artiststarme · 1 year ago
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Eddie does not do well with blood. He didn’t when he had his first memorable nosebleed and had to go to the school nurse to treat a concussion he’d given himself by fainting. He didn’t when he saw some junior getting beat to a pulp by Billy Hargrove out in the parking lot and threw up on the side of his van. And if anything, his distrust surrounding blood only strengthened when he watched a pig get dissected in biology class and fainted, again, in front of everyone.
All of his skinned knees, bloody noses, and battle wounds accompanied fainting spells, vomiting, and mortification for poor Eddie. Usually it also came with a hug from Uncle Wayne and maybe an ice cream if the embarrassment was really apparent. But throughout his 20 years of life, Eddie hadn’t been able to get over his teeny-tiny reaction to seeing blood.
So really, it was no surprise that his cowardly mind switched to autopilot when it saw blood streaming from Chrissy’s eyes in his trailer. The first sight of blood caused his body to move on its own and the sight of splintered limbs forced him out of the space entirely. It was like he was living an out-of-body experience for the entire week. He saw his classmates bleeding, cracking, and dying. He saw Steve Harrington getting munched on by horrendously horrific creatures and gave him his favorite vest to bleed on. It was like Eddie’s mind had fractured past the point of caring about his fear.
Then he himself got attacked by creatures from his worst nightmares and as soon as he saw the first drop of blood, he was out like a light. His brain had finally caught back up in the face of pain and Eddie didn’t necessarily mind it (the rest of the Party did though when they thought he’d died from some superficial bat bites). When he woke up in the hospital, he was greeted with the delicious sight of a sleep rumpled Steve laying at the side of his bed, his hand wrapped in Eddie’s. Suddenly, the atrocities it had taken to get there didn’t seem so horrific. Not as long as he had Steve by his side.
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ponderingmoonlight · 9 months ago
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Satoru Gojo purposely keeping the scar you gave him instead of using reversed technique
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Pairing: husband! Gojo x reader
Word Count: 1,6k
Synopsis: When his skin gets busted by your sheer excitement, it doesn't feel right to Satoru to use his reversed technique and simply heal.
Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, Yuji's "death" scnene in season 1, blood lol
Thank you dear anon for aggressively reminding me that it's canon for Gojo to not have any scars, it really helped me cooking up that fic! 🤍
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Every step feels like hell, the only thing that keeps you from collapsing onto the floor being the reassuring hand of your husband on your shoulder.
This can’t be true, it’s just impossible. Yuji Itadori was a member of Jujutsu High for a few weeks, just started to get to know this world better. This was supposed to be an easy mission, the three of them should have made it out alive with ease. But apparently, Sukuna decided to show up. And apart from injuring Megumi, he violently took Yuji’s life by ripping his heart out. A heart made of pure gold, a heart so precious that you couldn’t help but care for that boy the minute you saw him.
But now he’s dead.
Your hands start shaking immediately the minute you step into this cursed room you visited far too often, gazing at Yuji’s body covered by a cloak. This isn’t a bad dream. No, the blood covering the white cloak tells you more than urgently that Yuji Itadori isn’t there anymore.
“Please tell me that there’s a chance he’ll come back”, you mutter.
Oh, how much both Shoko and Satoru hate to see you like that. It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High how deeply you care about your students, loving them like your own children. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen a student die in front of your eyes. In times like these, jujutsu sorcerers pass away like flies. But Satoru knows what you’ve seen in Yuji, that he somehow reflected parts of yourself. And still, you weren’t able to protect that boy, both Satoru and you coming too late to rescue him.
“I really wish I could, but he shows no signs of life. I’ll move on to autopsy now. If you want to say goodbye…Maybe do it now and leave afterwards.”
Satoru wraps his arms around you just in time before you slide onto the ground, holding you tightly against his chest.
“This is not fair”, you breathe out, head still not able to accept Yuji’s farewell.
He was so young, so full of life. He doesn’t deserve to die, he still had so much ahead of him. There needs to be something you are able to do. Aren’t Satoru or Shoko able to use their cursed technique?
“He didn’t show any signs of life for hours by now, (y/n). Not even Shoko or me are able to bring him back to life. I’m so sorry”, he mumbles against your ear out of nowhere.
So this is really how it ended? With Yuji getting killed by none other than Sukuna himself? Like in trance, your wobbly legs carry you to the autopsy table his lifeless body lays on. You want to stretch out your arm, want to look at that precious boy one last time before Shoko does her job.
But you can’t.
“I can’t look at him”, you blurt out.
With a swift motion, you turn around and burry your face against your husband’s chest.
“It’s okay babe, just look at me, okay? You don’t have to do this.”
Satoru’s arms keep you from losing yourself completely, soak up your falling tears while his head rests against yours. Oh Yuji, you’ll never be forgotten. All the laughter’s both of you shared, his potential, how he always cared about others. You will think about him every time the sun starts to rise, when new students get greeted, when you kill another curse-
“Hey, what’s up? Huh, what are both of you doing here, Gojo-sensei?”
This voice…
That was Yuji Itadori.
Out of instinct you turn around rapidly, not even noticing how the back of your head crushes into Satoru’s forehead with full force. He sees starts, blood taking his sight in an instant while his mind isn’t even able to comprehend it was Yuji who just spoke.
“Yuji! Are you okay? Are you hurt? You’re back!”, you babble out, embracing the boy in a tight hug.
“To be honest I don’t even know what happened last and I’m pretty hungry…Oh, you’re bleeding Gojo-sensei!”
You’re…bleeding? You turn around in confusion, following Yuji’s eyes.
“OMG SATORU!”, you cry out, the sight of your husband covered in his own blood shocking you to your core.
When did that happened…Was it…you?
“I guess you were so happy to see Itadori that you’ve forgot about me standing behind you”, he mutters amused.
“Babe I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got so carried away and-“
“Don’t worry about me. Reversed technique, remember? I’ll be whole in seconds. Just look after Yuji, I love you.”
You let out the breath you were holding, the bright smile forming on your gorgeous face making Satoru forget the world around him for a moment. You are so caring, so passionate. And you are his wife.
“I’m a lucky man”, he mutters to himself while pressing the tissue Shoko handed him against his wound.
There you sit, gently caressing Yuji’s cheeks and asking him over and over if he’s okay.
“You really are. This isn’t a problem for you, right?”, Shoko questions with one glance at the laceration on his forehead.
The shocked look on your face replays itself over and over in his mind, lets a chuckle escape his lips. With the help but his reversed technique, it would be way too easy to get rid of that minor wound. Within seconds, there wouldn’t even be a scar left, just his flawless skin. But…it was you who did this to him out of sheer excitement. It sure would be nice to look into the mirror and get reminded of you daily, right?
“Oh, I might as well keep that”, he replies with a sly grin.
- a few weeks later -
You sit on the edge of the couch, desperately waiting for that time of the day. Even after being married to that force of a man for 4 years now, you find yourself getting all excited when he announces that he’s going to shower. Because going to shower means that he’ll come out just wearing boxers with his body still a little wet and his hair sticking to his face in that delicate way.
“Still waiting for me, huh? It’s not like you can see me naked every time you want, babe”, he finally purrs.
Your heart skips a beat. This man…How is it even allowed to look so breathtakingly gorgeous? The way a single droplet of water runs down his cheek, how he gently strokes his damp hair back.
Wait. You squint your eyes a little harder. What is that on his forehead?
“What do you have there?”, you question, rubbing your own hand against the ride side of your forehead.
This almost looks like a scar. But Satoru shouldn’t have scars. After all, he’s able to use reversed technique, healing himself in the matter of seconds. Is it just dirt? No, that definitely looks like scar tissue.
“Oh, it’s nothing”, he immediately tries to brush you off, pulling his hair back into his face.
“No way Romeo, come back here right now”, you demand.
With a swift motion you lift yourself off the couch and hunt after him.
“Is that a scar?”
“It might be…”
“Why didn’t you just heal it? Show it to me!”
When you finally catch him, you slick his hair back again. Only to be greeted what indeed looks like a middle-sized scar. But why and how did this happen, why didn’t he just heal like he usually does?
“You really don’t know where this came from?”, he challenges you.
You blink a few times. What the hell is your husband talking about?
“Why would I know where this came from?”
“Because it was you, (y/n)?”, he playfully bites back.
You? Your mind races, searching for a single moment you ever hurt your husband. You were never really able to even hurt him, no matter how berserk you went in training. When was the last time you even wounded him? But wait, there was this one time you made him bleed, that one time when…
“This was when Yuji woke up-“
“EXACTLY!”, Satoru cries out and gives you a round of applause.
“But why did you keep it? You said you’d be able to heal it…”
“Because I didn’t want to. This scar right here”
Gently, he takes your hand in his and traces the soft scar with your fingertips.
“will always remind me of what a wonderful human being you are.”
Oh. Your eyes turn glossy in an instant, staring up at your loving husband while he gifts you with the most breath-taking smile you’ve ever seen.
“Satoru”, you breathe out.
There is no time to waste. You wrap your longing arms around his tall frame tightly, aiming to never let him go again.
“Every time I look into the mirror, I think about my wonderful wife”, he mutters into your hair.
“Y’know, you could just take a picture of me or something-“
“No. I would rather just keep that scar of my wonderful wife smacking me over a student.”
You hit him playfully over his comment, a giggle escaping your precious lips.
“Come on, it wasn’t like that…”
“I’ll always tell the story like this.”
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Tags: @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp@localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo
Dividers by @saradika 🤍
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cassie48 · 8 months ago
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𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗵𝗱𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲
Dark! Paul Atreides x fem crybaby!Reader
Where in the midst of a crowd, you, the Mahdis wife, get shoved by accident, and Paul isn’t so happy about that.
𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦
⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ට
Paul usually didn’t let you out of his sight, he knew better. It always ended up badly, someone would hurt you, or hurt your feelings, and you’d cry. Like you always did.
But you had 𝘉𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 him to go for a walk with your friends. Fremen friends that you had known longer than you’d known him. He had only met you two years ago. But once he met you, he claimed he’s had visions of your pretty face, standing in the desert, smiling at him with your gorgeous smile.
He claimed you were to be 𝘏𝘪𝘴. So he married you mere days after you’d met. Stilgar having no problems with it as apparently it was in the prophecy, also known as Stilgars obsession.
You wanted to marry him though, you felt connected to him. There’s wasn’t many people that had put up with your emotional personality, but oh how he 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 it. He loved seeing tears in your eyes as you’d cling to him, burying your small face in his chest, how minor things he’d do for you made you emotional, and most of all how you relied on him to make you feel better.
So that’s why you barely went anywhere without him, it was really just easier for everyone. All the Fremen held huge respect for you as you were the wife of their messiah. No one 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 to merely touch you.
So on this particular day, you had begged your husband to let you go with your friends for a few hours. Inside the ancient temple of your sietch, all your people would gather and celebrate. It was an annual day. Celebrating your cultures and beliefs.
Crowds would gather and people would mingle, meeting and seeing friends. It was just an all round fun day. But this one wasn’t.
It had started off quite well. Paul allowed you to meet your friends for an hour or so, making you promise you’d meet him at home later on. You gladly did, kissing his cheek and leaving to see your friends.
Once you did, you and your friends gathered talking and dancing for what felt like forever. After a while you knew you probably should leave to meet your husband.
Paul had joined the celebrations, as he was their mahdi. He had been watching you for a while, making sure you were alright. When he saw you making your way through the crowds he began to walk too, so he’d meet you halfway.
The crowds were pushy, 𝘛𝘰𝘰 pushy for you clearly, as you took a step but we’re roughly shoved by a man on your right. You went flying face first onto the ground, hitting your head when your did.
The man turned to yell at you
“Watch it you- Oh my lady, I-I apologise deeply!” He yelled, not realising it was you. He was a dead man and he knew it.
Mad if he wasn’t already 6 foot under from his actions, to top it off completely, you began to cry, actually you began to ball your eyes out.
The entire sietch became quiet. Many around you quickly tried to help you up, but you were having none of it, and if anything it made you cry harder. The man that knocked you began to shake in fear as he saw Paul make his way to the scene.
The people had never seen their Mahdi with such a hateful and raged look. He shoved passed people in the cowds to get to you. Once he did he bent down to your bleeding face, wiping your blood and tears before picking you up in his arms, giving one last glance to the man that had caused your accident.
“Make sure he waits outside my tent” he growled to three Fremen on his left, before swiftly turning and leaving with you in his arms.
You cried the entire way back to your tent, clinging onto your husband as your face stung. Once you two arrived, he put you into bed, sitting down beside your lying form.
“You must stop crying my love, it’s alright now” Paul said kissing your forehead gently, wiping stray tears on your cheeks.
“Don’t waste them” he muttered.
You did as he said, but still slight hiccups every few minutes remains. “My head hurts” you whispered with an unhappy look on your face.
“This is why I don’t like you out of my reach” he told you, tucking you under the sheets.
“I know Paul, I’m sorry” she said holding back tears at the thoughts of upsetting him.
He smiled at you tenderly, before giving you a gentle kiss, and letting you fall asleep in bed.
He angrily turned towards the tents exit. He took the man waiting outside fearfully in his arms, dragging him away from your sleeping form.
Once he was out of hearing distance from you, Paul shoved the man onto the ground. Taking out a knife, and placing it at his neck.
“How dare you harm hug wife” Paul yelled.
“Mahdi I- it was an accident!” He said almost crying.
“It don’t care. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦, harms her, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳.” He yelled, before yanking the knife away from his neck, giving him a tiny knife before plunging the knife into the man’s side, and getting up and walking back to you.
Many Fremen watched, not daring to say anything. They knew better. They knew what he was like when it came to you.
Paul made his way back to your drowsy form, half asleep in your bed. “Paul you whispered” with a pouty look.
He got into the bed beside you, taking you into his strong hold, kissing your neck. “Sleep now sweetheart” he told you, and of course, you complied.
⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ට
Just wanted to write something small, I know it’s not much ♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎
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lunerabo · 7 months ago
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grape juice
cw: sub!Choso, dom!vampire!AFAB!Reader, neck biting, blood drinking, vampire typical behaviors, slight dub-con if you squint, handjob, pet names (‘baby boy’, ‘sweet thing’), p in v, riding, dacryphilia, Choso passes out
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You think you’re awake.
It’s not the usual time you leave, far earlier than that. The sun is nowhere near showing itself. It’s not like you to wake before then.
Your nighttime companion slumbers beside you, bare and spent from the fun you had just hours ago. You recall with fondness feeding him fruit from a decorative bowl on your nightstand and tasting it on his tongue when you kissed him. The smell of the candles tucked away in the corners of the room has outlasted the smell of sex.
Your head swims, but unlike how it did earlier, this is far less pleasant. Your vision, superb as it is in the blackness of the room, darkens the blues and greys of the scene before you, blurry around the edges, fading in and out. Your gut twists and growls.
Why now? You weren’t hungry earlier. Sure, it had been some time since you’d fed, but you hadn’t really felt it yet. You thought he was safe tonight. But your pain and fatigue are very real, and there’s no guarantee you’ll find easy prey once you leave. Choso is a lot of fun—as delicious as you’re sure he is in there, you don’t want to go and ruin it by draining him. Your time with him is already temporary.
You drink in the sight of him in the hopes of staying your hunger, battling it with thoughts of your affections, of what you don’t want to see lost.
A mop of black hair. Tired eyes. The distinct mark of a little black horizon across his nose. He’s just so pretty, it makes your mouth water.
You take a grape, fat and ripe, between your fingers. There are plenty more to take from the bowl, but they won’t sate your hunger. You don’t know why you try.
The line between mate and prey blurs before your very eyes, and you do your best to shake that image from your mind. Yet still you stare as he shifts in his sleep, fingers twitching, nose wrinkling. He breathes a little heavier than before, and the thump of his rabbiting heart and the rush of his blood just beneath the bared skin of his neck has you in a haze. Perhaps he knows he is no longer safe. Perhaps he senses the danger he’s in, but has yet to wake.
The fruit is firm between your lips, a promise of a generous reward if you just bite.
Your lover stirs, pulse racing in his warm chest, and you watch, mesmerized.
The skin taut, the flesh swollen.
It takes merely a slow push of your teeth into it to make it burst on your tongue, its nectar rich and plentiful and far sweeter than you remember fruit being. Hunger does have a way of doing that.
Your beloved cries out, eyes wide, and your chin is stained with blood.
You glance at your fingertips, and the half of the fruit you could swear you were holding a second ago has disappeared. Blood paints the place where it sat. Choso’s blood. You reach for words, but find none to grab at.
His breathing shakes, and he nearly leaps out of his skin when you move.
“I didn’t mean to.”
He swallows, and holds his hand to his wound.
“What was that?”
Another period of involuntary silence. You turn on the small nightstand lamp and hesitate to look back at him, licking across the teeth whose purpose now becomes apparent to him. The realization of what exactly it is he’s been sleeping with dawns on him, but he doesn’t show it much.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! I’m… I’m just so hungry.”
“Are you going to eat me?” He asks, and his voice is so small, like a little mouse you could frighten away with just a blink. He doesn’t know what a vampire is, you realize. One thing he senses for certain is that you are a predator, and he, very very vulnerable prey. Why you haven’t gotten on with feasting on his flesh with his innards torn out and strewn across the bed is a mystery to him.
“No, I’m not going to eat you. I need blood, I just… I can’t… wait. I can’t wait until I find someone else. My meal isn’t guaranteed if I leave.”
“How many people have you killed?”
“What? I’ve never killed anyone.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I didn’t kill you.”
He at last rises to his knees before you, understandably still apprehensive and flighty. He glances down to find himself a little hard, too, and he’s not sure why, when this is not a situation he’d ever find sexual. He’s never feared for himself quite like this. Did you do that? What is this? Does he have to worry about you hurting him there?
You notice, and he seems to shrink back into himself a little.
“You’re human. That happens sometimes. You’re just scared.”
Human, he reminds himself. He wasn’t aware of the fact that, apparently, that means being prey. For monsters like you.
Tentatively, making sure he knows where you’re moving, you reach for him. Not for his throat, not for his cock, and not for the racing heart that your hunger yearns to rip from his chest—but for his hand, which you place your own over as he trembles.
“I won’t hurt you again. Not without your say-so.”
His wide eyes search yours, as if picking through your thoughts to find a scrap of a lie. Could you really have the self control to stop yourself from draining him dry? And if you did, how would that affect him? How much would you take? What does he risk? But through the myriad of uncertainties that flood his mind, one truth stands out to him, catching his attention; you don’t want to harm him, not really. He doesn’t know what to call it, but it’s a feeling, some small but impossibly strong tug of what he has every reason to believe is delusion imploring him to trust that there really is something more you feel for him beyond base hunger. If you were as much of an animal as he believed, he would have been made your livestock long ago.
“Do I risk dying if I let you?” He breathes, cautious. He really does love you, and he doesn’t want to force you away. Perhaps if he offers that olive branch, even if he’s not entirely certain he wants to, he may not have to let you go.
“… the more I drink, the easier it’ll be to stop myself. I can do that. I don’t need much.”
It’s a little off putting. It may not have been a simple yes or no, but nothing in that statement implied that he would in fact die, and that’s all he needs, really.
“You can, um. If you can’t live without it, and you won’t kill me, you can… have some.”
He’s not sure why he’s doing this. He quivers, but there’s an underlying feeling of delight in his fear. Excitement. Anticipation. Gentle hands reassure him, fingers creeping up his nape and tilting his head as you lean in, wordless and practically drooling on him.
It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the first time. The wound weeps as you close your lips around it, teeth only barely grazing the skin. There is no need to bite again. Warm and coppery, it floods your mouth, and his body reflexively shies away from the dull, throbbing ache blooming in his neck. Tears threaten to fall but his cock jumps, desperate for attention, and yet you deprive him of it. You won’t make a move until he tells you to, but doing that is far too embarrassing. But between the hand in his hair, the sucking at his neck, and the rhythmic, languid, almost erotic dips of your head as you enjoy your midnight meal, he fears he may say it involuntarily. He can’t blame you for the state he’s in, for he clearly tastes good. That, and the fact that he could’ve tasted like bile for all you cared, and you would have enjoyed it purely for sating your hunger.
But you detach yourself at last, licking over the now much more obvious mark, kissing at his jaw in silent apology. You think he understands. He bucks his hips, grabbing at your wrist, and pulling it insistently between his legs. He can’t take it anymore.
“Okay, easy, easy. I’ll take care of it for you.” Your palm smears the pre already pearling at his tip, and the featherlight touch alone elicits a brief, sharp wail. He’s so impossibly aroused, and the abrupt manner in which he turns to mush under your touch has you soaked. He would let you do anything to him when he’s in this state, you’re sure. That’s a dangerous place to be, with you.
“Did my bite make you all sensitive, baby?” You ask him, and sleepy eyes meet yours in confirmation.
His hips stutter and buck into your hand, but he doesn’t try to stop them. He always seems to lose his mind fast, but this is something different. This is something new.
“Can I sit on you? Can I make you cum for me, baby boy?” You ask, and he whines loudly as an affirmative. “Oh, come here.”
You let him taste his own blood on your teeth and tongue, and you can feel in your palm the way he shivers in confused delight. He leaks and pulses in your grip, and his breath becomes shallow and quick, like he’s crying.
