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drewstarkeyluvbot · 2 months

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Let the light in

Rafe Cameron x ex-best friend pogue!reader

Summary: After Rafe drunkenly opens up his bare soul to you for the second time in your life, you're left bewildered and confused. You want to run away before he can pull you back in but perhaps a connection so profound is destined to be revived , in more ways than one.

warnings: angst , cursing , sexual content!

word count: 5k

part one , part two

The only evidence that indicated his presence was the empty glass of water on the coffee table and the - now dry - piece of cloth on the ground beside the worn-out couch. Rafe was gone the morning after.

He didn't reply to your last statement that night. You remember him staring at you blankly, your words slashing open another hole in his heart. So much blood, there's so much blood. Both of your wounds keep ripping open and you're both desperately trying to patch them up. Your efforts are in vain, the history behind them is too deep.

Why did he leave? Did he regret it? Did he even remember anything? Did he wake up , and was horrified at the sight of his surroundings, of your house? Did he know he opened his heart again, just like the time he told you he was in love with you?

Whatever his reasoning was, it was adequate to urge him to disappear from your house without a single word. But he did always have a habit of leaving, didn't he? Stop thinking he's who he used to be, stop thinking he's still your childhood friend , stop thinking he's still your first love.

I wish I could go back to the start.

You wanted to elbow him, slap him across the face and scream at him for a further explanation. He wishes he could go back to the start?. You wish there was no start at all ; you want to rip your hair out and scream at your small, puffy- cheeked five year old self to run when she sees that adorable, blue eyed boy approaching her at the playground. You want to warn her, caress her hair and tell her what a horrible person he is , tell her he's the fucking boogeyman ; anything to keep her away from the inevitable pain.

You can't.

You suppose the pain won't ever stop , you had growing accustomed to it before he reappeared. Pain is okay, it's to be expected when it stems from something that used to be so profound. You've sobbed yourself to sleep countless of times, until your eyes were itchy and red and your throat felt raw ; it felt really good, crying about him. Like unleashing your emotions inside the four walls of your cramped room, where they bounced off them and stayed inside.

That's what needs to happen. You can sob and cry and scream as much as your body allows you to ; you're entitled to. But you shouldn't be lead by pain.

So , as you're crying about Rafe Cameron under your warm, fluffy blanket and with the enchanting glow of the moon cascading over your body through your sketchy blinds , you understand that blotchy tears and sore throats won't get you anywhere. You're not okay - at the moment - but you will be, someday.

You're going to keep living until that moment arrives. Until the sight of him makes your lips tight and taut instead of wobbly, until he stops appearing in your dreams like an unachievable target, until he merely becomes a ghost of your past instead of a monster of your present.

Until then, salty tears and rapid headaches are your only resolution.

Since you were a child, you've always found getaways in order to escape the malicious feeling of pure pain. Crying and screaming assisted you in facing your pain, in confronting it. Nevertheless, at times you don't want to turn into a sobbing mess , you want not to think about it at all.

You've always loved the sea.

The sound of your feet digging into the sand and the soft splashing sound of the waves hitting the shore prevails over your soul crashing thoughts as you continue to increase the distance between you and your house. The beach is quiet and tranquil -mostly- a couple of people here and there, but the amount diminishing the further you find yourself walking.

Walking. Which is exactly what you planned to do until - you don't know - got lost, or until someone found you and dragged you away. You didn't plan to stop, not for anything, not for anyone.

You stare at the point where the sky meets the sea, the sun casting a warm, orange hue over the clear waters. You wished to be as beautiful and free as the ocean one day.

You love silence. You love feeling the wind slipping through your hair, the salt sticking to your skin and the sun turning your cheeks a pretty shade of rose. It's a feeling almost equivalent to the comfort a loved one can provide you with , the difference being that this feeling won't ever make you hurt.

The sun has fully set, shielding itself between the mountains. You're walking back home, silently cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket with you ; the breeze making you grit your teeth and causing goosebumps on your skin.

You hear the loud roar of a motorcycle emerging from the distance, and you despise yourself for immediately having thoughts about a certain person when the sound reaches your ears. It's the outer banks, nearly everyone has a motorcycle. Nevertheless, luck was never really on your side.

Not tonight at least.

You want to scream at the top of your lungs when you hear the vehicle slowing down, before it comes to an abrupt stop right next to your figure. You gnaw on your bottom lip as you turn to look at him; he's slowly removing his helmet, and you almost wish the face that's hiding under was a stranger. But you suppose he's a stranger anyway.

You meet icy blue eyes, silence ensues. Cold, empty, bloody silence.

You could run, curse him out, slap him across the face with as much power as you can hold. Why are you frozen?

"It's late." The silence is broken by his deep voice ; you can hear it ever so slightly breaking out, "You shouldn't be walking alone."

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, "I'm fine." Your voice is quiet, the wind roaring louder. You stare at the way his Adam's apple bops as he thinks of a reply.

"What are you doing out here?" You hate that you your mind has fooled you to believe there's a hint of concern hidden in his tone. He doesn't care, he doesn't care, he doesn't care.

You stare at him for a moment, mindlessly. You open your mouth, "You left." You spit the combination of words out. You're not even sure if your statement hints towards the night that occured recently, or him leaving your life two years ago. You don't even bother to elaborate, whatever conclusion he draws will have the exact same outcome.

You can immediately tell your words startle him from the way the muscles in his jaw flex and tense. He sighs, scratching his jaw slowly "I didn't want to wake you up."

So,he picked the first version.

His words ring through your ears , your expression turning into something a lot more bitter. You immediately shake your head ; your feet are already making the first steps back to your path , "Goodnight, Rafe."

You feel a strong hand wrapping around your wrist, your body coming to an abrupt stop as the sensation of his touch courses throughout your entire body. You want to scream as loud as you can.

You don't turn your body around, he doesn't lessen his hold, none of you speak for sometime; probably filtering the gravity of your situation, from both sides of the story.

"I meant it." His words are spoken in a whisper, "All of it, every single word, I meant all of it."

Your throat instantly clogs up and your chest tightens as the ambiguous words sink in. I meant all of it. What did he mean? What is he referring to? The night he left you? The night of the thunderstorm? The night he told you he was in love with you? The night he came to your house drunk after years?

Rafe has said so many different things, and you could him to ask to elaborate, to be more specific on whether he still loves you the way he did or he despises your guts like he's supposed to.

You think you're allowed to be selfish for once in your life, you're not obliged to be Rafe Cameron's emotional punchbag, not when you're still frozen , not when you're still stuck at the place where he left you.

"Goodnight, Rafe." You repeat quietly, your hand slowly slipping out of his hold as you walk away.

He doesn't follow you, and - for the first time - you're glad he doesn't.

Your teeth forcefully grit together as your hand gently rests itself on the area between his shoulder blades ; groans spill from his lips like a robust waterfall as he stuffs his face inside your toilet bowl, his body limp and frozen on your cold tiles.

Your hand gently caresses his broad back, your legs tucked under you and your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. "You're okay, it's okay." You whisper words of comfort as Rafe empties his whole stomach inside the bowl, your other hand moving to pull his curtain bangs away from his eyes.

He hoarsely coughs out the last drops , breathing heavily as he moves his head away and lazily rests it on the toilet seat. You immediately scrunch up your nose at the sight, before gently moving your hands to cradle his head. "Come on." You whisper gently, moving his head right side up.

Groans spill from his lips at the change of position , lazy blinks directed at your face. You sigh quietly as you lift up the wet cloth you were holding and begin softly dapping at his mouth to clean him up.

Rafe hums contently, instantly leaning into your touch. You ignore the feeling of adoration bubbling in your chest at his sweet face, instead pulling the cloth away. "I can't lift you up,can you stand?" You whisper softly, sliding your fingers through his hair. Rafe mumbles a short response, nodding his head as he grips the marble of the toilet bowl to stand up. His legs are inevitably wobbling, and you snake an arm around his waist to assist in steading him.

When he's stable, you slowly begin walking him towards your bedroom, softly kicking the door open with your foot. You stumble a few times, barely managing to not tumble to the ground before you reach the bed. You slowly lay his broad body atop it, he lands with a soft hum.

You let out a soft sigh, before sitting right next to him. His eyes are closed, chest heaving up and down peacefully. You grab another wet cloth, scooting closer to him. You softly run the cloth down his face, wiping the sweat away carefully and offering him a sense of refreshment.

"Mhm," soft hums of pleasure leave his lips, his eyelids softly dropping open. The sides of his mouth quirk up in a soft smile. "You're so pretty."

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to conceal your small smile; an odd tightening sensation occuring in your stomach at his words. "Sit up." You reply instead, bending forward to drop the cloth on the bedside table and grab the filled glass of water.

He groans quietly, but eventually obeys and slowly sit up. You hand him the glass carefully , his hand slightly shaky as he grips it. You watch as he downs it, grimacing slightly but knowing you'll possibly scream at him if he denies it.

You place the now empty glass back on the bedside table; he stares at you, giddily. You softly cradle the back of his head as you push him to lay back down on your fluffy pillow.

"No-" he suddenly speaks up, making your eyebrows immediately furrow at his words. "No?" You inquiry, utterly bewildered. He immediately shakes his head, groaning at his own action from the dizziness before he carelessly plops his head on your lap.

Your breath hitches at the action; you stare for a moment, dumbfounded and bewildered before he speaks up. "Better." He mumbles, tilting his body so his face is looking up at you. You stare down at him, at his silly expression that's stretched into a bright grin. "You're so pretty." He repeats slowly.

You shake your head, before moving your hand and tamely running it through his soft locks. He hums quietly, tilting his face to the side and nuzzling his nose against your hand. Your heart rapidly fills with warmth at the sweet sight, the side of your mouth quirking up.

"You need to stop drinking so much, I'm worried about you." You whisper softly, still playing with the mess on his head. "Do you promise me, Rafe?"

His pretty eyes gaze into yours , the pale colour reminding you of the tranquility that can only be found in the deep, blue waters. You've always loved the sea.

Instead of a reply to your question, Rafe merely smiles lazily. He lifts his hand, thumb softly grazing your pouty, plush bottom lip. "I'm so in love with you, you're the only one who cares."

I'm so in love with you , you're the only one who cares .

You wake up with a strangled gasp , your chest heaving up and down and your hair clinging to your forehead from the sweat that had gradually accumulated there. Your heart is beating inside your ears, as you filter your surroundings.

It is not the first time you had dreamt of that night,nor would it be the last. Alas, it usually drifted from what had actually occurred; your dreams are rarely accurate, anyway.

This time, every small and insignificant detail was so chillingly on point that you felt as if you were reliving the memory; that you were reliving that night, that you were reliving the moment he told you how he felt.

It's raining again; the thunder roaring in the distance and the raindrops rapidly falling against your living room windows. You had accidentally fallen asleep on your couch, a trashy show playing on your TV. Your nails dig into your palms as you bring them to your eyes, elbows resting on your knees as you groan. Will you ever be okay?

The sound of the thunderstorm is excessively loud, yet not loud enough to drown out the sound of rapid knocks on your wooden door. Your eyebrows instantly scrunch together, before a wave of realization washes over you. The skies are dark and the rain is pouring, there's only one person that would ever ignore that. Your feet mindlessly lead you to the door.

When you unlock the door a wave of rain hits you, making you huff. You meet icy blue eyes under wet curtain bangs; you immediately grab his hand to pull him Inside,not postponing it or filtering your action.

No words are spoken as you hurry towards the bathroom, grabbing a clean towel and scurrying back towards the living room. You throw it to him, irritation bubbling inside your veins.

He catches it immediately, leaning forward to dry his wet hair. You stare at him, trying to comprehend the fact that Rafe Cameron is currently standing in the middle of your living room, drying himself with your towel and he doesn't look drunk.

"What are you doing here, rafe?" You whisper,a peculiar feeling of anger rising inside your chest. "I doubt you randomly decided to drive through the south side of the island during a fucking thunderstorm."

He immediately freezes at your words, discerning the bitterness behind them. He lets out a soft sigh as he drops the wet towel on the couch, lifting his gaze to meet your eyes. He breathes through his nose, "I wasn't." He speaks up, "I wanted to see you."

Your nose scrunches up, teeth digging into your bottom lip until you can practically taste blood. "Are you drunk again?" You can't help but spit out the first sentence that comes to mind.

Rafe breaths out slowly, "I'm not drunk, Y/n." Your arms come around to loosely hug your waist as his words sink in. You stare at him for a short moment, before letting out another sigh. "Why are here then?"

He stares at you, desperately attempting to meet your gaze. Your eyes remain fixed on the ground by his feet. He sighs. "My thoughts are drowning me."

Your eyes narrow at the ground, before you lift them up. "Your thoughts are drowning you?" Your repeat his own words back to him, quietly.

His nostrils slightly flare before he nods, "They are." He breaths out, "I've tried to escape them all these years, and I was doing fine- " he takes a deep breath, "Before you showed up at my front door."

You don't reply, but you can feel the way your manicured nails dig into your bicep. He immediately sighs, shaking his head. "Please say something." his voice is nothing but a weak whisper, it makes your chest ache.

You breathe out slowly, "What do you want me to say, Rafe?"

He immediately shakes his head in response, "Anything." He breaths out, "Scream at me, curse me out, throw a fucking book at my head -" his voice croaks , "Just, please - don't be as silent as you are in my dreams."

Your breath hitches at his words, the dream you had before he showed up practically taunting you in your head. He had dreams about you?

"I don't want to do that anymore." You croak out a reply quietly, "I don't want to hurt you anymore, it's pointless - "

"But I deserve it!" He instantly interferes , stepping a slight bit closer to you. "I deserve your anger, I deserve every bit of it." He whispers, his eyes pleading in the gloomy room. "I'm a horrible person, y/n."

You immediately shake your head, your arms falling back to your sides, "Rafe, you don't have to say -"

"I regret everything." He interferes again before you can finish your sentence, "Do you know how many nights I've spent dreaming of your face the night I told you to leave me alone? " He whispers, and you desperately want to scream.

"Rafe - " you whisper breathlessesly , if only he knew how many times you've dreamt of the same night.

"I always tried to do everything right by - by him." When Rafe speaks those words, he looks exactly like the small child he once was, the one that was craving his father's love.

Because you instantly know what he means , who he's referring to. You knew from the moment he let you go that his father had played a big part in it , that he had pulled certain strings. Rafe was a child that needed love, the same child that is still in him and begging to be healed.

You can feel your anger diminishing little by little , until all you can feel is remorse. You don't speak yet, he continues .

"He told me - he told me that I have responsibilities as his son." He whispers , " - and that I've reached the age where I should start owning up to them. " He adds, fingers anxiously running through his messy hair. "Our image was one of them."

You don't interfere, instantly understanding that he's spilling out everything he has bottled up for god knows how long. He takes a deep breath ; his hands coming up to rub his eyes fiercely, "this is so stupid - it's so fucking stupid." He whispers , and your heart immediately cracks. "He - he told me that being seen with people like you shows my value." You could barely decipher his glassy eyes in the gloominess of the night, "and he told me that's not what we - as a family - stand for."

The distance between you has diminished as your legs slowly move towards his broken frame. His body is slightly hunched over, his hands finding their way back to his eyes. "I'm so sorry, y/n." his voice is quiet, "I'm so sorry, so sorry."

You can't physically see the tears pouring from his eyes , but the croaking of his voice serves as an indication, a broken indication. This is the moment that you have been eagerly waiting for years. Rafe Cameron is in a vulnerable position, he's driven by pain; the most malicious feeling. You finally have the upper hand, you can exploit the situation, you can make him drop to his fucking knees and beg till his throat goes raw and his knees start bleeding. You can cause him the pain you so desperately wish you could cause him since that horrible night.

You can do it - god - you should do it.

You take a single step before your hands gently grip his wrists, moving them away from his puffy eyes. In the next second your arms gently snake themselves around his neck, face burying itself into the crook of his neck . He freezes for a mere second before his own arms tightly wrap around your waist, bringing your bodies together.

It has been years since Rafe Cameron cried in your arms. Yet, as you feel the tears falling against your hair and you shake as his body rakes with sobs ; you suppose nothing really changed. He's still the same broken boy that yearns for comfort and you're still the same loving girl that will provide him it. Always.

