Oh poor {Name}, she is so very mistaken. Killer cradled her face with his hands lovingly, before moving them down to her neck, “Is this what you wanted? Me to touch you?” He probed for an answer. “Yes, I want it.” {Name} responded quickly, enjoying the light touches of his hands on her body, he pulled away abruptly. “Then touch yourself.” He snickers.

{Name’s} eyes widened, “But-” his hands cupped her face again. A warning. “Just be good and listen.” She shook her head “I don’t want to!”

Killer sighed, still to the bitter end she would not relent. “If we were doing what you wanted, it wouldn’t be a punishment then.” {Name} could see he had no intention of budging. “Fine…” she muttered. Killer takes a seat in front of the bed, “Come on little one, you have to spread your legs more.” She shuts them, {Name} didn’t want to waste time on punishments she wanted what she wanted and unless Killer was giving that to her, she refused everything else.

“Even now you won’t listen. I thought you were going to take your punishment like a good girl.” Killer is disappointed, {Name} walks over to him “I’ll be good, I promise.” Bold words considering she disobeyed him not even a minute earlier. Killer switches the situation and bends her over his lap. “Since you can’t be trusted to do it right, I will do it myself.” The palm of his hand rubs her back, drifting down to her ass and the backs of her thighs. He just runs his hands along the skin. “Do you know what you did wrong?” Killer asks sternly. {Name} takes a moment to think, “I was bad…” SLAP. The first hit lands, the sound resonates in the room and she yelps with the sudden sting. Killer keeps a firm grip to prevent her from squirming out of his grasp.

“So you are aware that your behavior was unacceptable?” He asks, met by silence in her stead. “Tell me exactly what you did wrong.” His hand soothes the previous smack, “I was flirting with other people.” SLAP. “What else?” {Name} tries to steady her trembling voice. “I was rude and disrespectful towards you.” SLAP. “I didn’t listen to instructions” SLAP. “I didn’t accept m-my first punishment.” SLAP. {Name} starts crying from the relentless stinging that barely had a moment to recover before the next smack landed, harder than the last. She stopped listing off her misbehavior, “There is one more baby.” Killer informs her, she panics slightly “I don’t know…”

“You have yet to apologize.” He states coldly, “I’m sorry sir…” SLAP. “You will be sorry baby.”

He ceases the spanking, soothing over the heated skin with his hand. “Is my punishment over now?” she asks softly, with a hint of hope in her voice. Killer sits her up and wipes away {Name’s} tears, “You’re not allowed to be a brat then cry about it.” His voice held no sympathy for her plight. “Oh my pretty baby, what a misunderstanding. How can this be a punishment when you enjoy it so much?”

{Name} flinched at his words. “So this is what we are going to do.” Killer picks her up and lays her down on the bed, he removes his mask and sets it down on the bedside table. He lifts her hands and pins them above her head. Killer lets go, which surprised {Name}. She awaited the ropes, the cuffs, or something. There was nothing. She is evidently confused by his actions, he only chuckled at her expression. “You are going to stay very still. You are not going to move. While you sit still, I am going to touch you, in all the ways you like. If I find your behavior to my satisfaction I might let you cum. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir…” {Name} meekly replied, Killer could see how subdued she was, “Now, that’s a good girl.” he hummed with approval. {Name} sighed a little, now finally accepting that this really isn't going to go her way. As if the remnant stinging on her ass wasn’t enough to make her realize. Killer practically saw the moment she decided to give up and just obey him. Killer rubs his thumb against her lips, running down to her chin, then wrapping his hand around her throat while he gives her a curt kiss.

His hand continues further down, giving a firm squeeze to her tits, and chuckling as he hears that soft gasp when he pinches and pulls her nipples. His lips place kisses on her neck, as he sinks his teeth in. Leaving a trail of marks down to her tits, he replaces his fingers with his mouth. Her whimpers and little moans are music to his ears. His hands held her waist, firmly “So pretty.” He murmurs, kissing down her navel. Killer gripped her thighs and pulled them apart, he shuffled lower and sank his teeth into her thigh. {Name} twitched and raised her arms slightly, Killer flashed a sharp glare in her direction and she instantly dropped her hands back to their spot.

Killer smirked seeing how wet she was already for him, “And here you said you hated punishments.” He said in such a condescending tone that caused {Name] to feel utterly embarrassed as she averted her gaze from his. “No. Keep your eyes on me.” {Name} looked back towards Killer who held that devious look in his eyes. He licked his lips, he knew what he had planned for her. He flattened his tongue giving one long lick against her slit, {Name} jolted, it wasn’t enough for her and he knew it. But he is determined to relentlessly drive her mad. His tongue alternated between delicate kitten licks and wide laps against her, occasionally taking his time to softly nudge and suckle on her clit. Her voice grew louder with each movement, he could tell {Name} was desperate and getting closer. “Hmm, getting a little close there baby?” He chuckled. {Name} nodded frantically. She wanted to grab his head and pull his hair but she stayed as he instructed her too. “Sir…!” She huffed, on the edge of approaching bliss, her legs began to shake as the build up was finally going to reach its perfect climax…It all disappeared. Killer pulled away, leaving her utterly high and dry. “What…?” {Name} looked shocked, “Why’d you stop!?” She whined. Killer smiled, feigning an innocent expression. “Oh? Were you expecting something?”

He lifted his hand to her mouth, “Open up.”, she obeyed. He slowly slid two of his fingers into her mouth, feeling the warmth and wetness it had to offer as he felt her sucking his digits and still glaring with discontent. “Since you look so miserable, I’ll give you something else.” Killer pulled his fingers from her mouth. He smiled, and leaned down for a kiss, the moment his lips met hers he slid his fingers inside. The sweet gasping moan that stifled from the kiss was a reward in itself.

Killer slid his fingers in and out, moving them with a practiced precision that had {Name} whining and begging. She moved her hips wanting to feel more. “So greedy.” Killer commented, keeping his constant pace exactly the way she wanted it. “Please, don’t stop.” {Name} begged, knowing that he was planning to keep bringing her to the edge without satisfaction. Killer didn’t make any jeering commentary otherwise and she believed that maybe he would be merciful, she allowed herself to enjoy every moment. Her head leaned back, {Name} felt that familiar pleasure inching closer, the high that built up once again. So very close, and in another disappointing instant, all gone.

“No…no…” she babbled over again. Killer shrugged in response, she felt the anger getting to her. “Such a bastard” {Name} muttered under her breath. Killer chuckled, “Well you only have yourself to blame.” He pulled her down and closer to him, readjusting their position and throwing her legs over his shoulders. He gave his cock a few strokes while watching her impatience grow, {Name] was truly weak to her desires. He slowly, forcefully began to push inside her, making sure he could get as deep as she could take.

That burning stretch as he inched further inside drove her wild, {Name} wanted to grab him and pull him closer but she stayed conscious of keeping her hands and arms in the imaginary bondage. He kept a languid pace, going in deep and dragging out making sure she felt every little thing. Full well knowing she was already sensitive from being worked up without release. “Faster please” {Name} moaned, Killer shook his head. “No baby, just be patient while I enjoy myself.” Killer grunted between his words. “Sir please, I can’t please.” she sobbed. “Shhh baby, just behave.” Even if she wanted it faster, the build up eventually became noticeable. Her begging subsided as she got closer, tears began to well up and fall from the frustration. Just needing any form of release, Killer kept his slow pace and the moment he felt her getting close, he pulled out and laughed at her outburst of being upset. {Name} whines but still keeps her arms in place, Killer could appreciate her obedience even in the height of her discontent. “You’re behaving so well baby, just a little more and I'll give you a reward, alright?” Killer spoke so sweetly, {Name} just nodded strung along on every word.

Killer’s hand cradles her face, he shows somewhat of a relieved smile when he thinks that {Name} finally learned her lesson, punishment is effective but reward is even more so. Killer slid his cock back inside listening to her relieved sigh. {Name} eagerly waited for him to start moving but he stayed still. Killer leaned down and began kissing her neck, his thumb rubs small circles on her clit and she moans. The sensitivity played in his favour. She babbles incoherently about how close she is. {Name} doesn’t even beg for it, she anticipated further disappointment. Killer doesn’t stop even when her hips start bucking against him trying to feel more. {Name’s} vision blanks for a second as her climax hits hard, leaving her a shaking mess from her desperately earned release. “There we go…” Killer hums happily, it only took one orgasm to have her so fucked out, although he didn’t count all the ones he previously denied.

{Name} mumbled her thank you’s over and over again, Killer flips her over and pulls her onto all fours. “Now that your punishment is over, I can really enjoy myself.” He thrusts back into her hard, practically leaving {Name} breathless, he slams into her repeatedly holding nothing back. Her body gives in and she collapses to the bed. “No baby, too early to give out on me.” Killer pulls her hips back and holds her steady as he relentlessly fucks into her. “Wait-!” {Name} whines, still recovering from her previous orgasm as another approaches quickly. Killer kisses her shoulder, his thrusts are accentuated by his grunts and strained voice “Give me another baby, you can do it.” {Name} could barely think, just feeling every harsh thrust that drove her mind even more blank.