Swinging your leg over his waist, you prop yourself up on his chest with your elbow, and he ruts against you, mind driven into messy knots. He nearly goes limp when you do sit on him, rolling your hips over him just enough to make him a little louder for you. He chews his lip, as if that might do much to quiet his noise, and it’s so precious, so adorable, that you simply can’t help yourself.
“Mhh- you said you wouldn’t drink that much.”
“I know what I said, I’m sorry. Just give me a little more.”
And without apprehension, he yields his throat to you as you feed.
A sleepy, numb, almost sick feeling spreads within him, and his vision becomes blurry and black around the edges, and the walls and ceiling swim around him as his rutting against you slows. He struggles to stay awake under you. He shakes violently to keep conscious, willing his hands to move to their favorite place on your hips, but it takes far more effort than anticipated.
The mark you leave is purple and bloody, but no longer leaking. Blunt fingers claw at your back and you know he nears his end, thighs twitching and jerking and chest rising and falling in a series of brief and shallow gasps. It feels too good to have any hope of backing down from that precipice, too far gone already, the only choice to let go and plummet.
And he does—deep inside you, wailing and hiccuping as he does, and you rub furiously at yourself to join him. His crying sends you over the edge, and he yelps once more as you squeeze him. His breath is hot on your shoulder as you descend and bury your head in his neck.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I won’t take that much again. You did so well, and you taste so good…”
Your tongue lashes out at his wound again, but you don’t drink anymore. His hand creeps up into your hair, tangling fingers into it, forearm laid flat across your bare back. He’s unresponsive after that.
“Choso?”
He’s already unconscious. No doubt largely from the loss of fluids, but the rigorous activity certainly didn’t help. His chest still heaves and his heart still races, but there’s no mistaking it. His eyes don’t move under his eyelids, his brow is relaxed, and his arm sits limp and nearly lifeless on your back. You’ll help him get cleaned up in a couple of hours when the sun rises, you figure.
Though you aren’t looking forward to the complaints about the soreness in his neck.
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awkward-walking-potato · 3 months ago
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Hey there! Just found your profile and I really love your content, and since I saw your requests were always open, what about a Deadpool x Fem!Reader were their first encounter is during one of Deadpool's battles, and once the reader takes up an offer of rooming she saw on the newspaper, she finds out she's roommates with him now and has to put up with his antics? I noticed the CRIMINAL lack of Deadpool fanfic and it hurts😭🙏
Unexpected Roommates
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The sound of gunfire echoed through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable crash of metal hitting concrete. You peered cautiously around the corner, heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding before you.
There, in the midst of the wreckage, stood a man in a red-and-black suit, dual katanas in hand, surrounded by a small army of mercenaries. It was like something straight out of a comic book, except it was happening right in front of you, in the gritty underbelly of the city.
“Alright, who’s next?” the man—Deadpool, you realized with a start—quipped, twirling one of his swords with a flourish as he eyed the remaining thugs. Despite the danger, there was an almost playful air about him, like this was just another day at the office.
You had only heard of Deadpool in passing—rumors about a mercenary who was as unpredictable as he was deadly—but seeing him in action was something else entirely. And yet, despite the absurdity of the situation, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.
One of the mercenaries lunged at him, but Deadpool was faster, sidestepping the attack with ease before dispatching his opponent with a quick flick of his wrist. Blood splattered across the alley, and you winced, pressing yourself against the wall to stay out of sight.
Unfortunately, your attempt at stealth was in vain. The last of the mercenaries fell, and Deadpool, now apparently free of distractions, turned his attention to you. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, sheathing his swords as he sauntered over, “what do we have here? A damsel in distress? Or just an innocent bystander with a bad sense of timing?”
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he stopped in front of you, his masked face tilting slightly as he examined you. Up close, he was even more intimidating—taller than you expected, with an energy that crackled in the air around him.
“Uh… neither?” you finally managed, your voice a little shaky. You cleared your throat, trying to muster some semblance of composure. “I was just… passing through.”
“Passing through, huh?” Deadpool echoed, leaning in slightly. “Interesting place for a midnight stroll, but who am I to judge? I mean, it’s not like *I* ever do anything reckless.” He straightened up, giving you a mock salute. “Well, don’t let me keep you. But if you ever find yourself in need of a charming, devilishly handsome mercenary, you know where to find me.”
Before you could respond, he spun on his heel and started walking away, whistling a jaunty tune as if he hadn’t just left a pile of bodies in his wake.
Shaking off the encounter, you quickly decided it was time to get the hell out of there. You took one last glance at Deadpool’s retreating figure before ducking out of the alley, eager to put as much distance between you and whatever mess you had just stumbled into.
A few days later, you found yourself standing outside a dingy apartment building, clutching a newspaper ad in your hand. The headline read, “Roommate Wanted: Cheap Rent, Great Location, No Serial Killers (Probably).”
It was, admittedly, not the most reassuring advertisement, but you were desperate. Between the sky-high rent prices and your recent run of bad luck, you couldn’t afford to be picky. Plus, you figured it couldn’t be worse than your last living situation.
With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and made your way up the narrow staircase, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. You reached the door marked “6B” and hesitated for a moment before knocking.
The door swung open almost immediately, and you were greeted by the sight of the same red-and-black suit you had seen in the alley. “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Midnight Stroll!” Deadpool exclaimed, his voice laced with amusement. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon. Or, you know, ever.”
Your eyes widened in shock. “*You* put out the ad?”
He grinned—or at least you assumed he did, given the way his mask crinkled around the eyes. “Guilty as charged. Didn’t think I’d find a roommate this fast, but hey, the universe works in mysterious ways. Come on in, make yourself at home!”
You stood frozen in the doorway, struggling to process the absurdity of the situation. “You’re Deadpool,” you finally blurted out, stating the obvious.
“The one and only!” he replied, stepping aside to let you in. “But you can call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or hey, Roomie! I’m not picky.”
Part of you wanted to turn around and run, but the more practical side of you— the one that knew how hard it was to find affordable rent—reluctantly stepped inside. The apartment was a bit of a mess, cluttered with weapons, comic books, and various other oddities, but it was surprisingly homey.
“So,” Wade said, closing the door behind you, “what do you think? It’s got charm, right? Or, at the very least, it’s got four walls and a roof, which is really all you need.”
You glanced around, taking in the chaotic but oddly inviting space. “It’s… something,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re the one who put out the ad.”
“Why, because I’m a world-famous mercenary with a questionable moral compass and a penchant for breaking the fourth wall?” he quipped, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, well, turns out even world-famous mercenaries need someone to split the bills with. Plus, the last roommate bailed after, like, a week. Something about too many explosions and not enough peace and quiet.”
“Shocking,” you muttered under your breath, but Wade caught it and laughed.
“Hey, I can be a great roommate when I want to be!” he said, holding up three fingers like he was making a pledge. “I’m clean, I’m considerate, and I almost never bring work home. Unless, of course, it’s convenient. Or funny.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, the absurdity of the situation starting to wear down your initial reservations. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” you said, shaking your head.
Wade leaned forward, his tone suddenly serious. “Look, I know I’m not exactly a normal roommate, but I can promise you this: I’ll always have your back. Plus, if anyone tries to mess with you, they’ll have to answer to me. And trust me, they don’t want that.”
It was strange, but there was something oddly reassuring about the way he said it, like beneath all the jokes and bravado, there was a real person who genuinely cared.
“Okay,” you said finally, the decision made. “I’ll give it a shot. But no explosions inside the apartment.”
Wade’s eyes crinkled again as he gave you a thumbs-up. “Deal! Welcome to the madness, Roomie. I have a feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
You couldn’t help but smile as you looked around your new home, your mind already spinning with the possibilities of what living with Deadpool might entail. It was going to be wild, unpredictable, and probably more than a little dangerous.
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sapphire-writes · 1 year ago
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Running On Sunshine (hospital AU)
Do No Harm part 3 || masterlist || previous part || next part
pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader
summary: You haven't spoken to Aemond. Tensions rise between the two of you and come to a head at the arrival of a disruptive patient.
word count: 6.1k
warnings: NSFW mdni medical terminology, use of needles, discussion around addiction (specifically alcohol, rehab, recovery), fighting, blood, punching, explicit sex (p in v) fingering, oral (fem receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, spanking, language
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dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics
note: here it is! long-awaited, thank you for being so patient as my brain jumps around 😂 hope you enjoy it!!
disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!
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It’s been a few days since your ultimatum with Aemond. 
No texts. 
No calls. 
You pass each other in the halls and avoid eye contact, brushing past him close enough that if you extended your little finger you’d be sure to brush against the back of his hand.
You weren’t going to chase him. 
You’d told him what you wanted. Told him you’d wanted him. And he had stayed silent. If that was the end of you and him, so be it.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing you inside. Watching him day in and day out walking through the halls of Citadel General in those stupid blue scrubs that he somehow wore like he was strutting down a runway not the hallway of a hospital. 
It didn’t help that observations often included surgeries he was a part of. Aemond was a model resident, often asked to assist the attendants. And he was hard to miss, always wearing his signature scrub cap with little dragons peppered all over it, mid-flight. You’d catch him glancing up at the viewing gallery, peering up over his mask every now and then. You never caught his eye, he was much too quick for that. 
“Switch with me,” you’d begged that afternoon after Baratheon had informed you of the plan to observe Dr. Cole’s surgery. There was no way Aemond wouldn't be there, Dr. Cole had chosen him as an obvious favorite. 
You’d been catching up on notes with Cory for the past ten minutes, the pair of you both trying to shove food in your mouths before your pagers inevitably went off. 
Labs. Observation. Notes. Scut work.
The never-ending revolving schedule of your internship. 
Cory reaches into her bag of salt and vinegar chips, clicking her mouse furiously, her brows pinched together in concentration. 
“I can’t,” she says through a mouthful, “Besides, you’ve already done this lab. If I don’t get these hours by the end of the week I’m about to take Jace’s place as Baratheon’s least favorite.”
You groan in frustration, letting your head rest against the keyboard of your computer. Nettles pops her head into the room, frowning at you both, “What’s wrong with her?”
Cory shrugs and you turn your head to face Nettles. 
Beep beep!
Cory groans, checking her pager, “Shit, I gotta go,” she says, crushing her chip bag and logging out of the computer before heading out of the room, “Sorry again, Y/N!”
You mumble something along the lines of don’t worry about it just as she disappears from sight. Nettles raises her eyebrows.
“McDreamy?” she asks, and you continue to pout, “Damn. Dick is so good we should change his name to McDick.”
“You suck,” you tell her, but you can’t stop your smile, “Definitely not your best work.”
“McOrgasm? I’m still thinking of one that truly encompasses the distress he’s causing you. Dr. Cum?” she makes a face, “Okay ew. Definitely not Dr. Cum.”
You groan, putting your face in your hands, “What am I going to do?”
Nettles walks towards you, slapping the back of your head. You lift your head, mouth open in shock, palming the place she slapped.
“Hey! I was recently concussed!”
“And apparently it scrambled your brains more than we thought!” she snaps, “See what you’re not going to do is spend your days moping over Dr. Sexy. I don’t care how good his dick was. You are a doctor. You are an insanely smart woman and you are in your internship.”
Nettles lowers herself to your height, taking your hands in hers. 
“He is very dreamy,” she says, her brown eyes empathetic, “But this is your time to shine. Not his. He’s not this important.”
It hurts---gods does it hurt---but she’s right. And you know it. You’ve been through situations like this before. You’ve gotten through things like this, and worse. Smiling at Nettles you squeeze her hands.
“Thank you.”
“Mhmm,” she says, smiling, “Always here for a reality check. You’re the sun, babe.”
You smile back at her, “I’m the sun.”
“Damn right,” she says, chuckling, “How’s Cece doing?”
“She was discharged this morning,” you tell her, beaming with pride, “Just finished her last round of antibiotics and her labs are clear. I’m working on her note now.”
Nettles plops down in Cory’s seat, reaching into the chip bag she left behind. Her hand comes out empty and she frowns. 
Jace opens the door, looking rather sweaty and discombobulated. He’s been running around the most, trying to get on Barartheon’s good side. 
“Hey,” he says, out of breath, “Can you guys help me in the pit?”
“No can do,” Nettles says, “We’ve got observation soon.”
You nod agreeing, but become curious noticing Jace’s panicked expression.
“Why what’s wrong?” you ask.
“Just…five minutes,” Jace says, “Please, I need someone. And I can’t find Sara and Cory--I just need someone, please.”
You turn to Nettles.
“The pit?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at you, “Really?”
“Tell Baratheon I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you tell her, “Besides, maybe it’s a good case.”
“Girl,” Nettles says, sighing and shaking her head.
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“I just really need your help,” Jace says, leading you through the emergency room, weaving between nurses and patients, “It’s just that…I mean I didn’t know the other day but now…”
“Didn’t know what?” you ask as he stops outside a curtain.
“-- he’s back again and family members--,” Jace says, brown eyes wide, “We’re not supposed to work on family members.”
Your eyebrows concave together in confusion when suddenly the curtain pulls back. A man is lying in the hospital bed, a halo of platinum hair cascading onto the pillow he lays on. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, a lazy grin appearing on his face as he gives you a once-over.
“Nephew,” he sing-songs, giggling, “You brought me a present!”
Jace sighs, pulling the curtain from his grasp. Wait a minute. Nephew? Your eyes scan the giggling man as Jace snaps something at him. The silvery hair, the violet eyes. Seven hells.
How many Targaryens are there?
“Excuse me?”
“He’s kidding,” Jace says, forcing a smile and turning to his uncle, “You’re kidding.”
His uncle shakes his head, lower lip jutting out in a pout, “I’ve never told a joke in my life. She’s pretty Jacey, well done.”
Your cheeks burn at the compliment, at the way his eyes cascade down your body. You’ve never felt more exposed in simple scrubs. 
“Stop calling me that,” Jace snaps, cheeks reddening.
“I didn’t know you had it in you, Jacey boy,” he croons, “Thought Baela had taken your balls when she dumped your ass--”
“Funnier every time I see you, Aegon,” Jace interrupts, closing the curtain once more. 
Aegon’s mouth drops open in surprise before he’s hidden from sight. You raise an eyebrow at Jace, folding your arms across your chest. 
“He’s harmless,” Jace assures you, “Please, please just help get him out of here as soon as possible.”
“Well, that’s sort of difficult when we don’t know what’s wrong--”
“I know what’s wrong.”
You frown, raising an eyebrow at him, “You know?”
“Yeah, he’s fucking drunk. He’s always drunk. Just give him a banana bag, let him sober up, and get him out of here,” Jace instructs.
“How do you know he’s drunk?”
“Considering the fact he hasn’t been sober since I was eight years old, it’s not hard to guess,” Jace tells you, “He’s been to more rehab programs than I can count. Trust me on this.”
“I’m still going to have to do some labs,” you tell him, not willing to go against protocol.
“That’s fine, do what you have to do just…keep him out of the way,” Jace pleads, eyes widening as though he’d just remembered something very important, “And don’t let Aemond know he’s here.”
Your gut tightens at the mention of Aemond.
“Why not?”
“Just don’t. It’s better for everyone if no one knows Aegon is here,” Jace finishes, “Thank you, I owe you big time.”
“Yeah you do,” you confirm, and then Jace hurries out of sight, eager to escape the pit.
The curtain opens once more and you turn, meeting the curious gaze of Aegon Targaryen. You try to stop the scowl that threatens to overtake your face as he grins widely, a mischievous look in his eyes. 
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“Ow!”
“Will you hold still!”
“You’re killing me!”
“Stop being so dramatic!”
“It hurts!”
“It won’t hurt if you stay still, Aegon!”
Aegon throws his opposite arm over his eyes as you attempt to find a vein for the third time. He’s too squirmy, too anxious that as soon as the needle pierces his ivory skin he’s flinching away and howling. 
“I’ve seen children do better than you,” you grumble, and he gasps in feigned shock.
“They let you torture children?”
“Hush!” you insist, and to your relief, he’s able to stay still as you start the IV, “There you go. See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Aegon peaks over his arm, glancing down at the tubes as you assemble them properly, making sure the drip is even. He frowns as you release the tourniquet. 
“I bruise like a peach,” he mumbles.
“Sounds like you need more iron in your diet,” you tell him, walking to the other side of his bed. You need to take his blood pressure and begin wrapping the band around his arm. 
“Can I have something for the pain?” he asks.
“No, you may not.”
“Not even Tylenol?”
“No.”
“Hells,” he mumbles, “You should know, I enjoy it when women are mean to me, it turns it on.”
“Of course it does.”
“Mhmm. I eat that shit up.”
You’ve been trying not to look at his face for too long. If you look at Aegon, you’ll start thinking about Aemond. 
You’ve been trying very hard not to think about Aemond.
They don’t really look alike, despite the matching hair and eye color. Though he’s sitting down you can tell Aegon has none of Aemond’s height. He’s soft whereas Aemond is sharp. Their mouths may be the most similar thing about them, both awarded beautifully pouty lips made to be kissed. 
“What’s on your mind, doc?” Aegon says, eyes narrowing.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying, I’m very perceptive,” Aegon insists, “Come on tell me. What is it? Doctor drama? Boyfriend drama?” Your face must give something away when he asks, because his eyes light up, “Boyfriend drama.”
It’s no use, you can feel your face heating up, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Fuck off.”
Your head snaps up at him, and you remove the blood pressure sleeve. Discarding it in favor of your stethoscope you place the end against his chest.
“Breathe in.”
“D’you have a girlfriend then?” he relentlessly continues.
“No.”
“A fuck buddy?”
“Hells,” you mumble in frustration, trying to listen to his heartbeat. 
“Please tell me it isn’t my nephew,” Aegon says, making a face.
“What?” you answer, far too quickly, “No! Seven hells, Jace and I are friends! And I do not sleep with colleagues.”
“Everyone sleeps with colleagues,” Aegon argues, “How else do you meet people?”
“That working well for you?”
“Oh I don’t work,” he answers, “That’s boring.”
You choke back a laugh. The man truly is ridiculous.
“Alright then. Well, you’re all set once you’re done with your fluids we’ll check your vitals again and send you on your way,” you tell him, making a note in his chart, “I can have the nurses reach out to some detox programs if you’re interested.”
“I’m not.”
“Look, I understand a bit of your history from what Jace shared. But you should know, recovery isn’t linear, and relapse is completely normal-”
“I haven’t relapsed.”
You blink. 
“Your BAC was 1.06,” you inform him, “That’s more than a little buzzed.”
“I haven’t had a drink since Nyra birthed her last gremlin,” he insists, not elaborating on who Nyra was, “I’m just like this.”
Your eyebrows knit together. He could be lying, you know that. Addiction is one hell of a disease. 
“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t believe me.”
You’re silent for a moment, just staring into his violet eyes. 
“Your blood--”
“Fuck the labs,” he groans, “They always come back like that. I haven’t taken anything. I haven’t drank anything. Believe me, I’d be much more obvious.”
“How so?”
“Well for starters, a pretty little thing like you wouldn’t be so far away,” he comments, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, “I don’t know why this happens. I think my body got so used to being fucked up, it just does it on its own now.”
“You’re being serious,” you comment, and he nods.
It goes against everything you’ve learned in med school, and in residency thus far. Your pager beeps and you glance at it. It’s Nettles. You’re supposed to be joining her soon. 
When you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras. 
You chew your bottom lip. Aegon raises a brow, already looking better with the intake of fluids. 
Fuck it. 
You quickly page Nettles, and let her know you’re needed longer in the pit. Hopefully, Baratheon doesn’t kill you for this. 
We’re going with the zebras. 
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“Okay so I’m going to send the sample to the lab and see what comes back,” you inform Aegon, “And if you’re being honest with me, we should have some answers for you.”
Aegon swings his legs over the side of the bed. 
“Why would I lie?”
You want to roll your eyes, but you’re sure if you do in his presence once more they’ll fall out of your skull. He gives you a cheeky grin as he notices your exasperation. 
“People lie all the time,” you tell him.
“To you?” Aegon asks, snatching your hand is his, “Never, princess.”
You hear Nettles suddenly, her voice flowing through the ER and your stomach turns. Surely, it's Dr. Baratheon coming to reprimand you for missing observation to spend time in the pit ‘trolling for surgeries.’ The curtain opens then, and to your horror, it’s Aemond who has discovered you rather than Dr. Baratheon. 
His eyes fall to your face first before he turns to Aegon. His gaze drops to your interlocked hands. Something washes over him, his expression cold and calculating. 
“Out,” he says, voice quiet as death. 
Aegon chuckles, but you can hear the nervousness he’s trying to hide. You can see it in the way he wets his lips, the way he pulls his hand from yours.
“Bro…”
“Out, now,” Aemond repeats, “Don’t make me drag you out in front of all these people.”
“Careful now,” Aegon says, standing, “you know how mummy feels about you getting your hands dirty--”
Aemond steps forward, hands fisting Aegon’s shirt and dragging him forward. Your eyes widen in shock and Nettles yelps as Aemond pushes past her, dragging Aegon with him. 
The display has gathered the attention of several nurses and patients as Aemond continues to drag him through the ambulance entrance and out the automatic doors. You and Nettles remain closely on their heels as they exit the hospital.