"It's okay, Rafe." You whisper comfortingly, one hand coming up and raking through his messy hair. "It's okay,I understand." Another sob is given as a reply, you feel him shake his head against your hair.

"You're an angel." He whispers against the top of your head, his hand slowly running up and down your back in a comforting manner. "The sweetest angel."

Your breath hitches against his throat, and you slowly move your head back to meet his eyes. Pain, there's so much of it. Your hands are shaking as they move to his cheeks, ever so slightly grazing them to wipe away the tears. He immediately leans into your touch like a starving cat, his eyelids falling closed.

You're an angel.

"I meant it." Your body is taken back to that night on the beach, when he uttered those same words rather ambiguously. You remember being desperate for an elaboration but selfishly not asking for one. You suppose you'll receive it today.

His eyes are boring into yours now, the prettiest shade of blue; even when they're puffy and broken. "I knew exactly what I was saying when I told you I was in love with you." Your heart practically jumps out of your chest at the sound of his words, mouth parting.

"I know it, because I've never felt it for anyone else, nor will I ever feel it." He continues, lowering his face. " My heart became yours the moment you hurt your knee at the playground." Your eyes sting at the sweet memory of your first encounter.

Rafe doesn't stop there, instead bringing a hand to push a strand of hair away from your face as he continues. "I searched for you in everyone else,do you know that?" You're staring at him, not able to form a single fucking word.

Rafe smiles rather sadly, "That girl you saw me at the party with?" He whispers softly, "I know you saw me, my chest tightened the moment our eyes met." You gnaw on your bottom lip at the bitter memory.

"She had your eyes, hair and almost had your smile." He whispers, before shaking his head "Almost ." He repeats, gaze falling to your plush lips . "I couldn't look into her eyes though, that would only remind me that she wasn't you."

Your eyes sting further at that, and you cannot comprehend the amount of emotional information you were given. Because what is actually happening? You immediately shake your head, not knowing what to do or how to act.

"I would trade the touch of a million women if it meant I could look into your eyes everyday." Your heart swarms with warmth at the sweet words, and you genuinely want to scream.

"Rafe." You finally find the strength within you to speak up. "Do you understand what you're saying?"

He gazes into your beautiful eyes for a moment, his hand continuing to caress your back. "I'm saying what I should have said years ago." He whispers softly, "What I should have said before letting you walk out of my life like you weren't the best thing to ever happen to me."

Your breath hitches again, fanning his pouty lips due to the close proximity. He slowly runs his fingers through your hair, "If you tell me to fuck off , to never speak to you again, I'll completely understand." He elaborates after a beat of silence. "I just - I see you in my mind all the time and I- I can't even think properly when I know you hate the person I've become." He whispers , eyes never leaving yours.

Silence ensues.

"Please,say something." His tone is nothing but yearning and pleading. "Please."

Instead of providing him with a verbal response, you find yourself balancing on your tippy toes as you gently place your lips on top of his, knocking the air out of his own lungs. The hand that was caressing your back falters for a moment , before it tightly wraps around your waist as the other moves to cradle your jaw. When Rafe starts moving his lips against yours, your mind turns hazy and foggy.

Your first kiss is languid and slow ; your hands are gently running through his locks as he softly grips your hips. You suppose you should have said something more instead of silencing him with your mouth. You also suppose that actions speak louder than words.

"Tell me this is real." He whispers against your lips, his nose slowly nuzzling against yours. The corners of your mouth lift immediately, receiving one in return when he feels it against his own. "Fully healing is going to take time." You whisper softly, your lips grazing his as you talk. "But this is real."

Rafe's heart immediately swarms with warmth at your words ; they're almost like a bandage, slowly covering each and every cut that was causing his heart to bleed. The ice around his eyes gradually melts away, because the light of his life has returned.

He tilts your chin up, his face brightening up after what feels like forever. "We'll heal eachother." He whispers gently, before reconnecting your lips.

Time seems to slow down after that, your hands are gently tugging at his hair as he languidly slips his tongue into your mouth. Your breath hitches as he slides it against yours, your tummy blossoming with newborn butterflies.

You don't know how much time has passed in eachother's mouths before you're pulling away and wrapping your hand around his wrist. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion; the feeling immediately washes away when you begin walking him towards the direction of your bedroom. He remembers where it is, this house used to be his own.

His body covers yours like a blanket the moment you lay yourself on your soft mattress; his lips immediately search yours again as your hands slide across his broad shoulders. He pulls away after a moment, only to pepper your face with small kisses. You let out a soft giggle as he showers you with adoration, his lips quirking up at the beautiful sound.

"You're gorgeous." He whispers against your jaw before his mouth moves lower , nose snuggling against your bare neck. When he begins sucking and nibbling, you can do nothing but moan at the sweet sensation, hand slowly caressing the back of his head.

"You sound so sweet." Your pajama shirt has been discarded to the floor, his lips moving over your breasts languidly. He closes his mouth around a nipple, softly sucking on it and causing small whimpers to fall from your lips. "Oh-"

He smiles softly, before his lips slowly trail lower. He plants soft kisses on your stomach as he makes his way down, "My pretty girl." He hums softly, moving his fingers to hook on the edge of your shorts. "Lift your hips."

You immediately obey, assisting him in removing your pajama shorts. You expected to feel embarrassed under his gaze, but you feel nothing short of appreciation. He smiles at you, before moving back between your legs.

Both of his hands move to grip each thigh, his face moving forward only to plant a soft kiss against your lace covered core. A gasp instantly falls from your parted lips at the sensation, before you feel his fingers tracing the edge of your white panties. He looks up at you instantly, "Can I?"

Your reply is in the form of a nod and before you know it , your panties are pulled down your legs and your thighs are moved to his shoulders. The first lick is slow and tentative, your mouth dropping open on a moan.

He hums in pure appreciation as his hands grip the warm flesh of your thighs, his tongue moving in circles against your clit. He moans against you, his movements speeding up. "Rafe - oh-!" You can merely moan, back arching off the bed prettily.

"Sweet thing." He whispers against your heat, "My sweet girl, my girl." His words are enough to make you see stars, thighs clenching around his head. He groans at the sensation , combined with the feeling of your hands gripping his roots tightly to ground yourself.

It doesn't take you a long before you feel the tightening sensation in your lower tummy, and your moans only grow more desperate. It's incredible that Rafe senses your desperation immediately, keeping up his movements but accompanying them with his deep voice. "Come for me ,baby, please."

When the feeling washes over you, your toes curl on his shoulders and your mouth chokes out a scream of his name. He receives all of it with a hum, hand softly caressing your thigh as he places wet kisses up to your mouth.

"You're so perfect, taste so perfect." He whispers lovingly , his messy lips finding yours yet again . You whimper against his mouth, teeth biting his bottom lip desperately.

You're too hazy from your orgasm to comprehend anything as you reach for your bedside table, a condom package secured in your palm. His clothes are on the floor in what feels like seconds , and your naked skin is now plastered together. Your legs are tightly wrapped around his waist as he whispers questions of reassurance against your pretty lips.

"I want you, Rafe." Your sweet voice is enough to guide his hips forward , both of you gasping in response. His blue eyes stay locked on yours the entire time your bodies are moving, your mouth agape on a gasp as he presses soft kisses against your face.

"I love you" you whisper quietly after a while, your nails scratching down his toned back eagerly. He hisses at the sensation , hips bucking forward abruptly. When your words register , his heart blooms with adoration. He accelerates the movement of his hips ; his lips moving to taste yours again. "I love you." He whispers back to you, "I love you." He repeats, both of your moans getting louder as you get closer to the brink of sweet relief. "I love you, angel -" both of you gasp, before his body stills.

And as you're breathing inside each other's mouths, sharing words of love and reassurance, you realize that you're both a mess, a beautiful mess of utter chaos.

But you found your way back to eachother; whatever the implications might be , you're willing to face them together. Always.

Always and forever.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe Cameron #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #outer banks #jj maybank #pope heyward #sarah cameron #fanfiction #john b routledge #kiara carrera #smut #angst #rafe cameron x pogue!reader

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strawberrynull · 4 months

Text

──⯎ ˙☕ ̟ chamomile tea

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Park Jongseong

──Pairing: jay x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff, angst if you squint

──Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Jay, takes care of you when you suddenly come down with a fever. He will do anything to make sure you're not miserable throughout your sickness

──Warnings: cursing, established relationship, illness

──A/N: I have so many drafts that are like half finished lmao

masterlist

"If you're going to stand at my door, you might as well come in." You hear Jay chuckle from inside his room. You had been peering through his slightly open door debating whether or not you wanted to bother him to let him know you didn't feel well. He was on his computer working so you really didn't want to distract him.

You hesitantly opened the door the rest of the way, hobbling inside while staying wrapped up in your big fluffy blanket. He raised an eyebrow seeing as how you were supposed to be at work today.

"Aren't you supposed to be off to work in 10 minutes?" He questioned, crossing his arms.

"I'm not going today." you mumbled in a saddened tone, bringing the blanket up to hide most of your face.

"Why not? Is something the matter?" Jay sat up in his chair like he had just heard terrible news.

"I don't feel very well, Jay." you explained, stumbling over your own feet slightly. Jay was quick to rise from his chair. He hurried over to you, taking hold of your hands to stabilize you. "M' sorry Jay."

"Don't be sorry baby. Let's get you back into bed, yeah?" You smile and nod as Jay holds you by the waist, leading you back to your own bedroom. The warmth and calmness of his touch is soothing. He sits you gently on your bed, letting you lay down so he can wrap you in the blankets. Then he strides over to the window to let fresh air into your room, leaving the blinds shut to keep the room dark so you can rest. "Tell me how you feel."

You explained to him that your throat hurts along with having a runny nose and itchy eyes. He sighed, walking away to grab a thermometer to take your temperature.

"You don't have a fever so it's probably just a sinus infection." He runs his finger through your hair, smiling at you lovingly. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well. What do you want me to do for you?"

"You don't have to do anything. I know you're busy and-"

"What kind of soup would you like?" He asks, interrupting your sentence.

"Jay! Don't start cooking. You have work to do!" You pout. Your concern for your boyfriend despite your condition makes him chuckle. (also makes his stomach fill with butterflies.)

"Baby, don't even worry about me. You're my priority today." A hand comes up to swipe the hair away from your face before Jay leans down to kiss your forehead. "Now tell me what kind of soup you want, pretty."

Reluctantly, you sigh. "Chicken noodle soup, please."

"Coming right up!" He says playfully, standing like a butler. His actions immediately make you giggle. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he watches you laugh. The sound of his footsteps fade as he walks out of the room and into the kitchen of your shared apartment.

You lay in your bed, curled up beneath the plush comforter. You watch out the small crack between the curtains as the puffy clouds pass by, reminding you how you could be on your way to work right now. Instead you're here cooped up in your room. Now, even Jay is stuck in the house to tend to your sudden illness.

He returns with a bowl in his hand and a tray tucked under his arm. (He would make such a great husband.) He places the tray on your lap, setting down the bowl so you can eat.

"I have one more thing for you. Give me a second." Jay says, darting out of the room once more and coming back with a steaming cup of chamomile tea. "Here. This will help with your sore throat. It has honey in it; just how you like it."

You grin, taking the warm glass from his hands and breathing in the teas' aroma. He made it perfectly. It was exactly how you always made your tea. "Thank you, Jay. You should go work now tho-"

"Tissues and eye drops are on your nightstand."

"Jay! Go work!" You pointed out the door sternly. "I'll call you if I need anything, yeah?" You say in a softer tone. Jay leans down and cups your cheeks, kissing you gently before leaving the room.

"Feel better soon, baby."

You smile to yourself as you sip the warm chamomile tea.

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vivid-ink · 11 months

Text

'The Love Shack' Epilogue - Silwey's Reaction

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) Series warnings: 18+ MDNI Word count: 1,563

Read the entire completed series in my masterlist HERE

Author's Note: Because so many of you asked - here is a little epilogue drabble with Silwey's reaction to the news of Neteyam & Neyomi's betrothal. 😁 It's short and simple entertainment with a little bit of fluff at the end. I hope ya'll find this satisfying, enjoy!

***~~~***

Neteyam watched as the last of the wagons, laden with their kills, was carted off to the clan’s cooks and butchers. The hunters had triumphed again today and the butchers would be kept busy for the next day skinning, carving and preserving the meat from their very successful hunt. As with most jobs that his hunter-warrior profession demanded, success often brought with it tired and aching muscles at the day’s end, as well as skin caked in the natural grime of sweat and dirt.

Rolling his neck and stretching it from side to side, he heard the vertebrae in his neck give a few satisfying pops. His skin felt clammy and itchy from the drying mud in places and he couldn’t wait to settle into the hot spring with you later for some rest and relaxation. He caught sight of you warming down with your hunting platoon off to his left in the near distance. Your stance was confident and you effortlessly commanded the attention of your platoon while you debriefed them for the day. He smiled to himself. You were so beautiful and so capable. It made him proud to have you at his side.

As your commanding officer, he outranked you and you reported to him in all things work during the day, but at night, he was completely at your mercy. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to have your body against his, over him, under him and around him. It had been a blissful week since the night you’d confronted each other and admitted your faults, since you’d made love to each other and pledged yourselves as each other’s intendeds. The news was still formally under wraps, but the tsahìk would be making a formal announcement and performing a blessing on you both on the clan’s next day of rest, which was in two days.

Betrothal aside, you’d both agreed that things would not change work-wise. There would be no biases and there would be no public displays of affection; work was work. Given the good amount of ‘practise’ you’d both had in the last three moons in the lead up to the present, pretending there was nothing going on and ignoring the personal turmoil you’d both been stubbornly suffering, keeping things professional was a piece of cake.

A few of the men from Neteyam’s platoon yauped in farewell, waving at him as they departed for the day. One of them, Entu, called out as they passed, “It’s good to have you back, bro! The olo’eyktan really made us work for our meals the other day!”

Neteyam’s deep laugh rang out and he fixed the young warrior with a mocking grin, “Are you saying I’m too soft on all of you?”

“No, but you’re more reasonable. At least I can still feel my legs today!”

“Good work today, boys! Kìyevame (see you again soon)!” Neteyam called in return, stooping to scoop his woven satchel from the foot of the rock he’d left it against. He slung the satchel across his shoulders and spied a pair of slender feet and legs approaching him in his peripheral vision. They strolled into view as he straightened up and he was greeted by a lovely face, just not the one he expected.

“I’m glad you’re back too.” Silwey’s voice was sweet as it usually was when she wanted to endear herself to him. She flashed him an alluring smile and cocked her head to the side, peering up at him through playful eyes.

“Why? Your legs less sore today too, are they?” Neteyam remarked, adjusting the strap of his satchel across his front.

Silwey’s chuckle bubbled melodiously up her throat and her expression turned frisky, “Not sore, no. My legs are good today, good enough that they’d be keen to take a ride later if you catch my meaning.”

Oh, her meaning was clear.

The insinuation of the sensual ride she had in mind was made even more unambiguous when she reached out with a bold hand to curl her fingers into the top edge of his cummerbund to pull him closer.

Neteyam stopped her with a gentle hand around her wrist, “Look, this needs to stop-”

“I was disappointed when you didn’t come back to me the other night after your family emergency.” Silwey interrupted, stepping up to him and eyeing him coquettishly, “And then when you didn’t show up for patrol the next day, I was worried.”

“Worried for my wellbeing?” Neteyam pursed his lips, his patience beginning to wear thin as Silwey ran her other hand up the smooth muscle of one his pectorals despite his earlier attempt at a rebuff.

“Mm yes, and also worried that I wouldn’t get another taste of you.” Silwey said in a sultry purr and she swiped a daring finger against his chest before lifting it to her mouth to suck it clean.

Neteyam grasped both of her hands and removed them from his person, not unkindly but firmly enough to get his point across, “Please stop. Look, you’re a beautiful woman and I enjoyed your company, but I’m spoken for now and this behaviour needs to stop. Anything more after this and you’ll be breaking the bounds of propriety.”

