#and adding steps to our cat wall | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ownlittleuniverse · 10 months ago

Note

Hii, how was your day?

Can you do a Hesitant Hero and A Flirty Villain? Maybe Villain Escapes from the prison and when hero chases them gets caught in a trap in the villain's lair. Hero's can't handle the proximity?

my day’s been pretty chill & good ty for asking, glad to have time to write again :) @marichika04

request #1 - the hero gets caught in the villain’s trap

warning: themes of captivity, suggestive language (not nsfw)

The hero hated admitting they looked forward to these daily checkups, which is why they wouldn’t.

With a keycard in one hand and a list of questions in the other, the hero approached the metal cell door with an intake of breath.

The villain only agreed to talk to them for some reason, adding yet another mystery the hero needed to solve.

The door opened with a beep, revealing the villain lounging casually against the wall, as if they were comfortable, as if they wanted to be there. Their untouched breakfast lay before them.

The hero sighed. “You need to eat,” they muttered, crouching down to the villain's level, glaring at the back of their head. The villain had been in the team's capture for over a week and had barely eaten.

“I’ve fed my dog better.”

The hero suspected they were starving themselves on purpose, perhaps intending to die with secrets still buried in their mind. Yet, a part of the hero also wanted them to eat for their own health, so they wouldn’t waste away.

The villain turned, eyes locking onto the clipboard in the hero’s hand. A smirk spread across their face as they met the hero's eyes. “I’ll agree to answer more boring questions if you give me something edible.”

The hero tried to maintain their courage, but they felt the villain could see through the facade, see their cracks, see how scared they really were.

“You will answer them because you’re our prisoner,” they replied, not missing how their own voice shook slightly.

The villain only smiled, tilting their head slightly, a glint in their eye that the hero recognized.

“What?” the hero gulped.

The villain shook their head, chuckling.

The hero stood, stepping away from the villain, feeling a slight relief with the added distance. Despite the bars between them, the hero felt an unsettling mix of emotions whenever they were close to the villain—an intense nervousness that they couldn’t quite categorize as liked or loathed.

They wished they could make these confusing feelings vanish and needed a distraction. They began scanning the list of questions on their clipboard, pondering when they might finally get answers to these questions from previous days, all left unanswered. The villain's stubbornness was their biggest strength.

“You heroes are so boring,” the villain groaned, standing to grip the metal bars, their fingers flexing around them. The hero glanced up, curiosity killing the cat.

“I would have answered all your questions ages ago if you weren’t so afraid to use more... creative methods, sweetheart.”

The hero tried to ignore the villain’s suggestive tone, returning to their clipboard, though they felt the villain’s gaze burning into them.

The villain didn’t miss how their face flushed. “Don’t be afraid to have a little fun,” they smiled. “If I were in your shoes, all the things I’d do to you would drag the answers right out.”

The hero’s mind flooded with images, their cheeks reddening. The villain wasn’t violent, but their interrogation methods always spiked the hero’s heartbeat in a way that was unsettling.

The hero had been trained to handle painful interrogations, and the villain knew this, which is why they always used these other methods. Their body reacted in a way their mind hated, but their body couldn’t help but adore. It was confusing. It was hell.

“Your threats mean nothing,” the hero said, barely audible, trying hard to suppress the unevenness in their voice. They still managed an erratic heartbeat in the villain’s presence, even though they couldn’t do anything from inside that cell.

“They still made your mind race,” the villain smirked. “And I’m sure—"

The hero heard a sharp intake of breath. They looked up in confusion.

Their eyes widened as they saw the villain’s hands grip the bars like their life depended on it. They slumped to the ground.

The hero dropped their clipboard and rushed over, the worst possibilities flooding their mind. Red seeped from the villain’s crumpled form. They looked like they were at death’s door.

“What—what’s going on?” the hero whispered, their hand moving to check the villain’s pulse. Their skin felt too cold.

The villain grunted, clutching their side, struggling to keep their eyes open. “Your teammates aren’t as nice as you are, darling,” they smiled, blood seeping through their teeth, making their grin more haunting.

The hero’s breathing quickened as they swore under their breath and ran from the room. They wondered if that was why the villain wasn’t eating much. Did the villain think the team had done something to their food? Maybe they had, but why? The hero’s mind raced through possibilities as they sprinted down the hallway.

Grabbing the first aid kit they spotted, they rushed back in.

But the scene that greeted them was a pool of red liquid, an open window…

And an empty cell.

That little bastard.

The hero cursed, bolting to the window just in time to see the villain sprint into oncoming traffic, kicking a poor bystander out of their car and getting in. How did they get down so fast?

The hero needed to act quickly.

Adrenaline surged as they dove out of the window, hitting the ground with a roll. Their shoulder scraped against the pavement, pain shooting down their back and arm. They hissed through their teeth.

They grunted but got back on their feet, signalling to other guards that the hero would handle the situation. The hero wasn’t even in uniform, only a tank top and pants. No weapons, just themselves.

They ran toward the sound of honking cars and panicked voices, watching the villain weave through traffic, picking up speed.

The hero jumped into a car vacated by a startled civilian, slammed on the gas, and shouted, “Sorry!”

The hero could still see the villain’s car in the distance, weaving recklessly through traffic. Sweat coated their palms, blood from their scraped shoulder seeping onto the seat. Their foot pressed harder on the gas.

They’d be in serious trouble if they didn’t return with the villain. The team would get a reputation for letting a villain escape because the hero was too gullible. Too scared. Not fit for the job.

A sharp ache filled their chest. The team already said the hero was growing soft.

Being soft wasn’t bad, but it was bad when someone used it against you.

The hero watched as the villain took a sharp left, their car’s rear slamming into a trash can on the sidewalk, sending metal shards flying. Bystanders jolted back, screams of shock echoing.

The hero followed the turn, the car screeching against the pavement, their body thrown to the side. Breathing felt like a struggle, but they pressed the gas harder, their heartbeat matching the car’s speed.

They tailed the villain’s reckless turns, watching them narrowly avoid collisions. The hero closed in, seeing the back of the villain’s head, imagining their stupid smirk. So close.

The hero slammed on the brakes.

They realized then the person who came running into the street like a maniac, the person they barely missed slamming right into and turning into roadkill, was a cop.

Shit.

The hero watched the villain take a right in the distance.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

They got out of the car without a second thought.

They managed about five steps before a bruising grip halted them.

“What do you think you're doing?” the rookie snapped, gripping the hero’s arm firmly, anger in their voice making the hero flinch.

The hero looked at the scared civilians overwhelming the street with their shaking chatter. They were just trying to go about their day. Now their eyes reflected only terror.

Breathing heavily, the hero stared into the cop’s eyes, which were seeing red.

Without their uniform, they were just another reckless civilian.