Aemond releases his hold, sending Aegon stumbling into the road. 
“Seven hells!” Nettles says, a shocked expression on her face. 
Aegon laughs maniacally, bending over with his hands on his knees. He shakes his head several times, like a dog before looking up.
“Go home,” Aemond says, flexing his hand.
“Where’s that?”
“Wherever you’ve been staying I suppose,” Aemond quips.
Aegon is panting, staring at his brother.
“I’d like to see Helaena.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Helaena!” he yells at the sky, “She’s my sister, I know she wants to see me.”
“You’re not shaking her down for any more fucking money,” Aemond says, his voice louder this time, making you flinch, “Go home, Aegon.”
Aegon wets his lips, running a hand through his hair. His eyes meet yours. 
“You’ll call me? With the results?” he asks, and Aemond snorts.
“Another STI screening?” Aemond snarks. 
Aegon’s tongue pokes his cheek, an angry smile on his face. 
“Gotta make sure I’m all clear before saddling up with a fit bird,” he taunts, eyes falling on you as he says it, grabbing his crotch for emphasis. 
Aemond lurches forward his hand connecting with Aegon’s cheek. Nettles and you both scream as Aemond jumps back, Aegon spitting a mix of blood and saliva on the ground. He laughs again, smiling with bloody teeth. 
“Get him cleaned up and get him out of here,” Aemond instructs Nettles, before heading back inside and leaving the three of you standing there.
Aegon’s lip is split, along with a cut on his cheekbone. He spits again, wiping his face and nodding at you.
“No boyfriend eh?” he says, grinning. Your face flushes. 
“I wasn’t lying.”
His grin widens.
“One of us is,” he says, referencing your earlier conversation, “Guess we’ll find out who.”
Nettles approaches him, and he winces. She turns to you.
“You should go see if he’s okay,” she says, nodding to the doors. 
You run back inside leaving Nettles and Aegon, your eyes searching for Aemond. Hurrying to the nurses' station, they inform you which direction he took off in. A nervous sweat breaks out on the back of your neck as you hurry down the hallway. You spot him then, taller than everyone else, watching as he ducks into an on-call room. 
Quickening your pace you follow him inside. It’s quiet as you close the door, besides the sound of a noise machine echoing white noise in the dimly lit space. There are two beds in this room; truly the on-call rooms are in such sorry states. Small twin mattresses with paper-thin sheets and pillows that may as well be pieces of foam. 
Aemond sits on the bed to the left, his head resting in his hands. You close the blinds on the door, flipping the sign that says “Both Beds Occupied” along with flicking the lock. You don’t think he’ll want to be disturbed.
“Aemond,” you say softly. He doesn’t move. The knuckles of his right hand are bloody. 
Taking a step closer, you watch his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breaths he’s taking. Anxiety churns in your stomach, and you take a step back, placing your hand on the handle of the door.
“I’ll just leave you--”
“Don’t,” Aemond speaks quietly for the first time, raising his head. His gaze softens, his eyes somewhat glassy. “Please don’t go.”
Your heart starts to race, but you nod, stepping back toward him. Sitting beside him the bed creaks; you cross your ankles and place your hands on the edge of the bed. Aemond rests his chin on his hands, arms propped on his knees. The pair of you sit in silence for several moments. It begins to rain outside, fat droplets of water beating against the window. 
“You should get that looked at,” you finally say, nodding at his hand. 
Aemond merely hums in response, flexing his fingers. 
“Seriously, you’re a surgeon,” you continue, “What are you thinking, throwing punches like that?”
Aemond glances at his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers, “He brings out the worst in me.”
“Your brother.”
“Mhmm,” he answers, shaking his hand. It’s not as bad as it looks, thankfully. He could have done some serious damage.
“I’m sorry. Jace told me…well I’m just sorry.”
“It’s alright. Someone has to treat him. I’m sorry if he was inappropriate to you.”
“It’s alright,” you assure him, “We don’t get to choose how patients behave.”
“Aegon can be a lot. Take it from someone who knows him rather well.”
“Noted.”
You sit in silence some more. The sky outside has begun to turn dark as clouds roll in, the sound of thunder audible in the distance. A storm is looming.
“I’ve missed you,” he says so softly you almost don’t catch it.
Your hands dig into the side of the bed, your heart pounding against your ribs making your chest feel painfully tight.
“Don’t-”
“Y/N..”
“Please Aemond,” you cut him off, eyes watery, “Please. Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”
“I do mean it,” he insists, turning his head toward you, “It’s just…Y/N that day I didn’t give you an answer. And you deserve one. I like you. I like you so much. You’re an incredibly intelligent person, funny, adorable, and…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly as he chuckles to himself. 
“And what?”
“And that scares the shit out of me. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I wasn’t expecting you. When I moved here I just planned on keeping my head down and then….then there was you,” he looked away, his eyes lit up in wonder, “I saw you in that bar, and it was like the sun came out.” 
Your lips part, your stomach flutters pleasantly at his words, and goosebumps erupt on your skin. He glances at you shyly, the tips of his ears tinged pink.
“And then I saw you here and you’re an intern, at the beginning of your residency I just….I mess things up. I don’t want to mess things up for you. Or with you.”
You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, “Okay.”
“But…I miss you. I miss talking to you, kissing you,” Aemond continues, the top of his cheeks turning pink, matching his ears, “You asked me if I’m in or out. I didn’t answer, and I should have. I’m all in.”
“Aemond…”
“If you’ll have me,” he adds, “If you…if you want to give this a try.”
You smile at him softly.
“It’s all I wanted from the start.”
Aemond smiles, leaning toward you and connecting his lips to yours. You sigh against his mouth, as his hand snakes around the back of your neck, keeping you from going anywhere. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips, and you part them eagerly accepting the warm muscle into your mouth. 
Your hands bury themselves in his scrubs as he turns his head, deepening the kiss. His opposite hand reaches for your waist, sliding down to rest on the meat of your thigh. He rubs soothing circles there for a moment, before gripping you hard and pulling you on top of him. 
You straddle his waist as he scoots backward, pressing his back flat against the wall. He breaks the kiss for only a moment, tugging your blue scrub top over your head, before desperately chasing your lips once more. Shivering in the cool air, your nipples harden in your bra. You almost wish you’d worn something a little sexier, the plain black bra making you feel underdressed. 
Aemond eyes your tits like a madman as his skilled hands eagerly unclasp your bra, pulling it from your torso. 
“Should we be doing this--” you gasp, grinding against the hardness between his thighs. 
“Yes, yes we should,” he says, kissing you once more before pausing, his eyebrows knitting together, “Unless you don’t want..”
“No! I mean--fuck, yes, yes we should and I want to,” you whimper as his teeth graze against your neck, “But I mean, here…” Aemond continues his attention to your neck, his perfect mouth nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.
“No one’s coming,” he murmurs, “You locked the door, yes?”
You nod, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, groaning as you clench your fists, tugging at his hair.
He catches your lips once more and you arch your back, pressing yourself against him trying to get as close as humanly possible. Moaning against his mouth he chuckles softly, the sound reverberating against you. 
“Shh,” he croons, brushing some hair from your face, “You have to be quiet.” He nips your lower lip as he says it, smoothing his tongue along where he bit, “Something you have trouble with, I recall.”
Your cheeks warm at the memory of your first night together, the puddle he’d turned you into with such little effort. Lashes fluttering, you look up at him as he admires you.
“You’ll have to remind me,” you tease, earning a growl from him as he flips you onto your back beginning to pull your scrub pants from your body.
Eager to assist, you kick wildly trying to get the soft material off. Aemond catches your right calf in his large hand, trying to avoid being kicked.
“Careful,” he chuckles, pressing a hot kiss to your calf, helping you out of your scrubs, shoes, and underwear. 
“Sorry,” you manage to say through your giggles as he tosses the ball of clothes toward the opposite bed, “We’re a bit uneven now, wouldn’t you agree?”
Grinning, Aemond pulls his scrub top from his body as thunder crashes outside. The sky has darkened considerably and lightning flashes, illuminating the room. Aemond’s hands travel up your calves, hooking against your knees as he cocks an eyebrow at you. 
“Better?”
Your eyes trace down his exposed front following the planes of his chest, the chiseled outline of his abdominal muscles. You swallow, feeling yourself clench as your gaze rests on the outline of his hard bulge.
Nodding, you take your lower lip between your teeth, dragging your gaze back to his face. Aemond’s breathing is heavy as he sits on his haunches, eyes raking down your naked body.
“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he breathes appreciatively, “Gods…” He lets one hand move up your body, fingers dancing against the skin of your waist, up the side of your ribs to your breast. He explores higher and higher until with a desperate whine you reach up pulling him toward you.
You could kiss him forever.
You want to kiss him forever. 
The hand that rests on your leg curls inward, stroking the soft flesh of your inner thigh before inching higher. Your breathing has started to turn to pants as Aemond lets one of his long fingers part through your silky folds, spreading your arousal. 
“Seven hells,” he groans, swirling his finger against your clit, “All this for me?”
“Mhmm,” you tell him, biting your lip and trembling against him already.
Aemond only smirks, that familiar look of confidence in his eye, “Use your words, baby.”
“Yes,” you tell him, as the tip of his finger sinks inside of you, “Fuck-- just for you.”
“That’s my good girl,” he praises, pushing further inside of you, stretching you out on his forefinger. A second finger soon joins and he scissors the digits against your fluttering walls.
You’re trying to be quiet---really you are trying--- but it feels too good. He’s too precise with his movements, too insistent on bullying that sensitive rough patch that causes your eyes to roll back in your head. “Aemond…I can’t--”
“Shhh baby, I know, it feels too good to be quiet, huh?” he says, voice full of mock sympathy, “Don’t worry, I’ll make you cum really quick, let me take care of you, yeah?”
You nod furiously, a choked moan escaping you as Aemond presses a tender kiss to your forehead. Moving away from you, he keeps up his relentless pace with his fingers as he slides onto his stomach on the bed. Your eyes widen as Aemond glances up at you from between your legs, a cheeky smile on his handsome face. 
“Aem----oh fuck!” your concern is short-lived as Aemond presses his mouth against you.
His tongue traces lazy circles over your clit, groaning, “Hells, I missed this sweet little pussy,” he mumbles, taking the sensitive button between his lips and suctioning around it. 
Throwing your head back against the pillows, your back arches, and your mouth opens in a silent scream. The rain continues to pour outside, the drumming against the window matching that of your racing heart. 
“Oh yeah, I know that’s so good, huh?” Aemond mumbles between licks of your clit, his free hand snaking upwards to grope at your breasts, “Fuck you look so pretty…all whiny and desperate.”
He curls his fingers as he says it, massaging the tender spot inside of you causing your pussy to spasm against his fingers. His tongue traces nonsensical patterns around your clit, his lips sucking and releasing causing lewd wet noises to echo through the room.
“Next time,” he murmurs a quiet promise, “Next time, when I’ve got lots of time…we’ll see how long I can keep you like this.” His fingers pinch your right nipple, tweaking it harshly.
Your belly tenses, muscles constricting against his fingers as he returns his sweet torture on your clit, and you finish with a muffled sob as you turn your head, pressing your mouth against your shoulder. Aemond murmurs soft praises, talking you through your orgasm as your legs shake around him. 
“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you hiss through your teeth as he slowly pulls his fingers from your fluttering pussy, bringing them to his mouth. 
You watch, wide-eyed as he sucks the lengthy digits, moaning at the taste of you.
“Turn around baby,” he says, sitting up, “Put your face in the pillow.”
Shakily, you turn on your hands and knees, before letting yourself fall to your forearms. Aemond slides his hand down your back, admiring the curve of your spine, spreading your cheeks wide. 
“Goddamn,” he murmurs, slapping your cheeks, causing you to yelp, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”
“You’re an ass man?” you tease, looking back over your shoulder.
“I’m a ‘you’ man,” he argues, grabbing his length and sliding it against your folds, “Now be a good girl, and let me take care of you.” The fat head of his cock pokes at your entrance.
“Please,” you breathe as he starts to slide in. Aemond pauses, groaning slightly.
“Fuck baby, you can’t say that all sweet right now,” he growls, “We don’t have time.”
“Please, put it in,” you whimper, cheek pressed against the pillow, drool forming a wet patch under your cheek.
Aemond’s hand cracks down on your ass once more, “Be a good girl you little brat.”
You whimper, your begging ceasing as he slides fully inside your tight, wet heat. The stretch of his fingers was nothing compared to his thick cock. Your walls tense around him, pulsating around his thick length as he bottoms out. Rocking backward, he slides nearly all the way out before thrusting back in. 
Electricity bursts through your veins, pleasure crackling through your limbs like the lightning outside of the window. The force of his thrusts sends your face deep into the pillow, muffling the sharp cries of pleasure you emit. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to, it feels too fucking good, the head of his cock rubbing ceaselessly against your g-spot as he ruts against you; he’s grunting softly, muttering praises all the while, his fingers digging into your hips. 
“Fuck,” he gasps as your knees slide down, legs shaking so bad you’re unable to keep them upright, “It’s okay baby, just relax I got you.”
Your legs bend against the mattress, thighs splayed, hip flexors burning with the deep stretch it awards you. Aemond never relents, just continues to slap his hips against the softness of your ass, his cock sliding effortlessly in and out, in and out.
“Aemond,” you moan, “Fuck it feels--”
“Yeah?” he groans, “How’s it feel baby?”
“S-s’good, Aem, fuck, it’s so good,” you whimper, hands fisting the sheets, the bed shaking with every harsh thrust. 
The bed grinds against your sensitive nipples and clit sending sparks of pleasure burning through you.
“Gonna make this pussy feel so good,” he says, leaning some of his weight on top of you, his face next to yours, “Gonna take you home after our shifts, you’d like that, yeah?” His arms hold him up, propped on either side of your head. 
“Yes, fuck please,” you agree, turning your face, and feeling him press a kiss to your shoulder blade.
“Gonna have you ride my face,” he promises, dragging his nose between your shoulder blades, “Wanna make that pussy feel so good, till you can’t fucking take it anymore.”
“Fuck Aemond,” you shiver with delight at his filthy words, at the promise of a repeat of the first night you’d been together. A promise of more. 
“Missed you too much,” he murmurs against your shoulder, sending warmth pooling in your belly, “Need you close to me.”
“I missed you,” you whimper, “Fuck, need you so bad.”
“I’m all yours,” he says, nearly whimpering himself, “Fuck baby, you’re so tight, feel so good clenching around my cock.”
“Yeah?” you ask, lifting your head slightly, and glancing back through hooded eyes.
Aemond maneuvers himself, leaning to capture your lips in a sloppy, heated kiss as he continues to pound into you. 
“Fuck….c’mon baby, one more time,” Aemond encourages as heat winds a tight coil of pleasure in your belly, “Can’t have my baby only cumming once, now can I? Come on, that’s a good girl.”
The pitch of your cries increases and you slam your face against the pillow to muffle your strangled cry as your whole body tense, pussy constricting like a vice around his cock as you come. It’s intense, it burns with a brutal passion that paints stars behind your eyelids. 
Aemond’s thrusts become sloppier and with a few more slaps of his hips, you feel his cock pulsate inside of you and the warmth release of his cum filling you up. You turn your cheek from the pillow, your body tingling with the remnants of your orgasm as you suck in a breath. Gently, Aemond pulls out of you, peppering kisses down the length of your spine as he does so. 
You hum happily as he slides out, placing his hands under your thighs and maneuvering you out of the frog-like position you were previously in. Your hip flexors ache, but it’s a good pain--well worth being fucked into the mattress. Aemond turns you on your back, brushing some hair from your sweaty forehead. 
“Hey there,” he says softly. The room is quiet, the rain has stopped. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever walk right again,” you tell him with a content sigh, “but that aside, I’d say I’m more than alright.”
Aemond chuckles, thumb smoothing your cheekbone, making you lean into his gentle touch. 
“Hold on,” he murmurs, standing up, walking to the adjacent bathroom, and flicking on the light. 
You watch him walk away, admiring his ass. He’s got a rather nice one. You hear him turn the water on and a moment later he returns with a washcloth. Not trusting yourself to stand, you simply spread your legs and let him clean up the remains of your combined releases. Your hips jerk as he carefully brushes against your swollen clit causing him to release a breathy laugh.
Beep beep!
The noise snaps you both out of your post-coital bliss bubble and you hurry to find your clothes. Aemond reaches for his pager, desperate to get his scrubs on. 
Beep beep!
It’s your pager this time. Shit, Baratheon must be pissed. 
Both of you scramble, switching scrub tops as Aemond accidentally tries to put on yours, causing you to erupt into a fit of laughter that is only stopped when he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in for a heated kiss. 
“Stop, stop,” you beg, pushing against his hard chest, “Shit we have to go.”
“One more--”
“You’re insatiable--”
“Oh I’ll show you insatiable,” he says, lips tugging upwards in a smirk, “You just wait until tonight.”
Your cheeks burn as you yank on your bottoms, fixing your hair. Sex hair is not an option, not when Baratheon will be up in arms about your disappearance. Glancing at your pager, you read what it says before clipping it to your waist. 
“Okay, I gotta go,” you tell him, shoving your feet into your sneakers.
“Meet me in the lobby? When you’re done?” he asks, unable to hide his smile as you walk to the door on trembling legs.
“Okay,” you tell him, leaning forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “And we could get dinner?” 
“Anything you want,” he says, cupping your cheeks and kissing you again, “Anything” another kiss, “At” and another one, “all.”
You hum happily, placing your hand over his, your entire body warming with his affection.
“I’ll see you then,” you tell him, unwillingly pulling away and unlocking the door.
You leave first, Aemond leaving a few moments later. Watching as he fixes the collar of his scrubs, you find yourself beaming. Aemond turns, catching your eye before turning down the hall, a small smile playing on his lips.
Gods, this is going to be a long shift.
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note: hope you liked it!! LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!
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hypnoneghoul · 22 days ago
Note
Hiiii if you don’t mind it I have a little fanfic request cuz I’m pretty sure I’ve read every story about ghouls with epilepsy and I guess I just need something to make me feel better about my own epilepsy so yeahhh I’d be happy if you could write something along the lines of a ghoul (preferably dew) having an seizure and getting helped by the other ghouls (current and former ghouls). I’d really appreciate it <3
-Levi
idont know much about seizures but @skele-bunny helped
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It started after his elemental transition; the first time it happened, he was still in the infirmary.
Thankfully.
Dewdrop didn’t know what was going on, then, but he could feel it coming on. He got hit with a wave of coldness, and then a moment after started to feel flushed. His eyes lost focus and he managed to open his mouth, wanting to call for someone, but no words were coming out. He only caught the sight of Omega running towards him from the corner of his eye before the world went dark.
When he woke up next—he’d been told a few minutes passed—he was exhausted like never before and had a killer headache. There was blood in his palms and in his mouth, too.
Apparently, Dewdrop had a seizure.
They’ve never really settled on what was the cause, but Omega and Aether both think it’s the trauma that the elemental transition had put on his nervous system, as well as his heart.
It’s been years—and many, many more seizures—since then and even though the fire ghoul knows how to recognize them coming on, now, they can still surprise him from time to time.
Dewdrop is too distracted by the rapidly thickening plot of a movie he’s watching with the pack—extended pack, it’s a big movie night that all the ghouls were invited to; and most showed up—to notice the signs. Before he knows it his arms and legs begin to twitch where he’s laying against Swiss.
The multi ghoul takes notice, of course. “You alright, kitten?”
He doesn’t reply—can’t even turn his head—as he’s already actively seizing. Swiss jumps right into action.
“Ifrit, Delta, clear the floor,” he orders as he’s grabbing Dewdrop to lower him to the ground. The two addressed ghouls obey immediately and Swiss uses the newly created space on the carpet to get Dewdrop into the safe position.
“What’s going on?” one of the ghoulettes calls out from the other side of the room.
“Dew’s seizing,” Rain—who’s been cuddled up to Swiss’ other side—replies. Not all the ghouls present are used to witnessing a seizure and it causes chaos to sprout in the room.
Mountain—in charge of the TV remote—pauses the movie and nods to Zephyr—sitting in their wheelchair by the lightswitch—to turn the light on.
Dewdrop’s seizures are silent, but not pretty by any means. His eyes roll back into his head, his jaw clenches so tightly it looks like it might just break, and his limbs twist and tense. Swiss is holding him safely on his side with his head supported as he convulses lightly.
Thankfully, because a few ghouls have been sitting there watching the movie there’s a softer blanket laid out instead of just the old, rough carpet—hopefully Dewdrop won’t have carpet burns after, thanks to that.
There’s nothing more to be done when he is having a seizure apart from keeping him safe; all the ghouls can only wait and, as always, it’s just a few minutes before Dewdrop starts coming back to life.
The tension pulling at his muscles begins to drop and minute after minute his body is loosening. When it’s safe to do so, Rain scoots over closer to stroke Dewdrop’s hair as they wait for him to become more aware of his surroundings again.
“Welcome back, droplet,” the water ghoul mutters with a smile when he notices the other’s eyes moving. “Can you blink a few times for me?”
Dewdrop does.
“Good boy, that’s good,” he praises. “One blink for yes and two for no, right?”