Silwey retreated in surprise, pulling her hands from his hold, “Spoken for? You’re betrothed?”

“Yes.”

She gave a caustic laugh then, still reeling from her shock, “That’s a surprise, considering you were perfectly willing just last week to spend your time in my company before your brother abruptly called you away.”

Neteyam scratched the back of his head uncomfortably, trying to find a way to explain the situation without too much detail, “It’s a fairly recent development, but entirely genuine. The tsahìk will make an announcement in two days. I’d appreciate your confidentiality around the matter in the meantime.”

“Oh now Neteyam, you can’t just leave it at that.” Silwey wheedled, her irritation bleeding into her tone despite her attempt to come off as casual, “Who is this lucky woman?”

Before Neteyam could respond with another dismissive excuse, the sound of a gently cleared throat came from behind him and he turned his head to find you standing there. Meeting your eyes, he grinned warmly at you. Speak of the devil.

“Sorry Neteyam, a word?” You interposed, shooting a half-hearted smile of apology at the other woman.

Silwey was less than welcoming of your interjection. Her plump lips tightened sternly and she huffed at you, “You know, these interruptions of yours are becoming a rather untimely habit. I was having an important discussion with Neteyam.”

In truth you’d overheard the bit of their conversation prior to your interruption, but you feigned innocence nonetheless, “Oh, sorry. Was it about today’s hunt?”

Silwey’s initial expression was one of annoyance that you were nosy enough to pry, but then her countenance turned cunning and she graced Neteyam with a sly look before declaring, “No, actually. Neteyam has just shared with me his happy news of being recently betrothed. He was just about to tell me who she is.” She sneered at him, clearly thinking she was being clever for having outed his secret, “Come on, tell us. I’m sure Neyomi would like to know too.”

Ordinarily, Neteyam would have growled out a warning at Silwey’s nerve, but he simply smirked at her today.

Reaching out to lace the fingers of one of his hands with yours, Neteyam pulled you to his side and planted a lingering kiss to your temple, before responding to Silwey, “Well, since you asked, you’re looking at her.”

Silwey’s eyes darted between Neteyam and you, her large golden eyes widening a fraction as realisation set in. Her mouth popped open next and she sucked in a stunned breath, sputtering, “O-Oh! Ah, congratulations t-to you b-both. Have a good evening, I’ll see you around.”

You had to press your lips together hard to keep yourself from laughing. Silwey’s retreat was clumsy and her embarrassment was apparent. It was the most inelegant you’d ever seen her, considering she was normally incredibly self-assured.

“Guess our secret’s out.” You remarked to Neteyam, “You know, she’s not going to keep it to herself.”

“I don’t think there’s any point.” Neteyam observed.

Silwey had withdrawn hastily to a small group of warrior women who appeared to have been watching on with equally wide eyes at the entire exchange. They were muttering amongst themselves now, Silwey in the middle, with raised eyebrows and gesturing hands.

“Shall we give them a bit of a show?” You suggested puckishly, looking up at Neteyam who was already leaning down towards you.

“First, you make me commit sacrilege under my parents’ roof and now you’re breaking clan protocol before the tsahìk’s announcement.” Neteyam’s warm lips moulded to yours and you instinctively looped an arm about his neck to draw yourself closure. His tongue swept against yours and you opened your mouth to allow him to deepen the kiss, completely uncaring of your public audience. He separated from you with a sucking pop, “I wonder if my family realises how much of a rule-breaker you are.”

“Your mother broke all the rules. She became a warrior, abandoned her duty to be tsahìk and mated your father.”

Neteyam chortled at your quick quip, his quiet laughter rumbling against your lips, “And it appears I am my father’s son, with the same taste for rule-breaking warrior women.”

***~~~***

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coeurify · 1 year

Note

reader being a brat towards ellie all day until eventually ellie just snaps and goes “the fuck did you just say to me?” ahdhrhejrhhsbfjejejdhdj

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ as always. brat!reader & brat tamer/mean!ellie. name calling, fingering!r receiving, slapping, spit, overstim, rough treatment, pinch of dacryphilia & dumbification

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i went a little overboard. 3.5k words. sorry it took so long.

Maybe it had been too cold that morning. Perhaps you slept slightly wrong and woke up a little sore or had a bad dream. Or you could blame it on the way the sun pressed through the cracks of your window, irritating your eyes into an early rise. It didn’t really matter what had caused it, just that something did. From the moment you woke up, everything was irritating you.

The way your skin pressed against the suddenly itchy bed sheets.. how your sleeping shorts had become slightly off-kilter, it all sent tiny pricks of annoyance over your skin. As you huffed and sat in bed, your girlfriend woke beside you. Her hair was messy in the sort of way that would usually send you tumbling right back into a lying position, pressing kisses to her cheeks. Instead, you shooed her wandering hand away, pouting and mumbling for her to get off you. Usually, your bad mornings tumbled into this, a bratty attitude laid out over Ellie, scrambling to find a way to blow off steam. You just couldn’t help it. You knew it would always end in your favorite way to rid of this awful feeling.

You would swear up and down until you were dizzy and red in the face that you were not being a brat. Scoff that you weren’t pushing all the right buttons to get attention, that your attitude did not exist. Usually, Ellie would let the small comments or envelope-pushing slide past her. It was attention you were looking for, and Ellie knew better than to give bratty girls any of that. Today, however, you had kicked everything up a notch.

The creeping frustration that built on your bones was begging to be released, to be silenced into buzzing against your ears instead of the metal screeching it began to resemble. The only way you could find to coax the feeling down? Acting up. It started right away when the two of you left the bed. You turned your face when Ellie leaned in to kiss you, shrugging her off as you dropped out of the annoying fabric of your shorts.

“What’s got you in a mood?” Ellie asked quickly, watching as you kicked away the bottoms dramatically.

“Nothing,” you ignore her gaze as the word came out clipped. Now only in a long shirt, you pass through the door, Ellie hot on your heels. “You're not gonna put pants on?”

Your girlfriend and you both make your way down the stairs of your shared home, though your feet are a little heavier against the wood. You roll your eyes at her simple comment. “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Ellie warned before you could answer her previous question.

Of course, you do it again, “Why would I? Got nothing to do..” your fingers find the wall as you stomp to the kitchen.

“Jesse and Dina are supposed to come over,” Ellie offered in a reply, trying again to grab at your tensed-up waist as you found the counter. You avoid the affection, flipping to look at her with a glare. “So tell them I don’t want them to!”

“Stop with the attitude,” Ellie groaned, earning her a quick middle finger as you slammed yourself behind the bathroom door next to the kitchen.

Your attitude the rest of the day was not better, nor was it very fair to your girlfriend. By midday, she knew the game you were playing, whether intentionally or not. The brattiness, the sly comments you made, or how you avoided doing anything she asked— it just built upon themselves with the ticking clock.

You were lying on the couch still early into the afternoon, your shirt bunched up enough to reveal the pretty lace piece you wore. That’s when Ellie asked you a favor. “Baby, pass me my sketchbook? I left it on the window ledge behind you,” her voice is gentle, not looking to push her luck with you. She was searching through her backpack to find pencils, green eyes finding your own after the question.

“No, I'm too comfy,” you shrugged, glancing over at her. Ellie’s jaw clicked, fist clenching around the pencils as she approached you. Not wanting to feed into your display, she simply leaned over you on the couch. Hovering for just a moment before she grabbed the sketchbook, she then shoved your feet so she could sit next to you. You had mumbled some words of disapproval, feet kicking against her a bit before a hand came down on your ankle, squeezing enough to end the childish display.

When the day dragged on, and your frustration found no cure, tensing all of your muscles up, you pushed a little more. You had shaken away the idea of simply telling Ellie you were wound up because, in your mind, that simply didn’t make sense. Instead, your only sign is a few of your bratty antics becoming a little more physical. You were more obviously searching for some sort of release to the pressure building.

When Ellie was in the kitchen, speaking on the phone to who you could only guess was Jesse, you pushed by her. The space was definitely big enough to squeeze through your two bodies without much touching, but you did. Your ass pressed against her front as you slid through the area between the counter and the island she had settled in between, making sure to take your time. You pretended to search through some papers on the island before stepping away. When Ellie reached to tug your shirt back, you slapped her hand away. Soon you were speaking loudly enough to embarrass her to the other line of the phone, “Stop being grabby, Ellie.”

If looks could kill, you were sure your knees would have caved in with the glare your girlfriend shot you. Ellie’s cheeks flushed as the voice on the phone started laughing, making her rub a hand over her forehead. You simply walked away, that tension in you only tightening when Ellie didn’t follow after you, instead acting unbothered.

When the sun began setting, you found yourself lying on your shared bed. You did your best to focus on the pages beneath your fingers, but your mind instead drifted to Ellie. You had resorted to ignoring her after she didn’t play into your game, stomping up the stairs and into your room. It left you alone and wondering too much about what she may be up to downstairs without you.

The book you attempted to use as stress relief was no help in easing you; its white pages only irritating the pads of your fingers more. The flame in your chest was licking all of the surrounding areas now— and no book or act of brattiness seemed to be dousing it into something manageable. What you needed was Ellie, and right on cue, she walked through the door.

Ellie was tugging on a jacket over her white undershirt in a way that brought your eyebrows into a furrowed stance, a twinge of unease adding to the annoyance already there at the thought she may be leaving. “Where are you going?”

Your girlfriend found your gaze as she searched around for something. “Seeing Dina and Jesse since you didn’t want them over,” Ellie’s fingers wrapped around the keyring she seemed to be looking for.

The words from earlier revisit you, how you had complained about your friends coming over. It was a little embarrassing, but any of that feeling was drowned over by the growing fire that found its way to your throat from Ellie’s tone.

“I don’t want you to go over there either,” you cross your arms. By now, there was no denying you were just being bratty, and a little ridiculous. There was no excuse for how you tried to poke at Ellie’s demeanor with the demand, looking to egg her on into some sort of reaction that she denied you all day.

“Babe,” Ellie sighed, “don't do this right now.”

You were treading on thin ice, the cracks of the frozen water taking place on Ellie’s face first, a frown building on her pretty lips. “I said don’t go,” you try again when she steps to the door.

“And why shouldn’t I?” your girlfriend challenges, pausing at the door frame as green eyes searched for a hint of truth behind your annoyed face.

“Because I told you not to.”

Ellie actually scoffed at that remark, feet planting solidly in between the bedroom and hallway, a clear sign you had absolutely gotten your way. “Because you told me to?”

Still, you pushed more than you should. “Yea, can’t you fucking listen?” the foul language asked for a death wish, one that you knew you were sure to get when Ellie straightened up, looking away from your place on the bed.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Ellie steps closer to the bed, jacket falling off of her shoulder as the room seems to close in; walls gain a nasty tilt to them as she stands above you. It leads the book to fall off the side of the bed as you move to your knees, hurrying to where Ellie stood at the edge.

The frustration you had felt all day was reaching its peak, unable to form a wall against any words from falling from your mouth as you continue your little rant, despite knowing you had already pissed Ellie off enough.

“Think I was pretty clear,” your voice is a little more shaky than you would like it to be, but there's no helping the noise in your throat with the way Ellie is staring at you. You can feel it all over, though the heat it causes peaks in your lower stomach.

“You’re such a brat,” Ellie grits, the jacket shoved completely off, causing a mess on the floor as she finally gives in. A hand reaches forward, gripping your chin harshly enough that it stings, lips pressing open. “You think you can tell me what to do, especially after acting up all fuckin day? You should be apologizing.”

With your cheeks squished uncomfortably against your teeth, it's hard to sound very demanding. You still try your best, eyes narrowing as you speak, “I am not a fucking brat.” The answer seems to anger Ellie even more; her eyes send a sickly excited feeling through your veins. It burns against your mind like a drug you can’t get enough of. You knew what came next, and yet you still pushed your thinning luck.

“And you think you can tell me what to do? Tell me to apologize?” The words earn a slight tap on your cheek with her fingers in a warning. It almost makes you back down, though the losing blow is Ellie’s next move. A quick shove back into the plush blankets of your bed have you scrambling before your wavering confidence can protect your stance. The knee that slots between your waiting thighs is the kill shot, Ellie now caging you in.

“You don’t wanna say sorry, angel?” the girl asks, the denim of her jeans pressing against the lace panties in a way that has you struggling to stay coherent, a small poke in the right direction of ending this overwhelming pent-up energy. You only shake your head in response.

“Then I’ll just have to make you, hm?” Ellie has lost any softness to her words, likely chipped away by the fraying patience she had for your actions today. Her jean-clad knee presses into you again, moving gently against your underwear. “Make you behave again,” she continues, watching as your lip tugs between the pearly white of your teeth.

“El-” you begin, only to be cut off by her tsking. “Brats don't get to talk. You know that.”

“Good thing I’m not a brat,” you protested, leading another hand to find a grip on your cheeks, Ellie’s lips curling into a scowl. “Such a loud fucking mouth today, huh, angel? Why don’t you open it for me again?”

Though Ellie may be posing it as a question, you knew her far too well to take it as that, mulling over your two choices. Listen, part your lips for her, and let go of some of that brattiness that pulled on your hair as it owned you— or don’t. To continue your thread of personality from today, you opted for the second. Though you don't keep your jaw locked too tight, making it easy when Ellie’s palm holds your chin and lets her thumb pass through your lips, pressing against your tongue and forcing your mouth open. “Can’t ever listen,” your girlfriend muttered, mouth moving slightly before she leaned in further, a string of saliva dripping from her parted lips and directly into your mouth as her hand moved.

The act has you squeezing around her knee, a low whine threatening to rise when the leg keeps you from finding any friction. “Swallow, baby,” Ellie asks, and this time you listen. It’s, without much thought, an act you had done a hundred times before now, though it now meant Ellie had the upper hand. “You wanna listen now?” the auburn-haired girl sneers, making you glance away.

“Want you to tell me what’s got you acting like this,” she makes quick work of bunching your sleep shirt up, pulling away from you as her fingers dip into the band of the lace you wear, peeling it down your legs. You should feel a little ashamed, shirt pushed almost above your tits, panties discarded on the floor, all while Ellie is completely clothed. That shame doesn’t come. Instead, a feeling of need floods your senses— knocking you off your flimsy built pedestal. You bite your tongue to halt any reply.

The tensed-up flesh of your thighs is kneaded by her large hand, a condescending sort of coo coming from Ellie. “Aw baby, you’re all stiff..” the words don’t ease you, and neither does her palm pressing your thighs open. When she’s met with your glistening cunt, the wetness purely from all of the attitude you had dished out today and her rough handling, she actually laughed. It’s low and mean, eyes flicking up to you. “You all wound up? That’s you’re acting like a brat? Need someone to fuck it away?”

Ellie murmurs her words like they’re only for her to hear, and maybe they are. She wasn’t stupid; she could see that frustration dripping off you all day. She had just waited for the cue to have a go at you for it. Her fingers brush over your slit only once before she's above you again, a hand pressed into the blanket near your head. The denial of her touch has you mad again, huffing and refusing to meet the green eyes. “Tell me I'm right. Tell me you were a bitch all day 'cause you wanted this.”

You can feel the muscle of your tongue burn from how hard you’ve bitten it to keep from spilling out words Ellie wanted to hear. The burn is quickly overshadowed by the quick sting that takes place on your cheek when Ellie’s palm finds home there after a swift and light slap. It wasn’t rough, not that you would mind if it were, only used to grab your attention. The sting subsides as she speaks. “Look at me and tell me, or I won't touch you.”

The threat is enough to claw out of your little silent trick, the brat inside you finally shoved down for a moment by a needier, whinier side of you. “You’re right,” you whine, hips bucking up as her hand travels toward your bare cunt. Ellie accepts the answer, middle finger dipping into your folds, sliding through the wetness there. “I shouldn’t even let you come,” she threatens, the finger pressing into you slowly. The act pulls a whine that's even louder than before, only built upon with more small whimpers as the long digit begins to move. This was the feeling you had been searching for all day, and Ellie was glad to provide it, despite the acts you both put on.

“Fuck you,” you manage to reply at the empty threat, though that brings another finger into your center, stretching out around your squeezing walls.