“You are going to sit in my car,” the cop gruffed, handcuffs inches from the hero’s wrist, “while I go get your friend.”

The hero didn’t have time to explain or fix this mess.

So they headbutted the cop and ran.

The hero didn’t wait for the officer to recover, sprinting with all their might.

“Stop!”

The hero took the right turn, legs burning, the cop’s shouts fading behind them. Slowing down, they saw the villain’s car parked askew in front of an old, abandoned-looking apartment building.

The graffiti-covered walls looked familiar, but they couldn’t place it. Maybe because it felt like they were dying.

They doubled over, hands on knees, trying to catch their breath. They knew the villain was near, their skin prickling with awareness.

The cop’s pounding footsteps echoed, breath heavy, just about to round the corner.

The hero quickly jumped through a broken window, ducking down.

They tried to breathe quietly, feeling their pulse in their ears. They backed up slowly, crouching, holding the weapon they snagged from the cop unnoticed.

The hero watched the cop pass by, sporting a new bloody nose.

With one finger delicately on the trigger, the hero continued to back up carefully. They needed to find the villain, and then clean up their giant mess.

Their foot caught on something uneven, causing them to stumble. They looked down.

Rope?

The rope tightened around their ankle, lifting their foot in the air.

Their body swiftly followed.

Their head smacked against the dirty pavement, their heart dropping to their stomach.

They groaned, cradling their head, feeling a bump forming as their vision blurred.

Somehow, over their heartbeat, they heard their echoed yelp bounce off the apartment’s walls.

Now the world was upside down.

“I know you’re here!” the cop shouted. “Come out!”

They must have heard the scream.

The hero held their breath, eyes wide, praying the cop wouldn’t glance their way.

They watched the cop frantically search, feeling their pulse in their feet.

Please. Please. Please. Don’t look this way.

After seconds that felt like hours, the cop swore and stomped off, muttering into their radio.

The hero would’ve sighed with relief,

but the rope still dug into their ankle bone.

They looked down—or up, given their position—and saw the cop’s weapon on the floor, just out of reach.

They stretched, arm and hand straining, fingers brushing the metal.

The hero was tired, exhausted. Their breath was uneven, their body shaking.

Their body weight pulled at their ankle, sending tingles through their feet, muscles screaming in protest.

Focusing all their energy, they pulled more, blocking everything else out.

Finally, they inched the weapon closer, feeling the cool metal on their fingertips. Slowly, they grasped the end—

A deafening crack exploded inches away.

They yelped, retracting their hand just in time to avoid a bullet hole.

Pure fear shot through their swaying body.

Hands cradling their head, they tried to block out the deafening ringing in their brain.

The hero frantically twisted, seeing nothing but the upside-down view of the apartment’s walls. No other breathing but their own.

Their vision blurred, seeing double, then quadruple. Their ankle grew numb, pins and needles dancing on the bottom of their foot as the rope dug into their skin.

They saw the cop’s weapon but didn’t dare grab it again.

“Look at you, dangling like a piece of meat.”

The villain’s voice cut through their frantic haze, making the hairs on their neck stand up.

They swung around to see the villain lounging in a chair, examining the weapon that had nearly ended the hero’s hand, holding the rope supporting the hero’s entire body weight like it was nothing.

“How the mighty have fallen,” the villain chuckled, fingers tracing the barrel.

The hero let themselves dangle, the villain’s fingers close to the trigger keeping them compliant. Their pulse pounded in their head.

“I’m not a piece of meat,” the hero managed to say, their voice betraying them with fear.

The villain looked up, eyes narrowing with interest. “I’m aware, darling, and I’m glad you aren’t,” the villain smirked. “Pieces of meat don’t let out the sounds you do.”

The hero’s cheeks flushed with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and something else they refused to acknowledge. The villain knew their fear, like sharks smelling blood in the water.

The villain slowly stood, tossing the weapon back and forth, taunting the hero. The hero glanced between the villain and their still-captured ankle, trying to wiggle free, grunting and crying out.

The villain strolled toward the hero, footsteps like the ticks of a bomb before it detonates.

The hero thrashed, trying to reach the cop's weapon but pushed it away instead.

No. No.

They whined in their restraints, trying to sit up to untie their ankle, their breathing erratic as the villain closed in, the weapon swinging between their hands.

The hero gulped. It could easily annihilate anyone or at the least, leave them with a missing limb.

Desperate, they sat up, managing to get one finger under the rope, a flicker of hope—

“Ah, Ah, Ah.”

The villain yanked the rope hard.

The hero gasped, falling back to meet the villain eye to eye, smirk to scowl.

They could try to escape, but the villain’s proximity was terrifying. The hidden intentions in their eyes, their smirk—they were too afraid to move.

“You know,” the villain began, their tone mockingly casual, “it’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

The hero flinched, breath hitching at the villain’s soft hand trailing across their ankle bone, sending shivers up their leg. Their body betrayed them, a mix of dread and anticipation coursing through their veins.

“I give a cop a bloody nose, and I’m labelled the bad guy,” the villain smirked. “You do the same, and you’re still the hero. The difference, I suppose, is that I’m not someone’s good little lapdog.

The hero’s chest heaved with anger. They wanted to snap back, but the villain’s soft touch kept them at bay. They were afraid that if they opened their mouth, only sounds they didn’t want to come out would escape.

Yet they wanted to scream.

They hated the villain for making them feel this way. They had rushed to help the villain in the cell, felt bad, maybe even cared. When did they become so gullible? When were they not naive?

The villain finally released the hero’s ankle, a mix of relief and longing flooding the hero’s mind.

Then they tied the hero’s wrists together, letting them dangle above their head.

The hero tried to regulate their breathing, the rope biting into their ankle, the world still disorienting as more blood rushed to their head.

The villain knelt, eyes level with the hero’s, examining their pitiful state.

Suddenly, the hero felt their tank top crumple under gravity’s pull, exposing their midriff.

The villain didn’t glance, keeping their gaze locked on the hero’s mortified reaction, making the hero’s body tingle.

They reached out, fingers grazing the hero’s waist. The hero sucked in breath.

“Don’t worry, I won’t peek,” the villain teased, fingers lingering before slowly pulling the tank back up.

Their touch was deliberate, disguised as innocence. It sent unwanted shivers down the hero's spine.

The hero’s face flushed, mind racing. The villain leaned closer, breath warm against the hero’s ear. "You know, back when I was captured, I couldn’t help but notice how you treated me. Different from the others. You were...nice."

The hero bit their lip, refusing to respond, their emotions a tangled mess of fear, anger, betrayal, and something else.

“I liked that,” the villain continued, almost thoughtful. “I liked that you were kind, even when you didn’t have to be.”