Dewdrop blinks one time.
“Good,” Swiss chimes in. “Do you want some water?”
One blink.
“Can someone get a glass of cold water?” the multi ghoul calls out. “With a plastic straw. The bendy kind.”
“On it,” Aeon says and goes to fetch it. 
“Does it hurt anywhere it shouldn’t?” Rain asks the fire ghoul again.
Two blinks.
“Alright, that’s good.”
“Do you need anything specific?”
Two blinks.
“Do you want to go to bed?”
Two blinks.
“Stay here and go on with the movie?”
One blink.
“That can be arranged,” Swiss winks at him with a smile. Dewdrop is clearly alright—nothing is out of ordinary. “Can we get some pillows and soft stuff, here? We’ll stay on the floor.”
Some murmurs spread around the room and soon enough Swiss’ request is being fulfilled. Ivy, Pebble and Rain tuck some blankets and pillows under and around the multi ghoul and Dewdrop—still not entirely back in his body, hence still being held in a safe position.
Just then Aeon returns with that glass of water. “Sorry, couldn’t find the straws.”
“That’s alright,” Rain assures with a smile as he takes it from the quintessence ghoul and brings the straw to Dewdrop’s lips. He parts them—albeit rather weakly—and starts sipping slowly.
After a few minutes, when everyone is settled and calm again, Zephyr switches the light in the room back off and Mountain resumes the movie. Swiss and Rain keep monitoring Dewdrop’s state, but he seems to be doing alright, already. His eyelids are drooping and they know he’s going to be asleep in a moment—not uncommon for him at all after a seizure.
But nobody minds, they’re all just glad he’s safe.
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thesunisatangerine · 1 year ago
Text
porque volví por ti (tú eres mía)
“Are you happy, Alexia? With me?”
“Why are you even–Yes! Yes, I am! What–”
You gently grabbed her face and you placed your forehead against hers. You looked into her wide, pleading eyes, and whispered softly, “Oh, Alexia. Imagine how much happier you’d be being with the right person.”
Alexia shook her head, adamant and defiant, and as she did so tears left her eyes. 
“Please, don’t do this. I love you. Please, I love you, damn it!” She put her hands over yours and squeezed them tight as if you were in danger of vanishing, like you were a spectre that was about to disappear. 
Emotion coiled in the base of your throat, choking you. You couldn’t say those words back to her even if you wanted to, not when you were already weak enough, any more and you would find yourself back in her embrace and you couldn’t allow yourself that relief because this was what needed to be done. Alexia would be so much happier, so much more content without you in the way.
“Alexia–Alexia, listen to me. You can’t see it now and you might end up resenting me but you’ll be happier for this, I know it. Everyone can see that you’re complete when you’re with her. I see it, too. The both of you just work and I’ll be damned to get in the way of something so beautiful.”
“Is this what you want?” Alexia asked and her voice wavered as she did so. Her eyes remained trained on yours, the plea in them as vivid as the red of her lips and the stain of tears on her cheeks.
You bit your lip so hard you were surprised you didn’t taste blood on your tongue. You whispered your answer. “Yes.”
Alexia sniffled, her brows pinched as she closed her eyes but she didn’t say anything. A moment after, she let go of your hands and left hers hanging between her legs, dejected and resigned. She looked so small like this and it hurt–you knew breaking up with her would but you didn’t expect the pain to weigh this much.
“I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.” You closed your eyes as you kissed her forehead and you allowed yourself to linger there for a moment, to savour the last taste of her skin, the last feel of her warmth against your lips. And then you wiped the tears from her cheeks with your thumb, straightened yourself, grabbed your coat from the counter, and you headed out the door.
Training the next morning was a silent affair as if everyone could feel something big went down because not even the staff and the trainers said anything. You were thankful for the space and privacy they were giving you but guilt burnt in you like a torrid brand–the last thing you wanted was to negatively affect the team’s dynamic, especially being close to the start of the Champions League like this.
Your eyes unintentionally wandered to where Alexia was, a few metres ahead with her earphones plugged in as she did her resistance training, a very rare sighting and a general indication that she had a lot of thing on her mind. And when Alexia was like this, everyone knew she needed some breathing room. It was not uncommon, however, to see Val being exempt from this unspoken rule so you weren’t surprised to see her join Alexia.
It also wasn’t a surprise that Alexia let her stay.
As if she sensed your eyes on the both of them, Alexia’s eyes found you. You were trapped in her gaze for a second before you quickly averted yours, standing up and putting away your weights and mat, and you moved to the stationary bikes that were located on the other side of the training room, away from their view. You didn’t even realise you picked the bike next to Mapi until you felt her hand on your shoulder which brought your attention to her. Clear understanding was in her eyes and the sympathy just as apparent. She squeezed your shoulder lightly, gave you a small smile, and then she let go. 
You swallowed the lump in your throat but the feeling remained; it tasted bitter and heavy on your tongue. Not knowing what else to do, you plugged your earphones in and hoped that time would pass quickly enough for this wound to heal. 
wanted to drop this cause the other one is still not close to finishing. just an idea for a possible one shot with reader, alexia, and val (an original character). not yet sure if i will actually make this into an actual fic so lmk if you want it to be continued.
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gilverrwrites · 7 months ago
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Hiiii could you do a forbidden hero x villain romance of captain boomerang and reader? Thank you in advance 🙃
No Use Mending Bridges
Captain Boomerang/Reader, 2.7K words
He'd been everything to you then. Now he was a crumpled mess, laying broken and battered on your couch. Rated: M
Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Request Info
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CW: Mentions of blood and violence , swearing, angst, arguing, unhealthy relationship dynamics, betrayal, lying.
Please know: I think you are absolutely wonderful!
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The view through your peephole is distorted; it makes his head look bulbous and alien-like, but despite the skewed image and years of no-contact, he’s still immediately recognisable. Fully prepared to tell him to take a hike unless he wants a free ride to the police station, you swing the door open only to be halted by the unobscured sight of him. His coat and gloves were torn and bloodied, one hand clutched to his ribs, the other supporting his weight on your door frame.
“Hey, stranger.” He splutters between bloody coughs. His face twitches in pain at each syllable. There’s a cluster of nasty reddish-purple bruises forming around the left side of his face, and he appears to have lost another tooth.
“What the fuck George?!” Confirming the coast is clear with a quick scan of the hallway, you herd his limping form into the apartment, where he unceremoniously spreads across the couch. “What the hell did you do? Why even come here?”
“I didn’t do nothin’.” His speech is slurred, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s drunk, injured, or both. “I had nowhere else to go.”
“Just stay still.” You instruct as you begin rummaging, looking for your first-aid kit; it must be somewhere here. “And don’t touch anything!”
By the time you locate what you’re looking for and return to his side, George is unconscious. His pupils constrict as expected when you shine a light on them. Moderately happy that he’s not concussed you allow him to sleep as you clean him up, disturbing him only to remove his coats and boots.
By the time you’re done patching him up, it's late into the night. You don’t really want to leave him alone… because he might steal something, not because you’re worried about him. But because you’re exhausted. Resolving to leave him alone for a few hours, you pack up your kit and head to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water and some painkillers.
When you return, he’s awake, barely. Bleary reddened eyes watch you in silence as you place the glass and pills on your coffee table.
“Can you talk?” You ask.
“Oh yeeeeeaaahhhhh.” His speech seems worse now than when he’d arrived. “Ripperrrr.”
He must have really got his shit rocked. Or gotten really pissed before getting his shit rocked. You wait for him to say something more, to thank you for taking him in and fixing him up. He sits there watching you back, threading his tongue between the new gap in his teeth. As more and more time passes it becomes increasingly apparent that he has nothing to say to you. Ungrateful bastard.
Although it shouldn’t surprise you, really. Years ago, when you’d been an item, you’d patched him up plenty of times, bailed him out of prison, even gotten into fights for him, and he’d never thanked you then, either. It was always someone else’s fault, someone else’s burden. He was a martyr, and you’d believed him, every time. Right up until you’d caught him red handed, fist full of stolen cash in the middle of Central City National Bank’s vault. Although every fibre of your being wanted to hear him out, to forgive him, and take him home, you knew then and there that there was no coming back from this moment.
He knew who you were and the things you stood for, and he’s barefaced lied to you, going behind your back, living a double life as a criminal.
Shaking with anger, humiliation, and heartache, you did your best to shut him out as you hauled his ass down to the CCPD, swearing never to look back. And you didn’t; you never looked up his record, never googled his name, never asked your mutual friends about him. However, that didn’t stop you from hoping for a card in the mail every holiday, or scrolling through your camera roll with a tub of cookie dough whenever you thought about him too much or turning down every offer at a date with literally one else.
He'd been everything to you then. Now he was a crumpled mess, laying broken and battered on your couch.
“Who did this to you?” You ask, maybe because you want to hear his excuse, or maybe because you really want to know who is responsible.
“Why? You gonna arrest 'em?” Between the swollen face and the way he keeps lolling his tongue around, it's difficult to make out an emotion until he follows up with what is clearly intended as bitter sarcasm: “Myyyy hero!”
You have mixed emotions. You almost want to be proud of him for not immediately giving you a name and for feeding you a story about some guy who totally started it, but really, you knew it wasn’t that. He’d probably deserved it, probably been caught with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar by a hero bigger and stronger than you, with less emotional attachment. Or maybe he’s just intentionally being a dick, still mad at you for putting him behind bars.
“I don’t arrest people, George.” You take a deep breath, determined to sound professional. “But if needs be, I will turn them in to the police.”
“Don’t ya know; Snitches get stitches.” The more he refuses to tell you, the hotter your blood runs.
How dare he turn up here, asking for your help, then refuse to let you do your job. You’d had every right to turn him away, but you hadn’t. The least he could do was tell you why he’d darkened your doorway.
“You were a mess. You are a mess, and you know it, or else you wouldn’t have come here.” Your composure is slipping, each word growing louder and more agitated than the last. You care far more than you should, and you know it, that is the problem. “Whoever did this to you must be held accountable for their actions.”
“’Must be held accountable for their actions’, blah, blah, blah. Do they teach ya all that fancy talk at crime fighting 101 or whatever it is you do?” All the colour drains from his face as he watches your reaction, the way your face twists with anger. Instant regret. “Alright, alright, am sorry. That was uncalled for. I just… can we talk about it in the mornin’?”
 “Will you still be here in the morning?”
Caught in a half lie, George falls silent, turning his head to avoid your gaze. All that red-hot rage leaves your body, replaced with a similar emptiness that settles in your chest. You’d barely gotten him out of your system when he’d turned up, and now he was practically gone already. It was for the best, really. No use mending bridges and making up with him; it would do neither of your reputations any good.
“Right. I’m going to bed. Goodnight George.” You’re gone before he can respond.
The creak of footsteps against hardwood flooring stirs you from half-sleep. For a thief, he’s awful at keeping quiet. The smart thing to do would be to check on him. He was probably halfway out of a window with his pockets full of valuables, but whatever he’d taken would be a small price to pay to not have to look at him one more time.
Light from the hallway peeped into the room, not bright enough to blind you, but enough to put you on alert to the door opening. Confused and on edge, you dart up, finding George stood at the end of the bed. He’d removed his shirt and jeans, exposing some minor cuts and bruises that you’d missed, and leaving him in nothing but his briefs. A sorry sight for sore eyes.
“Forgot how uncomfortable the couch is.” He informs you nonchalantly.
“You picked it, ‘didn’t wanna pay more than $50 on a doghouse’.” You did you best to imitate his accent, earning you a laugh. The sound was strange, you hadn’t realised you’d forgotten it until you heard it again.
“Can I?” he gestures to you, to the bed.
“How bashed up is your head? Hell no.” You pull the sheets tighter around yourself.
“Oh, come on, ya said it yourself am a mess, an’ that lumpy old thing ain’t exactly helping.” The way he waves his arms around must hurt, must be agitating his wounds, and pulling his bandages loose, but the movements are so familiar, so quintessentially him, that you can’t help but smile. Clearly knowing he’s found a weak spot, he comes closer, dropping to his knees, elbows on the bed, head cradled in his hands as he bats exaggeratedly large eyes at you. “Technically, it’s our bed anyway, so… Please?”
“Fine.” He’s pulling the sheets back before you’ve even finished. Wriggling his ass against the mattress, batting the pillows into place, too late to take it back now.
“Is that my pillow?” He asks, pointing to your side of the bed.
Originally, you’d taken it because the smell reminded you of him, but it had been such a long time. It no longer smelled of him, and you could claim that you don’t remember. “Not anymore.”
“’Fine.’” He mimics you for the second time that night, probably payback for your atrocious attempt at Australian earlier.
Awkward silence befalls the room. It’s not as bad as it had been downstairs, not as hostile, but the tension is still thick. When you’d patched him up earlier, the air had been pungent with blood and steriliser. Now though, he filled the bed with a familiar spicy musk that made you more comfortable than you’d anticipated. You wondered if you’ll wash the sheets right after he’s gone, or if you’ll be swapping the pillows around once more.
You risk a peek at him, curious if he still the same up-close, all scruff and rough and homey. His green eyes are already staring back at you. Caught out, you refuse to shy away, allowing him to watch you watch him. He’s leaner now, and you note a few tattoos you don’t recognise across his upper arm and chest.
As the minutes pass, the tension simmers. It’s almost peaceful, being so close again. It all feels so intimate, so easy, at least until he says the dumbest thing you’ve heard all day.
“What happened to us, aye?”
“What happened? You lied to me, for basically all of our relationship. You humiliated me.” Once it started coming out, it didn’t stop. Unconsciously, you sit up straight, keeping your distance as you continue to rant. “You can’t just talk your way back in here and pretend like it didn’t happen. I trusted you, and you made a fool out of me.”
“Hold on now, it’s not like that.” He remains calm, still laying back in the bed, amused by your sudden outburst. His laid-back attitude had been so charming when you’d fallen for him. Now it pissed you off.
“Then what is it like, George?” His brows don’t furrow until you reach the end of the sentence.
“Stop it.” He finally sits up, hunched to ensure eye contact. “Stop calling me that!”
Even during the worst spells of your relationship, he’s never eyed you so intensely, not in this context, at least. Back then, it might have scared you, but now you were relieved to see some real emotion from him, even if he’s picking at a scab you don’t want touched. You know exactly what he’s getting at, but you don’t want to address it, so you repeat your earlier question. “What is it like?”
“You’ve never called me George before today.” He rebuffs your question again, zeroing in on his own issue. He’d never liked his birthname, so you’d never used it—not until you’d needed a way to distance yourself from him.
“George never broke my heart.” Your voice is a whisper but he’s close enough to hear it. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing as he mulls over your words. Every second is like torture until you put a stop to it. You grab his pillow from the bed as you stand. “This was a mistake. Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Please don’t.” Calloused fingers wrap around your arm, not hard enough to bruise but firm enough to keep their grip as you’re tugged back onto the bed. “I’m sorry for what I did, for all of it—the fights, the stealin’. And I’m sorry I didn’t say sorry sooner.”
Those same strong fingers drag along your arms, attempting to offer comfort. Unable to muster the resolve to fight it, you let him pull you deeper onto the bed, encasing you in an embrace that is both unwelcome and wanted.
“Do you think there’s a way we can fix us?” He asks, voice cracked. He draws closer, nestling into the nook of your neck as he awaits your response.
You’ve laid awake in this very spot missing him for such a long time. Praying that one day, this exact moment might happen, but there are things you have to be certain of first. “Are you just saying all this to get laid?”
There is hesitation that briefly fills you with dread before he replies carefully. “No.”
“Will you give it all up?” You cup his cheeks, pulling him up until you’re face to face, where you can watch his reaction. You’re both so close, so ready to fold, but you can’t give up your morals, so maybe you can convince him to change. “The whole rogue thing? Will you quit?”
“Darlin’… Loving you has nothing to do with -”
You interrupt him with a kiss, a desperate attempt to change his mind before he commits to his statement. He tastes like copper and malt. Blood and beer. It reminds you of every kiss you’d shared before now. You shove your tongue inside his mouth, craving more, and he shudders in response.
When you pull away, he watches you with a dazed expression, scabbed lips pulled into a dreamy smile.
“That was ace.” Your foreheads press together, and he closes his eyes, thinking, preserving, you’re not sure, but his smile gradually falters. “But would ya do that in front of the bonze?”
“I would.” It’s an instant response, but once it leaves your mouth you know there’s a stipulation. “If you reformed.”
“We’re just goin’ around in bloody circles.” He releases you, hands thrown in the air as he falling back against the bed with a frustrated grunt. A giggle escapes your lips at the sight, but once he’s settled, you start to miss the warmth of his body with a force you hadn’t felt since the night of your breakup.
Unwilling to let the moment go just yet, you encroach his side of the bed, resting your head on his chest. He signals his approval by stroking his hand against your back.
“We’re supposed to be enemies, you know?” You’re talking to him but don’t have the strength to move in a way that allows you to look at his face. “I should hate you, why can’t I hate you?”
“Well, it’s pretty obvious why.” He gives your shoulder a playful nudge. “Am just lovable.”
He laughs at his joke, wholeheartedly. You laugh, humouring his attempt to lighten the mood.
When the laughter dries up, you lay together in silence yet again, so many pauses, both of you so uncertain how to move forward. The beat of his heart thumping beneath your ears is the only sound you can make out.
“I just gotta pull one last job.” He cuts through the quiet.
“What is it?” You make the effort to angle your head upwards, but he halts you by placing his hand on the top of your head.
“Can’t tell ya.” He taps his fingers against your head the way he would a table, one fingertip at a time. It’s a nervous tick he’d picked up a long time ago. “Nothin’ personal, just don’t want ya tryna’ stop me.”
Could you call yourself a hero if you let him do whatever he was planning? If you didn’t take preventative measures, or hold him responsible for yet another crime?
“Digger, please don’t make me regret this.”
When you wake the next morning, the space beside you is empty and cold. The wrinkled outline of his body in the sheets serve as the only proof that anyone had been there the night before. No noises rung through the flat, no footsteps, no echo from the TV, no running water. Fighting through morning fuzziness you stumble out of your bedroom, searching for your missing bedfellow, only to find an open window and an empty wallet. 
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bouncybongfairy · 5 months ago
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Cummin’ For You
Stain x Fem Reader Smut
Summary: Your friend's group convinces you to go to the woods where multiple Stain sightings have been reported. He singles you out and has his way with you.
Word Count: 1.0k+
Ref Account: @kaionyx
TW: Blood Kink, Knife Kink, Sex in Forrest, Rough Smut, Humiliation, Degradation, Polaroid Camera, CNC
<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
“Don’t be lame just come with us, the guys will be there,” your friend whispered in a sing-song voice. 
“It just seems so stupid and cliche, going to the woods to drink and smoke. Doesn't it seem like they have ulterior motives?” you asked. 
“They really want to catch a glimpse of Stain, apparently he has been spotted there a couple times in the last two weeks. One of them is even bringing a polaroid camera to spot him, apparently it’ll be worth more if he sells it,” she blabs on. 
Eventually you just agree just to shut her up. Now walking on a barely established path, overhanging limbs from trees creating shadows from anything the moonlight gazed on. It was cold enough for the wind to break through your tights. Forcing you to hold the ends of your skirt down with both hands, despite your book bag sliding off your shoulder. They group finally stopped at a semi-rotting log. Unloading their backpacks full of alcohol, cigs and joints. You weren’t finding any amusement in their antics and instead taking in your surroundings more. It had recently rained and the ground smelled like rich, wet dirt; patchy and dry in some places. 
They offered you a seat but you refused. Your friend encourages you to take a swig from the bottle. You figured resisting would only tempt them to pester you more. Rather taking the one shot and being left alone about the matter. It burned your throat but also warmed your body up, you liked that. This sip led to another and then dominoed into a drag of both smoking materials being passed around. Joining everyone to sit along the wood. Suddenly the boys started freaking out, swearing they either heard or saw something. One of them was running around and holding his camera up, eyes wide like he could potentially miss the shot. The girls were all laughing at their desperate body language. Even though everyone was laughing about it. You were getting kinda paranoid, feeling like you kept seeing things out of the corner of your eye. 
“I dare you to come out you fucking poser!” one of them yelled out, provoking what they assumed to be Stain. 
With that, a small knife flew towards the group, landing inside the log. Everyone broke into chaos running in all directions.The boy with the camera dropped it onto the floor and ran without a second thought. One of the holes on your jean skirt got caught on a thick little branch. You were tugging and ripping at the fabric but to no avail. Feeling intimidated you pulled the blade out of the log and armed yourself with it. Hand shaking while looking around with big glazed over eyes. Breathe heavy and try your best to monitor all around you. He dropped down in front of you suddenly, making you jump and almost trip back against the log. Shaking and tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. Barely being able to see him at first but finally taking in more of his appearance as he came closer. Red and cream colored fabrics that were ripped, hanging off him like a scarf. Bandages wrapped around his eyes and arms; wearing thick black pants along with knee pads boots with spikes along the feet. 