“I am,” Ellie bragged, scissoring her fingers as they pressed in and out at a quicker pace. Your head falls back, mouth open wide enough to puff out little continuous exhales, each shaking in a way that breaks any semblance of control you could pretend to have. “You just needed me to fuck you open on my fingers to shut you up, hm?”

You answer with a roll of your hips, pushing down as her thumb joins the deadly mix, circling your clit. Her thrusts give you no chance for rest, a constant pressure building in your core. A heat rises to your cheeks as you feel your mind dip into a state of incoherence, your words coming a little jumbled before you iron the sounds out. “El- fuck..” Is all that comes, though it’s enough for Ellie to triple her pace, leaving your eyes glassy. The unshed tears blur your eyes, unable to find a way to fire the right signals in your brain to blink them away. Incapable of finding a way to communicate to Ellie with anything more than soft moans and cries. Part of you still wanted to brat, to find some remark to fight the dirty words that press from your girlfriend’s angry lips. It's useless.

“Pissing me off all fucking day, making me miss hanging out with our friends,” she rasped, licking her lips as she looked down at your weeping pussy, the wet spot on the sheets growing with every plunge into you. “For what? So I could ruin this pretty pussy?”

A quick nod is your only reaction, the knot in your lower belly threatening to break with more of the derogatory words, “Such a fucking whore,” Ellie muses, regarding you as you lick over your dry lips, whimpering in a lame attempt to pretend her words didn’t please you. “If you needed me, could've just asked, you know? Woulda’ made you feel so nice, baby.. but I think you like it better like this, right?”

Ellie is babbling by now, obviously just as affected by the act as you are. You finally answer, “ ‘S no fun to ask,” the words are slurred, gasped out by a sore throat. The exact time you speak, your orgasm comes rushing through you, walls throbbing around Ellie’s fingers as you soak them, dripping onto the bed beneath your body. The ache in your bones finally subsides, arms going lax against the bed as the auburn-haired girl works you through the high.. and then doesn’t stop. It causes your head to lift, squirming as her thumb finds your sensitive clit again, the fingers moving at a languid pace. The filthy noise of them dipping into your sopping cunt has you shivering, searching for comfort in your girlfriend’s eyes. You find none; the pupils glazed over as she stares directly at you, stone cold.

“You thought I’d let you go with what you wanted?” Ellie chides, a few pieces of her hair falling forward as she makes a few more slow thrusts. “You wanted to get off so bad, so you will. Til’ I decide it's enough.”

“Ellie,” you break, tears spilling from their cage within your eyes, hot trails down your cheeks as your girlfriend quickens her pace. “Please.” falls from you simultaneously with the tears that find your lips. It's the first time you’ve said that word all day, a simple nod to the fact you had given up on bratting— too enthralled by the overwhelming feeling Ellie brought upon you.

Another coo sounds in your ear as Ellie leans closer, her free hand coming to wipe at your red cheeks, fingers wet from your tears. “So pretty when you cry, baby,” is all she says, ignoring your plea. Not that it was clear what you were begging for, to you or her. Still, you mumble the word a few more times— a prayer you recite as the other girl’s motions do anything but holy actions, sending you into a rambling state.

“Please, please, please,” you rattle on, too far past the point of looking for any other words. “Please what?” Ellie asks, pressing a few kisses over the tear-stained cheeks. Unable to answer, another sob bubbles up from a hard plunge into you, rendering your mind officially useless. All you could hear, see, and feel was Ellie— and you weren’t upset with it.

“Can't answer?” your girl assumes, chuckling against the part of your neck she bites into. “Forget your words, baby?” When you nod at that, Ellie’s tongue licks over the teeth marks, but you can feel her smile against your skin. The smug feeling radiates off of her with every press into you, the sounds that accompany it only push her ego even fucking higher.

Your hips involuntarily grind into her, body searching for an end to the overwhelming heat. The heat that has poured into the room is almost awful, clinging to your skin with a sheer layer of mugginess and a smell that was only bearable to the two of you. When Ellie bites at your neck again, you see red. The stinging sensation, paired with the mess she was making in between your shaking thighs had you tumbling into another high. This one sucks any air from your lungs, vision doting black before you force the teary eyes shut. Your fingers grasp at whatever they can find, twirling into the fabric of her shirt to seek comfort.

“Where’d that attitude go? Not so much of a brat anymore, hm?” is what you hear next, the phrase falling on ringing ears.

The following silence is enough of an answer for Ellie, who gives you time to work through the aftershocks of your second orgasm before pulling her fingers out. You begin to think you may be able to rest now, but that dream is killed when you feel something tap against your lips—without much thought, you part them, met with the taste of yourself as she dips the wet digits into your mouth.

“Clean my fingers for me, baby. Wanna use my mouth this time.”

#rins reqs ❀.#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #tlou 2

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ellaa-writes · 6 months

Text

The Beast Within

author note: part 8, masterlist here. This is more of a filler chapter, ending coming soon. A lot kind of things happening for a filler lol. barely edited, also think im losing the plot of this series. Next 2 chapters are going to be longer just to tie everything together. Might redo/rewrite this at a later time.

summary: Omegas are rare, in a world full of Alphas and Betas. Being a Omega was not only dangerous but they were highly sought after. After living your life has a Beta in disguise, you meet a scary Alpha, but not any normal alpha. But a gaint Apex Alpha who won't stop at anything to make you his.

tags: Mentions of lots blood, violence and dead bodies. A/b/o dynamics. Vauge and probably incorrect medical terms. No smut and barely any fluff. Lots of Angst.

The door to the elevator opened, revealing a mess. König's head tilting to the side as the smell of crimson infiltrated his senses.

The Beast perked up, nipping at his skin. Stepping out the elevator he was greeted with an unholy site. Broken pieces of furniture and dry wall laid strewn about, bodies and parts mixed in with the chaos, the once pristine carpets now stained with blood. Stepping over the rubble he made his way into what use to be the front door of his home, busted off the hinges and thrown to the side.

He knew you weren't here, he could smell it in the air. The home was cold and empty, remnants of what use to be, shattered and scattered around. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he walked around taking it all in.

His head snapped down the darken hallway, the heavy oak door barely attached to the frame, cracked and broken, almost like someone clawed their way in. His desk was littered with files, papers and photos. The gun he kept in the top drawer missing, it looks like it was pried off the hinges.

Digging his cellphone out, there was only one person on his mind has he dialed them up. Sitting down in the worn leather chair, laying his laptop across the mess on the desk. He brought up the security footage, watching every second before the line finally picked up. A deep rumble answered from the other end.

"I'm going to need your help, level red." König didn't know where you were but he had an idea. The man on the other line told him not to trust the women. In all hell's fury he wish he would have listened. "On 'm way." it sounded like he just woken up. "It's time sensitive, high priority. I forwarded the details. I want a list of who all will be on your team. Will meet up at 21 hundred." König ended the call abruptly.

Simon sat up from his bed, just having laid down before his Boss called. It wasn't long before he was dressed and watching the security footage over. Roze... He never trusted her, could smell the rot in her lies but the big guy trusted her and he trusted him. Holding his phone to his ear the line eventually picked up.

"Gots' a job fa' you" all he could hear was heavy breathing. "да" and the line disconnected.

You awoke to bright lights and white walls. Your head was pounding and it felt like you were going to throw up. The surface you were laying on was hard and cold, the sanitary paper crinkled under you as you shifted, sticking to your dewy skin. You could barely raise your arms to block out the intruding fluorescent light. Heavy like a stack of bricks, you could feel the medical tape holding down the IV tubes, itchy against your skin.

You didn't know where you were or how you got here. It looked like a surgeons room, the floors were white tile and the cabinets off the side, also white. You could hear voices coming from behind the double doors.

Sitting up you realized you were nude, not even the necklace you always wore, completely naked and cold. Your body sore and stiff, trying to shift off of the exam table, your legs straining to hold you up right. The IV's tugged against you has you managed to stand on two legs, wobbly. You yanked the tubes free, blood dripping down your arms.

Grabbing at the now torn sanitary paper that covered the table, you haphazardly wrapped it around yourself. Using pieces of it to dab at the blood. A shiver racked your body, you didn't know what was happening. Trying to recall the last moments, your mind was foggy but you remember standing in that office but after that everything was fuzzy. You couldn't help but think he had something to do with this. Whatever this was?

The voices abruptly stopped, the double doors to your room swinging open revealing a familiar face. But not a face you expected to see, not here.

Dr. Roze

That's when it all came rushing back to you. The walk you both had, her words about you being pregnant. The images you found in the filing cabinets, all the blood or death spread across those pages. The sound of the front door being broken of its hinges, the shouting and yelling. Glass shattering and gun fire being exchanged. You hid under the desk, König gun in your hand, the one you took from the drawer. Then you heard her voice, telling you it was safe and she was here to rescue you. And that's where it all went black.

You stared at her, eyes wide and lips parted. Clutching the thin paper to your exposed body. "Oh, you’re up?" Dr Roze said in surprise. Taking small steps towards your shaking frame. "Everything is ok, your safe here." she tried to explain and to calm you down. Eyeing your bleeding wounds and discarded IV. "Nothing to worry about dear. Why don't you sir down and we can talk." pointing at the steel chair to your left. You eyed in before slowly sitting down.

"You must have a lot of questions and I'll do my best to answer them all." she explained. She sat in a similar chair but on the opposite side of the room, giving you enough space.

"We've been working on a cure, well not really a cure but a solution to a very serious problem." Dr. Roze paused before taking a deep breath. "When I met you, I knew you could be the key. The key to helping us unlock a gene code we have been stuck on for year’s now." she waved her hands around.

"Why me?" your voice was so quiet and coarse, startling you as you spoke.

"Well when König, your former Alpha mentioned that he had himself an Omega but he was unsure...-" she cut herself off before continuing. "He was unsure about your origins, you smelt like an Omega but didn't act like one. He requested that I observe you, to figure out him your Omega origin was natural or manmade." Dr. Roze had her hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes boring into yours, she had a tight smile on her face, forced and unnatural.

You shook your head, confused. Former? Origins? None of it was making sense.

"I know this is a lot of information that may seem helpless to you. But I want you to know that without your DNA the surviving Omega population would have come to an complete extinction. You are a true hero, really." the doctor tried to comfort you.

"Where's König?" you shifted uncomfortable in the cold steel chair. Dr. Roze's smile faltered a little but she held it tight.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore." your mind was racing with questions. "Why?" did he just hand you over? Was that all part of the plan. Was that why he was ignoring you? Does this have anything to do with the photographs you found?

"I know it's going to be a hard transition but we have plenty of surrogate Alphas here. You can even choose one if you would like." Choose a new Alpha? What the hell is going on.

"I-I don't want a new Alpha." you whispered.

"Well, we can discuss that later. Nothing has to be done now. How are you feeling?" she brushed off your question.

"I don't know." and it was true. You didn't know how to feel about anything.

"That's fine, I know you’re confused and scared. Why don't I show you to your room and you can have a shower and some fresh clothes? How does that sound?" Dr. Roze stood from the chair, her hand stretched out in front of her. Beckoning you to her, and you went, slowly.

Dr. Roze took your hand and led you out of the room, the hallways were much the same. White and sanitary. She took turn after turn before stopping in front of a locked door. Raising her key card to unlock the door and dragging you through.

She brought you to a room, your new home, she called it. Watching as you walked around the confined space. It had a bed in the corner, a bookshelf, a small table with one chair, a sink and counter, a small open closet and another door leading to your private bathroom.

You sat on the bed, still only in the thin paper sheet. "If you need anything you can push this button right here" she motioned to a red button by the door. "I'll have some proper clothes dropped off for you. Why don't you get cleaned and rest." and with that she left. The door sliding into place with a click.

You felt trapped and doomed. The events replaying over in your head. You didn't believe a word she said, still not trusting her.

Trying to believed that your Alpha wouldn't abandon you. He couldn't, he can't.

The words bouncing around you head. You've heard stories about Omegas being experimented on. Locked up like cattle, their only purpose to behave and breed.

You missed your home, the one you created with König. The smell of the sheets, König's heavy scent filling your nose. The warm feeling in your tummy every time you looked at him.

It's been at least 3 weeks since you saw him last, maybe even longer at this point. You have no idea what day of the week is or how long you've been out.

You took the doctors suggestion and say yourself under the hot water, steaming bellowing around you. Your silent tears mixing in with the water as they danced down your face.

The meeting was brisk, the task easy. He was treating it as a hostage situation. Retrieve the prize and leave unharmed. But the only difference is that it was you. König knee bounced restlessly, up and down. He never had the discipline to stay still, ever since he was a child. The ticking of someone's watch matching his heart beat. He tried to rid his mind of the horrible things, the images of you diced up like meat. Nothing left of you, the only thing he could identify being your sweet smell.

The ride to the warehouse was brief, but it stretched on for what felt like hours. A perfect line of black alarmed vehicles, surrounding the building that housed this "cure". König barked out orders before charging forward, using his whole body weight to slam into the metal door. The weak screws and hinged snapping under his weight. The Beast clawing at his throat to be released, König's eyes turned black and his blood began to boil.

It didn't take them long to find your scent, a trail of destruction behind him like petals behind a bride. He tuned out the call outs coming from his headset, the only thing one his mind was finding his precious Omega.

The Ghost and the Russian stood off to his side, eyeing the giant, their own Alphas trying to hide itself in the darkest corners of the mind. Anywhere to get away from the intense energy of The Beast.

The lights were flashing red, a lockdown initiated. Most doors sealed themselves closed but nothing could stop The Beast. Ripping the reinforced door right off its hinges without breaking a sweat. Your smell stronger now, he was close he could almost taste you.

After a few minutes under the hot pelt of the showers water, your tears long dried up but your eyes still red and sore. You pulled yourself out of the glass enclosure, finding a pair of grey scrubs one size too big resting on your bed. The bed itself was made of steel, loosely wrapped in a sheet that felt like sandpaper against your skin. The thin black like cardboard as you tried wrapping it around yourself.

You don't know how you managed to fall asleep, or how long you were asleep. But the sound of an alarm awoke you. The lights were out, the only thing illuminating your cell was the red light from the button beside the door. Unsure of what was going on and unable to sleep any longer, you pressed your ear against the cold metal of the door. Trying to listen for anything, but all you could hear is the whines and whimpers of the other Omegas locked up here with you.

It wasn't long after when you started to hear the shouting and gunfire. Whatever was happening beyond your door sounded serious and it put you on edge. Not knowing what to expect you tried moving the furniture towards the door but found everything was bolted down. So you grabbing the sheet and blanket off of the steel bed and found yourself cowering in the bathroom. Waiting out the war zone happening outside.

You would think this was your end, but the smell of burning oak engulfed you. Your Omega whining, begging you to go after it, so you did. You didn't know how you ended up outside of the safety of your room. Stumbling over bodies, slipping on their blood. The only thing on your mind was finding the source to whoever that insatiable smell belonged to.

Corner after corner you passed through what use to be a door, it's counter parts laid flattened on the ground. The smell was so close, your nose sniffing the air trying to get just a little taste.

"Стоп! (Stop!)" the voice came from behind you, making you freeze in your tracks. Turning slowly to face a man, an Alpha, in all black wearing what looks like a dog mask. His gun pointed at you, he spoke something to quiet into the mic strapped to his shoulder. His black sunken eyes watching you. His smell was strangely fresh, like ripe lemon begging to be plucked. His stance was wide like the rest of him. It didn't take long for whoever he called for to enter behind him.

It was the skull face man, Simon, you think is his name. Soon as he saw your terrified face he forcefully lowered the other man's gun until he holstered it completely. Both men stepped to the side at the sound of thundering footsteps. The Beast was in charge has he nearly crashed through what was left of the passage. The surrounding walls cracking and buckling under his force. His eyes were red, like blood sap. His aura a bright orange like he tree set ablaze. The smell of burning amber knocking you off balance, causing you to fall on your ass. He was on you, quick and hard. Shoving his nose into your neck, his hot tongue lapping at the skin.

You were trembling, gripping onto his biceps has he manhandled you. This was your König but at the same time it was not. You've never seen him like this, geared up and strapped with weapons.