Before the hero could process those words, the villain pulled them further off the ground. The hero’s muscles screamed, a whine escaping them.

With practiced ease, the villain tied the hero’s hands to their feet, securing the knots tightly. The hero’s heart pounded, breath coming in short bursts, utterly at the villain’s mercy.

The villain’s smirk grew as they stepped back, admiring their handiwork. “We’re going to have a lot of fun,” they said, voice low and dangerous.

The hero didn’t have time to react.

In one swift motion, they pulled the hero’s tank over their head, using it to blindfold and gag them. The hero’s vision plunged into darkness, their screams muffled.

“Shh,” the villain whispered, their voice the hero’s only focus.

The hero’s mind raced with panic and unwanted desire, their body reacting despite their better judgment. They were trapped, helpless, at the villain’s mercy. This game had just begun, and the hero knew they were in for a long, torturous ordeal.

The hero remembered why the building was too familiar for comfort.

Memories that lay in those walls they tried to block out. Not because they hated them—no, because they were deathly afraid of how much they loved them.

156 notes · View notes

lostintransist · 7 months ago

Text

Tears from Dreams and Memories

Cross-posted from AO3, check out the tags over there but reader beware. I kill everyone in this little one-shot, and if I don't kill them they wish they were dead.

Check those tags out here.

Seriously, if you didn't check out the tags I kill everyone or they wish they were dead. Readers beware.

Happy Ending AU

You shouldn’t be running down the halls of the base. You know you shouldn’t be running. But fuck all if they weren’t right on your heels. The men had come back on base drunk and the creepy ones had searched you out. You choked down the sobs that threatened to escape. If you could just get far enough away you might be ab—

You slam into something hard. You had taken the corner fast, a hand still behind you on the wall to help you pivot. You look up, and up, and up. A hard skull mask stares down at you. Blackout paint hides everything beyond the whites of his eyes.

Maniacal laughter starts up from behind you. You can’t stop the flinch that wracks your body. Shifting your aim for the pocket of space between the man and the wall, your socks shift ever so slightly against the inside of your boots. His hand shoots out, grasping your arm before you pass him.

“Wait.”

The tone reeked of a command. No one gave commands on a base like this unless they knew they had the authority to back up the demand. The thump of steps against the thin carpet have you letting out a high-pitched keen and pulling against the bear paw holding you in place.

“Please, please, please let me go.” You barely understand the words tripping off your tongue.

Barbed wire is wrapped around your spine, it pulls tight when two men appear at the end of the hall.

“Ho ho! You found her! Our friend here owes us a good time tonight for bailing on drinks off base.” The blond sways only in his eyes, shifting over your breasts and ass.

The man with the black hair just leers, it’s almost worse.

The man holding you makes no move to let you go or tell off the men who followed you over half of the base for their ‘fun’. A change in the air occurs, a pin of a grenade hitting the dirt.

The hand on your arm tightens. The British accent surprises you, the base had been briefed that a unit on loan from the UK would be joining them for a few months. The line repeated to every man and woman below a certain rank is to leave them alone and if you have any questions submit them to the liaisons.

“Get back to your rooms, you have two seconds to get out of my sight or I will be having a chat with your base commander in the morning.”

They gape at skull man, their drunk minds stumbling trying to catch up.

“What?” The blond questions.

“One.”

Both men start to back up, and the menace in that single word tightens around your throat. You escaped two predators only to land with a stronger one.

“Tw—”

The soldiers take off, the threat finally processes past the alcohol. You pinwheel your arm as their boots disappear behind the corner. You break free of the grip on your arm and start forward away from this new evil. One step is all you can take before arms wrap tight around your chest. He caught your arms too, fingers dangling by your thighs.

All the fight in your body leaves, and your brain decides that there is no escape. Your head rolls forward, you don’t even have the energy to blink.

When your position changes your mind starts recording new memories. Looking around you find yourself on a chair in the kitchen connected to the mess hall. The beast of a man stands in front of you slowly adding hot water to a cup. Your breaths pick up speed, fingers curling on the edge of the chair.

Skull face turns and drops a knee in front of you. He looms close but doesn’t touch any part of you.

“None of that now, I am not here to hurt you. We are just having some tea and then I will walk you to your room.” He speaks with a slow tone as if coaxing a feral cat from beneath a car.

You can’t tell where his accent is from, England for sure but not the common one associated with the country in your mind.

“I..I…I don’t..don’t…like tea.” You stutter at him.

You see his brows draw down despite the mask.

“Well, I will give you a warm cup to hold while I drink my tea then.” His voice is as deep as it should be with the breadth of his shoulders.

He stays on his knee, looking you over until at some point known only to him, he stands. He removes the tea bag from both cups. He adds a splash of milk to both cups and an ungodly amount of sugar. He gives both a quick mix and hands you one. He pops a hip on the stainless steel counter. He’s so damn tall he has his left foot flat on the floor and still comfortably sit on the counter his right foot swaying slightly.

“Can you even,” deep shuddering breath, “call that tea with how much sugar is in it?”

“Can’t call it anything if you don’t try it,” he slips a finger below his mask lifting it enough to fit the mug to his mouth. He wears gloves too.

Once the mask cleared the edge of his jaw you slam your head down. You stare at the tea, the milk slowly swirling into the water. You turn away and take a sip. The idea of milk and water as a drink still didn’t compute but the sugar masked any issues you might have had.

You sip at the drink finishing only about half when the sounds of movement bring your head back to the scary man in the room with you. His hand is stretched out to you. Glancing up and down it you slowly place your cup in his hand. You don’t feel so adrift after the quiet company.

You stand, awkwardly holding your elbows while he rinses the cups and spoon, leaving them in the empty sink. When he turns back to you he motions with his fingers for you to head out of the kitchen. You do as instructed. He picks up the chair on his way out. You hold open the swinging door, manners ingrained from childhood. He nods his thanks, tucking the chair just so below the table.

You don’t move until he looks at you. You let the door swing shut and begin to lead the way back to your room. Once you clear the doors of the mess hall he falls into step with you. You walk the brightly lit halls, walls dotted with darkness for windows. He remains a steady presence at your side until you stop in front of a door that looks exactly like the others.

“Thank you for your help,” you stare at your boots, curling your toes inside them.

“Lock your door tonight.”

With that final command, he turns and walks away. You don’t know where the UK team is staying but it is nowhere near the dorms you slept in. You do as instructed, locking the door behind you after you confirm that your roommate is already in bed, snoring lightly. Sleep comes slowly, a skull mask haunting you behind your eyelids.

✮✮✮

Price stares down at his tea, blinking slowly. He sat in an empty officer’s room. The base commander was courting the 141. He had yet to come out with the goal of this collaboration. He wonders absently if the tip of a flask would make the morning meetings easier to handle.