His tactical vest was covered in knives, at least two 10 inch blades on either side of him. Red eyes staring back at you, almost glowing, slowly coming closer causing you to panic, finally ripping the fabric of the skirt and making a break for it. You could hear his cackling in amusement as you ran. You tried your best to keep quiet but between all debris crunching under your feet and hyperventilations it was near impossible. You were drunk, disoriented and not sure what direction was out of these stupid fucking woods. Repeatedly stumbling and tearing your knees and hands up against the unforgiving forest floor. Black mascara stained tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. This was one of his favorite parts: the chase. 
Watching how desperate you are to get away but slowly losing stamina. Like a wounded animal trying to get away from an apex predator. It made his body burn with adrenaline, he couldn’t get enough. Watching you helplessly prance around, almost like you were asking to be pinned down and mangled. Not seeing yourself being able to maintain distance, you decided to look for a hiding place. Finding a slightly hollowed out tree trunk and practically throwing yourself into it. Using your hand to cover your mouth, not trusting yourself to unintentional noises. You could hear dry leaves and small branches crunch under his feet. Laughing to himself every now and then, in between small whistles. Shaking like a leaf, waiting for him to move past you. 
“Where are you?” his rough voice cut through the night, you could hear him get closer, “ahh, there you are,” he said, which made your eyes widen and ears ring. He came around from behind the tree stump, towering over you. Hiding any bit of moonlight that was once casting down onto you. 
“God you just were made to be ruined huh?” he asked himself, bending down and admiring the sight. Completely frozen in fear, back against the stump. He stood in between your only escape route. You pulled your knees to your chest as he pulled out a blade, gesturing you to come out. Immediately your heart drops into your chest, petrified and unsure what to do. 
“I don’t remember snapping your ankles yet, so get the fuck up,” he growled, clearly becoming impatient. Still frozen, you don’t comply until he brings the cold blade under your chin, nicking the skin while guiding you to your feet. 
“Don’t be so scared. I’m entitled to some kind of outlet, no? Honestly why do some people care if i’m addicted to sex, that I crave hurting people. It’s not like anyones is in danger, well except for you that is,” he spoke, grinning from ear to ear. 
His breath was beginning to grow ragged, like he was holding himself back. The tears were beginning to make your face sticky, of course that wasn’t the only part of you that was wet. As scared as you were, he was a sight to take in. Very muscular but still lean and lanky. Dry blood on his badges and his eyes were full of greed and lust. He came closer, pushing your back against the stump. The blade was so sharp that when he cut your shirt down the middle, it slid down like butter. Blood from the nick on your chin was dripping down, leaving a train between your breasts. He gripped onto one of your nipples and pulled you out into the open. Pinching so tightly that his nail beds were white. He bent down and cut a hole into your tights. Lining up the ripped fabric with your dripping slit. It was so cold out that he swore your cunt was practically letting off steam. He dipped his middle finger into your folds, pressing his digit against your slit and gently rubbing back and forth. Coating his fingers in your wetness and rubbing your lips. Covering your sex in the sticky juices. Slapping you when he saw that you were enjoying yourself too much. 
“You think I'm here to give you what you want? No, you’re here for my pleasure,” he said, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder. 
You immediately begin to scream in pain, squirming and fighting against the burning sting. He loved marking you, it always gets him more riled up than anything. Knowing his teeth will be bared into your skin for weeks. Loving the way your blood began to pool in his mouth, he loved being a fucking freak. He loved it even more when his bait was so responsive to him. Almost like you were putting on a show just from him; his pleasure. Moving his bites all around your body till you were on the floor gasping and withering. You rake your fingers through his hair and start pulling and tugging. Trying anything to relieve the pain his mouth was giving you. It only fueled him, grabbing his knife and cutting just under your collarbone. Wiping away any of your fragmented ideas that you had any sovereignty. He continued until you were breaking down, fighting against him less and laying there like a perfect little doll. He stood up and admired his work, completely overpowered and laying still on the dirt. Turning into mud from the blood running off your body.
“I’m dizzy,” you slurred, he sucked in a deep breath. 
“Fuck I just can’t resist this face darling,” he said grabbing your cheeks, loving how dilated and glazed over those pretty little eyes were. 
He couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to be in your heat. To feel your walls encapsulate him while watching your face twist and scrunch. He freed his member from his pants, groaning as the cold night air hit him. Coming down and lining him length with your entrance. Tracing your slit from your dripping hole up to your clit. Loving how you were digging your nails into your knees to handle the overwhelming pleasure. Pushing himself inside, he never felt anything tighter. Your sex perfectly wraps around his cock, pulling him back in whenever he slides in and out. Using you for pleasure, letting his upper body fall against your skin. The heavy weight of him pushing the air out of your chest. Making your face turn the most perfect shade of red. The wet sounds of his hips snapping against your skin while raspy moans and gasp fell out of your mouth. 
Holding your head to the ground, watching your eyes roll back. Completely dazed and fucked out of your mind. At the mercy of whatever sick and twisted thoughts he had. He continued pounding himself into you, sweat dripping down his forehead. Putting all his might into shoving himself deeper and deeper. His saliva falling onto your chest like he was a rabid animal. Growling and groaning as he felt his body teetering to the edge. You tilt your head to the side and bite down onto his forearm, a last attempt at fighting back. He let out the most sinister laugh as he finally came. 
Fucking into you, pulling out to the tip with every thrust. Fighting the urge to keep himself pressed inside you while cumming. You had stars in your vision and were slowly becoming more incoherent. Making him feel proud and accomplished. Pulling out and spreading your leg, watching his load leak out of you. Spotting the polaroid camera one of the guys dropped into the ground. This was just too good to be true, he picked up the camera and took a few pictures. A couple of your stretched out and leaking cunt, some of the bite marks and cuts. Smacking your face to wake you up, wanting to catch your scared and disconnected eyes on film. Finally feeling happy with his work, he cleaned up and left you to wake up with your tights around your neck.
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the-pigeon-queen · 2 months ago
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Collection of things from my Antichrist Copia AU
Hey, so I've never posted anything like this before, but here we go! I'm actually currently typing a proper fanfic for this AU , so if spoilers for an eventual fic don’t bother you, feel free to keep reading!
Under the read more since this'll probably be long:
Copia is still Sister Imperator’s and Nihil’s biological son – but she conceived him under some fun satanic circumstances (I imagine a scenario like the one in the Dance Macabre music video lol human sacrifice, but throw in some music and an orgy for fun).
So, while Copia isn’t the biological son of the Devil From the Bible, he was still involved in the conception, maybe through Nihil.
Copia grew up in the Clergy – it’s all he’s known, but honestly, he can’t complain! Though he was raised, technically as an orphan, he still got everything he wanted!
Except friends, because those were sort of hard to make…
But still! He’s risen through the ranks with minimal difficulty, and has never really struggled! He genuinely works hard – and he’s proud of himself for it. He’s just unaware of how fixed his path actually is. Since he’s only known success, he does have a bit of an ego.
He’s a nepobaby but he does have genuine talent, and he does work for it.
Ghost is still a band, owned and operated by the Clergy, for the purpose of spreading it’s influence and finances.
Copia, as Cardinal, still takes over as frontman, and becomes Papa when Nihil passes
And he finds out that Sister Imperator is his mom! She’s always been a good boss, how neat is it that she’s his mother, too? It makes all those times he’s accidentally called her mom funny, now, instead of embarrassing.
She had to give him up, you see – but she never let him out of her sight. Even if she never changed any diapers, she was always right there! Always proud of him! That makes it alright, right?
Life goes on at the Ministry after that tour, he grows closer to his Ghouls, he enjoys his success –
But what’s that? There’s one more special ritual that he has to complete in order to officially become Papa? Of course he’ll do it, Sister! Anything you say!
After all, the Clergy gave him a home, and a job, and a life – what’s one more little ritual?
That one little ritual turned out to be rather unpleasant
We’re talking blood sacrifices, immense pain, a forced transformation that wreaks havoc on the body, and the awakening of something, from somewhere deep within him.
He doesn’t adapt well.
As the antichrist/devil warped thing he is, now, he’s a lot more… testy. He’s quicker to anger. He’s moody. He’s horny. All the time. It’s like a second puberty – except he’s in his forties and becoming a demon.
The mental aspect, dealing with new, strong temptations and urges, is hard enough, but there’s also an emotional struggle, too.
The Clergy that raised him did this to him. His mother lied to him. And why? No one will give him straight answers.
There’s the physical side, too – he feels like a freak. He feels wrong in his own skin. His wings hurt his back, he can’t hide his horns, he keeps stepping on his own tail.
He was supposed to have been born with all his demonic features, and grow into them, but he was apparently a late bloomer. And it took a blood sacrifice to crack him open and let out his infernal side.
His Ghouls comfort him and he finds comfort with them.
Eventually he cheers up. He starts making demands of the Clergy, demanding more, demanding better – he’s the antichrist, after all. The Clergy made him, and now it should serve him!
He tries flying! He breaks his legs, but he heals super fast now. So he tries flying again! And this time the only thing he breaks is a window!
He’s starting to feel more comfortable. More right. His urges are easier to handle. He’s singing again. He starts to feel happy again.
:)
The Clergy doesn't like that he's gaining a backbone, so they attempt a binding ritual to force him further under their control.
Said ritual involves crucifying his three brothers.
The Clergy is thwarted, and Copia takes off with his Ghouls and brothers to go do their own thing
And that's the outline I have so far :'] if you have any questions feel free to ask! I'd love to talk about it more lol
Right now the fic is Copia x poly ghouls just cause
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candycandy00 · 1 year ago
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The Trade Part 3 - A Dabi x Reader Zombie AU
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Smut. 18+. Zombie Apocalypse AU. Oral, stripping, voyeurism, handjobs. I know I said part three would be the final part but it got too long!
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The following week was more eventful than your past several months in the woods combined. The most notable change was the number of zombies wandering into the woods. You ran into them occasionally before. It’s not like they were a particularly rare sighting. But now you were seeing multiple zombies each day. You avoided most of them, either climbing trees until they passed you by or simply going the long way around a certain area. A few times you had been forced to kill them. 
You also ran into Touya more often, three times in one week. The first time you found him in his camp, the sound of jangling metal cans alarming you before you even saw him. A group of zombies were stumbling over the wires to get to him, the biggest group you’d seen since you’d stopped going near cities. There had to be at least twelve. 
There were already five dead at Touya’s feet, and he was swinging his bat like a madman, screaming curses at the zombies as dark, dead blood flew through the air. You hurried over and killed a couple yourself, but he really hadn’t needed your help. Once he’d calmed down, he’d seemed happy to see you. Almost immediately, he’d offered a trade. You could rest in his camp and eat a hot meal with him in exchange for a handjob. It was a hell of a deal, so you accepted. 
You sat beside him on a log as he watched the small fire, his pants open, his cock hard and standing straight up. You carefully stroked his length, using the precum leaking from his tip as lube. You started slow, then worked up speed as he moaned for you to go faster, harder. His head was tossed back, the scarred flesh of his neck exposed and somehow alluring. 
The way he groaned and reflexively thrust his hips up against your hand excited you. And when he finally began twitching in your grip, you knew he was close. Just before the first shots of cum escaped, you suddenly leaned over and wrapped your lips around him, catching the warm fluid in your mouth. 
You heard his surprised voice saying, “H-hey! You don’t have to do that…”
But his voice died away as you used your tongue to clean him up. When finished, you sat back up and wiped your mouth. 
“I thought this would be better than avoiding stepping in it all night,” you said, trying to sound indifferent. 
He stared at you for a moment, as if trying to figure something out, those beautiful blue eyes making you feel self conscious. “I’m not complaining,” he finally said, then stood up from the log. 
The second time you ran into him, you were fleeing four zombies that had cut off your path in the woods. You had slammed your heavy backpack into the head of one of them, but apparently not with enough force to destroy its brain, as it had simply climbed back to its feet. 
You were running toward a tree you’d passed earlier that looked easy enough for you to climb but still high enough that the zombies couldn’t reach you. As you fled, one of them had grabbed hold of your hair and pulled you back. You screamed and thrashed, losing your composure. You hadn’t been in this much danger since the early days of the outbreak. 
Suddenly the zombie’s grip had loosened, and you turned to see Touya, smashing the brains of all four of them in quick succession. When they were all dead, you stood there, shaking. 
Touya had only said, “Come with me,” and led you to his camp. He gave you food and water and didn’t ask for anything in return. He even let you sleep there that night without any sort of trade involved. 
Now you were on your third encounter. You’d found his van in the woods, and walked around it until you spotted him, messing around with a small side compartment. When he looked up and saw you, his eyes went wide. He suddenly took hold of your arm and pulled you closer, then pushed your back against the side of the van. The backpack you’d slung over one shoulder fell to the ground. 
You were surprised, because he’d never been this aggressive since that first time he found you looting his van. His body was so close to yours that you could feel his body heat, and he placed one hand on the van beside your head. 
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, and there was a hunger in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. 
Your heart was beating so fast that you were sure he could hear it. But you kept your voice steady and said, “Oh? And what kind of thoughts were you having about me?”
He leaned his face closer to yours. “I was just thinking how I haven’t really touched you yet. Not the way I want to.”
You couldn’t stop a blush from spreading over your face. What had gotten into him? Had he been feeling lonely? Or was he just frustrated that there had been no trade last time? You gave him what you hoped was a flirty grin and said, “Are you proposing a trade?”
He nodded. “Let me touch you, wherever I want,” he said in a husky voice. 
Your own voice sounded small and nervous by comparison as you asked, “What will you give me in return?”
His lips found your neck, just barely brushing over your skin, his metal piercings grazing over you in a way that sent shivers through your body. “Anything you want,” he answered, finally kissing your throat. 
You swallowed, trying desperately to keep calm. “Okay,” you said in a quiet voice, and that’s all the confirmation he needed. 
His hands moved over you greedily, sliding under your tank top and then under your sports bra, shoving them both above your breasts so that he could squeeze and grope the exposed flesh. Then his hands were unbuttoning your denim shorts. One hand slipped inside your panties, fingers eagerly parting your slicked folds to reach the hypersensitive nub within. 
You moaned, your hips instinctively bucking off the side of the van and against his fingers as two of them pushed inside you while his thumb stroked your clit. His mouth was still on your neck, but it was moving down toward your chest, where it eventually closed around one hard nipple. 
“T-Touya…”
He glanced up at you, but said nothing. His tongue ran over your breasts as his fingers pumped in and out of you. When your legs began to tremble, you put both your hands on his shoulders to keep from collapsing. His thumbnail lightly scraped over your clit, and you came on the spot, clenching around his fingers and moaning his name. 
Your legs gave out, and he quickly caught you in his arms, holding you steady until your orgasm passed. Then he stood back to give you space as you panted to regain your breath. When it was over, you buttoned your shorts and pulled your bra and shirt back down as Touya went back to work on his van. 
“So what do you want for the trade?” he asked, a little more sheepish than usual, as if he were embarrassed. 
You sat down on a nearby rock and watched him tinker in the side compartment. “I want you to tell me more about you, where you’re heading, who you were before all this, that kind of stuff.”
He looked over at you with a surprised expression, clearly not expecting that. He sighed and closed the compartment, then walked over and sat on a log across from you. “How about I answer five questions for you?”
“Deal,” you said, your mind already forming the questions. “For starters, what was that all about just now?”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“As soon as you saw me you were all over me,” you told him. “That’s not how you usually do things.”
He averted his eyes from yours, staring at the ground. “Two days ago I found some zombies eating someone at the base of a tree. There wasn’t much left of the person at that point. Just bones and gore mostly, and a few strands of hair… the same color as yours.” 
In your mind, you could picture the scene, and you could see how he would have jumped to conclusions. “So you thought I was dead.”
He nodded. “You sleep in trees. I thought maybe you fell out in the middle of the night, maybe even broke your back and couldn’t move while zombies gathered around you.”
A grizzly fate, and probably true for whoever the poor soul was that Touya had seen. But thankfully, it hadn’t been you. You felt a familiar heat in your face when you realized what his words meant. Suddenly his desperation for you took on a different meaning. 
“Got another question?”
“Yeah,” you answered, gathering your thoughts. “What did you do before the outbreak?”
“You mean like a job?” he asked. “Not really anything to be honest. I’d just got my license to do piercings at a tattoo parlor, but all this shit happened two days before I was supposed to start.”
Looking at him, at the various piercings dotting his face, his answer made sense. You tried to decide on your next question. You really wanted to ask how he got his scars, but you didn’t want to be insensitive. Above all, you didn’t want him to think the scars bothered you. If anything, the opposite was true. You found them intriguing. 
So you went in a different direction. “Why didn’t you want to stay with your family during all this?”
Touya stared at you for a moment, his blue eyes seeming to darken slightly. “I don’t get along with my old man, and he’s in charge of the whole household, even in a situation like this. He’s used to bossing people around I guess. Being a politician and all.”
You’d never been very interested in politics, so you probably wouldn’t have recognized his father if he told you his name. But you had always heard stories about “dirty” politicians. You couldn’t resist asking, “Was he the good kind of politician or the corrupt kind?”
Touya held your gaze as he said, “The kind that beats his wife and kids.”
Your mouth fell open, but you had no idea what to say. You thought for a moment, but all you could come up with was, “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”
Touya shifted on the log. “Yeah, I know. And before you ask, I did try to get my mom and siblings to come with me. I didn’t just run off and abandon them. But they felt safer with him I guess. He’s supposedly trying to be a better person lately. Not that I’m buying it.”
You decided to drop the matter of his father and ask about something else that interested you. “How many siblings do you have?” 
His expression lightened a little. “Three. All younger. One sister and two brothers.”
“I’m surprised,” you said with a laugh. “You don’t give off big brother vibes at all.”  
Touya laughed too. “Took years of practice, trust me,” he joked. “And oh yeah, that was your fifth question.”
You were surprised. “What? Really? I thought that was four!” You went back over the conversation in your mind, and realized that you hadn’t counted when you asked what kind of politician his father was. You sighed dejectedly. “Oh yeah, I guess it was five.”
Touya grinned. “That completes our trade then.”
You were about to speak again when a loud gunshot rang out in the distance and put you and Touya both on alert. You both sat there perfectly still, listening. It was a rifle shot. You’d heard it occasionally over the past week, always far enough away that it didn’t directly endanger you, but too close to ignore. You glanced at Touya to find him wearing a grim expression. 
“Fucking idiots,” he muttered. “What kind of moron keeps firing off a gun? That’s why there’s so many zombies in the woods lately.”
“I think I know who’s doing it,” you told him. 
He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to go on. 
“The night before we officially met, two guys approached me in the woods. They had rifles. They knocked me out, tied me up, and made it clear they planned to rape me. I managed to get away and hide from them. Haven’t seen them since.”
Touya’s face had shifted from curious to disgusted. “Fucking animals. If you see them again try to lead them to me. I’ll bash their fucking balls in with my bat.”
You smiled at the thought. “Thanks. But they had a lot of weapons, including those rifles. I think they’re the ones firing the gun. I think they’re luring zombies to the woods on purpose. Maybe to smoke me out.”
He grinned again. “I can deal with their rifles. Don’t worry about that.”
After talking with him a few minutes more, you stood up and walked over to the van to retrieve your backpack, then pulled it onto your shoulders. 
Touya glared at you. “What are you doing?”
You shrugged. “Leaving?”
He frowned. “There’s more zombies out here than ever. You just told me you were almost raped by two guys with guns who might still be after you. Are you seriously gonna keep doing this alone?”
You were quiet for a moment, then said, “I didn’t hear any offers to let me stay.”
He sighed. “You need an invitation? Fuck it. Fine.” He stood up and looked you in the eyes. “Stay. At least until the gunshots stop and the zombies thin out. Stay with me.”
You thought you might melt into the ground at that moment, but instead you dropped your backpack onto the ground and went back to sit on the rock. “Okay,” you said, then flashed him a smile. “So what’s for dinner tonight?”
He laughed. “Get off your ass and help me make a fire first, freeloader.”
The two of you worked together to set up camp, not knowing at the time that your fragile sense of safety was about to be demolished in a few days. 
********
Three days later, the two of you parked the van in the woods, set up the wires and cans over the doors, then walked to the river to wash up. You decided to take turns bathing while the other kept watch, since there were so many zombies around. 
Touya went first, stripping off his clothes without a moment of hesitation and walking into the water with his soap. You tried to avert your eyes, but your gaze kept being drawn back to his toned, scarred form. 
“You can look at me,” he called from the river, wearing nothing but a grin, “just keep one eye on the woods!”
“Yeah, yeah,” you called back, scanning the trees for movement. Touya’s bat was lying at your feet. 
“You might as well,” he said, drawing your eye back to him as he was lathering up his hair. “I’m definitely gonna be looking at you when it’s your turn!”
You blushed and said, “Pervert!” But you were smiling. 
When Touya was finished, he dried off and dressed, then stared at you until you sighed and began peeling off your clothes. He watched, of course, though he had the decency to remain quiet. You didn’t feel as embarrassed as before, maybe because he’d seen you naked twice before, or maybe because you were just becoming more comfortable with him. 
You entered the water, which only came to about mid-thigh, and soaped yourself up. Even though Touya was keeping watch, old habits died hard, so you watched the woods as well. You had a strange feeling that you should hurry, so you quickly rinsed off and went back to the riverbank to dry off. Just as you were pulling on a clean pair of shorts, you heard it. 