He was leaving blood smears all over you, his chest heaving like a bull after a fight. His nostrils flaring.

"We ought get goin'" the skull face said from somewhere behind your Alpha. König's grip on you tightened has he curled himself around you, lifting you up and wrapping your legging around his middle as he pushed forward with the two men close behind.

"Have you located her?" he all up growled out, his voice animalistic. It made the hairs on your body stand at full attention. A low ripple of fear washed over you, you don't know what was going on, what was wrong with him.

"да, she been located." the dog faced man moved ahead, gun raised. "Good" you hated it, hated the sound of his voice, the way it vibrated his whole body and ripped from his throat.

"Ooooomegaaa" it didn't come from his mouth, no it came from within your mind. You looked up into his blown out red eyes, he was looking right into your soul. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying yourself into his chest. Closing your eyes tight, allowing this man carry you to safety.

Tag list: @plumdreadful @traumaramacenter @kaylp-godly @napalmfairy7 @hisa-plush @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @winters-doll @joyfulfxckery @purebeskar @collete25 @fandomsinthegalaxies @xo-konigs-little-princess-xo @jamieelol @luc1ddreamersatnight @cringeycookies

(sorry if I forgot to tag you, i haven't looked at my tag list in a while and probably needs to be updated)

#cod mw2 #könig #konig #könig mw2 #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #cod könig #könig call of duty #könig x you #Alpha König

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Called to Duty 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You shift on your feet. Your arches kill and your hips feel like they're splitting apart. For all you know, they are. Every day is a new fun side effect.

You lean on the counter, standing vigil at the customer service till. Unlike the pharmacists and their assistants in the back, you don't get a chair. You refuse to complain, you know it would only add venom to their gossip. Even here, you're not safe from the whispers.

The break room is a nest of snakes. You learned that one day as you walked in on a conversation that couldn't stop soon enough. You know they talk about you, there really isn't much else to do around Hammer Ford. Even if it's only borne of boredom, their words still hurt.

The pharmacy is quiet but for the fuzzy noise of the overhead speakers playing outdated songs on repeat. You reach to rub your lower back. You’re not that big. Not as big as you will be but you don’t know how much longer you can stand in the same spot for eight hours.

You stare at the till, the blue border on the screen blazing into your vision. You can’t help but drift into you even less glorious future. This won’t change. You’ll be stuck here, working hour after hour, only you’ll be poorer and more tired. You’ll have a whole other person to take care of and look how you’ve done just taking care of yourself.

Your chest rents and you let out the breath trapped beneath your dread. Something clacks onto the counter and shakes you back to reality. You face, the customer, your vision slowly narrowing back to focus.

You glance at sigh then down at the bottle on the counter. He has one of the novelty stuffed rabbits in his hand and a jar of cream. He puts those down too and you squint at them curiously. You take the bottle of vitamins and wave them towards the scanner.

“I read you should take iron and folic acid. Those have both,” he says, “you also should be sitting down.”

“What?” You frown, the bottle still in your hand, and stare at him.

“This cream should help with the dry skin. The book said as you grow, you’ll get itchy--”

“What are you talking about?” You put the bottle down and cross your arms.

“Do you have a belly belt?”

“Sy,” you say his name firmly, “are you... are you trying to give this to me?”

He huffs and pulls out his wallet, “you need it.”

“How do you know I don’t have it already?” You ask, thoughts scrambling at his kind, thought it edges along presumptuousness.

“Do you? What do you need then? Stuff for the nursery?” His eyes roll upward, “not much room up there for a baby.”

You want to shrink into nothing. You straighten your arms and grip the edge of the counter, “I know. Sy, this is a nice gesture but... I barely know you. It's too much. Not your responsibility.”

“Mm, and where’s the man who should be taking responsibility?” He reaches to pluck up a chocolate bare from shelf on the other side of the till. He drops it on the counter, “you got cravings too?”

You shake your head. Ugh, you hate how quickly your hormones have your heart racing and your eyes misty. It’s so nice of him despite being completely off putting. No one else, not even your own mother, even tried to help you.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, “sore? Tired? You got morning sickness?”

“Sy, please,” you raise a hand and set your tone, “really, I can’t... I can’t. Okay, it’s not... it’s not right.”

“Isn’t. He should be here--”

“Please,” you pull the stuff towards you, “I’ll put all this back on the shelf and you can just go--”

“I got money,” he slips his thumb into his wallet, “I wanna buy it.”

You blink at him. Daye, the manager, watches from down aisle. She looks less than impressed. Shoot.

“Okay, do you want a bag?” You ask as you ring in the items.

“Be easier for you to carry,” he says as he offers a hundred dollar bill, “not too heavy.”

You cringe and take it, stretching it out and checking with the marker. All larger bills have to be throughout vetted. You put it in the drawer and count his change and hold it out to him.

“That’s for dinner. Get some protein--”

“No, take it,” you insist, “what are you doing?”

His forehead lines and he looks back and forth, “what he should be doing.”

He doesn’t take the money so you put in on the counter. You unfold a paper bag and put the items inside and push it towards him. Your skin is hot with embarrassment. Worse than any judgment is pity. Does he think some vitamins and stuffed bunny is going to solve your issues?

“I want you to take it and go please,” you say quietly as you notice another customer coming towards the counter.

It’s old Ed Parriser; his wife, Ginny, is in line with the town gossip, Lynette. He has a bottle of advil and heartburn medicine. You wonder if those are symptoms of his marriage.

“There you are,” you shove the receipt in the top of his bag, “I need to help the next customer.”

He lingers then reluctantly grabs the bag, crumpling the top in his large hand. He gather up the money and closes it in his fist. Reluctantly, he backs away, looming just at the end of the counter as Ed puts down his haul.

“Hello, sir, how are you today?” You ask.

“Eh, I’m doin’ okay,” he answers in his wheezy way, “ha,” he scoffs as he watches you scan, “I thought Ginny was tellin’ one of her stories again.”

“Oh yeah?” You look up curiously, putting on a sunny smile, “what did she say?”

“Said you got yourself knocked up like a floozy,” he chortles, “maybe I’ll just start listening to her--”

Ed grunts as suddenly he’s grabbed by the collar of his plaid shirt. Sy has him in a death grip knuckles rolled into the flannel as he snarls down at the man, “keep talking and you’ll need those pills. I’ll split your fucking head open.”

You stand, dumbfounded by his surge of anger and his threat. He’d only ever been soft spoken, even if he was huge, but he’s rabid like a wolf in that moment. Ed smacks his forearm and wriggles.

“Let go of me, you lump--”

“Sir, excuse me,” Daye’s smoker’s creak rises from her throat, “is there a problem? Do I need to call the sheriff?”

Sy puffs through his nose, chest rising and falling as you watch him weighing his options. He wants to keep going. His blue eyes flick over to you and he lets go, raising his hands.

“Nothing,” he grits out.

“That’s right, nothin’,” Ed rubs his neck with a cough, “he just protecting this--”

“Keep going,” Sy’s rolls dangerously low as he towers over him. The old man snaps his mouth shut so his jowls tremor. He looks at you then Daye.

“Know what,” Ed clears his throat, “I think Ginny was here yesterday. I don’t need all this.”

As Daye nears, the old man hobbles around Sy’s fuming form. The larger man sneers at the manager as she nears, her phone in hand. He points it at him, “leave. Now.”

He sends you one last look, his cheek ticking. He spins on his heel and marches out. You bite your lip and look down at the two bottles in front of you. You grab them and gulp.

“I’ll just put these back,” you offer.

“You keep your drama out of this store,” Daye warns, “or I’ll talk to Willard.”

You sniff at her threat. Willard gave you a good deal on the upstairs apartment but people weren’t happy about. Even if the faucet is leaky and the fridge rattles.

“It wasn’t--”

“Keep it out,” she snaps and snatches the bottles from you, “if you can lean, you can clean.”

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #drabble #backwoods #au #series #sandcastle #called to duty

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howlingday · 29 days

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Prompt Idea: Pyrrha is feeling real sad and her teammates find her so they decide to lay down on the grass with her to help her feel better. (It works)

"Haaah..."

"Everything okay, Pyrrha?"

"It's nothing." It was a lot of things. The recent flux of difficult assignments as a result of their graduation from first years to second. The fact Jaune was still hesitant to kiss her after they'd made themselves official. Her occasional flashbacks to that night of the Vytal Tournament. She was lucky to survive, if only with the help of her sister team's leader having a magical trump card to scare off Cinder Fall, who was still out there. In a way, it was all those things. "I promise."

"You'd even give your word on it?" Jaune asked with a raised brow. Damn! Caught! She could lie and give her word, but she saw angry Jaune got when Cardin broke his word when he started messing with Ruby. She didn't want that. At least not directed at her. "Pyrrha?"

"I... can't. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Pyrrha. We're here for you." Looking across the room where Ren sat on his bed. "All of us. Right, Ren?"

"Yes." He nodded. "And Nora would agree if she were here."

"If who was what?" Nora entered, carrying a basket and a large blanket. "Sorry, I was busy planning a surprise!"

"Is the surprise a picnic?" Jaune asked.

"Well, since you spoiled it," she dropped the heavier than they look items onto him, making their leader sink into his bed, "YOU get to plan it!"

"A picnic doesn't sound like a bad idea." Ren looked to Pyrrha. "Maybe some fresh air will help you feel better."

"Oh, are you sick, Pyrrha?" Nora began lifting Pyrrha's arms, gently tugging at fingers as she did. "You didn't break anything, did you?"

"No, Nora." Pyrrha chuckled. "And maybe you're right, Ren. Maybe a picnic would help me."

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

It did not help at all. If anything, Pyrrha felt worse than before because now she was itchy and picking bugs out of places she never had before! She and Nora had to check each other's more "intimate" parts, same with Ren and Jaune, and Nora was probably a lot more rough than Ren or Jaune were to each other.

And if ticks weren't the worst of it, the discovery of ringworm on the soles of their feet definitely filled that gap. Everyone's feet were so itchy, it was one of the few times she was grateful to still have her connections from her competitive days. Same-day delivery to the rescue, as Nora put it.

"Never again! Never again!" The pink girl shouted as she scratched a bug bite that wouldn't go away. "There's a reason kids don't touch grass anymore!"

"It's not that bad." Ren said. "Just don't think about it." He sat quietly for a moment before reaching to his arm. His other hand slapped it away, unwittingly striking where a bug bite was located. He started rubbing his sore hand, then scratching it.

"Well, bug bites aside," Jaune came in from the bathroom, new set of clothing on, "I'd say it was a pretty good day."

"Really?" His team asked in unison.

"Uh, well, we had fun until the bugs, right?"

"And the itching?" Ren asked, moving from scratching his hand to scratching his arm.

"And the bugs on my-"

"Yeah!" Jaune held out his hands, shutting his eyes and looking away. "Yeah, all of that." He opened his eyes to see Pyrrha looking at him. "Did you have fun, Pyrrha?"

"I... I did." She nodded. "And while I won't say I'm going to look back on this part of the experience with fond memories, it was nice to sit in the grass with you." He returned the smile she gave him.

"I'm gonna take the laundry downstairs." He explained as he walked past the self-scratching Ren and Nora and pulled the soap from the closet. "Anyone mind keeping me company?"

"I don't mind at all." Pyrrha slid off her bed. "Especially since this is partly my fault."

"Partly?" Nora asked with a quirked brow. She received narrowed brows in return. "Okay, yeah, partly."

"Nobody blames you, Pyrrha. If anyone should be blamed, it should be me for planning this picnic thing."

"Wait, didn't Nora-" Ren was hushed by Nora, who slapped her hands over his mouth.

"Yup! Jaune did it!" She exclaimed. She then flinched as Ren grabbed her wrists, right on her bug bite.

"I grew up pretty close to a field. I should've known better."

"That's very sweet of you to say, Jaune, but it was my... slump that drove us out there."

"Actually, it was the bullhead pilot who drove us." Jaune corrected. "And we were already planning to go outside for a while. We've been cooped up, dealing with all our homework, so I brought up the idea that we should have a day out to Nora and she went grabbed everything for the trip. Right, Nora?"

The girl didn't respond as she and Ren had engaged in an odd game that took the term 'scratching my back' too literally. Her fingers dug into Ren's back while the long-haired boy began scraping up and down her sides, sliding to below her beltline. They both made uncomfortable to hear sounds for the official couple.

"Uh, so, laundry?" Pyrrha asked with a blush.

"Yeah, and maybe some cold water for these two." Jaune mumbled as he took hold of the laundry basket.

"Oh, and Jaune?"

"Yeah, Pyr-" She pressed her lips to his, following her as she pulled away. "Th-Thanks, Pyrrha."

"You're welcome, Jaune."

All in all, it was a pretty good day.

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #nora valkyrie #lie ren #jaune arc #arkos #renora

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legend-the-dumb-jock · 10 months

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I'm so stressed about the future and growing older. I'm worried about how I'll be able to stay a twink, I already need to shave everyday and it's getting harder to stay thin. Got anything that can help me face my fears of becoming a big old hairy bear?

Honestly if you’re having to shave every day. I’m jealous. It just means the curse is becoming stronger. And it’s only to get worse from here on out. You wake up and look down and yell I horror. You shaved your body. Before you went to bed the night before and looking down now you see that you’re covered in a dense rug once again. What’s worse is it seems like the hair is getting thicker.

This has to be some sick joke you think to yourself. It just has to be ! You’re supposed to be a twink! Not some hairy bear !! But this is happening all too fast now and you’re running out of razors! You scramble to the bathroom and you find your last razor. Thank god. Relieved you turned your buzzers on and shaved down the fluff once again. When it’s buzzed you take the razor and shave down. Looking in the mirror you’re relieved to see that you’re once again hairless. But for how long. How long is this going to last. Just last night you did this same thing. And that’s when you see it. In the mirror. On your face. You get up close to the mirror. Are you seeing things!! You can see the hair pushing its way out of your chin!! Backing away slowly you can see the 5 o clock shadow forming. You get dressed quickly and find that your clothes are tighter than before. You have to run to the sore down the street and get some more razors! This is going to make you go broke for sure!

But the time you check out. Get back to your apartment. Strip down you are shocked. Not only are you costed in hair. But your slim frame. It’s. Fading.

Yours abs see no longer there to be seen hidden under a layer of day and hair. And the hair only seems to be getting thicker. You try to shave it down again but this time your buzzer can’t get through the tangled mess. You scream as your body is so itchy now and you just seem to be getting hairier. “Please no! I’m a twink!!” You scream not wanting any of this to happen. When you asked for something to help you face your fears you didn’t mean this !

Your stomach lurches forward as its mats itself in more hair. Hair continues to wrap itself around your shoulders and down your arms. All the bay down to your toes that seem to be getting fatter. “Please make this stop!!” Your back begins to widen and you done even realize that you back is getting coated in hair just as thick as the front of your body.

Hair begins to spill from the waistband of your shorts as more hair is forming on your hairy body. Hair that youlll never be able to shave off ever again. And you’re starting to sweat. It rolls down your back and into the crack of butt making it sweaty and swampy. Your Bo kicks into high gear and now everyone will be able to tell you are around. No longer smelling like a round twink but thah of an old hairy bear. One that reeks of masculinity and sweat.

But that can’t be all that happens. You specially mentioned that you wanted to face your fears of being old. Well I already made you a bear. I made a big bear of a man. Now your body will get large. Muscle growing harder. Your gut sticking out more and you’re being hard as a rock and your hard will fall out. Your body hair thicker as your feet begin to stretch. Your body begins to ache as new pains of old age set in. Your back hurts from having to hold a keg up all the time. Your knees hurts from the weight they carry and so does your swollen ankles. That thick beard you aren’t able to shave turns white as your skins ages and sags. Soon your spitting image of a 58 year old man. A large hairy bear of a man. Holding mirror you scream but you can to anything to stop it. You have been forced to become your worst fear. And your twink life is all but long forgotten now.

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whumpsoda · 10 months

Note

I raise that anon who raised you.

Vampire keeps their thrall hypnotized so they do all the chores without making a fuss and so they don't accidentally hurt themselves bruising or spilling any of their precious blood.