A file is slapped down on the table in front of him. Ghost sits down, a seat between them.

“I want this one.”

Price blinks at the file, his cup, and then finally his lieutenant.

“It is too early for this. Speak clearly. What do you want?”

In lieu of answering Ghost reaches over and flips open the folder. It’s a personnel file. A neutral-faced woman stares out at him from the small photo.

“I am not helping you get a girlfriend, Ghost.”

His joke doesn’t land. Ghost snatches the mug of tea from his hand.

“Don’t be crass, I hate the team the base commander has given us to work with. I want this one.”

“You want a soldier right out basic who knows next to nothing about this base and has probably never even met the commander to be our new point of contact?” Price can’t keep the exasperation out of his voice.

Ghost slurps at the tea. Price sighs and massages right above his eyebrows. This would be a hard sell to the base commander.

“I’ll see what I can do, now get the fuck out of my face. I don’t want to see you until lunch.”

✮✮✮

The wrinkles on the base commander’s face absorbed light like a black hole. Price stood before the man’s desk, face neutral.

“You want to change from the team of our hand-chosen soldiers to accommodate any need you have on base for a baby? Am I understanding that right?” He flipped through the file Ghost had dropped on the table just this morning.

“My lieutenant has a tendency to eat anyone he doesn’t tolerate.”

“He eats people?” the commander cut in.

“I have no confirmation of if he actually eats people, commander, only that he will chew through any team you give him until they all beg for reassignment. To avoid that strain on your teams I am asking that you give us this one soldier who has been requested.” Price lays the facts out reasonably, tone hinting that the commander would be an idiot to ignore this request.

“How did they even meet? We have strict orders for most of our people to not interact with your team at all,” he tossed down the file on this desk.

“I tend not to ask questions that will only result in a dead-eyed stare. He won’t tell me even if I asked, I’ve learned to roll with what he gives me.”

The commander steeples his fingers, elbows resting on the arms of his office chair. Price noted the power move but was more concerned about what the mess hall would be serving for lunch. He wondered if he could put in a request for a clam chowder, the warm creamy soup would hit the spot.

“Alright, I will reassign your current team and give you this one soldier. The paperwork should be done by dinner. I will have her also move to your section as she will need to be on hand for your team.” The commander leaned back in his chair, “Is there anything else your team needs right now, Captain Price?”

“No sir, everything has been satisfactory. I have a few things to finish up, I will see you at the 1100 meeting.” Price extracts himself from the commander’s office, closing the door behind him.

Soap pushed off the wall falling into step.

“So we getting a new aide? Because Ghost requested one?” He groused. “Ghost who would have bit the aide from the last base if it didn’t mean removing his mask?”

Price smirked, “In all fairness that man was an areshole.”

“Aye he was, but why the request?” Soap pushed open the door they had come to. They were near the training grounds.

“Don’t know Soap. Why don’t we find out?” Price aimed for someone who looked to be in charge.

✮✮✮

You pause, looking around. You were almost sure that someone had just called for you. You look around and see a man waving you down from the edge of the training area. You check that you are clear to cross before jogging over.

“Good, come with me.”

You follow. When you finally slow you are presented to two men. They had to be members of the 141 with skull face. One man, taller than you but not by much kept a trimmed beard, crow’s feet around his eyes. The other man towered over you, almost as tall as skull face, the mohawk added several inches to his height.

“This the recruit you were looking for?” The man who walked you over pointed a thumb in your direction.

“Think so,” the bearded man said. He stuck out his hand, “Nice to meet you, you can call me Price.”

You shake his hand, twice up and down with firm pressure. You had to learn to ‘shake like a man’.

Mohawk man sticks out his hand next, “Soap.”

You shake his hand and nod, turning back to the man who walked you over.

“Is that all, sir? All of us low-ranking members have standing orders to not speak to any of the 141,” you infuse your words with an ‘I’m just doing my job’ tone.

Soap snorts out a laugh, covering it poorly with a cough into his fist.

The man before you stutters before Price jumps in.

“Thank you, that will be all.” He can’t help but smile as you nod and turn on your heel heading back to your task.

As you are walking away you hear Soap’s comment.

“I can see why ‘e wants her, much more spunk there than anywhere else on this base.”

✮✮✮

The news comes down the line of your reassignment to become the sole attendant of the 141. You scarf down dinner, they wanted you presented to the team at 1800. You speed walk to your room, the clock showing a measly twenty minutes to pack your life up to move halfway across base.

You make it, squeaking through the door exactly the time you were requested. The base commander stands, hands tucked in one another behind his low back. He stands looking out the window over a group of training soldiers.

He ignores your presence for a moment before turning towards you.

“Ah, come in. We have a few things to discuss before I introduce you to the team. One question before we start, do you know why you were requested to be our liaison?”

You answer honestly, “Sir, I have not even a singular idea as to why.”

He hums, “We need this to go well. We need to borrow from the 141 from time to time and can only do that if they agree. Your job is to do whatever is needed to secure their agreement.”

Your stomach turns sour at the word choice, do whatever is needed. The military is no different than a pimp, only difference is one gets cheers and free meals at IHOP.

“Of course, sir, I will do my best.”

“Good, now here is what you need to know…”

The meeting takes another twenty minutes; your brain a bit fried when you lift your bag to follow the commander.

You take stock of the nicer flooring and art as you enter the building just beside the commanders. He lived on base since his wife passed nearly a year ago. You enter a room, you would still call it a living room despite all the time in the military.

Soap and a man you haven’t seen sit on the couch intently focused on their game of Mario Kart. They raced along the Rainbow Road. Price and skull face sat at a table near the wall. Price worked away on a laptop and skull face held an e-reader. A fifth man reclined in a chair near Soap, clearly asleep. Feet spread wide, head tipped across the back of the chair, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“This is where you will be staying. Captain Price will be in charge of you until they leave in a few months time. I will leave the introductions of the team to him.” The commander claps a hand on your shoulder, knocking you forward a step.

Price looks up at the motion, pulling a small headphone from his ear.

“Ah, Commander. Thank you for delivering our new aide, we will take good care of her.” He stood, striding over and offering a hand again.

You shake it again, focused on the retreating sounds of the commander. Once the door clicks behind him you feel the tension release slightly from your shoulders.

“Welcome, let’s get you introduced to everyone and then get you settled.” Price smiled at you warmly, the crow’s feet showing it to be a common state for him. “You’ve met Soap, next to him is Gaz.”

Neither man acknowledges their name, too focused on the game. They are on their third lap, neck, and neck for the lead. Gaz drops back slightly and throws a blue shell, effectively taking first. Soap jumps to his feet, shouting.

“You feckin’ cheatin’ son of a whore! Not even Mother Mary will save you after this!” His accent came out thick in his anger.