Her hands weakly clutched at the bed, SLAP. Killer spanked her, the surprise sent her over the edge and once again she came undone. Killer chuckled at the pathetic display of how easily he could toy with her body. His hand pushed her body down to the bed as he held her in place, his own release building. He shut his eyes and just focused on thrusting as hard as he could. “Fuck!” He exclaimed through gritted teeth as he came inside her, holding her still while he filled her up. Killer needed a moment to find feeling in his body again, he tried to catch his breath as he finally let go of her hips and laid down next to her.

Both had a moment to gather themselves when Killer pulls {Name} close and kisses her on the forehead, his thumb wipes away the remnant tears. Moving to comb his fingers through her hair. “Are you alright?” His voice asked, barely above a whisper. She nods and nuzzles into his touch. “It wasn’t too much was it?”, she shakes her head. “‘I’m sorry for how I acted.” {Name} uttered a sincere apology realizing that even if it had been a prerequisite to a scene, there were still limitations that she shouldn’t have pushed as hard. Killer kisses her softly, before sitting up and taking some time to address all of the little bruises and marks. He is firm, and often gets rough but is constantly aware of how much {Name} could take. She shifted and plopped her head into his lap while looking at Killer, He flashed a gentle smile that she had gotten used to seeing, and feeling it a treasured secret and many others probably never had the pleasure of seeing it. His fingers ran through her hair and {Name} could feel herself drifting further into a strange asleep yet not quite asleep state, listening to all the loving affirmations Killer muttered while believing she had already fallen asleep.

#one piece #killer #killer one piece #trashytoastboi #unholy toast #female reader #female pronouns #one piece scenario #one piece imagines #one piece headcanon #fluff #lemon #smut #ns.fw #killer x reader

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plasticfangtastic · 7 months

Text

Cozy Corner Kinktober. Prompt 6: Public sex, 10: Orgasm denial (sort of) Alt. Prompt: kink 0f your choice-- incest.

Day 3 (but day 1 for moi)

Thicker Than Water.

word count: 4.8K wods

A Homelander x Soldier Boy Fanfiction

TW: Incest, violence, bottom Homelander, bilander, bits of Butchlander and Meave x HL in theory, dark fic, semi-public sex, set during S3 obviously, canon divergent, not proofread.

A/N: this work contains INCEST, the author does not condone or supports incest... this is instead a what-if scenario of what could’ve happened during Herogasm– If this subject matter it's too uncomfortable or triggering plz do not read. if it doesn’t bother you, thanks for reading it! lowkey just wanted to get this one out of the way cuz its the most uncomfortable of my kinktober fics plz read the A/N at the end of the chapter for my thoughts.

Homelander walked the ruins of the once lavish home, the smell of cum, sweat, soot, fire and blood mingling in the air as a twisted version of Macy’s perfume aisle-- instead of overpriced bottles of whale sperm and civet musk– it was this warm animalistic stench tickling his nose. Homelander could hear the moans and wails of the burn victims and smell the sticky remains of some mini-hero wedged in the ridges of his boot.

Standing tall as his comrade laid unconscious on the floor, Soldier boy watched him annoyed, unimpressed at Homelander’s speech– he was no different than any of his old fans, not bothered when the young man got offended at his mockery, he pinned him straight into the wall, barely getting a wince out of the veteran, this was nothing but a tantrum from an overgrown baby in Ben’s mind.

Homelander and him began their fight, it was gleeful– it made Homelander smile, it made him warm, it made him feel painfully alive, so awake, so glad to know his hero may lived up to expectation.

They traded blows, for the first time in a very long time Homelander felt ache, each fistful and low kick more violently and more meaningful than the last, the whiny voice of Starlight urging her friend to leave barely registered as Soldier Boy smacked him below his ribs, the more the beast inside him woke up, the more he wanted Soldier Boy to challenge him, to dare prove him wrong– he was transfixed with the thought of killing him… with the thought of him.

Homelander could see just how handsome he was, the old film cameras didn’t do him justice, the voluminous brown hair, that soft beard and those perfect hazel-green eyes looking down on him, even the sound of his gasp were beautiful.

He threw him against the wall, lifting him up, hanging him like a portrait, the man struggling, his nails digging on the leather of Homelander’s gloves, he stared at him, looked at the heavy fabric wrapping his belated birthday present, he gave himself the chance to mock him privately, undressing him with his literal piercing gaze, the years locked in a tube has not diminished his wonderful physique, he licked his lips feeling his cock trying to make room in his tights-- he squeezed his victim’s neck, wanting to find relief as he killed his enemy.

“You really have me going there…” Homelander spoke.

Soldier Boy chuckled, and with enviable speed he kicked Homelander away from him, he flew back catching himself against the rubble, Soldier Boy had simply wanted the extra height.

Homelander held his stomach feeling a boot shape bruise forming under the padding, he spat, wanting to feel that force once more.

The violence amp-up, somehow Homelander began to lose footing, feeling the rust soaking his teeth, he gave him a blood soak smile, growling as the man destroyed the ground below Homelander’s ear– now he was the one pinned down.

From the moment he had seen him on that grainy black and white footage, he had been in awe– a teenage flame re-ignited as he emerged from that park, his shock had followed him all day creeping on his mind as he hid in his penthouse, he played one of his old movies. He played the dashing hero cleaning house, killing the baddies and rescuing the girl– everything homelander had ever wanted to be as a child, his lips miming the lines matching the cadence of his speech perfectly. He had seen his films dozens of times, he used to re-enact the scenes with his friend when bored, he loved to imitate men like this– he remembered impressing Voguelbaum by doing a perfect impression of Ray Liotta in Goodfellas and Rutger Hauer in Blade Runner but he always lose his approval when he copied Soldier Boy… so he kept it to himself.

He kept to himself how this one scene in th film made him feel… it was a rare shirtless scene, his teenage brain feed him dopamine, whenever he caught that scene he wished to paused the film but he never could, not when the orderly was around, not when the security guards hadn’t doze up– only in the comfort of the dark beneath the sheets could he pause it.

Now he had it live, feeling the heat, feeling his gaze… he gulped… the fantasy not too far from the real world.

“Time out!”

That made Soldier Boy fluster, shaking his head in confusion. Homelander pushed him off, he could not believe this brat had just demanded a time out, he stood up pacing himself and cleaning the soot off his legs, Ben threw himself at his direction but was only met with a bored evasion, he lifted his hands in ‘T’ shape, Ben scoffed, his eyebrows twitching harder than his lips as he tried to speak, Homelander paced himself like a caged tiger but feeling like a wounded deer about to be pounce by a jaguar… the two dancing on the razor’s edge, but Homelander just offered a dirty smirk, acting in control.

“What do you think this is?” Ben said with indignation.

“Not going to fight you… am just trying to think.” Homelander gave himself a minute, his ears picking up on Butcher’s irregular heartbeat, the man still unconscious but so close-by– You’re so much more beautiful in person… even your strength didn’t disappoint… you’re every bit as impressive as I hope you were.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Pal. But you’re not my type.” He wink at him more mockingly than anything– now can we…?”

Soldier Boy was quick to force him into a dance, their battle short-lived as Homelander took the upper hand, their tussling had Ben thinking he was gaining momentum as the man ended on the ground but it was a trap– he quickly set hero in a seated armband, no amount of tapping will get Homelander to stop but Ben felt his muscles and bones clattering and yelping, the burn buried deep into his marrow, the more he handled him the more Ben felt the humiliation, the tense and thick fabric of the younger man scratching at his cheek, Homelander cackling in between sharp wet pants as he forced the man head into his crotch.

“What da!?” Ben panicked, discovering the supes unsubtle secret, pure adrenaline gave him enough force to free himself– are you fucking hard!?”

“I have never been manhandled like this before” he purred, blowing loose strands off his face– It's not gonna go away… so either we call it quits which we know once William wakes up, is not happening. We could ignore it… or you give me… a minute or ten.”

Soldier Boy looked around at the destruction feeling glad and sorry that Butcher was unconscious, wishing he could waltz in and handle this gross motherfucker on his behalf.

“Or I could just keep beating you.”

“I might like that” he chuckled lightly, standing up effortlessly– seems I’m the improvement in all… manner of speaking” he purred lewdly.

Ben scoffed violently.

“As if a spring chicken like yourself knows what the fuck you’re doing.” He remarked, rolling his eyes.

“Teach me then” He rested against a shattered pillar– just an intermission before I wear your skinned face for Halloween.”