Whumpee breaks out of it randomly by something silly like a sneeze and comes back to hella confusing circumstances.

WOHEO Masterlist

Love this sm. Kinda mad cause I wrote all of it and then realized I was originally gonna go in a very different direction😭

cw: hypnosis, dehumanization, vampire whumper, human whumpee

———————————————————————

Nevan smiled contentedly to himself as a pile of dust flew into the pan. The broom, brittle and old scratched against the hardwood flooring of the mansion. Satisfied, he carefully poured the dust pan’s contents into a nearby trash can.

He had almost done all of the cleaning for the abode, the only room left being one of the many dedicated for storage. Nevan always felt exceedingly proud of himself for fulfilling his sanitation duties so well, even if there wasn’t much to clean when he repeated the same tasks every single day.

Darius liked his home spotless, and Nevan was more than happy to oblige to the wills of his master. Cleaning was the one thing he was notably good at, subsequently making it his sole job in Darius’ home. Besides being a food source, of course.

Transferring to the next room to be cleaned, Nevan was giddy with the thought of receiving his promised reward.

Cleaning was his purpose, his sole job in life, so there was really no need for a reward. Yet, Darius was so kind hearted and generous, that he always promised his thrall a reward for his work. Whether it be presenting him with another place to cleanse or an extra feeding for that week, Nevan was over the moon simply with knowing he had pleased the vampire.

Nevan studied the mess he was presented with. The storage rooms were always a bit arduous to take care of, mainly due to the overwhelming clutter that had formed over centuries.

He began with a smaller brush, sweeping the tops of boxes and junk. Before he knew it, whatever dirt inhabited the room had unsurprisingly mixed with the air, floating into and itching at his nostrils.

He leaned his head back, readying himself for a sneeze.

Seering pain sliced through his brain as his body forcibly doubled over, almost as if splitting his head in half. Nevan clutched his head desperately, stumbling and slipping over his feet. He pulled frantically at his hair, the agony spreading to his scalp as well.

The human dropped onto sore knees, expelling a distraught whine. He panted heavily, attempting to settle himself.

Luckily, after an endless repetition of deep, calming breaths, the pain subsided into a faint throb. Nevan groaned, rubbing at his tear prickled eyes. Out of reach thoughts danced inside his mind, too rapid to be coherent.

Holding his head in one hand, he forced open his soggy eyes. Gazing down at his own lap, confusion began to settle in.

How did-? Why was he…? Cleaning supplies?

Clutching the short broom in his hand, he noticed what was under it. “What?” He groaned, grabbing at the fabric covering his lower body. Whatever it was, it was large, frilly, and itchy, a terrible combination.

Nevan felt around, pressing his palms to the floor and pushing himself onto wobbly legs. He clung to a tall stack of cardboard boxes, his knees buckling. He took in the room, filled to the brim with piled up rubbish.

Particularly, Nevan’s gaze landed on a long, thin mirror several feet away. He shuddered, digesting the image of the figure reflected.

It was him. The reflection held Nevan’s eyes, Nevan’s moles, Nevan’s nose, yet they looked so different. Like a failed clone. His hair was lengthy with a healthy shine, his face and body meticulously clean shaven, and he wore a grand, luxurious dress.

Worrying of all, were the achining wounds in his neck. Red, oozing and sore, Nevan gaped at the sight.

It couldn’t be him. Nevan didn’t do those things. He kept his hair short and easily manageable, he never gave a second thought to body and facial hair, and he sure as hell had never been very comfortable in a dress. He began grabbing at the excessive tool covering his thighs, trying to ease the irritation on his skin.

Once again, the burning sensation returned full force, tearing apart his brain in a wave of remembrance.

Fear settled over him, a whimper catching in his throat. He was in a vampire’s home. Caught in a web of mind-bending magic, and by some miracle had broken through. His breathing quickened, short and frantic.

What would he do? What could he do? If he got caught, there wasn’t a chance he’d ever get the opportunity to escape again. Maybe the monster would be so angry, they’d kill him.

“Nevan? Are you almost finished with your chores?” His heart stopped. Nevan lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, pushing his back against the objects behind him. “Where are you?” They called.

Nevan slid down the boxed, landing on his bottom. Darius was close. Too close. If he tried to leave now, he would surely be caught, but the same was ensured if he didn’t.

Footsteps picked up, the clicking sound of Darius’ heels growing closer. “There you are.” Carefully, Nevan turned his head to face the beast, meeting a wicked grin. “Are you ready for your reward? I’m especially hungry today.” They said, adjusting the collar of their jacket.

Nevan let out a whimper and a snivel, alarms blaring inside his head. The vampire paused, studying him, his smile contorting into a confused frown. “What’s wrong? What did you do? You shouldn’t look like that.”

Darius reached their hand out, taking several steps toward the human. Instinctively, Nevan hysterically crawled in the opposite direction, knocking over a pile of random contents.

Darius met the other man’s stare, his eyes just as wide-eyed as Nevan. Slowly, as if faced with a wild animal, he descended to the floor, resting one knee to the ground. As the human continued to make a mess, Darius reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a glistening little item between two fingers.

Nevan recognized it instantly, squealing with terror as he violently shook his head. “Please! Don’t, please, I can’t-!” Ignoring the human’s pleads, Darius lightly began ringing the tiny bell in his hand.

The ringing, no matter how light, how delicate, held a commanding, unexplainable presence. Betrayed by his own body, Nevan was unable to cover his ears as means of blocking the noise. The sound was soft, almost musical, causing Nevan’s terrified heart to flutter against his will.

“Come here, little servant.” The vampire sang. He began to lean into the constant ringing, as well as the glossy voice of his owner. “That’s right, return back to master.” Darius beckoned him over, settling onto both knees comfortably.

The matter of his mind was melting, replaced with the weight of the bell’s authority. Lazily, the terrified shake if his body liquefying, Nevan shifted onto his hands and knees. Mesmerized by the sound licking his ears, he clumsily crawled closer, to Darius’ satisfaction.

“Good boy, almost there. Nothing is more important than the bell, isn’t that right?” The movement of the object never ceased.

He smiled. That was right. It was Nevan’s bell, captivating and alluring. The only thing possibly more significant was Darius.

He soon reached the vampire, resting onto his knees with glazed over eyes. Darius gently placed the bell to the floor, ending the loop of hypnotic noise. He tenderly cupped Nevan’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

The vampire took a moment to adjust Nevan’s body, picking up limbs and turning his face as if he was searching for something. After a moment, he let out a sigh of relief. “I would’ve been very upset if you managed to lose some of your delectable blood in all that panic. Fortunate for you, it seems you didn’t.”

Nevan would’ve been utterly distraught had he made such a mistake. What a terrible thrall he was even risking it. “Now, are you ready for your reward?” He nuzzled into his master’s comforting touch.

In no other universe could he have been more ready.

#This one didn’t really turn out as good as I had hoped :/#whump #pet whump #brainwashing #mind control whump #whump writing #asks :)#My writing #vampire whumper #vampire whump #vampire #human whumpee #hypnosis #whumpblr #Nevan oc #Darius oc #we only have each other

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thedelicatearcher · 1 month

Note

Finnick with reader who has the chickenpoxs 😭😭😭

finnick odair takes care of his partner when they're sick with chickenpox

“honey,” finnick called out loudly as he knocked on your door, for the fourth time this week, with no answer. “did i do something wrong?” his voice was heavy with melancholy. his mind was spinning, replaying every interaction between you two, wondering what he could have done to make you stop wanting to spend time with him.

your fatigued body finally left the bed, dragging your feet towards the entrance. your heart ached knowing he felt pushed away by you. it wasn’t easy spending four days without your lover, his sole presence always cheered you up. however, chickenpox had arrived at your door, and you couldn’t bring yourself to be selfish and ask him to take care of you. “i’m coming, sweetheart,” your voice raspy from your sore throat.

the most contagious days had come and gone, and you had spent those days doing nothing but resting in bed. living alone and battling a sickness that left you completely exhausted and feverish wasn’t easy. your body craved to be comforted by him, and your thoughts were filled with scenes where you could finally relax if he were with you.

when your medicine alarm woke you up from a feverish dream, you couldn’t help but grumble and imagine how your boyfriend would gently wake you up, bringing a glass of water and your pills to bed. when the uncontrollable urge to scratch all your itchy red spots hit, a mental image of finnick giving you a loving yet stern look invaded your mind. and when you grumpily dragged yourself to the shower because your fever was rising, it was his reassuring presence you imagined, helping you undress and comforting you with loving coos as the lukewarm water hit your burning skin.

as you opened the door, you braced yourself for finnick’s usual teasing or perhaps a playful chuckle at your body covered in red spots. instead, you were met with a gaze full of worry and sadness. “honey,” his tone shifted from melancholic to concerned, his sad pout replaced by a wide-open mouth. “why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” finnick scolded you lightly as he took in your exhausted appearance. “i didn’t want to make you sick,” you confessed, lowering your head like a child who had just been given an earful.

“i already had chickenpox when i was a baby, honey.” feeling even more embarrassed, you tried to turn your face away when his hand gently grasped your chin and examined your face. “i could have taken care of you. i thought you were mad at me.” his eyes filled with tears as he spoke. “i didn’t know, finn.” your feverish gaze met his, and he couldn’t resist stepping into your home before you had a chance to invite him in.

“lie down, gorgeous. let me take care of you.” as you settled onto the couch, he started boiling some water and preparing chamomile tea. minutes later, he returned with your favorite mug. “sit up and drink up,” he ordered softly. his gaze was sharp, like that of a hawk, watching you closely as you drank your tea, searching for any signs of you scratching your rash.

when your sore throat started to feel a bit better, he finally asked. “how are you feeling now?” his hands running through your hair to massage your scalp in an attempt to soothe you. “my throat feels a little better,” you replied, your voice smoother than before. “but my head still hurts, and i can’t resist scratching my skin.” he let out a small chuckle. “oh, honey,” he said in a soothing, sweet voice. “it’s okay. i’m here now.”

finnick proceeded to carry you to your bed, removing the fluffy blankets and placing them on your couch. he sat down and positioned your head on his lap. his hands were busy massaging your face. his hands gently caressed your temple, then softly touched your cheeks, and ended at your jaw before moving back to the top and repeating the process. “you feel warm,” he quietly murmured, pulling you from your drowsy state. “i took my medicine an hour ago, it should start working soon.”

“good,” he whispered again, “i was going to scold you if you hadn’t taken any medicine.” now it was your turn to chuckle, though it made your throat ache a little. “i know,” you said with a faint smile, “my personal doctor is so stern.” “and you’d better not scratch your rash, honey.” a louder giggle escaped your lips. “i’d better not? what are you going to do, finn?” “i’m just warning you, baby.” your caring boyfriend pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and repeated “just warning you.”

eventually, you fell asleep with your head on his lap, and he took the opportunity to gently reposition you into a more comfortable position to avoid any soreness. finnick hummed soft melodies as he headed to the kitchen to prepare some chicken soup. by the time you woke up, your fever had gone down, and you felt rested. “hey,” you greeted him as your groggy self walked into the kitchen. “hello, gorgeous,” he said, turning off the stove and reaching for you. “this is the least gorgeous i’ve felt in my entire life.” “i think your red blisters suit your personality,” finnick replied. then, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss, “now sit down, honey. the soup’s ready.”

#in my google docs this was called #finnick odair x chickenpox reader #i hope you feel better bestie !!#sending you hugs #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #thg #the hunger games

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entirelygutted · 3 months

Note

Hey bud…Dom Velvette degredation kink when…..😇🙏🏽

Dom!Velvette x AFAB Reader — 1225 Words

First fic I’ve ever posted on Tumblr! Strap in (get it?) and enjoy this depravity.

WARNINGS/INFO: Top / Dom Velvette, restraints, humiliation, degradation, slight exhibition, mommy kink, grinding

It's been hours already.

Your muscles ache from being restrained for so long, and your legs are quivering as they struggle to keep you up straight. Your kneeling and nearly completely bare stature leaves you vulnerable to the shitty "sex room" carpet. Velvette insisted you used the disgusting place for your hookup, adamantly refusing to ruin her own bedroom’s “perfectly clean carpet.”

Unfortunately for you, that means a nasty rugburn across your knees and shins. You don't even want to think about the other shit you're probably kneeling in, either. Not to mention the budding sores you can feel itching under your restraints. You're sweating, sore, itchy... Unbearably uncomfortable.

Velvette looks like she couldn't care less about your predicament. She has her feet kicked up over your shoulder, heels digging painfully into the muscle. She's leisurely on her phone, scrolling away without saying a word.

Completely dressed, too.

The difference of clothing between you two fills you with utter shame, along with inconcealable arousal. The thick coating of slick between your thighs is betraying you, letting Velvette know just how much you're truly enjoying this.

You couldn't help but let out a needy whine, a shiver of pleasurable humiliation going through your body.

Velvette, however, seemed less than amused.

"Can you be quiet for five fuckin' seconds? I'm 'tryna watch something." Velvette kicks you in the center of your chest, driving the heel of her boot into your flesh.

You sputter, trying to catch the breath knocked right out of you while still being quiet. All the overlord does is scoff and return to her phone.

You're desperate to be good, so you shut your mouth and wait. Has it been minutes? Hours? You can't tell. All you can focus on is the undeniably gorgeous woman in front of you and the steadily flowing slick that's running down your thighs and further soiling the carpet.

Velvette seems to have finished whatever she was doing, as she sets down her phone with an exasperated sigh.

"Guess I've gotta' deal with you now." She takes her feet off of your shoulder, relocating them to prop your legs open. Conveniently enough, this left her with her legs spread wide in front of your face, and much to your pleasure, she happened to be wearing a skirt.

You could see the lacy hot-pink underwear that she had chosen for the day. They didn't look comfortable at all.

Your thoughts were flooded with the fantasy of taking them off of her and placing gentle kisses and licks on her lips, a hopefully pleasurable contrast to the seemingly scratchy fabric. When you return to reality, you find Velvette staring at you with a bemused grin and a steadily growing wet spot on her panties.

"So fuckin' incompetent. Stop staring and do something useful, you stupid whore." She sneers, spreading her legs wider and hiking up her skirt. You, ever eager to comply, make a desperate attempt to pull her garments down. To your dismay, your hands are still tied. Go figure.

"With your teeth, you brainless bitch. Are you stupid, or just that starved for pussy?" She lifts a heel, dragging it ever so slowly up your thigh. "Wouldn't be surprised if it's the latter, I can tell you don't get a lot." She cackles at your reddening expression, and lightly ghosts over your crotch with her boot.

"Ravenous, ma'am." You rasp, the first time you have spoken since starting this session. Velvette looks utterly appalled.

She slaps you clean across the face. "Did I tell you to speak? I'm starting to think you really are brain-dead."

It stings badly.

But it stings so good.

You whimper apologetically, leaning forward on your bruised knees to tenderly bite the strap of her underwear. You're overly careful not to tear or rip them, as that would, without a doubt, land you in even hotter water. Despite this being your first real hookup, not counting the times you both conveniently had to use the bathroom simultaneously while on the clock, you already wanted so much more.

You were addicted to her.

Your train of thought was suddenly cut short by a bright flash and a sadistic giggle.

"This is such a pretty picture, I couldn't help myself. Maybe I'll post this on Sinwitter and show the whole damn Pentagram your pitiful begging.”

You can't stop a needy whine from escaping your throat at the prospect.

"Oh? What, that gets you off?" Velvette cackles at this, driving her foot down to meet your crotch. You let out a startled yelp, her lace panties falling from your teeth and snapping back to her mid-thigh. She generously decides to ignore your fuck-up in favor of further degrading you.

"Shit, you really are depraved. You're clearly better fit to be one of Valentino’s whores instead of modeling." She chooses now to lightly roll her ankle, your clit finally receiving much-needed friction. You hiss, hips bucking up to meet the movement. "I should send him a clip've this. Be your little audition, yeah? Hell, who am I kidding? One look at you and anyone could tell you're for the fuckin streets."