Gaz just laughed as he crossed the finish line. Soap rolled in at fifth. With their outburst done Price continues his introductions.

“The sleeping man is Roach, he doesn’t speak much so don’t worry if he doesn’t respond to you. And then we have our L.T., Ghost,” Price gestures to the masked man.

You can’t stop the words. They escape, your brain slowing down the embarrassment to exacerbate the stress.

“Ghosts don’t have bones.” Such a matter-of-fact tone. Fuck a duck, why are you like this?

Ghost stands. You swallow hard. He clears the space between you in three long strides. Mother-fucking giant of a man.

“What?”

He asks as if he hadn’t heard, not as if he were offended.

You roll your lips between your teeth, answering a bit louder despite his now closer position.

“Ghosts don’t have bones, so your mask is a bit of a silly choice.”

Every man awake busts into laughter except Ghost. You glance over and Gaz is hanging off Soap, struggling to breathe. Soap is curled forward hugging his stomach. Price smothers a chuckle next to you.

You look back at Ghost, his eyes squint slightly at you. You give an awkward smile.

“L.T. how has no one ever thought about that before?” Gaz is out of breath and falls back into laughter after his question.

Ghost blinks once at you.

“Follow me, I will show you to your room.”

You wince at his back, throwing a glance at Price.

“You’ll be okay, he won’t hold it against you,” the laughter in his voice didn’t reassure you.

You scurry after the man you insulted by accident, wincing at every sound you make. The only sound Ghost makes is the slight swish of his pants as they cross with each step. He leads you down a short hall, turning right at the first choice. There are two doors down this short hall. He taps the second one.

“This is your room. Mine is next door.”

“I am really sorry, I didn’t mean to make a joke of your mask,” you stumble over your words.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a funny thought and the men will take to you easier after the joke,” he replies evenly.

You wince again and look at the door.

“Is there anything I need to handle tonight?”

“No, other than we have a nightly debrief at 2000 in the main room.”

You blow out a short breath. “Okay, I can do that.”

Stepping into the room you are surprised at the single bed, dresser, and desk. Still all military issue but nicer. You drop your bag on the bed, looking over the space. You hadn’t truly been alone since you signed up, this might be an adjustment.

Turning back to the door you startle, Ghost is still standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes on you.

“Can I help you with something, lieutenant?” you ask, curious as to why he is still standing in the doorway.

“No. Feel free to join us when you are ready.” He turns away, the sound of his steps quickly fading.

You sit down on the chair at the desk. You put your head in your hands, elbows propped on your knees. How the hell did you end up here? Last night you were running for your life and now you are helping court a specialty group from the UK for the base commander. The only person from the team you spoke to last night had been Ghost. Did he have something to do with this change?

You eventually join the team back in the main room. The 2000 debrief had just been a fancy way of saying they all have a cup of tea before bed. Roach pulled out a deck of cards and you soon found yourself in a game of poker you would lose. You laugh more at the table with these men than you had in all the months you had been in the military. You fell asleep that night a soft smile on your face, the door locked tight.

✮✮✮

The months passed quickly, you became texting buddies with everyone on the team beyond Ghost. He watched you. You noticed but ignored it. He happened to be a grown man and if he had something to say he would have to buck up and use his words.

Roach comes alive through your text conversations, he is full of observations and quirky sayings. He is your favorite texting buddy.

As the time for the 141 to return come crept closer without a hard yes or no from Price about working with the base in the future the commander crept further up your ass. After a particularly unhelpful meeting where the commander ended up yelling at you, you stormed into your room. Throwing yourself face down on your bed, muttering curses.

“Can I help you?”

Your eyes blow wide in the darkness created by your face being compressed into the mattress.

Shit. Fuck. Dammit. You had missed your door and landed on Ghost’s bed. You pushed up from the mattress on your hands and one knee. The other foot already searched for the ground.

“Nope, sorry Ghost. I just had a bad meeting and missed my door,” you can’t help the blush overtaking your face.

One foot on the floor you pull your torso up, ready to turn and race out of the room once your second foot touches the carpet.

“Pause.”

You freeze finally looking up to see Ghost working at his desk. He has a soft balaclava on today, still a skull painted on but much more inviting than the hard mask. He has no darkening makeup on today, you can see dark brows and light, fair skin of England showing through the hole in the mask. You devour the peek into him.

“Sit,” he turns from you pulling open a drawer of his desk.

You shift to do as you are told. He has never been unkind to you, just the opposite actually. The two men who chased you across the base had been reassigned across the country shortly after you joined the team. Neither of you said it out loud but you know that only Ghost had been aware of what happened.

He spins his chair back towards you. He holds out his e-reader. This thing goes everywhere with him. Ghost could be called a voracious reader. You glance between the small device and his face, not touching the offering.

“Pick anything you like, feel free to stay until you feel better.”

You reach forward, fingers slow to grasp. Once you have a firm grip he lets go and turns back to his work. Starting the device a book opens halfway through. You back out to the main page and scroll through the options.

Several of the titles garner a raised brow.

“Didn’t take you for a smut reader, Ghost.”

The only response is a creaking of the chair as he shifts. Your lips twitch with a smile. You choose a title vaguely familiar and start from the beginning. You read sitting on Ghost’s bed until the nightly debrief. The next day you find yourself knocking at his closed door. You’re just going to ask to borrow his reader until you can finish the story.

When he opens the door what could be called a smile reaches his eyes. The edges of them shift together the barest hint.

“It’s on the bed, right where you left off.”

Bashfulness overcomes you, forcing your gaze to swing down to your boots. You slip past him, sitting against the wall feet dangling off the bed. Once the story has well and truly sucked you in you reach down and remove your boots, eyes not leaving the words as they thud to the floor. Ghost doesn’t say a single word as you end up stretching across his bed feet swinging through the air.

A knock at the door jolts you out of the story. Price’s voice comes after a knock slightly farther away.

“Debrief will be a bit late today, 2030.”

You lock eyes with Ghost, remaining silent. As Price’s footsteps walk away you flip to a sitting position and shove your toes back into your boots. You set the reader down, focused on getting the ties just right. Once they feel tight enough you stand.

“Thanks for letting me read, I guess I will come back when you have a moment you can spare it.” You can’t keep your fingers from digging into your pockets. You can’t believe you rolled yourself all over his bed while reading.

“You are welcome any time. If you are close why don’t you take it tonight and return it in the morning?” his head tilts ever so slightly.

“Really?” Your brows rise as does your voice with the question. “If you don’t mind. I can finish the book after debrief and return it before lights out.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he raised a brow as a challenge.

“I’m not saying you do,” you glare at him. “Confirming your level of seriousness is not doubting you.”

“If you say so.”