Soldier boy could not deny the absurdity of the mind of the world’s current biggest ego-maniac but there was a familiar charm to this... he had done the same in the past, sometimes a pretty face could be found in the battlefield, so why not? In the midst of war he had made love to Countess and many others. Being so close to death made a man eager to feel the warmth embrace of life, his mind lingering to the trenchest, all the death around made him cling to it, made him needy for it, perhaps this was the first time the young man experience the feeling– these people were soft, coddle from hardships, just pipsqueaks in their warm beds, who never would have the misfortune of meeting the rain of bullets, of watching dozens and hundreds drop like flies… so he gave Homelander a proper look– The slightly disheveled man was classically charming, Vought had done a job worthy of a round of applause picking him but from whatever Kansas’s farm they’ve found him– tall, sharp jaw, beautiful cornflower blues, and striking blonde locks… give him a pair of tits and he would’ve been all over that five minutes ago, but he wasn’t too bad either, he had just enough wrinkles around his eyes to add character, the way his smile lines defines his chiseled cheeks, he had no babyface left just an aged boyish charm… admittedly had the younger man been 10 or 15 years older he wouldn’t even hesitate, had he had some salt adorning his temples he would’ve jumped him by now.

He looked back, catching a glimpse of the cracked skull slowly re-aligning itself, his bones ached and he would need a moment to recalibrate, he wasn’t betraying his oath to Butcher he was simply pausing the game.

“Then what are you waiting for?” He said in a deep gravelly voice, breaching the space between them noticing how not much taller he was from the caped Supe, with his boots on they stood near identical– show me that you want it”

He took Homelander’s wrist by force, pressing it right against his crotch, Homelander shuddered, letting out a whispy moan as his finger relaxed under the pressure of Soldier Boy’s vicious grip, he gave him a squeeze feeling the girth under the wannabe cargo pants, just loose enough to provide space inside, he massaged this manhood and now he was that blushing teenage boy discovering himself for the first time, biting his lips as he felt it wake from its slumber.

Soldier Boy softened his grip freeing him, just to give him a little hand as he saw how timid his movements had become. He tried to keep cool but he could feel every micro movement, he could smell his arousal and hear the Supe’s heart rate– it was cute.

Soldier Boy was not missing any points in that department, he was girthy and veiny, it felt heavy under his own hand as he lowered his pants just enough to feel the hot dusty passing breeze on his ass, Homelander licked his lips unconsciously knowing Butcher barely living body still in the room, knowing there were dozens wounded still stumbling outside and still trapped under the rubble not far his area– he could get caught at any moment, his heart thumping at the thought of Butcher dying sight was him on his knees sucking off his enemy, Homelander had no desire to offer the hooligan the satisfaction of misunderstanding, but there he was squatting pushing his hair back like a dainty lady, his lips already parting to let his tongue take the first cautious steps.

Homelander moaned desperately as Soldier Boy shoved his head to let them meet all the way down to the base, his nose tickled by the coarse bush, he tried breathing but only met the salty and rich musky breeze briefly, it took a couple yanks and back and forths for Homelander to match his roughness, his tongue flat and wet undulating as he pulled, tightening his throat as the man forced himself further, sucking with enough force to rip a normal man dick clean off but to put the older man on edge, Ben hissed behind gritted teeth, chuckling as he felt his whole body wanting the pleasure of his blowjob, his hand pulling on those bleached locks as he slobbered into the ground, pulling him away to catch that debase look and dazed eyes filled with pleasure staring back at him, his tongue licking spit and precum off his lips, the young man barely needed a breather, he gave him a wonky smile as a gloved hand gave Ben a magical rush, gliding back and forth on the member pulling the foreskin roughly.

“So you can do more than kiss ass with that mouth”

Homelander growled, didn’t entretain him with a quip– right now all Soldier Boy was… was a talking dildo, satisfying a lifelong fantasy, he pulled him making the man winced but the pain died as he felt that slobbering tongue on his cock, he felt the leather twisting as he focused on the tip.

He would come soon, Homelander was too fucking good at this, whoever had trained him had done a splendid job, that or the man had a demonic oral fixation– his legs shuddered as he felt his balls twitching, his sight turning white when it all stopped. Homelander cackled lightly watching his hero whine and buckle his hips eager to finish but with his thumb and pointer trapping the base in a ring there was no way he would finish, he lifted the cock just for his mouth to give gentle kisses on those heavy swollen balls, he gave them a quick pop in his checks, the man was vocal and it was driving Homelander insane, to hear him, to know it wouldnt take much to make him beg.

“Is not fair if it's just you getting off… though it was your generation that was all about manners, old man.” He whispered as he slowly crawled up, still wanking him slightly, finding a pool of precum lubing his gloves– is not polite.”

“Thought a horny slut like yourself didn’t want a gentleman.” He hissed, feeling his nose crook as Homelander sped up his rhythm with his other hand, keeping his cock unable to cum with the other, it was more than teasing– a lesser man would’ve died by now– but I think you earned being treated like a lady.”

“No, no, no…” he shushed letting himself the indulgance of kissing the man, the other hesitant at first, but he wouldn’t relent, Soldier Boy’s kisses were more than he could’ve ever dream off, the man pinned him against the nearest brittle wall his tongue taking the lead, Homelander needed to breathe for the first time, he was gasping as he felt his silky skin bruise, his hands still working on him and now the pain in his own trousers agonizing– I want to be fuck like a man… teach me a lesson”

Ben growled.

Homelander had no issue taking his pants off, wishing to undress more but they had no real time, more and more people were becoming conscious outside, Billy could still wake up not that the dying bastard could do anything about it.

His ears picking up on some screaming woman just a few meters on the other side of this wall, if she had super hearing no doubt she would catch them, it made him excited.

Homelander had been so distracted he didn’t noticed when Soldier Boy had lifted his hips, it had all been so quick, cursing and thanking his inhuman build as the man shoved two wet fingers inside him, Homelander squealed at the sudden sensation gasping into Ben’s temple as he pulled his shoulder close. Homelander wanted more than the fingers, he wanted that delicious girth inside him, the wet sounds of his accommodating body digging into his brain, it was in the neediness of his whines and moans that signaled Ben that this bastard would take him as he was.

Homelander saw heavenly white as he felt full, small tears forming on his eyes as he felt the blazing heat burn his navel, his hips bucking wanting to force the pleasure, wanting to feel just how much of his body this man could discover and expand, his cock was so hot, so thick… Ben enjoyed the wet velvet walls pulling him in, how happy this twitching body was to welcome him, breaking the walls of his bravado down with shameful pleasure. He was hopeless, Homelander took full advantage of his powers floating in the small space to fuck himself, he was leading this, and Ben had two choices: Remind the bastard who he was messing with, or let the slut fuck himself stupid.

He choice the latter, relaxing as they switched position, Homelander glad to be on top, glad that he could trust without care, feeling his body shrink and grow with every violent swing of his hips, the last time he had ever been able to please his crying prostate like this, had been with Maeve, she had fucked him with so much anger, but no amount of confused love could make that plastic toy feel as good as Soldier Boy’s cock was making him feel. He jumped and moaned as Soldier Boy’s hand began to please Homelander, his movements lazy, there was a smugness on his face that irked Homelander much liek Maeve had done so in the past but right now he was chasing the high, hearing the nameless dying man ask himself what was that noise, Homelander was moaning so loudly, he didn’t care if Butcher heard him, he didn’t care that the stranger was looking back into the mansion-- at his direction.

He threw a callous glance behind , seeing William's body twitch.

Then back at Ben, maybe that’s why he found him so pretty, so delectable… he moved his hands to the other’s neck, squeezing it feeling the muscles cave in but meeting too much resistance for it to break immediately and that smarmy grin still on the hero’s face– that beard reminded him of Butcher... a lesser version of the brit’s.

He closed his eyes, letting himself imagine things, wishing Butcher would wake up, wishing Butcher would facefuck him, thinking of Butcher luscious lips wrapped around Homelander leaking cock, pulling on his beard as he forced him to take it deeper until the older man’s throat milked him.

He leaned forward wishing for Butcher to spread him further, his pussy would take it without worry– why did he have to cheat? Why did he had to fuck it up for them? Why did he have to ruin this thing they had by bringing others into their fight!?

He gasped as Soldier Boy slapped his ass red, he let go of the man’s neck, taking the offending hand, guiding it towards his own neck, Butcher would’ve choked him, given him a black eye if he could, cracked his knuckles down to powder if that meant he would break the other man’s ribs, he would fight and fuck him at the same time– why the hell did he hurt himself for this? So Benjamin would have to try to give him that lost experience… no… not good enough-- he thought.

He pushed the thoughts away with his idol’s cock, feeling the heat grow too much, he knew Soldier Boy was at his limit, he looked down with shining eyes, his expression menacing even when trapped around that neck-breaking vice, Soldier Boy enjoying himself, thinking he had put a collar on this neck for real.