Your mouth falls open, little gasps escaping you. You can't help but let your head drop onto her plush and perfect thighs, continuing to roll your hips against her shoe. This makes Velvette giggle, deciding this was entertaining enough to forget about her previous plans.

"Mm, on second thought, nah. I think I'll keep all this to myself." Velvette sets her phone aside, moving her hand to rest on your head. She runs her long acrylics through your hair, prompting you to look up at her with a downright pathetic expression as you quite literally humped her leg like a bitch. She seems very pleased by your big, wet eyes.

Without warning, her soft scratching turns into an unforgiving grip on the roots of your hair, sharply yanking upwards in a way that makes you downright whimper.

"Ah--!" You whine, eyes welling with tears and your hips sputtering. "V-Velvette—"

"Try again." She slaps you once more, far harder than last time. You can feel your skin prickling as a welt begins to take form.

You hum a noise of confusion, too disorientated from the hit to form words. She simply looks at you impatiently.

Oh.

"Mm..." You whimper, trailing off into a high-pitched whine as her trip tightens. "Mommy..."

It was unbelievably embarrassing to call her that. Humiliating, even. But Velvette seemed to thrive off of your uncomfortability, along with the power trip from the name.

“There you go, that’s what mommy likes to hear.” She says with a sadistic grin, pressing her foot down harder into your crotch. You had been steadily building up your orgasm, never ceasing your hip movements even whilst Velvette spoke. This pushed you right over the edge— The pressure in your abdomen finally reaching its peak and exploding into eye-rolling pleasure.

Your hips sputter as you groan and writhe against your restraints. Velvette continues to grind her heel down onto your now over-sensitive clit, ripping moan after moan out of your throat as your orgasm drags on.

After a few moments, you collapse completely onto Velvette’s legs, utterly exhausted and dazed. She permits it for a few seconds, but soon kicks you off.

“Eww, you got my shoe all nasty, you whore. That’s fuckin disgusting.”

After saying that, she sticks out her leg to present her shoe to you. Her other leg went over your head, pushing you down to meet it.

You know what she wants, and who are you to deny her? You let yourself fall over enough to be face-to-face with her boot, immediately bringing your tongue to the tip to lap up your mess.

From the look of things, you’re going to be here a while.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel velvette #velvette x reader #fem reader #smut #hazbin hotel x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

POLLUTED MARROW & HOLLOW BONES (VIII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IX ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader.

WORDCOUNT: 6.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, arguments, high-tension scenarios, talks of death, strained familial relationships, anxiety symptoms including lightheadedness, vomiting, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“L-let’s not be rash, here,” you chuckle awkwardly, still staring down from the top of the roof into Gaz’s glaring eyes, the amber in them boiling and rolling with fire. The vans all open their obsidian black doors, multiple armed men spilling out to case the area—but all the Sergeant does is set his jaw.

“Get down,” it’s the only thing said. A low rumble and tilt of accent. Dead.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and for a moment you’re so tense you forget the fact that you’re looking into Kyle’s eyes without so much as flinching. You stare a moment longer, one hand on the edge of the concrete, steadily tightening its hold as the other cradles your father’s things.

“Eh…” Your eyes dart away, blood on the bottom of your face dried and itchy. You’d never heard him speak like that before.

Before you can think to protest, you’re slipping onto the latter with a burning face and a skip in your heart. This was worse than having to smack a man with a vent grate—like being taken to your death.

When you land on solid ground, a hand latches onto the neck of your jacket and begins forcefully moving you to one of the vans. Your free hand snaps to the clenched fist, grasping onto his wrist like a whiny teenager and releasing a sound of alarm.

“Hey!” Your feet try to dig their heels in, but the void of the car door is coming up quickly. “Gaz, let me go!”

There’s no response. The form beside you is so firm and his hand so unrelenting you wonder if you’ll be in even deeper trouble this time than when you stole your mother’s credit card in middle school. Kyle’s athletic build surges with anger—a clench to his teeth so hard his jaw bones can be seen while the corners of his eyes.

Any snappy response or insult stales on your lips as you see his other hand tightly curled in on itself, the tiny growl that builds in him at your struggling. Throat bobbing, you let the man push you forward to the car and hop in without another word.

Oh, I’m screwed. You thin your lips and cringe at the loud slam of the door, trying to keep calm in the enclosed space as the darkness sets in. Some of the soldiers enter the Museum, probably doing damage control.

Bringing your items to your chest, you take a steadying breath and rub under your sore nose; bits of red flaking off like dirt on the wind. Your head pounds with uncertainties.

Did you really think you could pull this off? Body hunching in, the driver glances back at you, his eyes narrowed with annoyance and a frown on his lips. Your face and the tips of your ears feel like they’re being placed over hot coals.

You clear your throat, staring at the portion of skin right under his orbs. “Problem?” The driver scoffs and returns his gaze to the front as the passenger side door opens with a pop.

“Get us back.” Kyle orders, voice clipped and final.

Engine starting, the man that had tracked you down clicks his seatbelt on and closes the door with a stiff arm. Alone in the back, you do the same after a slight beat of hesitation; a second of something like panic hitting you in the chest.

It was stupid to ask why he would be acting like this, but you still wondered if you had really met Kyle’s breaking point. The aggressive re-situating of his ball cap seemed like a good hint—the rod-straight spine and tapping fingers on the door-arm.

He was in full gear.

But…this was what you wanted, right? A breaking point?

Your mouth opens and then slowly closes, breath caught in your throat and not knowing what to say. Why did you feel like you’d just done something irreversible?

Gaze darting to the floor, you glare at the mats as the vehicle jerks forward, turning to bring you back to the mansion surrounded by metal like an abyss and bullet-proof glass.

“I…found some stuff, y’know,” you puff out, not liking the strangling silence about two minutes in. The USB in your pocket sits heavy.

Again, no one answers. The Sergeant’s eyes don’t even glance at you from the mirror. Frustration grows like a virus.

“I wouldn’t have done this if you’d just let me help, Gaz.” You try to get him to speak, suddenly nervous and building in volume…or was that desperation? “I mean, really, it’s my dad!”

Nothing.

Face stained with shame and lips peeled into a sneer, your eyes crinkle with a slight burning sensation trapped behind the skin. You sit with shaky fingers the entire ride, your mouth strangling down the loud exclamations as to why this wasn’t your fault so you don’t bark like a dog.

You had to, didn’t Gaz understand that?

Whatever was in your father’s belongings would tell you what you needed to know—break this entire thing open. And if the rest of the Sergeant’s friends overseas could track down the two that started this, all of it could be over.

You could be left alone again, finish your classes, and…and…

Brows slowly slide in.

What then? As the car pulls up through your gate, you find a horrifying realization that you have no idea.

Unclipping your seatbelt, you go to try and open the door with a frown, only to find it’s unwilling to release you. Lightly pushing on the material again, your eyes slowly widen.

No way.

Kyle had child-locked you.

Gaping, you have to wait for Gaz to get out in a long moment of letting this new reality settle into your blood. He does so after pure silence, seeming as if he might say something, but the Brit just ends up sighing loudly and shaking his head. Gaz gets out and grasps the handle to your door, pulling it out and standing back—all without a mumble.

Like you want to prove to yourself that this doesn’t make your chest feel weird, you shuffle out and scoff at him. But anyone can see the guilty expression on your face.

Striding up to the front door, you push at it with your shoulder, the night air cold and encompassing before the relatively warmer air of your house hits your face. The plate you’d left out for the cat hours earlier is left behind on the step, empty.

Kyle follows close after, hands hanging off his combat vest. In the foyer is when you snap.

“Are you going to speak up or keep acting like a child? Look at the stuff I got, Garrick!” You hold the items in display as you can hear the car out front leave in a grind of gravel. “This could be the answer to if my father really—”

The laptop and the journal are all swiped from your grasp and he’s pushing past you before you can continue. Shocked, even petrified for a moment, your mouth flaps like a fish.

Realization hits you like a truck.

“Fucker!” That was a new one.

Twisting on your heel, you stalk quickly after the male as he stomps, hands clenched into themselves and the skin of your knuckles thin. “Give those back! Garrick—don’t you ignore me, I don’t deserve this!”

It’s like he snaps at that, whipping around and pointing a finger right into your face. You balk back, surprise and alarm alighting your features.

“Deserve?!” Your eyes blink rapidly, lips parted. You stare widely into his cheek scar as his lips turn into an attacking jibe. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, what you deserve is to be locked into a fucking jail cell! Least then I’d be able to keep track of you, eh? What kind of bastard do you have to be to think that was a good idea?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it your family that’s,” you splay your hands, the house echoing with the sounds of verbal battle. The glass finally shatters. “Being goddamn hunted, Sergeant? Your father that got his head fucking imploded?”

You didn’t want to admit how much this argument was making you feel uneasy, but you want your father’s things back. They belong to you, and now they’re stuck in this jerk’s gloved hands like a doll. Those things were valuable; they could fix this.

“If it was me, I wouldn’t be running off like a bloody fool! I’d be listening to the people that are here to keep me alive!” You growl and shake your head. “How thick-headed are you?!”

Gaz isn’t done, his finger moving back and forth as the skin of his cheek tightens, lips dancing to speak rapidly like a fire was under his feet.

“Your father is dead.” Blood drains from your body, expression immediately blanking. “He’s gone and he wasn’t someone to be proud of. Whoever he was with you was a facade for his family and the public. If it wasn’t an end by Row, it would have been by someone else, yeah, you understand that?” Tears infect the sides of your wide gaze, and you’re suddenly sucked into Gaz’s eyes as you had been the first day you’d both met. Amber and flashing gold—enraged emotion and raw bluntness that you’d had yet to experience in this capacity. What had happened to his sarcasm? His stern and laughable annoyance?

“Hell,” he keeps going, moving his finger to point to the side. “Look at the carnage he’s caused just by being dead—innocent civilians and a fucking daughter who fights for an honor that doesn’t exist! You’re mental, Love, fucking mental!”

Kyle pants, staring into your face and your tiny pupils; your shaking body. He grits his teeth and peels back, angrily twitching his nose.

“If you would listen to me, this all would have already been over with, can you get that through your skull? I’ve tried to be nice about this, truly, but I’m done. No more leaving the mansion; no more late-night stunts that leave me callin’ up my Mates only to find you’ve gone and snuck out. No more damn,” he holds up the laptop and journal, “involvement from you. You’re done. I’m done.”

The house gradually goes back to silence, but it’s no longer a deep, ancient feeling. It’s like walking on glass, blood pooling along the soles of feet and sticking through flesh.

You stare and can’t find it in yourself to breathe anymore.

Amber darts to your bloody nose and Gaz bares his teeth, face bright with dismissal. He pushes past the concern at the crimson flecks. He’s done trying to earn your favor, so he blankly spits out, “Clean yourself up. I’m finished with being your bloody punching bag,” and turns down the hall.

“I fucking hate you,” the words spill out in a strangled gasp, a wheeze on your tongue. Gaz pauses, his back taunt and straight. His chin partially peeks over his shoulder.

“Good.” The worlds feel like lead. “It can go both ways, Love.”

When he disappears, you stand in the darkness and feel the first dribbles of tears wet your lashes—making them stick to one another as you stutter on air.

Your brain can’t make sense of it.

Empty-handed, your body is so heavy the first few steps in the direction of your room feel like you’re dragging a statue of stone behind you; the rope tied to your fingers and toes. But when the bile starts to fizzle in your throat, you pick up the pace; darting through your opened bedroom door and beelining to your bathroom.

Just in time, your face finds the toilet, vomit coming out in sputtering coughs as your sobs exit moments later, stuck between the acid in your throat and your stubbornness.

You hated crying—hated vomiting—but lately, it was like those were the only things you could do; your body didn’t listen to your pleas or begging, only did what it wanted. On that front, you believe that your brain and matter were equally matched.

Gasping and feeling saliva drip off your lips, you raggedly cough up what little you had in your stomach until you can sit back against the wall and blankly stare ahead. With varying success you try and take down deep breaths, shivering something awful as the chill gets to you.

But suddenly the silence of the mansion was a prison.

The water pipes, the small creaking—the click of your small clock out in your room.

Click-clock, click-clock, click-clock.

Your mind told you that you shouldn't feel bad. Shouldn’t be wearing that thousand-yard stare as you tase vomit on your tongue and in your throat; the burn of that shame and guilt. You had nothing to be guilty of—nothing.

It was your father, not Gaz’s. He’d do the very same thing.

Right?

You grasp at your scalp and lean forward, slotting your head in between your knees. Everything spins and twirls, there’s a violent need to satiate the thirst in your throat, but you can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.

“...I’ve tried to be nice about this, truly, but I’m done. No more leaving the mansion; no more late-night stunts that leave me callin’ up my Mates only to find you’ve gone and snuck out. No more damn,” he holds up the laptop and journal, “involvement from you. You’re done. I’m done.”

Gaz’s hands on your palm and the way your very injured hand stings now in memory; those stitches popped and bandages bloody—the crimson on your nose.

How he held you in the kitchen and leaned you back against the island. Spoke so softly and casually, as if you hadn’t nearly passed out on him.

He’d apologized not hours before you’d gone and snuck out.

Your heart tightens.

He’d apologized.

Your fingers dig into your flesh, biting hard as you suck down sobs and tiny whimpers; tears staining your clothes in fast droplets.

“If it wasn’t an end by Row, it would have been by someone else…Look at the carnage he’s caused just by being dead…a fucking daughter who fights for an honor that doesn’t bloody exist!”

You curl into a tiny ball of horror.

“I’m finished with being your bloody punching bag.”

—

Kyle moved his things to the room directly in front of yours in the middle of the night, when you’d passed out from your panic on the bathroom floor. He’d grasped all of his belongings with clenched hands, bags contouring under the force.

At every instance, he cursed your name and everything you’d put him through.

“Bloody, unbelievable,” he growls, shoving clothes into his duffel bag before zipping it up and wrenching it over his shoulder.

It was rare to find the Brit this mad, so often level-headed.

“Give her every chance in the books, and what does she do?” He flicks the lights of his old room off and quickly walks down the hallway. “Fucking plays me for a fool! Jesus. Brilliant, just brilliant.”

There was no way to describe how his heart had jerked out of his chest when he’d come to try and speak to you hours earlier; when he’d found the room empty after knocking for minutes—trying to be considerate to your privacy.

The open window, the damn curtain rack.

It was insulting.

Gaz stalks in a bitter and steam-emitting silence to the room across from yours, not bothering to check on the cracked open door from your own. You’d had your fun, you’d probably just forgotten to close the door fully as you made fun of him behind his back.

Kyle frowns and sets his things down on the white, sheeted-covered bed that would be his. Tiny, and not even long enough to let his legs stay on it fully.

He tries not to remind himself about how afraid you’d looked as he’d laid into you. Halfway through his barking match of emotion, he’d thought maybe it was time to stop—to ease off a bit and reel it back in, but then it had become necessary.

If you didn’t listen to him when he was calm, the fact was that you wouldn’t listen to him at all. Best to get it all off his chest while he could.

He’d already sent in a reassignment request to Laswell not an hour prior.

Taking out his things, his fingers brush your stolen laptop and journal. Christ, there was so much paperwork to go through after what you’d done—damage reports and write-ups on his record for losing track of his VIP; the crimes you’d stacked like awards that needed to be scrubbed.

This wasn’t only a protection Op, this was his job.

And you were taking a hammer to his perfect track rep.

Pulling out the two items, Gaz huffs and shakes his head, running his free hand over his chin.

“Two things and it couldn’t have waited a few more days? What is this girl about?” They’re placed down on the bed and not given another glance.

He’d have to go through them later.

Kyle goes and splays both of his hands over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes before taking a deep breath to fill his lungs with oxygen. An attempt to calm down.

You’ll not get anything done acting like this.

The resounding truth was that he was tired. You’d tested him to the point of snapping—how was that even possible? You were a bloody Uni student with a big mouth and a stubborn streak, not even a drug lord could do what you did.

You’d gotten him to yell at you and on the other end, he’d gotten you to look at him. Yes, look, with your own volition, but that fact left a sour taste in his mouth where it should have felt like a triumph after the terrible first in the park.

You’d stared into his eyes with utter shock and numb fear—as if he’d pull a gun on you.