You stick your tongue out at him.

“Careful with that thing, some could take it as an invitation.” He turns back to his desk as you gape at him.

Did Ghost flirt with you?

You snap up the e-reader, holding it close to your chest as you leave the room. You let the door hang ajar, knowing it bothers him.

You wander into the main room, tucking the small tablet into your side pocket. Setting the kettle to boil you prepare a cup for each man, dropping a preferred tea bag in each. As everyone settles in around the table you finish adding milk and sugar to mugs and passing them out. Ghost sits last.

“Sugar with tea for you,” you place the cup down in front of him and take the seat to his right.

Soap chuckled, “Go’ta say L.T. she’s got you pegged.”

“Too bad we can’t throw her in our luggage for when we head home,” Gaz chimed in.

Price leaned back in his chair, “Well now there’s a thought. How long do you have left?”

You finish your sip of hot chocolate, “Only about a year, but I am not planning on re-upping.”

“Wanna come work for the 141?” Price lifts a brow at you.

“Put that offer in writing so I can get a visa and absolutely,” you grin. With how much Price griped about paperwork you doubted he would follow through on getting you a work visa.

He glared at you, “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Have you known me to do anything less?” you challenge.

“Do the paperwork Price, or I will.” Ghost dropped the statement like a smoking gun to a criminal case.

You smirk down into your cup, taking a sip to avoid a comment. Ghost hates paperwork more than Price and is so meticulous with it because he hates when he has to redo the ‘fucking devil’s work’.

The men leave the table as their tea is finished, rinsing the mugs before settling into the final activity of the night. You stay at the table and pull out the e-reader. The book sucks you back in.

“Is that Ghost’s reader?” Soap’s shocked voice rips you from the climax of the story.

“What? Uh, yeah.” You settle back into the battle, your main character taking a knife to the ribs.

“Did he let you borrow it or…” he lets the question hang, a noose swinging in the wind.

Irritated, you put the tablet down. Turning to look at Soap you reply.

“Of course he let me borrow it. I’ve been using it for a few days.”

Soap’s brows shoot up his forehead, nearly touching his mohawk.

“Really? Well, that’s an interesting development.”

“I guess? Now my character just got stabbed so if there is nothing else I am going to finish this before lights out so I can return it.” You turn back to the table and get absorbed back into reading.

You return the reader to Ghost before bed and only use it in behind the safety of his door until they leave.

✮✮✮

The anticipation of pain has never once made the pain hurt less.

They are leaving, your friends are heading home to the UK. Price is the one who sat you down and gave you the dates. Two days, in two days you would walk them to their plane and have to move on like you didn’t find family in some of the scariest men you have ever met. You hold it together until you get out of his sight.

Tears slip down your cheeks, a silent testament of the love that has grown for them. You slip into Ghost’s room. He should be out right now, off training with Roach. He isn’t.

Asleep with his boots on, Ghost is sprawled out across his bed. One hand dangles out over the edge. You sit against the bed, his arm draping over your shoulder. You hold his large hand in both of yours. You know he is probably awake, but he does you the kindness of staying still. He isn’t wearing his gloves today. Ghost had many healed scrapes and scars to explore. You let your fingers drift over his hand, bumping over every ridge.

You sniff as tears continue to flow down your cheeks, splattering against your shirt. It’s hard for you to believe that you can love these wacky guys to the point of pain at their departure. You slid right into the dynamic of the crew as if they had held a place for you. Cutting off arguments between the 141 and everyone else had become your primary job. You could talk down any member from retaliatory action for both minor and major slights. You toed the lines between both Price and the base commander to find common enough ground for their agreement to be settled. You still didn’t know why they were here, only that an agreement had been reached with you as a go-between more often than not. Now they were leaving. Leaving you behind. Knowing they have jobs waiting for them, for missions to be completed doesn’t ease the ache in your chest.

You stay like that, fingertips drifting over the skin of his hand until the storm in your chest has petered out and the only signs it ravaged your soul are the tracks on your cheeks and the tears drying on your shirt.

You sniff once, sliding your fingers to fit between his.

“I know you’re probably awake, but thank you for letting me use you for comfort.” You squeeze his fingers once before standing.

Scooting out and away from the bed you take care to not look at him. This private comfort you stole from his sleeping form could only be that, private. Seeing his eyes would shatter the flimsy barrier to your heart and you couldn’t afford to lose any more of that worn organ to men across the sea. Your fingers stayed locked with his as you stood, reaching, touching until at last the kiss of his fingerprints whispered their goodbyes.

You close the door softly behind you, heading for the bathroom. Standing before the mirror with the bright white light illuminating your blotchy face you tuck away your pain to deal with in the dark. You scrub your face with cool water and redo your hair. When a soldier with a job looks back at you instead of a woman losing her family you leave the bathroom.

✮✮✮

Two days later you say your goodbyes. Your number is entered into so many new phones and you are repeatedly asked which secure platform you will use to chat with them all. Their flight is scheduled to leave at 0320, at midnight you are scouring the rooms they used confirming everyone has packed everything.

Ghost finds you ass in the air while your hand stretches for a book Gaz had been missing for three weeks. It had fallen between his bed and the wall. When you snag it you pull back triumphant. You see his legs first, glancing all the way up at his face.

“Oh, hi, Ghost. I am just checking everyone got everything before you all leave,” you smile up at him.

He doesn’t respond, just offering a hand down to you. You take it gratefully, pulling yourself up. Taking a step back you look him over. He is wearing his soft balaclava today, he tends to wear them when he needs to be more comfortable than scary.

“All ready to go home? I bet you are going to be glad for an overcast day and a good cuppa,” the happiness in your voice isn’t faked. Ghost has complained to you a few times about the terrible tea here.

“Ready to be home, not looking forward to the flight.” He looks you over scouring your face, his gaze scrapes like steel wool over your nerves. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

The husky tone of his voice catches you off guard enough that you comply without thought. Gaz’s book is lifted from your hands, leaving them empty.

As you stand you hear the buzzing of the bright light above you, the sound of Velcro opening, and the quiet sounds of breaths, both yours and Ghosts. The fingers on your cheek are a surprise, the callouses marking your skin as they trail from your jaw to your eye.

You push your face into the touch, savoring the contact. His thumb brushes against your lips. You flick the tip of your tongue against it, tasting the ridges unique to that finger. He slides away from your mouth, thumb and fingers curling around your jaw and tipping your face up. He kisses you then. Riots start inside your body. Part of you yearns to open your eyes, devour him, touch the breadth of his flesh. The other, stronger part of you screws your eyes shut tighter, taking the gift as it is given and demanding nothing more.