Jangling cans. 
Touya heard it too. He picked up his bat as you pulled a T-shirt over your head, not bothering with a bra. He’d already shoved your dirty clothes in his own bag, so the two of you dashed into the trees, toward the van. 
You didn’t make it far. Just a few yards into the woods, you both spotted them: zombies, spread out all among the trees. You didn’t have time to count, but there had to be at least fifty. 
Touya backed up to stand right in front of you, the bat clenched in both hands. You pulled the knife from your thigh holster. The zombies had already noticed you and were closing in. 
You leaned close to Touya and asked, “Should we go back and cross the river?”
He shook his head. “No, they’d follow us and we’d just end up trapped on the other side with no supplies. We should try to break through them and get to the van.”
You nodded, but you definitely didn’t feel great about that plan. Your strategy had always been about evading danger, not fighting it. You could handle a couple of zombies but the sheer number of corpses shambling toward you now with their outstretched arms and snapping teeth made you want to sprint in the opposite direction. 
Touya took his eyes off the horde long enough to look at you over his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll protect you.”
Dark clouds were gathering in the sky, and as heavy raindrops began to pour down over the forest, Touya shifted the bat to one hand and took your hand in the other. Then, he ran into a narrow gap in the zombie herd, pulling you with him. 
Tag List: 
@crunchtits @jabberwocky-92 @myst1cfish @missrosegold @dreamybxnny @hotvillainapologist @faetheral @touyasmaid @dabislittleprincess @cutebutdelulu @snowprincesa1 
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sommerregenjuniluft · 1 year ago
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@jegulus-microfic - october 31 - halloween - 745words
insp by @regscupid october 3rd microfic <3
“Say ‘I am going to abduct you, earthling.’”
“I look stupid.”
“You look properly scary.”
“I have wobbly eyes on my head.”
“Don’t see what one thing has to do with the other, love,” James grins cheekily from behind Regulus in the mirror and then gives him a loud smooch on his cheek.
Regulus rolls his eyes and hopes the green-ish face paint over his nose covers his blush.
“Ready to go, Hazza?” James calls up the stairs.
There’s a giggle from the floor above, a few quiet steps and then Harry jumps down two at a time within sight of them with a loud Grawr.
James playfully jumps in place and clutches his chest with a gasp as Harry erupts into evil snickers.
The young boy comes bounding down the rest of the stairs in his skeleton onesie and black and white face paint that’s only minutely smudged (as of now) and holds up his sweets bucket that his father told him to get from his room. 
This one is distracted fighting to pull his spider legs shoulder straps over his thick coat so Regulus gives Harry a nod and a smirk and reaches his hand out to him, “C’mon. Shoes on and then off we go.”
“Yeah!” Harry yells with elation and passes his plastic pumpkin bucket off to Regulus.
It’s still light outside when they start their walk around the neighborhood.
James tells Harry to look out for the houses with Halloween decoration, anything creepy– candles, spiderwebs, carved pumpkins.
It only takes two houses down the sidewalk before Harry gasps and points at a prettily decorated front door.
James gives his son a warm smile, nodding, telling him to go on, as he snakes an arm around Regulus’ waist, pulling him closer into his side.
It’s not particularly cold but Regulus lets himself melt into James’ ridiculously puffy jacket with a sigh anyways. He’s warm and he smells good, like his cologne and their laundry detergent and the glass of mulled wine they shared before getting ready. 
He burrows further into James’ scarf around his neck as he watches Harry skip up the stairs, two pointy-toothed pumpkins out front, white cotton wool and black, little paper bats adorning the railing.
Harry rings the bell and then hastily presses himself against the outside wall next to the door, holding a finger to his lips as he looks wide-eyed and breathless back at them.
Regulus’ chest feels so full he might burst.
The door opens and a middle aged woman with a witch’s hat peeks around with a bowl of chocolates in her hand.
She has barely time to look confused at James and Regulus before little Harry jumps out of his hiding spot with a shrill, “Trick or treat!”
The woman yelps in a genuine fashion and throws an admonishing look over at him and James as Harry falls into a little giggle fit. “Well, thank goodness I’m no 60 something year old with poor blood pressure,” she says good-naturedly, crouching down in front of Harry with a smile to let him choose his pick. 
Regulus shifts his weight from one foot to the other a little uneasily at the thought of Harry actually giving one of the pensioners in their neighborhood a heart attack.
“As young and fresh as always, Miss Sinistra.” James says with a charming grin.
The woman grumbles a little and fixes James with a look when Harry turns his back to her to join the two of them again, “You fellas should dial it down a notch or two.”
When Regulus looks over again, James seems a little bashful as he smiles brightly, “Noted.”
Satisfied with that, apparently, she softens right up and gives them another pointed look, smug smile on her lips, “Happy Halloween to you.”
“Happy Halloween, dear neighbor,” James responds, squeezing Regulus’ waist knowingly.
Regulus curses quietly, giving Sinistra a wave, smiling strained.
“Happy Halloweeeen,” Harry shouts, racing past them and they quickly turn to follow.
Regulus gnaws on the inside of his lower lip while he feels James radiate with glee next to him, who waits until Harry is further down the sidewalk out of earshot before he leans down and rasps into Regulus ear, “Seems like she didn’t forget the way I fucked you against the window last year, after all.”
Regulus jams his elbow forcefully into James’ side.
The puffy-jacketed bastard doesn’t do much besides chuckle and pull Regulus into a kiss.
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givemea-dam-break · 1 year ago
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Hey, I love how you write! I wanted to ask a Lockwood x reader where reader is an orphan, and the agency accepts a case where the ghost is y/n's mother, and after the case Lockwood comforts her. Sorry if it's weirdly specific, feel free to change something. Thank you!!! (Sorry for grammatical errors, English is not my first language, I'm using google translate)
a/n: don’t worry about grammar or anything pahaha, i’m here to write the things you like not criticise you about something that isn’t your first language 😭 and i’d be more than happy to write this! i hope you enjoy (and i hope it’s alright to read my love <3)
warnings: mentions of death, blood, mild description of panic attacks words: 2.2K gn reader taglist: @wellgoslowly @waitingforthesunrise @irisesforyoureyes @aayeroace @neewtmas @ettadear @mirrorballdickinson @gotlostinfiction @locklylemybeloved @mischiefmanaged71 (let me know if you want added to my taglist <3)
My Flower - Anthony Lockwood
There are creepier houses in London, but somehow this one feels worse.
As you scan the contents of the living room, there’s an odd feeling in your chest, tugging and squeezing and flooding your stomach with nausea. It’s a pretty minimalistic house, probably because there’s only a small space to work with, but something in it has made your throat dry.
This isn’t the first time you’ve come on a case to deal with a woman murdered by her husband, as horrid as it is. It’s not even the first time you’ve worked on a case where the victim, and number one suspect for the Visitor, has been killed within the last two decades. Fifteen years ago, George had told you. Slit throat. The thought makes you shiver.
Maybe it’s because it was this very room where the murder happened, and where their young child had been left beside an aging corpse, wailing, for two days. No one helped, not until the neighbour grew sick of the crying.
The case was in the newspaper for months as DEPRAC and police forces tried to find the husband, but to no avail. Reading them in the kitchen back at 35 Portland Row had made you feel ill. This is worse.
“How’s it going through there?” Lockwood calls from the kitchen.
“No sign of her yet,” you say, glancing down at the iron circle around you. “But I can feel her.”
Creaking floorboards sound, and then Lockwood is in the doorway, glancing around the room. He’s wearing those stupid-looking sunglasses of his to block out the deathglow in the room – one that is horribly strong, apparently. You wouldn’t know. Your sight is terrible. With a swish of his coat, he’s standing beside you, too close to be considered appropriate for colleagues but too far to satiate the twitch of your fingers.
“You want to use your Touch?” he asks. “Try getting a sense for what the source could be? For all we know, it’s one of these creaky floorboards.”
You huff a laugh, but it feels rather strained. “Where do you suggest I start?”
“Wherever your heart takes you.”
“What are you, a poet, now? Wheesht.”
He snorts as you step out of the iron circle. A chill passes over you, and looking down at your temperature reader, you can see it’s fallen three degrees since your last check five minutes ago. If not for the gum you’re chewing, you’re sure you’d be able to taste the bitter miasma on your tongue.
“Watch my back.”
You can practically hear his grin when he says, “When don’t I?”
“That time in Soho. That other time in that house in Hackney. Oh, or that park in Greenwich –“
“Right. I get it. But I’m watching your back now.”
A smile tugs the corners of your lips upwards, but you have to set the words aside. With a deep breath, you place your hand on the wall in front of you, just short of the window facing the front garden, and close your eyes.
The world rushes away, taking with it the creeping fear in your soul and the chill on your skin. Warmth floods your bones as you open your eyes, greeted with an older version of the living room you stand in. There’s no sign of Lockwood or your equipment. The minimalistic décor has been replaced with clutter: children’s toys; blooming plants; photos along all of the walls; a comfy-looking sofa draped with a fluffy blanket. Even with your moderate Talent in Listening, you can hear soft music playing, followed by laughter and a child’s voice.
A figure crosses into the room, a beautiful woman in her twenties, and in her arms is her child, no older than two and babbling incessantly. The woman laughs, pinching the child’s cheeks before setting them down on a plush rug and handing them one of their dozens of toys. She looks at them fondly, perched on the sofa’s arm, and you have a clearer view of her.
She looks just like she did in the photos in the newspapers – young and beautiful and hauntingly familiar. Something in the way she smiles, how she laughs, has an odd feeling sparking in your chest.
There’s a moment where it’s almost like a photograph. Nobody moves, not the woman, not the child, and not you. But then the woman stands and crosses the living room until she is standing beside you, peering out of the window cautiously. Her fingers fiddle with something at the windowsill.
“My flower,” she says, glancing back at the child, “I do love you so. Remember that.”
You frown, and though you know how the story turns out, you still jump when footsteps shake the house. It all happens too quickly. The husband storming in, furious at God knows what, shouting at his wife, shoving the child away when they toddle over for a hug. When he reaches the woman, it feels as if all the air has been sucked from your lungs, and you can only watch as he berates her, blames her for problems that were of no cause of hers. You feel like you’re going to be sick when he grabs a glinting letter opener. It shouldn’t be sharp enough to harm, not really, but it is. And he kills her.
There’s so much screaming, even with your muted Talent, and it’s deafening. It tears you from the vision, and with a feeling similar to whiplash, you become aware of the real world’s surroundings; of someone’s hands holding you up and their voice asking you if you’re okay.
But you can barely focus on that.
A few feet in front of you, there she stands. She’s beautiful, even as a ghost, even with the blood on her throat and lips and the hollow cheekbones. You can’t breathe, fixed on the sight of her alone. And her words. The few, raspy words she speaks have got you by the throat.
“My flower,” she rasps, and there’s a horrible gargling sound like blood in her throat. “(name).”
You stumble back into Lockwood, who uses one arm to hold you close and the other to point his rapier at the ghost. His heartbeat is pounding furiously against your back, the only sign of his nerves.
“I’ll hold her off,” he says. “You get the source. Do you know where it is?”
“Yeah,” you manage, grasping his arm. “But…”
“But what?”
He swipes with his rapier as the ghost nears, and for a moment she disappears, only to return. Repeating, repeating, repeating. My flower. (name). My flower. (name).
“Lockwood, don’t hurt her.”
“She’s a ghost! She’ll hurt us.”
Your grip on his arm loosens. “Do you trust me?”
“Usually. I’m not sure I do right now.”
Regardless, you pry his arm off you and take a step forward.
The woman’s ghost makes no attempt to attack you. She simply hovers in place, watching you with careful, curious eyes as you step closer to the window. Your hand slides onto the sill, shocked by the sharp cold, and it could very well be a figment of your imagination, but you swear there’s a glimpse of a smile as she repeats your name.
With a trembling hand, you find that the edge of the windowsill is loose. Carefully, you pull it upwards and try not to jerk your hand away as a spider rushes out, climbing over your fingers and down onto the wall. The wood, old and weathered, cracks and snaps upwards.
“Why’s she not moving?” Lockwood is still in a defensive position, now slowly moving to stand between you and the ghost.
And there it is. The source. You pluck it out from a hastily-made hole beneath the wooden windowsill, as if it had been formed solely for the purpose of hiding this very thing – a small box, one with your name written carefully on the top.
A sigh of relief. Your name repeated.
Slowly, so as to not startle her, you pull a silver net from your belt and gently wrap the source in it. And with a wink of light and once more, My flower. (name), she disappears.
The chill immediately lifts from the room, and warmth creeps its way back into your bones. Cautiously, Lockwood sheaths his rapier and turns to you. He looks a little bewildered, apparently unused to a ghost not wanting to kill him. His eyes are a little wild, but they soften when they find yours.
“What just happened?”
“I think…” The sentence goes unfinished as you stare at the source.
Keeping it mostly wrapped up in the net, you peel away the top to reveal the lid of the box, brushing a finger over the faded cursive. Lockwood’s there in an instant, looking between you and the box as you open it warily.
The box isn’t big by any means, but it’s large enough to hold some little polaroid photographs, each with a date and little notes written in the same handwriting that dons the top. There are photos of a baby dressed in silly outfits, ones of the woman with her child on her knee, grinning. The one at the very bottom shows a newborn, wrapped snug in a blanket, with a birthdate and name written below that has your heart ceasing all actions.
Lockwood’s fingers brush the pictures. “I thought… I thought your mother was dead.”
“She is. We just met her.”
You’re not sure why it didn’t click sooner. After years of living in foster care, you always clung onto your surname, knowing it was the last thing you had of your family. You never knew who your mother was, or your father for that matter, and had never known the first names. But why the surname didn’t give you a hint… You’re not sure.
Part of you feels relieved to have that clarity now. To know who your mother was, and that she loved you, but at what cost? Having to watch her brutal death as her child – you – sat and cried? To have only seen her again in the form of a ghost-hunter with the intent of destroying a ghost? To know that your father was a murderer who abandoned you?
All at once, the emotions hit you like a tsunami. It’s hard to breathe, so damn hard to breathe, and your head is swimming. Bile rises in your throat as you fall back against the wall, dropping the photos and their box to the ground. Your legs shake, giving out, and you slide down the wall until you reach the ground trembling.
But Lockwood’s there. He’s always there. He gathers up the photos into the silver net, wrapping it tight before shoving it away to the side and kneeling beside you as you reach for his hand. It’s warm, familiar, and it makes you feel tied down to the world, but, god, it’s still so hard to breathe. It feels as if your throat has closed up, unwilling to let anything pass but horror and grief and a strange piece of relief.
Lockwood doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gently moves your hand from his until it rests against his chest atop his steady, strong heartbeat.
It feels like years before the ability to breathe without feeling like you’re dying returns. But Lockwood stays, calm and collected, holding your hand to his chest and acting as your lifeline. He doesn’t tell you to breathe. He doesn’t tell you that you’re okay. He tells you you’re safe. That he’s there.
Shakily, you take a deep breath and rest your head back against the wall. Your face feels sticky with tears, and you can taste salt on your lips, but Lockwood doesn’t care. No, he brushes the hair off your sweaty forehead, his hand lingering for a few moments.
“I can’t believe…” You can’t even say the words.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.”
“It didn’t even click. I should’ve guessed when –“
His hand on your cheek stills yours words. “Should’ve nothing. It’s not your fault you didn’t realise. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine, but, as horrible as I feel right now for bringing you on this case, I think you needed this.”
You want to scoff at the words, to shout at him for even suggesting that seeing your mother’s ghost after fifteen years of not knowing her is good for you, but you can’t help but agree with him. If George or Lucy had come instead of you, you never would’ve known who she was. What she looked like. How she sounded when she laughed. How beautiful her smile was. What your nickname was. My flower.
When you lean forward slightly, your forehead finds Lockwood’s, and you rest against him for a few moments, finding solace in the evenness of his breaths and the familiar scent of bitter tea and cheap shampoo. After a moment, he pulls away and presses a feather-light kiss against your forehead, and you find yourself leaning, now, against his shoulder, breathing in the comfort of him.
“I’m here if you need to talk,” he says quietly into your hair. “Or if you just need someone. I’m always here.”
It’s not until he brushes his lips against your head again that you can move.
And he holds you the whole way home, fingers entwined, so that you know the words are true.
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zaceouiswriting · 1 year ago
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The Master of Fulfillment
Character: Jason Todd (Wayne) x male reader, Dick Grayson (Wayne) x male reader
Universe: Somewhere in DC
Warnings: Smut, degrading, slurs, cuckolding, Master/Slave, choking
Read it with the thought that Dick and Jason aren't adopted brothers but blood brothers, which makes it all the more intense.
It was an odd sight. Jason and I come to this cafe almost every day as his work takes up most of his time, and it's right across the street from his workplace. My work is easy and gives me a lot of time. It mostly means that I'm constantly alone without my loving boyfriend. At this point, I can't even recall seeing him naked for more than five minutes or him bending me over for more than a moment.
The saddest part? I wasn't even mad about it. Because a quicky with him is really... quick. Not only is it dissatisfying, but it also makes me feel a kind of angry resentment. Since the first few months of our relationship, he hasn't taken the time to make me cum just by fucking me like he used to. He promised it would be a short thing, but three years have passed, and nothing has changed.
We've been drifting apart for a while because he just doesn't seem to care anymore. Sometimes I think he's aware of it, but then again, he doesn't change it. That's probably what annoys me the most. For a few months now, I don't even give him a quickie without rolling my eyes in annoyance. He stopped asking about it, which obviously made him unhappy as well. Yet, still no change.
I lost my sex drive a long time ago. Or I thought so. Because the strange sight, which is completely different from any other visit we have made here, makes me feel things I haven't experienced in a long time. A tight-fitting shirt, bulging arms big enough to crush my head if they want to. An obviously well-trained chest and an eight-pack under the cloth. But the most important thing besides his perfectly square face and impeccable haircut? His damn tight pants. With a nice firm butt. But the most cloth hugs, his massive bulge. It looks at least twice as big as Jason's. I could immediately feel jealousy rising in me for the person lucky enough to be the partner of this god.
I can feel my own pants tightening. I had to take my eyes off this man made of pure sex.
Logically it shouldn't be a strange sight to see a cop, not even a handsome one, at a coffee shop, but he was strangely alone. Usually, they are never alone buying coffee or something to eat for all their colleagues.
I've tried to ignore his existence, but every now and then, my eyes would wander to him, his well-built body, and whenever he shifted his stance, I would stare straight at his massive bulge. He's been there a lot longer than he should have been. But who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?
Just as I was thinking about it and staring at the back of his head, he suddenly turned around with a scowl plastered over his face, but as soon as our eyes met, his face strangely relaxed. But soon, his eyes wandered up and down my seated body. I could only feel like a piece of meat under his gaze. A grin appeared out of nowhere on his devilishly handsome face, showing off his perfect pearly white teeth and, in particular, two sharp upper teeth.
A bright red blush appeared on my face, so apparent that even Jason couldn't miss it. "Are you all right, babe? Are you sick?” he asked worriedly. He even went so far as to stand up, leaning slightly toward me, and to put his rough, warm hand on my forehead to take my temperature.
His loving touch made me sick. "Maybe you should go and splash some cold water in your face? It might help,” he told me softly but firmly. There's something strange in his eyes, but I can't quite put my finger on what. Somehow I feel compelled to do as he told me. But before I could leave - shortly after I got up - he pulled me in a quick, smooth movement, very close to him. He definitely could feel my hard cock on him. But he ignored it. Instead, he kissed me deeply. He even went so far as to stick his tongue in. His love is on full display.
For a second, he felt like old Jason, the high school football captain I fell in love with, so rough and domineering. But as soon as we parted, he shyly looked away. My stomach turns with disgust.
Without saying another word, I walk away from him without looking at him again. But the cop - I daydreamed so much - got a look from me. Why? I have no idea. Surprisingly, he already looks at me with hunger in his dark blue eyes and lets them run over my body again before I finally disappear into the bathroom.
I lean against the closed door, breathing heavily. Why does this man make my heart beat so fast? Why was my body sweating so much? And why can't I answer any of these questions?
For a moment, I was so lost in my own thoughts that I forgot this was an open toilet. Quickly, before someone tries to open it and maybe knocks me over, I move away from the door.
I'll go over to the sink, open the water, and splash it in my face as Jason told me to. But why am I doing what he told me? Maybe it was the tone of his voice… so demanding it felt like old Jason.
I shook my head, knowing better. He's gone soft. Too soft.
I remember Jason standing over me in the locker room after one of his team members fucked me for the first time. Jason was so jealous. He was so deliciously rough. He treated me brutally. He didn't care if I got bruises from his treatment. Once, he even gave me a black eye. I vividly remember cumming hard that night: no one else could make me cum like this.
A strange feeling on my face snapped me out of my head the second time. Glancing slightly up in the mirror, I discover a single frustrated tear. But at that moment, I realized something: I still love this soft idiot.
I need to talk to him to find out what's changed! Just as I turned around, the door to the restrooms suddenly opened, startling me a little. For a second, I think it might be Jason to fulfill a long-forgotten sexual fantasy of his. But when I could see the blue of a police officer's uniform, a certain sadness came over me. However, this feeling only lasted a second before a strange excitement came over me.