Getting drunk on the poison, he speed up feeling the older man matching him, he let a deep moan escape his lungs, feeling his whole body shudder with adrenaline as his heart thumped inside his chest, feeling the thick heat filling him, Homelander had no break for the older gent was quick to mobilize and jerk him off, glad that the large prick had stayed outside... the boy scout did made him jealous in that department... Homelander came hard, spilling his thick seat all over Ben's hand, feeling euphoric and turning limp just as quick.

For a second caught in the moment, he wished it had been Butcher, That it was his enemy educating him, punishing him, making him feel a decade long of hatred, wanting to reduce him into something cheap, Butcher had promised him ‘scorched earth’ and delivered him nothing but a chinese burn, but this was good… Soldier Boy had lived up to his fantasies, shame they couldn’t make this last all night, or make it better.

They both chuckle, their bodies recuperating and while both men wanted to feel some human touch for a brief second or two neither of them could.

Homelander picked his pants and as if the moment he finished zipping his boots back on he was as if nothing had happened– catching his reflection on a mirror’s shard to make sure his hair was brushed back to perfection, Soldier Boy wished he could have a drink or a puff of a cheap cigar but he fixed his scarf and re-adjusted his gloves, instead.

“So where were we?” Homelander shot him straight into the nearest surface, filling the room with a faint red glow– ah yeah… me killing you.”

Their fight ensued, that desire for Butcher’s punishment faded away as the bastard woke up, tainted by dollar store V, then he brought that stupid twink…

He left angry, what would have been a near perfect evening ruined, the indignation, the humiliation, but at least he had felt something pleasurable before he had his heart shot right thru.

Homelander was unable to rest, still on the phone with that bumbling idiot, trying to help do her own job, he told her to spin it and fuck off, before he could relax the line was quickly busied by somebody else, the concierge seemed a bit hesitant to speak, sounding apologetic as he interrupted his boss evening.

He blushed a bit after the concierge informed him that this mystery caller claimed to be Soldier Boy– perhaps the man had found reason, ditched that lying bastard Butcher and wanted to meet up, perhaps after all the stress… he could get something nice… a nice reward.

“Is this really you?” he said nervously not knowing where to put his hands or unsure if he should look at the phone.

“We need to talk… the situation has changed…” The man spoke with a brooding tone caught on his tongue, something was brewing inside him– look–

Homelander cut him off, not daring him think he had emerged victorious from their altercation but then he started telling a tell, speaking of a penthouse, of a woman, Homelander was confused and slightly grossed out as the man spoke so crudely.

“Turns out Voguelbaum… made a kid… born spring of 1981…”

His voice was dark, something sticky on his mouth, Homelander eyes watered, his gaze staring into the ether, Homelander heart slowed down to almost a halt as Soldier Boy took a deep breath on the other side of the line.

“... what kind of father had you made me into…” he cut himself with a sharp breath– I'm going to kill you.”

Homelander stared at nothing as the line died, his ears and his voice screaming but he just stood there thinking of the word ‘father’...

So here he was standing in front of him, saddened to confess murdering Noir, saddened that Butcher would betray him yet again by bringing Maeve into the room but at least saddled up with him was Soldier Boy… no… his father.

He just wanted to talk to him, to make him understand how similar they were, tempting him with the power and security they could have by standing side to side.

“Unless we kill each other first…” He said coldly.

“Why…b-because he says so…? He’s only human.” Homelander remarked feeling anxious.

Butcher taunted Soldier Boy reminding him that this experiment wasn’t his boy, and that was all that Soldier Boy needed to hear, but Homelander snapped back growling his words.

“Yes, I am your son! I am your blood!” He softened his shoulder slightly– that’s all that matters.”

Soldier Boy felt nauseous, his mouth burning as he swallowed vile. He had nothing to reply to him, frightened by this sight, knowing what had taken place between them, he wanted to both run from him and cave his skull in, but then he brought the boy– he hadn’t expected the boy, he hadn’t anticipated the shaky breaths and palpable anxiety exuding from Homelander either.

“You see… you have a family… you have him… and you have me” He was on the verge of tears, he bit his thin lips trying to stay composed.

Soldier Boy scowled, disgusted, horrified, wanting to burn his skin clean off, thinking of what he had broken, how he had bed his own blood, how this man seemed to not care about what had happened, as if sleeping with him had been nothing but a glimpse to soem alternative reality.

As he took each step forward, trying to control himself, trying not to look at that young man desperate for his approval, trying not to catch a twisted reflection of his old self, he spoke.

“I wish… I wish I had been there… I wish… we could’ve been just father and son…”

Homelander 's teary smile was so genuine, it had no right to be there, Soldier Boy tried to listen to his reassurance, how he almost begged him to be in his life.

“We don’t have to be alone anymore.” Homelander said shakily.

When his shoulder was touched, he began to feel light, relief, his nerves easing momenterily.

“I wish you weren’t so broken…”

Benjamin had come to realize that Homelander wasn’t depraved, he wasn’t some sick fuck persuing him– he wasn’t okay… there was somehting inside him that no longer work… better said never worked… the man was in pain clinging to something where he shouldn’t. Whether or not the young man realized the gravity of the situation, whether he had deleted the memory from his brain, whatever it was… Benjamin couldn’t nor did he wanted to understand, he wanted to erase his mistake, to delete the abomination dressed as man, he wanted to put John out of his misery… to maybe find a kindness in his desire to bury his terrible secret by terminating him.

Homelander was quickly ambushed hearing his son struggle to his side, arguing with Butcher.

“You can’t… You can’t do this.” he struggled to speak.

He looked at the man about to kill him, to the father he had always wanted, he had always needed, he had been a good son already and made his father happy! So why was he so upset? Why did he call him disgusting? Why was he looking at him with such revulsion and hatred?

Had he not been good enough for him?

Why did his father unable to love him like before?

The end.

A/N: personally after all the hype from the cast, crew, Amazon and jensen I genuinely expected that episode to contain HL and SB action but alas that didn’t happen and I wish it had happened bcuz it would’ve been far more shocking/disturbing and insane if a sex scene took place and still included the reveal that SB was Homie’s dad– instead of just the most vanilla czech orgy basement porno out there.

I think herogasm just didn't deliver much in shock, the scene with Homelander finding out that was his dad was the best plus mirrolander but frankly meh episode... no wonder they didn't get the emmy nomination.

#cozy corner kinktober #homelander #personal #my fic tag #homelander fanfiction #homelander x soldier boy #plz read both author's note before killing me #dark fic #sorry esl #soldier boy fanfiction #fyi i will never not write bisexual homelander

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ego-osbourne · 8 months

Text

Another oneshot! Been a while :] Pirate time

Calamity belongs to @metallic-scaled-scarf , Lorelei belongs to @liches-covered-in-lich , Kynreeve belongs to @the-troll-of-the-bridge , and Heracles belongs to @mellowscrolls !

Look Alive

Word Count: 3500

Status: Complete Oneshot

CW: Oogling, Brief Mentions of Alcohol

Summary: Rakell is hot. Velehk is down bad and in denial.