He kisses as if he bottles his kindness and doles it out only for you. The press of his lips against yours will keep you going. He pulls back ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you in a year dove, stay safe,” he says the words against your lips, pressing them together once more. He puts something in your hands as he steps away, his fingers still on your face.

You keep your eyes closed, waiting for some sign it would be safe to open them again. His thumb taps your jaw before drifting away.

“Open your eyes already you silly bird,” the smile in his voice is unmistakable. His fingers slip away as your eyes open.

This mask is down again, you smirk up at him.

“Why am I a silly bird for respecting boundaries you big oaf? If you wanted me to see your face you wouldn’t have asked me to close my eyes.”

He shrugs, “Didn’t think you would let me kiss you if you saw it coming.”

You can’t stop the full belly laugh that erupts out of you. “I don’t know how to respond to that!”

Shaking your head you look down and pause. Your head snaps up.

“You’re giving me your e-reader? Why?” your brows draw together as you look at him.

He shrugs again, shoulders shifting just enough to indicate he didn’t have a real reason to share.

“It’s still logged in, feel free to buy any book that piques your interest.” His hands lift to your face, cupping your cheeks.

Your eyes flutter closed at the contact. His forehead connects with yours, his warm breath kissing your face as it filters through the mask.

“Don’t die before I get there okay?” You open your eyes, staring straight into his. This close you can see the variations of brown striping through them.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll do my best.” He sounds sincere.

You give in to the urge to hug him. He hesitates before returning the gesture. You stand with him, listening to his heartbeat until you have soaked in the pressure of his presence. You pull back first, wiping at your eyes.

“Let’s get you to your ride, Price will come looking for you soon.”

You grab Gaz’s book, tuck the e-reader in a side pocket, and walk with Ghost to the hanger. The silence between you is comfortable and tinged with the moments you have shared in silence before.

As you get close you wave the book at Gaz who jogs over.

“Where did you find it? I looked everywhere,” he takes the book gratefully.

“Everywhere but under your bed obviously.”

Ghost snorts, walking past you to join Price near the gangplank of the plane. You’ve said all your goodbyes at this point. You only stay to see them off. Everyone but Ghost gives you a hug or a pat on the back as they board the plane. You wave until the door shuts and watch until the dim lights of the wings are swallowed by the darkness.

You blow out a breath and speak into the darkness.

“One year, you can make it one more year.”

✮✮✮

Six months in you can tell things are getting bad for them. It takes longer and longer for replies to come into your messages and when Soap is willing to share what’s happening it is summed up in a single word.

Mole.

They go dark for another three months. Your days are filled with a background of worry and a foreground of doing what you are told.

Ghost is the one who breaks the silence.

>Your paperwork is through, your visa should arrive soon.

The cheer you give in the mess hall has every eye on you. Pinching your lips between your teeth you clean up your tray and slip outside.

>Anything special I should do after it arrives?

His reply comes quick.

>Pack.

You laugh. Some would miss the dry wit with which he pokes at you. You miss him, them.

>I have a few months left before I am out. Should I fly into Heathrow?

>Yes. Send Price your flight details and someone will come get you.

You send a kissy face emoji in response, imagining the eye roll that this would incite.

The final three months slip by like water. Your off time is filled with nailing down travel details and fighting with Price via email over the contract he sent you. He set up a fair contract, but he wanted you on his team so why not ask for a few extra vacation days?

✮✮✮

Soap is the one to pick you up when your flight lands. You drag your achy bones through customs, the clash of accents all around you weighing on your brain.

You set your bags down to hug him. He laughs.

“Miss me bonnie lass?”

You mumble your reply into his chest.

“I’m not anyone’s ‘bonnie lass’.” You nearly match his accent on the words.

“I donne believe you, but tis good to see you back. Let’s get you to HQ.” He looks down at your bags, “This all you have?”

You ignore the prick of judgment the question causes in you. There is nothing wrong with a transatlantic move that only has you bring a carry-on and a backpack.

“That’s it, I pack pretty light. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He gives you a heavy side-eye.

“Never said there was.”

Conversation falls back into familiar territory as Soap fights his way out of the airport, car inching forward until they are at last out of the city. You don’t fight the pull of your eyelids to meet in sleep as Soap sings along to the radio. A hand on your shoulder wakes you. Soap smirks at you from the other seat.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty.”

You roll your eyes and focus beyond the windshield at an old barn. You glance at Soap, confused.

He chuckles as he replies, “England is old, we have to reuse what we can.”

“Alright, whatever you say.” You step out of the car, feeling odd to be leaving the left side as a passenger.

You leave your bags in the car. Soap wanted to introduce you to the full team before showing you to the shared flat you would be living in until you could secure your own lodgings.

He is talking about the area, waving his arms this way, and that pointing out the range and the picnic tables. He pulls open a person-sized door beside the massive barn doors.

“We’re ho-” his shout into the building is cut off.

Something wet sprays across the side of your face. You snap your gaze to Soap. His face is gone, just a mass of bloody tissue gushing blood to the floor.

The scream that erupts from you is genuine. You had managed to avoid combat with the army and had never seen what a bullet could do to someone’s face. He falls slowly, almost as if his body is still fighting against gravity.

A hand claps over your mouth, unfamiliar voices yelling at you to ‘hush up or end up like him.’

You are dragged further into the building before your wrists are secured behind you. You are hurled into a large, windowless room landing next to the gasping body of Gaz. He can’t see you since his eyes are gone.

You vomit, doing your best to aim it away from him. When all the acid has been purged from your body you look around between dry heaves. Roach is hanging by his hands to a hook coming from the ceiling, Price’s face is slowly being peeled away as questions are being shouted at him. Ghost is missing, but you can’t decide if that is a good or bad thing.

Gaz starts to choke, bloody spittle dotting the floor in front of him. You scoot closer to him and lay your head on his. You can’t save him dammit but you can at least let him know he isn’t alone as he goes.

“It’s okay Gaz, you can go. Just stop fighting, rest.” The panic flooding your body makes it hard to talk.

He calms at your voice though, one final cough splattering the knees of your jeans. Gone.

You are wrenched upwards by your hair. You scream and stand, anything to relieve the pressure on your scalp. You are forced to stand before Price, your friend.

You can see a silver molar wink at you from his mangled face.

“Who is this Price?” The question comes from a calm voice.

How could anyone be calm at this time? Your eyes can’t settle on a single thing, flicking from person to person looking for a way out.

“No one, just a new liaison. Just flew in.”

The fact he answers the question tells you there is no way out of this.

A commotion at the door draws everyone’s gaze. Ghost is being dragged in by the back of his shirt, head lolling.

“Look what we found hiding in the rafters, a ghost!” All the men standing laugh as if this is all some big joke.

They tie him to a chair right next to Price. When they rip off his mask you look away.