Confused as to what to do, I rush to the urinals. I quickly pull my pants open and get my cock out. Nervously I tried to pee, but nothing came out. Even though I could feel my bladder filling up out of nowhere, I couldn't let a drop out.
The intimidating footsteps of the cop only make it worse. I hope he would walk down as far as possible. Best at the other end of the room. I decided to keep my eyes closed and pray; until I could no longer hear his footsteps. Despite all this, he came to stand right next to me.
Suddenly my heart started beating faster again. Frightened, I open my eyes only to glance sideways and see the intimidating statue of this muscular mountain of a man. But his eyes were forward and closed just like mine a second ago.
He deftly undid his fly without looking and fished something out, seeming to have some difficulty with it, commenting with annoyed little noises. The depth of his voice shocked me to my core. I look up for just a moment at his sharp, masculine features. But even from the bottom corner of my eye, I could see beige skin sticking out of the front of his pants.
And when my eyes noticed whatever it was, my mouth went dry. "Fuck!" I exclaimed loudly. Involuntarily I would like to add! It was just a reaction.
Even after I could hear a deep laugh, I couldn't take my eyes off this huge hunk of meat. His cock is thicker than my wrist and even limp as long as Jason's hard cock. Jason isn't small by any measurement, but this cop's cock is on another level.
But nothing could intimidate me like the sudden powerful jet of water that this man let out, completely occluding my bladder. It's so aggressive that I know he's doing it to intimidate me even further. And it's an eternity before he finally shakes off with a deep, low, satisfied groan.
He pulls back his foreskin and waves it to get the last drops out. But even then, he didn't pack it up again. Instead, he stroked it lazily. It scared me. Not because it wasn't damn hot to see this man do something like that, but because he might notice me staring at him.
A quick glance upwards is enough to see that he is looking down at me. The hunger in his eyes is darker now. "So you're a fag?" he asks with a malicious grin. He seems to know exactly what he's doing. Because for some reason, I could feel some kind of lust tightening in my stomach or wherever.
He boldly steps back from the urinal and holds his semi-hard cock in his massive hand, which would take him at least two more to completely enclose his cock. My eyes widened at the realization that this man wants me, not only wants me but might even want to destroy me, considering his... question.
“I-I-“
"Don't be shy," he mused. He comes closer with his feet straight and pushes me further back. "Touch it," he commanded me. Although his voice sounded sweet, I could feel the pressure of authority pressing on me.
Before I know it, I hold out my shaking hand. Soon I'm touching the fat cock head and feeling a wetness on it. The urge to try it rose in me. But I couldn't! I have a boyfriend! That thought, thankfully, brings me back to my senses. I quickly try to withdraw my hand. But before I can do that, something inside me stops my movements for some reason. I look up anxiously and look the officer straight in the eyes. He angrily stares down at me.
"I see you want more, don't you? Greedy little fagot!” His dark, murderous eyes are now paired with an equally sinister laugh that startles me so much I stumble backward. I almost fall to my knees from sheer weakness. "Get on your knees!" he suddenly orders me.
“Wha-“
"I'm not repeating myself!" he growled right in my face.
"I-I can't! I ha-have a boy-boyfriend!” My teeth are chattering from fear.
All he does is mock me. "You mean that guy out there? The one you flinched from when he touched you? Can't he satisfy a whore like you? Is he that pathetic?”
A sudden surge of caution washes over me. Finally free of this moment, I pull my hand away, even though I mentally curse myself for it. "It's not like-"
"You already cheated on him just because I took out my obviously bigger cock. It's only a matter of time how long it will be before you're begging to take it up your little bitch hole!"
He grins down at me so arrogantly that I immediately believe he is the case and then some. I don't seem to be his first victim of lust. That much is clear. But if you look like him, are built like him, and have a cock like him? Who can blame him for using it to his advantage? I would do the same if I were in his place.
A thick, awkward silence falls over us for a long moment. He just stares, seemingly trying to understand me. But then his face suddenly twists into pure disappointment. Tightened, he clicked his tongue dismissively. Right before me, he tucks his monster cock back into his pants and pulls up his fly. He gives me one last dissatisfied look before turning around.
Suddenly a pang of disappointment comes over me. But why? Is it because a man like him wants me? Do I want to please him? Do I want to please him more than being faithful to my loving boyfriend?
Everything goes so fast, and all these thoughts shoot through my head within seconds of him turning around. He only took two heavy steps, and it is impossible not to miss him. Even his footsteps showed a tremendous amount of authority. They are so powerful that I wish he would step on me.
At that moment, my mouth opens: "Stop!" I call after him, out of breath. For a moment, I did not realize that I'd said anything.
Before I know it, my back hits a wall so hard it takes my breath away. It was hard to focus again. But when I finally managed to come back, a broken moan escaped my lips. A massive hand gripped my throat and cut off my windpipe. But I don't care. After all, it's this man. His eyes were even darker than before.
His mouth opens, and he even says something, but the only thing I can focus on is his hand which I wish would beat me red and blue. I've never seen so many veins in a hand or forearm as he does.
From one moment to the next, my ears start ringing as my head flies to the side. For a second, I feel like a star hit me - literally.
"Are you back, bitch?" he asks smugly. He seems to know that everything about him makes me lose focus.
As pathetic as I am right now, I try to talk, but all that comes out is a choked sound. At that moment, I realize that his hand is still around my neck. So I nod submissively.
"Good," he says, still as smug as before, "because now you're going to listen to me carefully, understood?" Again I nod. "We don't have time for all the fun, so I'm going to turn you around, get you ready for a moment, and then fuck you stupid, got it?"
Unable to do anything else, knowing I'll do anything to feel his hand on me and not wanting to disappoint him again, I nod. Still grinning, he takes his hand from my throat. Instead, he cups my chin between his thumb and index finger. Carefully, gently he slaps my face. 
"Good boy," he whispers huskily in my ear.
Never in my life has my cock become as hard as it is at this moment. I squirm under his intense gaze. His callous hands trail down to my chest. So out of fear, I close my eyes, enjoying his full attention, only to be carelessly grabbed and thrown around. I soon find my face crushed against the disgusting white tiles of the bathroom.
He presses close to my back. I can feel his hardening cock poking against it. This man is just too big... in all regards. But he doesn't let that bother him. Instead, he uses the big body size difference to masturbate with my lower back.
His head is so close and yet, so far away that he has to bend down to let his breath tickle the hairs on the back of my neck and the fine hairs on my ears. For a second, I think he's going to kiss me. His lips are this close to my skin. "Are you clean?" he asks suddenly.
Confused by this question, I try to turn my head to look askance at him. Before I can do that, though, he pushes my head back to where he wants it. I fearfully gasp for air. "Yes," I answer him. Hoping he means if I'm healthy.
An intrusive feeling snaps me out of my thoughts as I feel a long finger poking through the crack in my ass. My eyes shoot down in shock. My pants are on the floor, around my ankles. How did he do that? I neither felt nor heard anything. I didn't even feel the cold breeze around my bare legs like I do now!
"And your hole, bitch?" His breathing gets ragged, hopefully with excitement, as mine does.
It feels so personal, too much, if I'm being honest. On the other hand, I'm standing in front of him half-naked, ready to take anything he wants to give me, just like the slut he thinks I am. And I can't even blame him for that. Then that's precisely how I'm behaving in this moment.
"I-I never ga-gave up my special diet," I choke out as his finger circles my tight hole. I realize how much I need a real man to touch me there and use my hole like it's his.
"Hmm..." he hummed contentedly. "What a good boy you are," he muses again, the smug grin evident in his voice.
As he calls me that again, my resolve shatters. My knees give out. Before I can move too much, though, his hands are on my waist. "Don't worry, I've got you," he murmured, "you're not the first whore to go weak in the knees. Although it usually doesn't happen until they find out how long my tongue is."
I'm gasping for air, confused as to what he could mean. But suddenly, his head is gone. Even more confused, I gather all my strength and press my hands against the wall to get my head off it. I can barely move my head, but my eyes immediately take in what is happening. This god of a man crouches behind me, his head level with my butt.
"Nice ass, I'll give you that," he says absently. With his hands, he kneads my perfectly round ass cheeks. A slap ripped a big moan out of my throat. "A perfect jiggle." At this point, he's just mumbling. He smacks my ass a few more times, though.
Until his voice suddenly gets even lower, with which he says a single word after a particularly hard slap on my ass: "Fuck".
Both together lead me to the most humiliating experience that I have ever happened to me in my entire life. With no warning or ability to stop it, I groan loudly.
It would certainly have been less humiliating if it hadn't snapped the cop out of his horny trance.
"Are you really that needy, bitch? Well, then maybe we should start?” 
Of course, that's not a question because only a second later, I feel his wet tongue on my hole. It's not hard for the tip to break through, considering his fingers have already made me pretty loose.
But he quickly pulls out the tip of his tongue just to lick my hole up and down, teasing it with the tip only to give it a big lick again. Honestly, he has driven me crazy within seconds. With my arms flat against the wall and my head banging against it, I let him do as he pleases.
He pays more attention to my needs than Jason has in years. For years he just fucks me until he's done and then leaves. But this cop? A man I've never met before - I might add - really knows what he's doing, like a pro.
I should soon find out what he meant by the comment about his long tongue because everything in his regard seems to be... extraordinary. I even believe that his tongue alone could get into my stomach. Of course, it can't. But he reaches in extremely far and covers my insides with his spit. He even goes as far as to spit deep inside me once or twice. Preparing me to take his monster cock without lube.
The once cool tiles no longer comfort me. The officer's hot, wet tongue gives me pleasure like no one has before. Not even Bryan, who before the officer was the best fucker I've ever had. And the officer still has to give me what I really want. What I desire, since I have noticed him.
But apparently, he won't give it to me without a fight. Because all he does is please me with his powerful tongue.
Soon, however, even the thoughts that, not so long ago, fill me with fear and disappointment in myself for giving myself to another man and the desire to please him.
All I can do now is fixate on the tongue deep in my greedy hole. The bumps on his tongue massaged my sensitive insides. But what really gets me going is the flexibility of his tongue. Suddenly, he rolls his tongue and uses it like an icebreaker to penetrate me even deeper.
For a second, my mind is blank. When I come to, I'm lying flat against the wall, a hand behind my back holding me tighter against it while an arm around my knees keeps me upright. I can feel the arrogant smirk on my butt, but at this point, I know he's right. I might not like it, but he's a sex god who can turn even something as simple as a rim job into a feast of pleasure.
The tingling sensation of his tongue going deep into areas previously reserved for cocks is just too nice. His tongue is obscene, as are the moans he can filter out of me. I'm already on cloud nine… no, wait, cloud eleven. He gets me high just through my lust.
My brain is so slow I don't feel his tongue leave my hole and gape like a fish out of water. It even takes a moment before he realizes he's spitting in, only to have his long fingers push it in deeper. And it takes even longer before I realize he's talking to me.
I slowly take in his words and somehow find the strength to turn my head slightly. I look at him with blurred eyes, the area around his lips shows a slight reddishness, but it's almost imperceptible.
"I don't think I can do it," I murmur almost silently.
"But a really good boy would do that for his man."
“You aren-“
"Do I have to punish you?" His voice suddenly drops again, and his eyes, which gleam with lust, are filled with anger and disappointment.
With new tears forming in my eyes, I shake my head. It puts back a smug smile on his full lips. "Good," he says before he takes my hand and puts it on his crotch.
Why he wants me to undo his fly again is beyond me, and with my shaking hand, it's no easy task anyway. It takes a while before I can even get my hands on it and even longer before I can open it. But the man doesn't care. He's patiently waiting for me to obey his commands like I'm his whore.
He still helps my hand reach into his pants and leans forward again before I can pull him out. So I can only jerk him off a little over his underwear. "I've never seen a fag like you, who is more like a whore than a regular fag and is falling apart so damn easily. You haven't even tasted my...dick." The last word lingered for a while, seductively.
One moment he's praising me, and the next, he's demeaning me, but unfortunately, both kind of turn me on. I've never bothered with either of them before have only done them to my partners, but now with him? With this man? I want to hear it from him, over and over again, both. Maybe it's his soothing, authoritative voice or his body and what he represents.
“I-I-“
"Try not to think too much," he says, still smugly. "I'm going to fuck you now whether you like it... or not. You asked me to do it, so I'll do it, and if I like your sweet little hole, I might make it mine."
A thousand things go through my mind, but mostly Jason, my faithful, loving boyfriend, who's still at the cafe...alone...waiting for me, and I'm here, with another man, no. .. a real man, someone who can give me what I need. "I can-"
Just as I begin to speak, a sudden pressure is applied to my not yet opened wide enough hole. The pain races through my body, but my mind is too busy to react immediately. On the other hand, the man behind me is more than ready. Before I know it, a hand blocks my mouth, and another arm pulls both of my hands behind my back and holds them there, just to be safe, I suppose.
"Now be a good little boy and scream!"
Without a second thought, the officer rammed into me. It overwhelms me. It feels like he's splitting me in half. While at the same time not giving me much time to understand what he's doing. Then, just a moment after ramming as much as he could into me, he pulled back completely. Every sound I want to make gets stuck in my throat. I just couldn't get it out.
I can feel an intense gaze on the back of my head. With his head far away from mine, his deep voice suddenly roared, "I told you to yell for me, you stupid fag!" After saying this, the officer, annoyed at my uncooperative, aims and rams his massive dick back into my hole.
Finally, muffled screams echo through the room, and tears run down the officer's rough, large hand. Almost as soon as those painful screams come from me, I hear a loud moan of satisfaction behind me.
"You're a lot tighter than I thought...Your boyfriend is even more pathetic than I thought...Shit, so fucking tight!"
Even though he's using me like a fucking toy and doesn't seem to care how much pain he's causing me, I admit it's exactly what I need. I might not be able to walk for a few days and perhaps even bleed because the cop suddenly opens my tight hole so wide. But I already know I'll be needing something like this more often. I would prefer it if he never pulled his cock out again.
I'm so far gone after he pushes himself back inside me that my screams soon become bubbling noises.
Almost as if he's waiting for something like this to happen, he removes his hand from my mouth without breaking his rhythmic movements. "Did you try to say something?" he asks smugly. His breathing is even as if this is something normal to him. Remembering his massive, muscular physique and thinking that he's not just a gym rat but an athlete through and through gives me my answer to my unasked question. Somehow it made this situation even more erotic.
"Roem, a ened erom," I tell him. Everything is right in my head, and I tell him I need more. But when I hear my own words, I am deeply embarrassed.
He chuckles darkly, knowing as well as I do that he's already broken me after just a few moments of him fucking me. Suddenly, a strange, unfamiliar glow appears in his eyes. Just as it appears, he forcibly turns my head and pulls it back, arching my back. As he smiles down at me, terror courses through my veins. Whatever's going on in his head, it can't be good.
Suddenly something wet hits my face. Barely able to open one of my eyes, I see that his smile has grown, and a string of spit is hanging out of his mouth. Shocked and disgusted, all I could do was gape at him.
But he seems to take this as an invitation, so he quickly slaps his hand on my cheek and massages his spit into my skin, two fingers even wiping a bit into my mouth.
Unable to comprehend what is happening, I close my mouth around his fingers and lick them like an obedient whore.
“Fuck!“
His hand on my face suddenly pushes my head down while his other arm pulls me back. Thinking he wants to bend me over and press me against the wall, I move as much as possible to help him with my aching body.
But to my utmost shock, he goes even further. Instead of against the wall, he presses my head close to the bottom of the toilet, into which he has just urinated without flushing. I can smell the strong smell. He almost pushed me in. But I can barely get my hands on the toilet to prevent that.
I choke on the disgusting stench and almost throw up. The officer keeps me there even after hearing about it. "You'd do anything to get that cock back, wouldn't you?" he asks menacingly. Even without hearing anything else, I'm split: on the one hand, I would do anything to feel him again. On the other hand, I have my own pride. And I don't like that shit.
So I gather all my strength to draw a line. I cling to the toilet with an effort, undeterred by his powerful attempts to push me back down.
It takes a while, but once I move away from that smell, I grab onto the top of the toilet and turn my head. "Fuck you!" I tell him in a moment of clarity.
"Feisty." He's not even confused by my sudden action, which confuses me more than anything else. "I like it. A tight fucking hole, handsome, and not easy to bend." After that, there's a long pause, but I can see he's about to say something else. "Then come here and see how much punishment you can endure!"
It's the only form of warning before he pulls me flat against his massive chest, lifts me in the air, grabs me in odd places, and twists me with his monster cock inside me. When I finally get a close look at him, he's pinning us against the wall, with both of my legs resting on his left shoulder because of my pants binding them together and staring down into my eyes.
Not long after, I realize that his warning is no idle threat. He starts pounding me like a beast without breaking eye contact. Even though he's the most handsome man I've ever seen, I didn't feel like kissing him like Jason... Jason does. Shit, I'm cheating on my loving boyfriend.
When the man sees something is wrong, he pushes me harder against the wall. "Don't think about that loser. I'm fucking you, not him! Remember this!"
With that, he goes all in and even starts to sweat a bit. But that doesn't last long as all the pressure of the moment finally takes hold of me. My sensitive cock starts moving, and the officer has to hit me only one more time to make me cum again. This time, however, I scream Jason's name loudly.
But deep anger comes over him when he hears Jason's name slip from my lips. He starts to brutally fuck my hole, which makes my head go blank.
When I come to, the officer slumps on top of me, my hole drenched with his cum.
"You c-came inside me?" I ask him, my fear evident in my voice.
"Of course," he says smugly, "your hole is mine now!"
As if to make his point even clearer, he quickly pulls himself out of my sore hole, sets me down on the floor, and kicks me in the back of my knees, causing me to fall on top of her. I look up at him in confusion in my delirium. Before I could ask what he's doing, he opened my mouth slightly with his thumb. Still confused, I just let him do what he wants. But as the saying goes, if you give some people a hand, they take your entire arm.
Before I know it, he's cramming his first five or six inches down my throat, not without my teeth scraping his skin because of the surprise.
Thankfully, when I look up at him in shock, he doesn't look unhappy. More smug than anything. "Yeaaaah...uhh...oh damn! This hole is mine too!” he says firmly, not caring if I want it... or not. He simply decides for me.
At this point, I don't want to mention Jason anymore or think of him for fear of being punished again. "Clean that damn cock up, fagot!" He grins down at me. It makes me weak enough to see past what he just did. So push him back slightly to get a little control. With both hands, I lightly jerk his semi-hard cock, sucking his cock head clean and licking the rest of his monster clean as well.
When I look up again after cleaning him fully and dropping his cock, I see a happy glow in his eyes.
“Put it back in!“ 
Without further inquiry, I did as I was told, taking his now limp cock - still massive - and shoving it back into his pants, pulling his underwear over them, and pulling his fly back up. I place my hands on his large thighs for a second longer to catch my breath.
As I breathe, one of his large hands caresses me almost lovingly. His smugness is now completely gone. "Don't cry. Isn't it as bad as you might think," he told me cryptically. "Open your mouth."
This time I'm more reserved and only stare at him. He quickly realizes I won't do what he told me to do. He rolled his eyes, grabbed the back of my head, and pulled my hair. For a second, it hurt so bad that I opened my mouth involuntarily. He quickly stuck two fingers in and put something in my mouth.
I try to bite him, but he pulls his fingers out fast enough. As I glare at him, his smug smile is back. "Don't worry," he waved dismissively, "It's just a peppermint." Still, after telling me that, he gets dangerously close to me again. His smug grin turns predatory again. "You don't want your useless little friend smelling a real man on your breath, do you?"
His words hit all the right spots. He knows my guilt and bathes in it like a psychopath.
I push myself away from him, and instead, I crash into the tiled wall, not hard enough to hurt myself, but my dignity was injured nonetheless.
"Next time, I don't want to feel teeth on my cock, got it... bitch?"
He doesn't wait for an answer before going to the sink, washing his hands, and exiting the toilet without a backward glance.
He left me here...alone, with my face in my hands. Finally, the realization of what I've done comes into its own. How could I do that? Jason loves me, and I-I love him too. This will destroy him!
Though sadness overwhelms me, I somehow stand up. To do this, though, I put my hands on the side of the urinal to use as leverage, as my legs were more jelly than anything. Standing isn't any better, my whole back hurts like hell, and my ass is on fire. Somehow, however, I manage to get back to the sink.
When I see my reflection in the mirror, I'm not shocked to see myself completely disheveled. After all, my whole body just got destroyed by this arrogant fucking cop so annoyingly smug... I want to... fucking punch him in the face!
As my anger mounts, I realize it's my fault. A desperate sigh escapes my lips. I activated the water, splashed more water on my face, and cleaned up as best I could in a cafe toilet.
I could remove almost all the accumulated visible sweat and even save my hair to a certain extent. Only the redness on my face and slightly swollen eyes still told me something had happened.
I wait another minute, just hoping I don't seem too suspicious. When I'm happy enough with how I look, I walk to the toilet door and open it with a trembling hand to confront the man I love and just betrayed.
Extra:
Jason is happily sitting at our table while doing something on his phone. When I walk towards him or limp, he thankfully doesn't sense my presence until I've reached him and already sat down again.