It’s actually mostly just character interaction practice

~~~

Rakell shielded his eyes from the blinding sunrays that struck his face upon exiting the crew’s quarters. With a few tired blinks his eyes adjusted, but not before bumping into a crewmate or two. Everyone was in a rush, having heard the order to leave port and set sail. A bell’s sharp chime had woken Rakell’s uncomfortable rest, far later than the others, and he was still affected by the aftermath of a sweaty sleep.

Rakell chuckled to himself, knowing the heat should not have affected him so terribly. He supposed he’d grown too used to the cold of Skyrim, his dresswear reflecting that sentiment; his trousers and boots were alright, but his top was lined in fur. No matter where he was, either on the main deck in noon’s sweltering heat, or turning uncomfortably in his bed in the wee hours of the morning in the stuffy crew’s cabin, his clothes stuck to him in a grossly annoying fashion. It all accumulated to him groggily making his way onto the main deck, only half-aware of what was going on.

…Before he was given lip. “March, kyn!” was Calamity’s sharp call to him from the side of the deck as she rearranged sail ropes. “Everyone else is moving, and I know you’re quick!”

Rakell blinked before finding himself in an automatic jog. It had been a long while since he’d been in any position that required orders, and even longer since he’d been the one to receive those orders. Suddenly alert and focused, he found that the capstan of the anchor was in need of assistance and made his way to it, inviting himself in and pushing on one of the bars. The others around him were humming and chanting a shanty that he didn’t recognize, but he was able to keep in-time with its rhythm, just like the others. It helped him focus on something other than the cruel sun… for a moment.

The anchor was raising slowly, and every push made new sweat, and the sweat made him feel like he was baking alive. He cursed the fur-lined top that he wore, making every genuine attempt to push forward without fault, but there was a point when too much was simply too much. With a heave of breath, he took his hands off of the bar and walked in line with the turning axis, taking a brief moment to peel his shirt from his back. With a quick shake to free his horns, he pulled the garment through his belt and went back to work. Already, things were feeling much more free.

A couple mocking coos sounded from behind him, and one of the crewmates sniped, “Who’s you tryna impress, Daedra?”

“It’s hot as shit,” Rakell responded.

A different voice, “Ain’t you’s from the Deadlands?”

“It’s a dry heat there. This wet fuckery is a new misery.”

“Welcome to our sorry state,” the crewmate laughed.

A few more hands joined the original group in raising the anchor, quickening the process where the work would come to an eventual close. Just as Rakell stepped away from his bar, paying no mind to the commotion around him, he heard Ego’s familiar chime as they called for him. “Hey! Take my spot, over, uh,” they gestured toward the rest of the deck, Rakell raising a brow at their vagueness. “…at the middle pole,” they finished with uncertainty.

Rakell chuckled at their poor vocabulary, knowing they meant the mainmast. “Will do,” he said, already starting his jog over. A quick glance back toward Ego showed them hopping up to the quarterdeck, having been beckoned by Lorelei to man the wheel. Why she was letting him direct the ship was beyond Rakell, but it wasn’t his focus anyway. Upon closing in, a few members called him over to help pull a stubborn rope, to which he was a welcome addition to the endeavor.

With a few extra jobs done, the Mahree began on her way, tipping into a turn as the ship left port. Things on deck calmed significantly after the fact, and Rakell finally felt that he could drop his focus. He tilted his head up to the glorious blue sky as wind made its slow arrival onto the deck, sighing into the salty air and bringing a hand to his forehead to dry it. As much as he internally complained about the heat, he could appreciate moments like this.

Rakell took a quick glance around to make sure there was nothing else that might have called for immediate attention. He found others touching up some areas and ensuring everything was steady, but his lack of expertise around the ship only made him good for labor work, of which there appeared to be nothing that needed done. He pulled his shirt from the strap of his belt, only to find an elbow lightly nudging his arm. “There’s the new sailor,” Kynreeve moved just ahead of him and leaned against the railing of the ship. “You overheatin`?”

Rakell gave a light chuckle. “It’s a bit different than Skyrim.”

“Oh, just a smidge,” Kynreeve smirked, gesturing with his hand in a pinching motion. “Gotta remind ye, though, when ye hear that bell, ye have t’be moving fast.”

“I realized,” Rakell folded his arms with a grin, “I guess you saw me dragging my feet, too?” Kynreeve gave a nod. “It’s just been a while since I was in any sort of service. Forgot in the moment. Won’t happen again.”

“Aye, well, keep that in mind. A short holler from Calamity leaves ye far better off than what the captain might’ve done had he been on deck to catch ye.” Kynreeve’s gaze shifted to the side, his smile becoming a bit more forced. “Speaking of which… Don’t look now, but the captain’s got eyes on ye.”

Rakell didn’t know if it was the wind or Kynreeve’s words that sent a small chill up his back. He was suddenly stiff, only assuming that Velehk must have been mere steps away, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Finding where Kynreeve’s eyes were, though, had him realize that Velehk was out of earshot and farther than Rakell had initially feared. He calmed only slightly, asking, “Eyes on me in a bad way?”

Kynreeve lowered his brow. “Hard to tell. He’s awful focused, though.”

Rakell didn’t dare look over his shoulder, his nerves excited in a way that was hard to pinpoint. Some part of him was glad that Velehk was giving him any amount of recognition, but the majority of his head spun with feelings of worry that he’d pissed the captain off. He gave a small snicker to soften the edge, asking, “Well, what? Do I disappear?”

“No, no,” Kynreeve pushed off the railing, giving a short wave to Velehk, who stood on the quarterdeck. “Let’s have ye workin` on somethin`. I’ve got a job for ye, let’s go.”

Rakell followed Kynreeve along, tempting regret as he gave into his curiosity and glanced over his shoulder. He was already pulling back before he had even registered anything, but realized shortly after that Velehk had shifted his gaze away from him. A mix of relief and disappointment washed over him.

Or so he’d thought Velehk had taken his eyes off of him. In reality, the captain had only faked not to be looking when he saw Rakell begin to turn, then cautiously glanced back from under the shadow of his hat once Rakell walked off. Still in sight, Velehk kept a close eye on him, shifting uncomfortably against the railing that he leaned over.

Velehk couldn’t lie to himself, he’d taken quite a liking to Rakell’s appearance. Whether he be shimmering in his gorgeously detailed armor, or shimmering against the sun with his skin exposed, he was an eyeful everytime. Kynreeve had dragged him away to shuffle things about the deck, clearing out spots to be cleaned and reorganized. Velehk gazed with a careful eye, studying his movements from a distance. He silently wished he could be closer, that way Velehk would be able to easier see the muscles in his back move with every cargo box lifted, the tightness in his hands as he gripped wood and rope, hear every exhale and grunt as he fought against the weight of the crates. Velehk would make conversation, no doubt, and be able to hear his voice roll over words in that deep accent of his—

“It’s none of my business—”

Velehk jumped in his stance, anger flaring up in his face as he shot daggers at the person standing beside him. It was Ego, having taken a spot just to his right, somehow going unseen despite being so close. Velehk ignored the possibility that he was so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed them, instead hissing, “Why ain’t ye at the wheel?”

Ego gestured lazily across Velehk. “Lor’s got it,” they said, with no hint of care in their expression. “Now, look, look, I came over here for a reason, I’m not just slacking,” they grinned, pausing before adding, “Captain,” with unnecessary accentuation. They tapped their fingers along the wood of the railing they leaned on, continuing, “But you should probably try to hide your… oh, what do we call it? Your look of delight?”

Velehk’s markings pulsed a smidge brighter for just a moment, a dremora’s equivalent of a flushed face. He quickly masked the fear in his eyes as he gazed down, gesturing for Ego to meet him on his other side. They complied, realizing that it would be so Velehk could hide his face from the rest of the ship with the wide brim of his hat since the other side was buttoned up. Consequently, he was also able to get a better read on Ego’s expression with the in-tact half of their head facing him now. With a low, anxious tone, he asked, “Was it that noticeable?”

“Oh, buddy-captain of mine,” they went to pat his shoulder, but recoiled when his bird suddenly landed on said spot, intercepting Ego’s hand. Scuttle shook his head as he folded his spectral wings against his body, getting an automatic pet on his chest from Velehk. Ego instead took their hand back to their hair, pulling strands away from their face. “If there are any other perceptive romantics on this ship, they’d spot that look clear from Elsweyr.”

“Romantics?” Velehk echoed, his face twisting into a blend of angry disbelief and horror. “I wasn’t—”

“I never accused you of anything,” Ego put their hands up. “But uh… that doesn’t mean someone else won’t.” They tried to wink, but the singular eye only presented an awkward blink.

Velehk’s frown straightened as he took in their words, turning away from them again and gazing back down at Rakell. He made sure to deliberately lower his brow to stave off any aforementioned accusations… but still found his mind wandering into a world of hopeful fantasy. He hummed as his eyes were drawn to Rakell’s lower half, watching his heavy steps tread carefully across the swaying boat, gaze crawling up to—

He groaned aloud, quiet and quick, and averted his gaze once more. “He’s awful cute, but that’s all I’ll give him.”

“Knew it,” Ego snickered.

Velehk pointed at them. “Ye don’t know shit.”