A civilian. His charge.

You had been terrified, even if you’d tried to use entitlement to sneak around it. You’d been shaking. With eyes dead still.

“God, you twat,” Gaz grunts. Had he really called you mental? “Bloody hell, you’re in for it.”

You’d be livid tomorrow when it catches up to you. A damn near homemade bomb wrapped in metal and filled with nails; Gaz’s name written on the top in red ink.

As he kept his door open to stare at yours in the middle of the night, the Sergeant prepared himself, still angry and dreading the future.

If only it could be that simple.

In the morning, you wouldn’t even look at him.

Wearing a large hoodie and pajama bottoms, you had already downed three cups of coffee by 9 o’clock, your body stiff and the air around your head a cloud of indiscernible separation. But it wasn’t like Gaz had tried to speak to you, either.

Both of you were forced to be in the same room, as the Sergeant wouldn’t let you alone save for the bathroom. You couldn’t be trusted.

It was mental torture.

Jaw clenching, the man watched you work on your personal laptop, doing classwork while your USB stuck out of the port—he blinked away, writing up his own reports on the incident last night.

The air was so thick you could be lost in it like a forest full of mist. It simmered; burned—then cooled to a degree of freezing before starting back up again. No words, no acknowledgements.

Brown drifts back to your blank face as your fingers stop over your laptop’s keys, a small tremor, and then get back to it. Gaz bites his lip and closes his eyes harshly, shaking his head once.

He had to stop feeling guilty for the truth. You needed to hear what he said, no matter how blunt. It was the truth, after all.

But the truth didn’t stop his heart from hurting when you reverted to a state of waking nothingness with little desire to eat or move beyond the shuffle of your body.

Gaz sighs and tells himself it’s not his problem anymore—in a little bit he’d be gone if Laswell approved him for transfer. Back with One-Four-One. Working with people who trust him and his judgment.

It was for the best.

You stare at the ‘enter password’ screen on your laptop with a chill on your neck, blind to all else as you wrack your brain for answers.

The USB from your father’s office was password protected. Ten tries before it got locked out. You’d gone through five already.

Staring hard, Gaz keeps distracting you.

He was sitting in the living room with you, on the opposite couch as well as on the opposite end—as far as he could be with still being near. Being in this state and feeling the tension in the air made you lightheaded with anxiety.

It’s as if every urge to speak or breathe near him dissipates; your face a perpetual furnace, blood on fire.

Focus, you have to tell yourself, but it only makes it worse. Eyes dig into the screen as the two words blend into one another, taunting.

You can hear his breath, the scratch of his pen as it travels over paper—if the circumstances had been different, it would have been the picture of quiet companionship.

A pity you both were the way you are.

The shame was urging you to apologize, to rectify what you’d done; pride was taking that shame by the throat. But you were faced with the reality that you couldn’t go back to living alone like you had before, because this silence was enough to make you go insane.

You missed his voice, and you’d only been without it for a short while. Kyle’s smirk and his cheeky quips. You both hated it and longed for something to grapple to.

It was true, you admitted, hands over the keys, you’d grown used to him. It was disgusting.

About to chance another possible password—your parent’s anniversary halfway typed in—the front door rings.

Immediately, everything that had seemingly already been still, halts.

Freezing, you stare at the laptop and let the echo spread across the mansion, the high ding of the rarely used object. Your eyes slowly rise to stare at the living room opening, blinking, and for a moment any thought of Kyle and the argument; the hatred at your stubbornness and pride, utterly ceases to exist.

With a twitch of your fingers, you close your laptop in what seems like hours, the tiny sound it makes when it lays flat making your ear perk.

Gaz’s head is already swiveled, body wound up. He sends a quick glance your way before standing and reaching for the X12 in his waistband. Your eyes catch the glint of his watch and you look away with a frown, lids narrowed with hesitation.

Tell him you’re sorry. You know you are.

Standing to follow, Kyle sends a hard look your way. Your feet stall.

Both of you seem surprised by that.

The Sergeant’s eyes widened for a second, hand on his weapon loosening and pulse up-ticking. So much expressed with absolutely no words to be muttered aloud. You take a deep breath and lick your lips, not able to speak over a raspy grunt of, “Kyle…I-I—”

The doorbell rings again, longer this time.

You snap your mouth shut.

Kyle looks you up and down, but his feet only hesitate a moment longer. He turns his head away quickly and carefully leaves the living room.

Running a hand over your neck, you close your eyes and contort your face into an image of confused pain, an inner hatred at…everything. You’d messed up. Badly.

And you were afraid of your own fear. Afraid of your sudden unease at Gaz’s absence and his angry silence. Afraid because, deep down, you knew his outburst last night was nothing but the truth.

Sighing, you sit back down and lean into the cushions with a growing headache. You wanted more coffee, your stomach rolled with hunger, and you were cold.

You hated being like this.

“...Sweetheart?” your head whips up to a familiar face in the grand double doorway, breath getting taken in with a big inhale.

A woman dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants stands with a hefty designer purse over her shoulder, face open and soft, blinking through the wetness at the corners which you stare at in pause.

Gaz comes in behind her with another man, tall and blond with a mustache—your mother’s guard, because that was who the woman was after all...your mother. Home. The Sergeant looks over at you and places his gun back with a small sigh.

You clear your throat, standing before you shuffle your feet.

“Hey, Ma,” you glance to the side, itching at your arm. “How’ve you—”

You’re slammed into a tight hug and you flinch violently into it, sharp noise escaping your lungs and Kyle takes a quick step forward in alarm. The blond guard sends him a look of confusion, but the Brit stares at you and feels his lips thin.

“Oh, my God!” Your mom exclaims in utter relief, sagging to you and placing a hand firmly on the back of your head. “I was so worried, I-I saw the news about the shooting but I wasn’t able to get in contact with you.”

Your body is moved back and forth and you awkwardly place your hand on the small of her back. You stare at the far wall like a stuffed animal. Your mother was never a hugger, but maybe Gaz’s expression in the kitchen had been true. People change.

Three years.

“Christ, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you. Are you alright, talk to me.” The meat of your arms is taken and you’re maneuvered back so your matriarch—and last remaining family member—can look you in the eyes.

You quickly move your head to the side.

“I’m fine, Mom,” licking your lips, you shrug. “Glad you’re back…How was overseas?”

She sighs, looking at you in concern, and brushes past your question.

“You look sick,” your chin is taken and moved to the side, and another hand is taken and placed on your head. “And you’re running hot—when’s the last time you slept?”

Hot? You’ve never felt more cold.

“Mom,” taking a small step back, you whisper out a meaningful utterance.

“Okay, okay,” she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m a worrier...But, how have things held up? I feel like we haven’t been able to speak in lifetimes.”

We haven’t. Who’s fault was that?

Gaz tilts his head at the interaction, seeing your uncomfortable stiffness and your mother’s open and obvious love. This wasn’t how you described her at all, but then again, your mum’s actions weren’t the same either.

“How’s it been?” Alex asks, his arms crossed as the two women speak in low tones a few feet away. Your body is seen shifting and hands flexing. “Heard some stuff, everything goin’ smooth over here?”

“Wouldn’t call it smooth, Mate,” Kyle utters. “Recon you had it better than I have.”

“Ah,” the CIA Officer shrugs. “Gonna be honest, the Old Lady’s pretty easy—most I had to do was ask for her tea with extra sugar while on the plane.”

He sends over a twitch of his lips, a raised eyebrow. But the expression shifts to serious moments later.

“Word is the boys overseas haven't got any leads, they’re stuck in the dirt with this.” Kyle grits his teeth.

“Nothing?”

“Nada.”

“Fuckin’ hell. That’s bollocks—how well are those two hidden?” Alex moves his fingers from their hold on his biceps, moving them up in a show of ‘no clue.’

He draws out his words with a huff. “It’s going to push out this timeline even farther than it already is, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

“There any good news?” Gaz watches you as your feet realign, hands going to hide inside your sweatshirt pocket. A bobbing to your throat makes his shoulders turn in.

What is your problem? the Sergeant hums to himself. It's just her mum—Christ. Ease off it. Alex’s eyes narrow in question when he notices the hatted man’s attention is half on you and half on the conversation.

“...Not any worthwhile.”

“They’re expecting us to just wait? We can’t stay in a single bloody location forever, it makes a bigger target.” A brown gaze doesn’t stray from you as he says this.

“Not much we can do, Garrick. VIPs take priority.”

Kyle shakes his head in disapproval. “For now, we might have something here—some new intel. Have to look into it.”

Alex perks, his arms falling to his sides. “How’d you come by that?”

“Long story.” Gaz sighs deeply and the blond chuckles, giving a half-shrug.

“Fair enough.” Alex nods to you and Kyle tenses. “It have to do with her?”

“...Longer story.” That gets a few grunted laughs, and the Sergeant smirks lightly, feeling a bit better to have someone he knows to talk to.

Across the way, you explain everything the best you can to your mother in small sentences and stuttering words. Her hands don’t leave you; studying you deeply at every mico-expression.

“Well,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I’ll make us some tea, hm? Start cleaning up the estate when I get settled. I understand it’s a lot of work, but let’s at least open the curtains.”

She laughs and it fills you with dead. Clean up? She didn’t really expect to mess with everything right? Your mother kisses your cheek.

“I’ll be right back—be sure to introduce yourself to Alex. And do try to be respectful.” Her fingers pinch your skin and you thin your lips. “Smile, Dear. No foul language. A-and let’s try to get some sleep tonight, okay? School can wait.”

“Right. Yeah, I know.” She nods and smiles brightly, before telling you how happy she is to see you again. Your mother walks out and slips past Alex and Gaz.

Two sets of eyes level on your form.

You waste no time snatching up your laptop and quickly walking to the separate set of doors, ignoring the confused looks before entering the hallway and breathing heavily.

This should be a good thing—having your mother back. Hell, you should be relieved she’s still alive after everything that went down.

So why did it feel like everything was going to change? Three years and you’d had it under control, your routine, the fitful nights, you’d managed—not well, but you had. Now all of that was gone; stripped away like some meaningless cloth.

It wasn’t meaningless to you.

The house was the way it was—like you in many senses. You lived with the covered furniture, and the curtains over with windows with a glance and nothing more. That was your normal.

She’s going to change everything. She’s just come back and she’s going to wreck it.

It wasn’t fair to her to be like this, but it wasn’t fair to you to have disappeared when you needed a mom more than anyone.

“Oh, God,” you cover your mouth with your hand and try to push away the footsteps that follow behind you, the nearly vacant press of shoes.

Of course, he wouldn’t even allow you to have five minutes to gather yourself.

Gaz doesn’t utter a sound as he follows at your heels, staring into the back of your head. You briefly wonder where the ‘Alex’ fellow went, but find you don’t even care. Your mother was here after all. She’d take care of it.

She’d take care of everything.

You glare painfully at the hardwood ahead of you and hold your laptop tighter, wishing you had your father’s journal—something that belonged to him. But Gaz had already stashed it away, probably locked it up from you.

And you can’t find it in yourself to be angry, which makes you annoyed.

That annoyance stays, just as the guard at your side does, even one day later. You don’t speak anymore, you don’t quip and dig; he doesn’t respond or smirk—no jokes taken in stride where yours are blunt and his whitty.

Everything changes overnight.

Gaz had seen your body completely turn to stone on the stares when you’d come down and glanced at the furniture open to the air, no sheets or coverings. Things were dusted and set on display; even taken from storage and laid out in expensive finery. He’d darted his vision down at you and tightened his lips, again saying to himself that it won’t be his problem for much longer.

Yet, when he’d clocked your very-much real panic at the sight of the open curtains, he’d nearly put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed, having to restrain himself.

You didn’t take it well.

“Honey!” Your mother calls down from the foyer, holding her phone in her hand. “Lovely, just who I was looking for. Do you think we should change the colors from navy to green, or to violet?”

You stare in horror, hands clenched into fists near the banister.

“I-” your voice stutters. “Why are you changing the navy?”

“Well…it’s a bit dated, don’t you think?” Gaz’s face pulls. “Let’s, I don’t know, mix it up a little!” She laughs, flicking some dust from the coffee table near the old fireplace. “We’re back together—it’s time to move on.”

And still, to his shock, you say nothing, the fight sucked out of you. You bite your tongue and hold it all in as he spares you wide brown eyes. A sound of confusion bounces from Kyle’s throat.

If it were anyone else you’d be down their ear by now—barking about the history and the memories.

For a moment he’s left as you slowly start back down the steps, back straight and neck tense, blinking at your spine.

He almost speaks to you.

Almost, but not quite.

As you seem to sink into a hole of mute acceptance you begin to close up even more—what little you’d opened up to Gaz was shuttering closed with a great shaky slam.

“Hey,” Alex is leaning against the wall as a loyal hound would, keeping an eye on the ground floor. When he sees you he stands up straighter. “We weren’t properly introduced—Alex Keller, I’m glad to hear you’re—”

You stride past and grasp at the single straw to your name—the USB. You’d still had no luck with it yet. Only two tries left. It was weighing on your soul more than your mother’s insistence on eating meals at the family table.

“...alright…”

Alex passes a look to Gaz and the Sergeant only shakes his head over his shoulder and quickly moves.

The blond is left with lightly parted lips and quickly blinking eyes—hand barely outstretched in failed greeting.

You end up in the library, hurriedly messing with the books under your name and piling them on the table out of instinct. Call you possessive, but no way was your mother touching anything that directly belonged to you.

You own the estate now, you remind yourself, just tell her to stop.

You only grab books faster—especially the ones that your father read. Maybe there was something of importance there; he liked to highlight and annotate important sections and quoted things often.

A sequence of numbers or a code? A phrase? Who knew at this point, but you needed to do something. Keep you occupied.

Keep you from thinking about the silent man who watches you from the side of his eye near the door.

The silent treatment—you weren’t new to it.

Just didn’t expect it from a soldier in his mid to late twenties.

Huffing, you drop more books onto the table and tidy them, brushing off dust in your form of cleaning with a slap of your hand. When you’re done, the large objects are piled high in front of you and relatively dusted.

Breathing stiffly, you try to push back the weight on your lungs before brushing off the heat on your cheeks as Gaz watches, head tilted and face tight.

If he’s anything as stubborn as you, he’ll be keeping this up for—

“What’s the question, then?”

You immediately wind up like a jack-in-the-box, eyes daring to connect with Kyle’s. Twitching, you settle instead on his scar; studying the darkness. It’s a minute before you respond, and when you do, it’s nearly silent.

Brows moved with apprehension.

“Kyle?” You ask, sticking your hands into your pockets. You’d left your coin back in your room. A frown mixes with a grimace.

It’s hard to admit how his voice made your heart lurch.

Gaz clears his throat, feet shifting, but his voice is still hard and monotone. “Your question. You cleaned the books off.”

“I help you clean, and when I say we take a break, I have to answer one question of your choice.”

Your bargain. A bit skewed, yeah, but apparently it counted.

“...I don’t have one,” you admit lowly, not a hostile thorn heard. Vision sliding, you look down at your objects. Apologize. Grunting, you grasp a few of the books, moving forward with them in your arms.

Kyle lets you slide past, moving his shoulder until you’re not about to bump into it. In the bright light of the open curtains, he stares after and closes his eyes; breathing in through heavy lungs.

Re-assignment couldn’t come soon enough. If not for his sanity, then for yours.

Kyle fiddles with his watch and fixes his cap once before continuing after you, a very large hole of something in his chest that can’t be filled.

By how he wishes for your sarcastic comments and your fiery spite right about now, staring with growing worry at your hunched shoulders, he dreads what that something could be.

Tonight he’d take a look at your father’s laptop and journal—too busy yesterday with paperwork and reports; getting through red tape and trying to get into contact with Price.

He hadn’t told you, but there had been a break-in at the museum the same night you had snuck out. Same section. Same box bearing your father’s name ripped open and thrown to the ground. Five minutes after his team had cleared it.

Five minutes after you’d left with the items in your dust-coated hands and bloody nose. Your wide, fake-innocent, eyes over the corner of that roof.

Someone was playing games.

And they were getting closer.

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