"Are you all right again?"
Why is he ignoring my obviously different appearance? I look all messed up, and he doesn't react at all! Somehow it makes me angry. Is he even looking at me?
Suddenly he focuses on one point. As my gaze wanders to this point, terror fills my veins; A fucking semen stain, already crusted. But Jason just pulls out a tissue, looks around, and pulls my shirt up slightly to carefully clean my stomach. I can only sit there in horror.
“I-I can ex-explain I-„
Jason gives me a bright smile and just shakes his head. Which immediately silences me.
I can only wait until he's ready to talk and embarrassedly enjoy the attention he's giving me. I haven't felt this good in years! Even if the overshadowing feelings of guilt are getting stronger.
Even after he let my shirt drop, he's still smiling.
“I really need to tell-“
"Jason!" a sudden voice calls out to my boyfriend. One that I know only too well because a few minutes ago, the voice humiliated me and, at the same time, made me feel like a worthy sexual partner.
As I feel the blood drain from my face, I can only watch in horror as the same cop comes to our table, ruffles Jason's hair like he's done it a million times, and sits beside me, putting his arm too close for comfort.
He grins at me, making it painfully clear that something has happened between us.
"How do you know each other?"
With his still smug smirk, the cop switched between Jason and me before focusing on my boyfriend. "He's my little brother. I still can't believe he never told you about me. After all, we hang out together all the time!”
As soon as the words that his dirty mouth uttered registered in my brain, I almost fainted.
“Bro-Brother?“ I ask both men for clarification.
“Yeah,“ Jason admitted in a lowered voice.
Again the cop looks back and forth between Jason and me and can obviously sense the awkward atmosphere around us increasing as best I can feel it.
"Well, nice to finally meet the 'perfect guy' as Jason always flaunts you to me. But I have to go,” he tells us loudly, only for him to lean against me. "Remember, I like you tight," he whispers in my ear while his hand presses softly against my throat again.
But the moment breaks just as quickly as it has come. Jason's brother gets up and walks away, leaving me speechless.
"We can talk about this in the car," Jason says suddenly.
Tears well up in my eyes in a whirlwind of emotions. I don't want to let them fall in public, so I plainly nod. Oddly enough, Jason takes my hand and lovingly draws circles on the back.
But I'm far gone in my head. I now fully realize the gravity of what I've done. Maybe he could have forgiven me for cheating on him if it was some random guy, but his brother?
With a heavy stomach - that almost makes me throw up at our favorite coffee shop - Jason leads me straight to his car. He carefully helps me into the passenger seat and brushes a few strands of hair out of my face. Out of nowhere, he plants a nice, long kiss on my forehead.
I know, Jason! He's not so stupid that he didn't recognize the situation. So why is he still so loving?
It doesn't look like I'll be getting an answer to my silent question any time soon. Because as he gets into the car, he starts it and drives off. I have never experienced such silence, heavy and suffocating.
“I met Bryan again over two years ago.“
When he suddenly starts speaking, I jump a little. Maybe even a high-pitched squeak came out of my throat.
Jason doesn't even give me a sideways glance. He just starts talking again. "By that point, I could already sense that you were no longer sexually happy with me. I asked him if we could have a beer in the evening, and when we met, I asked him how he could keep you happy for so long. He was uncomfortable talking about it because he is actually married now after getting his girlfriend pregnant. But I got it out of him, and...let's just say it wasn't what I wanted to hear."
If someone had told me that my first ex could tear my whole world apart, even if we parted on good terms or as I thought it was on good terms, I wouldn't have believed it. But here I am, fighting against the only guy stupid enough to tell anyone's boyfriend stuff like that.
I gently place my hand on Jason's leg and try to get him to look at me so I can explain, but he doesn't react.
"I always thought I could be the guy you want and need. Maybe I'm the guy you want but not the guy you need. I felt insecure before speaking to Bryan because our sex life had already dwindled, but from what he told me, I felt... inadequate. And how could I not? His cock is huge... he showed me a picture. But the worst? That he could be something I can never be. A master."
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Jason and I, of course, talked about our preferences. But I never mentioned my greatest. Yes, in the beginning, Jason was a dominant male, but around the same time, I realized it was just a facade. But I was willing to do anything to be happy with him.
“But Jason, I love you and what I did is not-“
"For once in your life, can you shut up?" He yells, gazing into my eyes angrily. I wanted to say something, and he could see that. "I set you up!"
“W-What?“
"I set you up with my brother," he finally admits. "He stopped by two weeks ago when you weren't there. I've been thinking about breaking up with you to give you a chance to find someone you need. All my ex-boyfriends have cheated on me with my brother at some point. He always told me beforehand. But this time? After he reminded me of the love you and I share? I-I asked him to be the one to give you what you need.”
"I don't understand." I'm breathless. I couldn't breathe! What's wrong with me?"
Jason doesn't seem to be doing any better, however. "I asked him to wear the most tight-fitting uniform he has, knowing he would draw your attention. Afterward, he told me that if we both had healthy sex lives, you would never have considered his advances. But he could tell you were starving for brutal sex.” 
It must be difficult for him to admit his deepest worries. Because now I'm just someone who chose his brother over him.
“He's actually in to make this into something regular. And I have already agreed.”
"W-What? Don't I have a say in that too?” I ask him perplexed.
"I'm your boyfriend! That is never going to change! But I can't dominate you as much as you need to. It's the other way around... actually. I want you..."
His last words hang in the air like a lifeline. Yet I cannot really comprehend what he is revealing. A plot to cheat on him, but not to cheat him, but what for? Strengthen our relationship? Or getting me also into a relationship with his brother?
“What does all of this mean, Jason?“
He took a deep breath and took my hand into his again. He looks straight into my confused eyes. "My brother will be your only lover. And I want you to be dominant in bed with me."
I'm stunned, and it will probably take me a moment to really understand what he's saying. This is why we continue driving in silence until we arrive in the underground car park of our apartment building and come to a stop. Where everything suddenly hits me like a rock.
“Jason?“
“Yes, my love?“
“Are you a cuckold?“
It seems I hit the hammer on the head because his frozen reaction, unable to meet my gaze, speaks volumes.
"So you want to watch me get utterly destroyed by your own brother?" The question hangs heavily in the air.
“I-I don’t-I-“
"It sounds really... hot. I can imagine him fucking me silly while you stare at me with jealousy, and my face is contorted with ecstasy... I can imagine us doing that.”
I must have shocked Jason to the core because he fell silent. But he still holds my hand tightly in his. However, that didn't stand with me. I aggressively pull my hand out, stunning him even more.
Without saying a word, I get out of the car, walk around it and yank open his car door. He looks at me so perplexed that I want to cuddle with him and apologize.
“Get out!“ I order him.
He looks at me with wide eyes, a kind of pleasure in them, still trying to understand what I'm doing.
"Eyes down and follow me. You don't touch or look at me, understand?” Jason nods submissively. Grinning, I cup his face in my hands and give him a small kiss on his lips. Only to slap him in the face the next second with a cold expression on his face. He shudders under my gaze and quickly lowers his eyes.
I have a sinking feeling that this agreement will not go as planned. But for now, I'll try to make Jason happy.
[Masterlist]
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massivedrickhead · 1 year ago
Note
41. "Sleep. I'll keep you safe.”
Oopsie, I got a little serious with this one. Defintely more hurt/comfort than fluff. I don't know if this is good or not, I'm very tired and this took much longer to write than I thought it would.
Trigger warnings: violence, injury, blood, panic attack
Prompt taken from here
Read on AO3
-
Chloe’s hands were shaking as she gripped the steering wheel, her driving bordering on reckless, as she sped down the highway and towards the hospital.
Theo’s words were still ringing in her ears as she thought of every possible scenario, each one worse than the last. 
“Don’t freak out, but there was an incident at Beca’s show.”
Chloe laid on her horn as a car swerved out of its lane in front of her, and she forced herself to slow down.
She’d be no use to Beca if she got herself killed.
“What do you mean an incident?! What happened?!”
“She’s okay, but we’re taking her to the hospital.”
Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest that she thought it might break through her ribs. She’d never been so happy to see the sign for her exit.
When she reached the hospital she parked haphazardly in the first space she saw, and sprinted towards the ER, where she knew Theo was waiting for her.
“You don’t need to come-”
“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence.”
She pushed her way through the crowd of paparazzi that the hospital security was managing to hold back.
By the time they realised who she was Chloe had made it through the double doors and was marching towards Theo.
Their shouts and the flashing of their cameras chased her down the hall.
“Theo!” She said, as soon as he was in sight.
She saw him tense and brace himself.
“Chloe-” he began, his hands held up as if to try and placate her.
“Where is she?” 
He sighed and gestured for her to follow him. “She’s getting stitched up. I told you, she’s okay. She’s cracking jokes with the nurses and everything.”
Chloe had to swallow every ounce of anger she had because if she didn’t she would have hit him.
“Don’t tell me she’s okay,” Chloe said. “How the hell could you let this happen?”
“Don’t blame this on me,” he snapped back. “How the hell was I supposed to know some weirdo fan would bring a brick to a meet and greet?”
Chloe stopped walking, a cold wave of nausea sweeping over her. “What?” She asked, her voice now quiet and shaking, 
He grimaced and stopped too. “Sorry,” he said. “I hadn’t told you the details yet, had I?”
Chloe felt like she was going to throw up, or pass out, or burst into tears. “Someone hit her with a brick?”
Theo nodded.
“Wha… How?”
“He wrapped it,” Theo said. “Had it in a gift bag. Venue security didn’t question it when he went through the bag check.”
Chloe’s hands were covering her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “He could have killed her,” she said.
“She’s okay,” Theo said. “They did a head CT and it came back clear, it’s just a superficial wound.”
“Please, just take me to her,” Chloe said. Theo nodded and they carried on walking.
Chloe could hear the laughter before she got to the room, and she tried to quickly remove any trace that she’d been crying.
Theo opened the door to the private room Beca had been given, and Beca’s smile grew as she saw Chloe enter.
“Hey,” she said. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Shut up,” Chloe said, any attempt at trying to seem calm out of the window. “Of course I had to come.”
Beca rolled her eyes, which was difficult for her to do while someone was stitching up the gash on her forehead. “Everyone, this is my wife Chloe. Chloe, meet Dr Bauer, who is the head of plastics.” She gestured to the doctor stitching her up. “And this is his intern Dr Larson, who apparently isn’t allowed anywhere near me with a needle.”
“Not on his first week he’s not,” Dr Bauer said. “I’m not having you out there on tour with a messy scar because I let some intern botch your stitches. Nice to meet you, by the way,” he added glancing at Chloe.
Chloe just nodded.
“Here, honey,” a nurse said, who had been sitting at Beca’s other side. She gestured to her spot. “I offered to hold her hand until you got here.”
“This is Nurse Stevens,” Beca said.
“Trish,” the nurse said, shaking Chloe’s hand.
Again, Chloe just smiled politely and took the nurse’s seat. She took hold of Beca’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
She wanted all of these people to leave.
She needed them all to leave.
Because Beca might have seemed calm, but Chloe knew her wife.
Chloe knew when she was On, and Beca was On right now. She was Beca Mitchell the popstar. The Grammy winner. The celebrity.
These people would go home and talk to their friends and family about this. They’d remember it. 
And Chloe knew that Beca was doing everything in her power to mask how she was really feeling.
Because Beca had never been good at letting her guard down, and her years in the spotlight had hardened every one of her defences. Had made her an expert at putting on a smile and hiding how she really felt.
But Chloe could see right through them.
She’d always been able to see right through them.
And she knew without a doubt that, right now, Beca was terrified. 
They’d been able to read each other like a book for years now, and Chloe could see the fear burning in her eyes. Could feel it in the way that Beca squeezed her hand. 
Beca was running on adrenaline, and she was using it all to keep the shake from her voice. To keep the persona up. 
She hated Theo for not being able to see it.
He’d told her Beca was okay, but she was far from it. 
“Do you know how much longer?” Chloe asked, voicing the question that Beca couldn’t. 
“Almost done,” he said. 
Chloe ran her thumb back and forth across Beca’s knuckles and gave her hand another light squeeze.
You’re okay, I’ve got you.
“And she can go home after this?”
“Sure,” he said. “Neuro checks came back clear, so once these are done she’ll be good to go.” He looked at his intern. “What does she need to watch out for over the next few days?”
“Uh, headaches that don’t go away with painkillers, vomiting, loss of consciousness, seizures, memory loss, changes in behaviour, vision loss-”
“Kid, I’m not going to remember any of this,” Beca said. “And that’s not because of the head injury.”
“We’ll give you some pamphlets,” he said, blushing slightly. “All the information is in there.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said.
“Okay,” Dr Bauer said, “you are good to go, Ms Mitchell.”
“Thanks so much,” Beca said. “If I ever need a face-lift, I know who I’m coming to.”
“Really, thank you for everything,” Chloe said. She turned to Trish. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”
“Just doing our jobs,” she said, smiling. “Ms Mitchell, if you want to hop in here, we can get you moving.” She patted the seat of a wheelchair that an orderly had just brought.
“Really guys, I can walk,” Beca said. Chloe could see that her edges were beginning to fray. 
“Hospital policy,” Trish said. “Come on, we’ve rolled out the red carpet and everything.”
Beca shrugged and smiled, and got into the wheelchair. 
“There’s, um, a few paparazzi at the main entrance,” Chloe said, trying to sound casual. “Is there another exit we can use?”
“We’ll take care of them,” one of Beca’s security guards said. 
“I don’t want them following us to my car,” Chloe said, lowering her voice. 
“We won’t let anything happen to her, ma’am,” he said. 
“Something already happened!” Chloe snapped. “I’m trying to stop it from getting worse!”
“Chloe,” Beca said, “it’s okay. I can handle it.”
But you shouldn’t have to, Chloe wanted to scream. 
They reached the hospital entrance and Chloe saw the lights already to begin flashing through the doors. Both Beca’s personal security and hospital security managed to force them back enough to form a gap for Beca, Chloe, and Theo to walk out.
They followed them to the car. Shouting questions, camera bulbs flashing. 
“Hey!” Chloe snapped, turning on them. “She has a head injury, can you fucking cool it with the flashing lights?!”
Beca tugged Chloe’s hand and they carried on walking.
The pictures didn’t stop. 
“Chloe.”
“I know,” Chloe said, squeezing Beca’s hand as they reached the car. “I know, baby.”
Chloe could hear it in her voice.
She was about to break.
“Keys,” Theo said to Chloe. She tossed them to him without a second thought. “Beca’s security will follow us back and keep watch tonight. I can call an Uber later.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said. 
They reached the car and Chloe helped Beca into the back before climbing in beside her. The cameras couldn’t penetrate the blacked-out windows, but that didn’t stop the photographers from trying.
“Fucking cockroaches,” Chloe muttered as Theo pulled out of the parking lot, laying on the horn when they crowded the car.
Chloe waited for Beca to make a joke about her potty mouth that only came out when Chloe was stressed, but it didn’t come. 
Beca was finally letting herself feel the panic. The fear. 
“You’re okay,” Chloe said, trying not to wince as Beca’s hand tightened around hers. “Just take a breath.”
Her breathing was coming in short sharp gasps, and Chloe knew they were in the beginnings of a panic attack that would likely last the rest of the night.
“Do I need to go back to the hospital?” Theo asked, glancing in the rear-view mirror.
“No,” Beca and Chloe said at the same time,
“I have her,” Chloe said to Theo. She focused her attention on Beca again. “I have you, okay?”
Beca nodded and tried to focus on her breathing.
“I thought I was going to die,” Beca said, between gasping breaths. “Why did he do that?”
“I don’t know, baby,” Chloe said. 
The drive home seemed to take forever, but finally, Theo was pulling up to their drive and hitting the button to open the gate. 
“Get her inside,” he said. “I’ll sort everything out, out here.”
“Thank you, Theo,” Chloe said. 
“Stay home for the next few days,” he said. “It’ll blow over.”
Beca seemed calm again as they got out of the car, and she walked steadily towards the house without looking back. 
Chloe followed, her hand resting on Beca’s back.
When the front door was finally shut behind them, Chloe wasted no time in pulling Beca into her arms, letting her own tears fall as she clung to her wife.
“I was so scared,” Chloe said. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
Beca clung back, her eyes squeezed shut as she buried her face into Chloe’s neck.
Her head was hurting badly, the gash on her head stung and throbbed as the local anaesthetic began wearing off, but that all felt small compared to the panic that was growing larger in her chest.
“Can I get you anything?” Chloe asked, unwilling to let her go just yet. “Water, or something to eat?”
“No,” Beca said. “Just… Please just hold me.”
“Okay,” Chloe said, holding her tighter. “I can do that.”
They stood there for a while in the entryway of their home, Beca wrapped protectively in Chloe’s arms until Beca spoke again.
“He looked at me like he hated me,” she said. “What had I done to make him hate me like that?”
“This wasn’t your fault,” Chloe said, finally ending their hug so she could look at Beca. 
Her eye was beginning to bruise now, and Chloe thought it might have started swelling too. There was dried blood in her hair and all down the front of her shirt. 
“He gift-wrapped it,” Beca said. “He planned it. What if… What if he’d brought a knife? Or a gun?”
“Hey,” Chloe said, cupping Beca’s face with her hands. “Look at me. He can’t get you now, okay? He was arrested, and even if he wasn’t, your security guys are right outside.” 
Chloe pressed a kiss to the uninjured side of her head.
“Come on, you need to rest,” Chloe said, taking Beca’s hand and leading her upstairs. 
Beca tried to change out of her clothes, but her hands were feeling too clumsy. She couldn’t get them to cooperate enough to un-do the buttons on her shirt, so Chloe took over. 
“I don’t feel good,” Beca said, watching as Chloe eased her out of her shirt. 
“Do you feel like you need to be sick?” Chloe asked, trying not to panic.
Beca shook her head, which turned out to be a mistake. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Bec, talk to me,” Chloe said. 
“I just feel…” Beca trailed off as she searched for the word. “I keep going from numbness to fear and I just… I don’t feel like myself.” She let out a huff as tears fell quickly. “I want it to stop. I want this day to be done.”
Chloe swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know you do,” Chloe said. “I do too. I wish I could say something that would fix this, but all I can do is promise that I’ll be with you every step of the way through whatever happens next.”
Beca nodded and gave Chloe the first genuine smile she’d had all night. Chloe helped Beca out of the rest of her clothes and into a baggy t-shirt.
“Thanks,” Beca said, climbing into bed.
“Does your head hurt?” Chloe asked, looking for something concrete that she could do to help. 
“Yeah,” Beca replied. 
“I’ll get you something,” Chloe said.
She grabbed a bottle of water and some painkillers, and while she was downstairs she looked outside.
She could see that the paparazzi seemed to have left, but Beca’s security team was still there, and that made her feel safer. 
She double-checked that both the front and back doors were locked before returning to the bedroom. 
When Chloe got back, Beca was scrolling on her phone, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“It’s already on the internet,” Beca said. 
Chloe didn’t tell Beca that she already knew. While they’d been waiting for the doctor to finish stitching her head up, Chloe had been fielding texts from the Bellas.
Chloe sat on the bed beside Beca and had to stifle a gasp when she looked at her phone.
It was one thing to hear about it, but quite another to see it in high definition. To see it looped, again and again. The brick connecting with the side of her head. The confusion on her face being quickly replaced by fear and then pain. 
“Okay,” Chloe said, taking Beca’s phone from her hand. She closed whatever app had been open and put her phone on the nightstand. “Here, take these.” She handed Beca the pills and the water. Beca did so without complaint. “You need to try and get some rest.”
“I can’t,” Beca said. “Everyone has seen it now. What if they all get the same idea? What if… what if they come here? The press knows where we live, anyone could have followed us home.”
“Shh,” Chloe said, gathering Beca into her arms. “That isn’t going to happen.”
“You don’t know that,” Beca said.
“I know that I’m not going to let anything else happen to you,” Chloe said. “I know that there are men and women outside right now who are here to protect you. And I know that you’re running on adrenaline right now and that sleep feels impossible, but you need to try.”
Chloe knew Beca wasn’t going to lie down and try to sleep willingly, she was too wired for that, so she adjusted their positions until Beca was lying with the uninjured side of her head on Chloe’s chest.
As carefully as she could, Chloe began stroking the hair from her face, making sure not to get anywhere near her stitches.
“Do you want an ice pack or anything for your head?”
“No,” Beca said, her breathing beginning to even out. “Please don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Chloe said. “We’ll call your therapist in the morning to see if she can squeeze you in.”
“She’s probably seen the video,” Beca said. 
“Well, then she has all night to figure out what to say to make it better.”
Beca gave a soft laugh.
They stayed in that position for hours, the only sound was the occasional sniffle from Beca. At one point, Chloe asked if she wanted her to turn out the light, but Beca said she’d rather keep it on.
Chloe knew her eyes were fixed on the doorway, waiting for someone to burst through the door and attack her.
“You need to try and sleep,” Chloe said. 
Beca gave a grunt in response, and Chloe knew that was all she could manage. All her energy was going into just keeping her eyes open.
“Sleep,” Chloe said again. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
It wasn’t a choice anymore, and Chloe felt Beca’s body finally relax against hers.
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