“Look, look,” they turned against the railing, putting their back to the posts and visually counting with their fingers as they went down the list. “I don’t read. I’m bad at math. Worldly knowledge is still lost on me. I don’t know your vocabulary, or your songs, or your drinks. My social skills are oblivious on a good day.” Every tap of their fingers against each other made a new tink sound. “But if I don’t know ‘shit’ about your starry-eyed expression, then you don’t know shit about being a captain,” they grinned the whole way through, adding one last, “Captain,” to the end of their speech.

Velehk’s icy glare was matched by his bird, who hopped down onto the railing and waddled closer to Ego. He pecked the muscle of their arm with a hefty jab and pinch of the beak, making Ego jump with a yelp. They rubbed their new bruise as Velehk chuckled, “Good bird.”

“I’m not trying to insult you, Captain!” Ego laughed.

“Tryin` don’t mean succeedin`.”

Ego attempt to reclaim their spot on the railing, but Scuttle’s hollow glare kept them at bay, so instead they danced around Velehk to try to get close enough to speak comfortably, but stay far enough not to bother him. “All I’m saying is…” they snuck back to the other side of him, wary as Scuttle began his catwalk over. “Maybe you should talk to him,” they whispered.

Velehk intercepted Scuttle’s reign of terror across the railing, taking him onto his arm and beckoning him further up to his shoulder. “Yer insane, y’know that? I don’t have a clue why I’m surprised either; there’s stories of ye dancing with Sheogorath.” He gave Scuttle’s cheek a scritch. “Maybe I’m the fool for inviting this git onto my ship.” Ego inhaled to protest, but Velehk continued with a smirk, “No, no, that can’t be right… I’m never the fool.”

Ego’s smile straightened as they tried to wedge themself back into the conversation. “I could even help. I know Rakell, he’s a…” they stopped themself short of saying ‘good man,’ swaying their head side to side as they came up with a new assortment of words, “…loyal man.”

“I’ve got plenty of loyalty on board already.”

Ego raised their metal brow, glanced at Lorelei across the deck, but ultimately decided it would be best to say nothing. “I’m not telling you to reenact a fairytale, but…” Velehk gave them a glare beneath the shadow of his hat, and Ego thought twice about their next string of words. “Maybe you could just… have a chat with him? He’s always wanted to meet the Pirate King Velehk Sain,” they grinned wide.

Velehk’s eyes narrowed.

Ego caught themself, “Captain Velehk Sain.”

Velehk nodded with acceptance, forgiving the slip-up, but ultimately continuing to ignore Ego. They sighed, widely gesturing out to the deck where Rakell worked. “Just try to meet him. Privately! Not in front of a crowd acting all boisterous with the higher-than-thee attitude—”

“Thou, anchor, higher-than-thou. If yer goin` t’quote yer landlubbin` literature, then at least know what yer sayin`.”

Ego stopped, raised a claw in recognition, and pointed out, “I told you I didn’t read much.”

“That much is obvious.”

“But still, you—”

“And none of my attitude is an act, either, git,” he stopped them again. “I’m the same man on and off deck.”

Ego’s voice wavered as they went to jump in and correct him, but they stopped just short of insult. Velehk’s eyes went wide and angry all at once, knowing exactly what they were bound to reference. He made a heavy step toward them, to which they fell back, but he continued his pursuit. “Somethin` on yer mind?” he hissed as Ego backpedaled to the side of the ship. “Anchor?”

They gave their telltale nervous chuckle, shrugging innocently. “No, no, all empty up here.” They side-stepped toward the stairs in an effort to escape, but Velehk was quick to draw his sword and strike the wood just to their right, stopping them in their tracks. They jolted, and their nervous grin turned cocky. They met eyes with Velehk, having a sudden look of fake realization. “Though… there is one thing.”

Velehk straightened himself.

Ego kept their voice quiet. “If I remember our time together,” the grip on the sword stiffened, “you never once had that look in your eyes with me.”

“That doesn’t mean shit,” Velehk whispered back.

“Does it not?” Ego let themself relax. “I saw you make a lot of revelations that night,” they tapped the blade of his sword, “But never once was I convinced you had a crush.”

With one quick movement, the tip of the sword threatened the bottom of Ego’s chin. “Keep talkin`,” Velehk furiously encouraged.

Ego shook their head. “Talking? Sorry, Captain, my head went empty again. Lost my thought.”

Velehk bit his tongue, heat burning in his chest from offense. He pulled the sword away, stepping right into Ego’s space and fisting the collar of their robe, threatening to push them over. “Ah ah!” Ego interjected, making him pause as they reached for their hip, retrieving a dragon priest mask that was fastened to their belt. “Just… entertain the thought. A drink or two with him wouldn’t kill you. I think you’d like his stories, too.”

“I don’t owe ye anythin.`”

“I wouldn’t be benefiting from anything,” they pointed out, slipping Volsung over their head. After a pause, they relaxed fully. “You can flip me, now.”

Velehk sighed through his nose, shoving their chest and lifting their leg in a split second, letting them topple over the side of the ship. He swore they laughed as they went down and crashed into the water.

A couple entertained whistles and celebratory claps rang across the ship as Velehk regained his composure. He turned back, calling, “We’ve got at least two minutes of peace, enjoy it!”

Rakell couldn’t stop the dopey smile that spread across his face — it was the first time he’d seen Velehk flip someone, and the joy was multiplied upon seeing that the victim was Ego.

“That’s the fourth fucking time.” He heard someone curse as they approached. Rakell turned to find a short Imperial meeting Kynreeve, asking with annoyance, “Spare wax, Kyn? Gotta fix that railing.”

“Yessir,” the quartermaster complied with a smile.

“Fourth?” Rakell echoed, tailing the two of them as they walked to the stairs leading below deck.

“And they just keep coming back. Dragon-fucker boat-ramming blond bastard,” the Imperial groaned, turning to Rakell. “Heracles. Hera. Either or,” he introduced himself.

“Rakell,” he responded, holding out a hand too late as Hera had already turned away, unintentionally missing the pleasantry. “Have ye sparred with the Captain yet?”

Rakell lowered his hand. “Sorry?” he blinked, pausing just before the stairs.

“Ye plan on stayin` with us?” Hera paused too, glancing back as Kyn walked ahead.

“If I can.”

“Then you’ll be sparrin` the captain soon,” he repeated. “It’ll probably happen before we land in the next port. Hope yer not sore by then.”

“What’d you mean ‘spar’?”

“It ain’t tonal magic, Oblivion-walker,” Hera raised a brow, “The captain tests yer strength to see if yer worthy of bein` on board.” He turned to the stairs, leaving Rakell behind. “But if yer as slow as ye were today, it’d take a miracle for ye to stay!” Kyn was at the bottom of the stairs waiting on Hera, and he rolled his eyes with a joking smile. He called back up to Rakell, “You’ll be fine, kynsman. But be ready!”

Before Rakell could respond, the both of them were gone, and he was beckoned to move out of the way of the doorframe by another crew member passing. He was left somewhat speechless, his head racing with thoughts. Sparring Velehk Sain? He didn’t realize that was part of the quota for joining. He turned his gaze towards the quarterdeck, finding Velehk pushing through the doors of his quarters and disappearing behind dark wood. A fleeting feeling rose in his chest, gone in an instant, but its echoes left tremors in his body. He palmed his sternum to ease his heart, feeling hair and skin, and suddenly becoming very self-aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt while Velehk was watching.

He hadn’t felt so… nervous for two centuries.

Thankfully, Ego’s return was able to distract him from his thoughts. They arrived while adorned in glorious colors, horns, and wings — Dragon Aspect, something Rakell had seen before, and realized that much of the crew had probably also seen if this was their fourth return. Rakell made his way to the soggy Dragonborn to ask about the other three times.

In the captain’s quarters, Velehk was rubbing his face in terrible despair. Scuttle fluttered from his shoulder to the dresser, giving little cooes of reassurance as Velehk paced around the table in the middle of the room, tapping each chair as he lost himself in thought. He silently cursed Ego’s name, then his own, and thought of that twice damned Dagon dremora…

Velehk sighed aloud and shook his head. “Scuttle,” he spoke, “Maybe I am the fool.” The bird fluttered down onto the table, stationing himself close to Velehk’s hand as he leaned against the furnishing. He grinned down at Scuttle, hardly able to believe that he was playing right into Ego’s words.

He went to his desk, searching through one of the drawers and pulling out a coin purse. He fished out a handful of septims, already planning what type of drinks he’d buy for Rakell when they hit port. “Nah. Not maybe,” he murmured to himself, continuing his earlier sentiment. “I definitely am.”

#rakell #calamity #ego #Lorelei #velehk sain #Kynreeve #heracles #scuttle #tes #tesblr #sitw #salt in the wound #ozzy writes

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ivoryghostyy · 9 months

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『 love bite — continuation 』

↳˗ˏˋ soft yandere!vampire × reader ˊˎ˗ ↴

╰⊱ 「 image not mine. sourced from pinterest. 」

╰⊱ 「 warnings: swearing, mentions 'n implications of kidnapping, being blindfolded, (kinda?) fluff 」

—————————————————————————————————

you find yourself lying on a soft material. this wouldn't be so bad if you weren't bound by your wrists and ankles. might you also mention the fact that the silk blindfold around your head meant you couldn't see jack shit? needless to say, you were kidnapped.

oh, and hey, your kidnapper just opened the door. well, you assume it's a door based on the sound—can't do much with your current lack of sight, can you?

you hear them approach you and try your best to look intimidating.

..as intimidating as you can, considering your.. predicament.

after a few moments of silence, you thought you actually scared them away. you would've celebrated if not for the binds. have they not thought about how uncomfortable this position is? oh, but unfortunately for you, they were not scared away by your wonderful (read as: pitiful) attempt of looking frightening. if anything, you'd say they're amused.

a deep chuckle reverberates within the room; and this is when you realize a new problem.

oh god, they sound hot.

but that's not the problem. no. the problem is the fact that their voice sounds familiar. yet you can't pin it down to anyone. no thoughts, head empty.

but hey, you now know that they're probably a male based on the voice. what else? well, uh-

..not a good time for your single brain cell to up and leave you. honestly, the last thing you remember was being in an alley.. with someone.. oh.

"finally figured it out, love?"

"oh, shut up. don't call me that."

you feel the soft material sink beside you, so you assume he sat next to your restrained self. and that assumption only proved to be correct when you felt his arm slither around your waist, pulling you towards his warm chest.

"i'm sorry.."

"shut up."

he sighs, "i didn't.. i didn't mean to hurt you."

okay, to be fair, you felt more pleasure than pain, but you have the right to be angry. after all, he marked you without your consent!

after a few beats of silence, you hear shuffling before your binds are released. soon enough, you remove you blindfold; leaving you face to face with the very attractive vampire. looking around, you find yourself in a rather grand looking bedroom.

of course, what else would you expect from those high-class snobs?

even without the binds, you stand no chance against the creature. with that thought in mind, you slump in defeat; burying your face into his chest and grumbling countless complaints. he hums in content, holding you tighter and brushing his hand through your hair.

"..i'm really sorry" he pleads. you roll your eyes but pat him on the shoulder. stupid, it may seem, but this creature is your best friend.

..plot twist?

you've been through a lot together. and while that may not excuse his actions (especially since you love your consent), you find that you can't deny him at all. sure, it could just be the mark on your neck doing its magic, but regardless, he's always had a special place in your heart.

yes, you heard that right. you won't deny the lingering feelings you've held for a long while. when he told you that he found "his one," you didn't think it would be you!

you suppose you were just in denial. now that you think about it, he left a lot of signs.

and no, they weren't discrete at all. yeah, you have no excuse.

"you scared me, goddamn it"

"i know"

"you're fucking stupid. why didn't you just ask me like a normal person!? you hunted me down as if i was prey. i thought you would murder me!"

"i'm sorry."

"and do you know how stressed i was when i woke up in binds!? what the fuck, dude."

"...i have no excuse."

"you're lucky i still love you."

"yeah.. i know," they mumbled, nuzzling into your neck.

"...so can we continue where we left off?"

"absolutely not-"

#vampire #fluff #idk how to tag this #short story #yeah idk #journal #kinda wholesome #childhood friends #i dont know what i am doing #random scenarios

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familyvideowithsteve · 1 year

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d*ying on the inside - Steve Harrington x fem!reader

This material may not be copied, reproduced, displayed, modified. This is my work, do not steal it, do not republish it.

summary: Steve's grief has been on the same stage for months : denial. He just can't do it. Living without her is just impossible.

warning: /NSFW/ dead!fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, no use of Y/n, use of strong alcohol, talk about death, grief, tears (a lot), blood (a lot), very small indications of past sexual intercourse (NO smut!), grave, graphic and lethal injuries, pure hurt and trauma (what is comfort? what is fluff? what is happiness?) (minors, do not interact, i'm not responsible for the content you consume)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used, no physical description of the reader so anyone can identify)

word count: 2.3k

a/n: I had to repost this because Tumblr likes to fuck with me and flag the things I write even though it had all the community label.

The light of the day was a godsend, it announced warmth, light, life.

On days like those Steve would try to enjoy them as much as he could, even if he had his job at Family Video, he would probably arrange an impromptu date with his girlfriend.

A picnic on the hills of Hawkins, where, at this time of the year, was blossoming with flowers, the sun set low and late. Birds chirping on the edge of the forest.

He could almost hear her laughter as he was lying in his bed, facing the night. Cold, dark, unwelcoming.

Nights had become a nightmare, quite literally and metaphorically.

An opened door to nightmares, waking in tears, sweat and out of breath. Or it was the cold embrace of insomnia, lulling him awake to see the short hours of the night. The sunrise peeking through his curtains.

When his bed felt uncomfortable he would throw a cardigan around his shoulders and sit by his pool, watching as the night transformed into the day, the sky first taking a purple colour then moving into pink, bits of orange, finally blue.

It seemed peaceful, and it kinda was, sometimes, but mostly, it was a river of unstoppable thoughts, and voices. And it happened a lot more than he would like to admit.

He didn't get nightmares until the Soviets, but it didn't last long, when Vecna/Henry/One came around, the atrocities they saw, the loss they experienced, it began to be too much.

"You look lonely," her voice said, he closed his eyes at the sensation of her presence. It almost brought tears to its tired features.

"Without you, I am," he opened his eyes to turn his head towards the sound of her voice.

He had an oversized hoodie on, the hood lazily resting behind his neck, red and sleepless eyes, exhaustion written on his face.

Lied on a sun lounger by his pool, wrapped in a thin and fuzzy blanket. His house was deadly silent as he was alone, as always.

She was imitating his position on the sun lounger, her eyes looking so deeply into his tired ones. A soft smile on her face.

There was a comfortable silence, as they looked at eachother, Steve let his mouth speak before thinking, he was way too tired for that anyway.

"I've missed you. A crazy lot."

“I know. But you know I had to do it, we’ve been through this already.”

“Yeah, I know, but in the most desperate time... like right now… I still wish you hadn’t.”

Her eyes moved from his to something near and she winced, he followed her gaze and realised she had seen his glass of whiskey sitting by a footrest he used as a coffee table and he grimaced. The ice was almost completely melted, its remaining clinking softly against the edge of the glass.

“I haven’t seen you with a glass of whiskey since senior year, three years ago.”

Escaping from his blanket, bending on the side he reached for his glass, two small pieces of ice remained on the surface, it looked like an iceberg ripped apart.

Since Vecna, the invasion in Hawkins, memories from that night were the source of his nightmares and his unfinished grief. Some nights finished in a few glasses of his father’s favourite bottle of whiskey, it seemed to either appease or fuel his demons. It was a solution, a very poor one at that, but the only one that gave him comfort.

“It's just a couple glasses here and there," his voice was so low he didn't even know if he could be heard but she did.

"Whiskey is your sad drink. Just like beer is your party drink. Steve.."

He took another sip from his glass, lying back on the sun lounger, holding his glass with only two fingers, he closed his eyes as he savoured the burning taste of the alcohol on his tongue.

"You're not really here, so.. I don't see why you care," his tone became harsher as he drank, he had opened his eyes to take a better look at her face.

"What makes you so certain I'm not really here ? We live in a crazy world."

Offended by her question, he took yet again another sip of his drink, he furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes fixated on the pool in front of them.

"Because your coffin is resting in Hawkins' cemetery six feet underground," he started, not looking at her, but he continued, "and like you said, this crazy world killed you. This is some trick, hallucination, I don't know, something my brain has made up because I miss you, and I can't believe you're dead."

"You just said it. You must believe it somehow."

"No. Saying it doesn't mean I believe it. I know it because I saw it happen before my eyes, but I can't wrap my head around it because it's you. And it's not right for you to be dead."

He paused, his hair falling in front of his eyes, his chest rising and falling a bit quickly as he talked rapidly. Nervously. His eyes searching in front of him a reason to be nervous, agitated. His brown irises fell upon her.

"It's not fair and it's not normal, and-... Jesus Christ it's hell without you here."

It felt like two orbs were piercing through his skull as she looked at him, all ears for him.

"I don't get to see you smile, laugh, sleep, sunbathe, I can't see the stars in your eyes anymore, I can't hear your lame jokes, I can't hear your laugh, I can't hear the sound of your voice. I can't touch you, whether it's getting to hug you, feel your touch, or even just intimacy with you. I can't pleasure you anymore, hear you moan my name when you were on the edge, I can't feel the goosebumps when you were close, or even just kiss your skin. Taste you. Feel your warmth in bed. We can't do anything we had planned because you're not here anymore. And it's like living in hell," his voice broke more and more as he kept ranting on, until his watery eyes couldn't hold on the tears anymore and he started sobbing.

Shaky breaths left Steve's mouth as his breathing became erratic, his hands in his hair, some handful of hair falling in front his eyes.

She wasn't sure if he would accept her touch, so she preferred staying on her lounger. She knew Steve would never be violent, but it felt out of place to impose herself in such a way.

She waited for him to calm down slowly, the silence comfortable as his tired eyes looked at the sky changing colors, it was rising, deep purple to a mix of lilac, orange and pink.

He let out another shaky breath, closing his eyes to inhale deeply, trying to calm his heart beating crazily in his ribcage.

When he was calmer and comfortable enough to speak, he turned his head, crossed his legs against his chest and his arms crossed, elbows against his knees, his eyes towards her. He cleared his throat.

"The most horrific thing, apart from your absence and how difficult it is to live with it, is how it happened. And how graphic it was," his voice was soft.

She felt his eyes on her so she turned her face towards him, mimicking his position on the lounger she rested her head in her crossed arms.

"It's like I can relive this moment non-stop. There was so much blood, you were choking on it, barely able to make a syllable. The smell of blood was.. suffocating, heaving. You were in pain and I couldn't do anything to save you. I couldn't stop the bleeding, couldn't get you to a gate to take you to the hospital. And I think it was when the clock rang the four chimes and the portals started opening from the gates.. you..," he paused, he could see the scene happening in his brain as he swallowed up his saliva.

He exhaled loudly, he knew his voice would be shaky, but he continued, "I wasn't fast enough to take you away with me, and the portal completely burned away your legs, your thighs.. your lower body was just.. gone. And the pain was so much worse, you were sobbing, suffocating in your own blood. I couldn't do anything."

His voice was as a whisper, but very audibly perceptible as they were in complete silence, only the birds awaking above them could be heard.

"I just held you, sobbing, in complete despair. Telling you 'I love you' on repeat. Until eventually, I realised you weren't breathing anymore, my tears mixing in your blood as I realised, terrified, mortified, that you were dead," he paused once again, his eyes zoning on one point by his pool.

"And I wept even more, because you couldn't- can't be dead. Even if I closed your eyes myself, even if I had to leave you there and God I absolutely hate myself for it. Robin and Nancy had to drag me away from you, because I wouldn't- couldn't move. We had a funeral, but with an empty coffin so it's not real. And I think I even feel worse because your parents don't know they buried it empty, now I understand the way Nancy felt about Barbara. It's unfair. And I'm.. exhausted from all of it. It doesn't even make sense now… to live without you I mean, it's.. bland."

He finally zoned out of his trance, and directed his eyes towards her, where she was patiently listening to him.

Even though he had experienced her.. 'presence' since she was gone, he hadn't been so sincere and profound with his feelings, his suffering.

"I don't remember much, except from the cold, and the taste of blood, your tears, the excruciating pain. The suffocating part, that I definitely did not forget. But I also remember the 'I love yous' . They lulled me away to the darkness. To Death."

The scene was truly just so heart wrenching to witness. Holding her so tightly on his lap, crying his heart out, his hands on both sides of her torso to tentatively stop the bleeding.

The particles of the Upside Down would sometimes temporarily cloud his vision, the air thick, toxic, and smelled of iron with the quantity of blood around them.

She had her eyes focused on him, remembering his own and their colour, choking on her own blood, her chest kept tightening at the lack of oxygen, the pain was in wave, each time she inhaled it felt like knives were digging deeper into her flesh, and with her lower body gone, she felt it burn, it was horrendous, and the smell was enough to make her nauseous.

Tears clouded both their visions, hot cries of salty water running down their cheeks.

There was so much he wanted to say, but his shaky voice could only repeatedly tell her he loved her.

And she wanted to say she didn't want to die, she wanted to do so much with him, but she couldn't even breathe correctly, let alone speak.

Then she started feeling cold, no, she realised she was cold, and exhausted. Her eyes were just shutting off on their own, everything was blurry and she tried to resist, she tried so hard. The sounds were different, she could recognise a bit of Steve's voice trying to keep her awake but she felt herself leaving.. leaving.. and then.. nothing.

When he realised she was gone his hands left her sides to capture her cheeks, trying to wake her.

His cries were louder, gut-wrencher.

Her eyes were glazed, empty. And he kept saying her name, and he wept so much.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

Robin came to his level, in a delicate voice she whispered, "Steve, we have to go, we need to get back to Hawkins. I'm sorry."

He was so exhausted, so done with all the shit that kept happening. He nodded mechanically.

He let out a shaky breath. He closed her eyes with his thumbs, leaving blood on her cheeks and her eyes. He kissed her forehead, and shortly after that he followed Robin and Nancy. Silent. Empty.

"I don't know how I can keep going on without you," he whispered, his voice a mess as he was on the edge of tears.

She handed him her hand, inviting him near her, he looked at it then her eyes, he didn't know if he could touch her. But he wanted to feel her so bad.

Getting up from his lounger he made his way toward her's, and sat down right next to her.

She laid her legs and indicated to him to rest against her.

"Let me hold you, Steve," that's all he needed to be convinced and lay on the lounger with her, in between her thighs as she held him. Head against her chest. Her hands in his hair.

He didn't know if he was dreaming or totally losing his mind, but he cried a few tears of happiness in a comfortable silence.

Until he woke up. Alone. Curled up on the lounger.

A new wave of despair escalated through him, watery eyes on his whiskey brown irises.

Running a hand through his hair he let out a shaky breath, holding back the tears as much as he could.

"I love you," he whispered, his eyes closed, letting it overflow, hoping he would feel some warmth to prove her presence, somehow. But nothing.

"I'll always love you."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x angst #steve harrington x fem

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youwouldntlietopapa · 2 months

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The Words That Were Never Spoken (OC Re-Edit) - Chapter Thirteen

“Good morning, Isobel.” Sister Imperator’s familiar voice greets Izzy when she answers. “I realise it’s your day off but I thought you would want to hear the news sooner rather than later.”

“News?” She’s almost afraid to ask. Copia’s eyebrow quirks up, silently curious. “Is-is there a problem, ma’am?”

Her fingers run through his hair, even as she looks away from him. Not that it isn’t good to have him with her or that he’s not the best support she could ask for. Just… everything is going so well. Too well. Sister Imperator calling first thing in the morning with news feels like it’s all about to come toppling down. Maybe if she doesn’t look at him, it won’t hurt so much. Maybe he won’t get dragged into whatever this might be.

“No. No problem. Good news as a matter of fact.” Izzy can hear the smile in her voice. The one that makes her nervous trying to work out if it’s genuine or if she’s decided to devour her soul. “I’ve just spoken with the workmen and your quarters will be ready for you to move back in by tomorrow.”

All at once it feels like the floor dropped out from under her. Izzy’s stomach lurches and twists uncomfortably and she can feel her heart trying to pound its way through her ribs. It was going to happen at some point. She knew it was coming. But not this soon. Not now.

“Oh… Oh, that’s...that’s excellent news.” Her tone sounds wrong, even to herself. Struggling to force some excitement into her words. “Please tell them I said thank you for their quick work. I’ll be excited to see how it’s turned out.”

“I will pass along the message. If you require help in moving your things back, feel free to call on some of the ghouls. Though, if I may, I’d advise Aether before Swiss or Dewdrop if you value your things.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sister Imperator. Thank you for the advice.”

There’s an awkward pause while Izzy tries to think of more to say and, oddly enough, Sister apparently does the same. But she clears her throat and carries on, business as usual. “If there’s anything else you need, please let me know.”

“I will. Thank you, ma’am.”

She ends the call and, for a long moment, Izzy stares at Copia’s nightstand. Setting the phone on his bed without really thinking about it. Too focused on the screaming cacophony of panic and frustration and denial raging in her head. Spiralling quickly until her chest aches and she wants to scream. It’s stupid. She knows it’s stupid. Selfish and ridiculous. She should be happy. Her room is repaired. And Cope… he needs his space back. His privacy. Surely.

It’s hardly been a day and what did you think? That you’d just… stay? Forever?

“Isobel?” His voice breaks the silence in the room. His warm hand taking hers, keeping her anchored. Like he always does. More times than she can count. Always the first one there beside her. “You say good news but your face says something else.”

Copia shifts back up beside her. Part of her needs him there, close and safe. The other part only feels worse thinking of how the morning had been going only a few minutes earlier. Either way, there he is, with that sweet, concerned look he gets. Pressing his forehead against hers and rubbing your back gently.

“Tell me, Izzy. Please.”

“I’m all right, Cope. Really, I am. Just… surprised.” Her fingertip traces from freckle to freckle, from his chest up to his shoulder. “It’s good news. Sister just wanted to let me know my quarters will be ready tomorrow. To move back in.”

The hand rubbing her back stops and his whole body seems to freeze. The whole world might just as well have frozen. For one moment of madness she hopes that it has. That tomorrow won’t come. That she can stay there, in this moment. Right before Copia takes a deep breath, still not moving more than that.

“I’ll-I’ll be out of your hair. And… things can get back to normal.” Izzy offers weakly.

His hand catches hers, holding it to his chest. His heart pounding against her palm. “We said no more secrets, no more dreams, no?”

“Cope…”

“Don’t go.” It’s barely a whisper and he holds on to her a little tighter. “Stay. Please. Stay. With me. Here. Tell them you don’t need it. You stay here. Together.”

“Cope…”

“Please. I don’t want you out of my hair. I don’t want back to normal. I want you. Here. In the morning when I wake up. At night, when I go to bed. I want you, Isobel.” His voice shakes, so close to begging.

“Copia…”

“I wait my whole life for this, for you, amore. How do I sleep at night alone when I know you are down the hall? When I know what it is when you are here with me?”

She claims his mouth all at once. Because of every sweet, beautiful thing he’s said and to stop him from spiralling any further. “I don’t want to go either, Cope. I don’t want to leave. Here, there, anywhere at all, it doesn’t matter. Because this is home. This is where I want to be. With you. And nowhere else.”

Copia stares back at her like he might have misheard. Terrified that he misunderstood. “You will stay?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

Both of his hands cup Izzy’s cheeks, kissing her again. “Forever, Isobel.”

He kisses her deeply, finally relaxing again. Pressing tightly against her, her arms wrapping around him to pull him closer.

“Forever and always.”

#ghost fanfic #copia x oc #MDNI #re-edit

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