“Ah lads, she is shy about his face. Good thing there won’t be much to see after we are done with him,” the man with his hand in your hair chortles.

They torture him, making you watch. Each scream from your friends snaps a tenuous hold on reality. Something deep in your brain stem seems to break when you see the bullet enter Price’s skull then hear it blast through Ghost’s. You aren’t anything any more. Nothing can touch you because while your body pumps blood your soul has followed your friends to the afterlife.

They don’t let you in of course, the angels dither over where to send you. You slip away from the pearly gates as they argue, wandering the fence that blocks paradise until hear the hooting laughter of Price getting caught off guard by a particularly funny joke. You find them all playing cards as if they were waiting for you. A cheer goes up and Ghost offers you a hand to hold.

✮✮✮

The night nurse can’t keep a yawn from her face. She takes a long swallow of her energy drink. She was getting to old for this shift. She stands her knees cracking like rice cripsies. Her trainee jumping up joined her.

“Let’s do rounds, midnight is pretty hopping around here. We have several patients that get restless around that time.”

Moving to the door she keys in the code for the day to enter the ward. She leads the way to the craft room. Most of the patients tended to congregate here during the night. The emergency lights meant this room never reached the level of darkness of the personal rooms.

Only one patient today, a young woman from the States who had been deemed too mentally unstable to stand trial. The doctors keep her heavily medicated for fear of her harming herself or others. The nurses gave extra doses of meds as they were able, her constant weeping scared the other patients.

“Ah, just one tonight. This one you do need to watch out for though when you are working,” the older nurse watched from the doorway as her patient stared out the window rocking slowly.

“Why? She doesn’t look like trouble.” The baby nurse had so much to learn.

“First rule of psych, crazy is always strong. Second is that looks have no bearing on the mind. She’s from the States, word is that she tortured and killed at least eight men who were all special forces trained. The thought around here is that she had a mental break and snapped. Not that I believe that much any more. Management has mentioned that her former commander from the US is filing a lawsuit to get her case reopened. I looked it up, turns out she never saw combat so there is no way she could have taken out eight trained men. The US embasay is trying to get her home.”

“Oh,” the baby nurse took in the information, slightly more worried about their career choice than before the shift started.

“You’ll do fine, let’s go do our bed checks.” The older nurse turned away from the craft room. “There is nothing else we can do to help her.”

Masterlist

Happy Ending AU

#cod #simon riley x reader #all my friends are dead #hurt/no comfort

143 notes · View notes

sandwitchstories · 5 months ago

Text

Mistletoe and Idle Hands

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Blessed Yule, Happy Kwanza and a very joyful any other holiday I missed! May this season be filled with love, laughter, and light for all. And if it is not or if this season is hard for you, I am sending you a big hug and I hope this story brings you a little bit of joy. ❤️

If you prefer to read it on AO3 click here !

WC: 1558

Summary: You and Kyojuro are at a Christmas Eve party at his best friend Tengens Uzui's house. A few glasses of eggnog in Kyojuro gets a case of idle hands and you are the only cure.

CW: MDNI, Smut, Christmas Smut, AFAB terms used to describe reader's body parts, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, cream pie - Please see AO3 for a full list.

Divider by: @strangergraphics

The evening had started innocently enough. You and Kyojuro had gone to Tengen’s for a Christmas eve gathering. The eggnog to rum ratio was a little tipped in the latter’s favor, causing you to both have a buzz going.

You were all sitting around the table drinking and talking when you felt Kyojuro’s hand slide under your skirt and up your thigh to rub his fingers against your center. You had to work hard to keep your face passive and bite back any sounds as his curious fingers discovered one of his presents a bit earlier than planned.

Kyojuro kept a smile on his face and was active in the conversation even as his fingers worked between your folds, rubbing and teasing, making you get slicker by the second. You gave polite smiles and chuckled at the proper times, but your mind was clouded by the feeling of your husband’s fingers sliding into you.

You excused yourself to the restroom, needing to put yourself together before you came on his fingers right there in front of your coworkers and friends. A few moments later a knock came at the door and Kyojuro let himself in, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

You met his eyes in the mirror as he locked the door behind him and moved to stand behind you. His large hands grabbed our hips and pressed his hard cock into you. You bit your bottom lip as you held his gaze.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked, lowering his lips to press a kiss against the skin of your neck.

“What do you think, Mr. Idle Hands?” you arched an eyebrow at his reflection.

“I think,” he said, his hands moving to slide up your body, his thumbs catching the hem of your shirt and pulling it up to the top of your breasts, baring the swells barely contained by your Christmas themed bra. He pulled the cups under your breasts making them jut up slightly before he cupped them in his hands. “That there is something better we could be doing than listening to the others talk.”

“That’s not very good behavior as their guests,” you chided but made no moves to stop him as your hands held onto the counter you were pressed against.

“No, it’s not. But behaving badly doesn't sound so bad right now,” he said, mouthing your neck as his fingers found your nipples, pinching and pulling on them until you whimpered softly and your eyes fluttered close.

He nibbled up your neck to your ear, sucking and nipping on the lobe before taking a step back. His hands guided you to bend forward over the counter while he used a foot to spread your feet apart. His hands pulled your skirt up and rested it on your lower back so your ass and pussy were exposed.

“You act like I’m incorrigible, and yet you’re the one wearing crotchless panties,” he said softly in your ear as his fingers slid up and down your slit. “So wet for me already.”

“Mmmhmmm,” you agreed, sucking on your bottom lip to keep from crying out when he slid two fingers into your sopping cunt. You tried to reply to him but his wicked fingers were hitting every single right spot in your gummy walls with practiced ease. ”These…ahhh… these were sup-posed to be your early Christmas pre-pre-present when we got home.”

“I quite like them,” he grinned at you in the mirror. He smirked at you when your jaw went slack as he added a third finger to curl and scissor in your pulsing walls. “Quite.”

“Oh, fuck, Kyo,” you moaned softly.

“That is a fabulous idea, my love,” he grinned at your words. He leaned slightly to mouth at your neck as he undid his pants and pushed them down just enough to free his cock. It sprung forward against you, the pre covered tip dragging across your flesh.

He dragged the swollen head of his cock through your honeyed folds several times before he pressed in. He groaned softly against your skin as he fed you inch by inch until he bottomed out, so deep within you. His fingers dug into the plush of your hips as he ground against you.

“Oh, gods, baby. So deep,” you said in a loud whisper, pressing your hips back into his.

“That’s just the start, gorgeous,” he said, sucking a mark into your neck before he started moving.

You kept his eye contact as he thrust in and out of you, savoring the feel of every inch of him dragging back and forth as his hips rocked. His hands moved to grip your swaying breasts, squeezing the globes in his hands.

“You feel so good, Kyo,” you said, eyes fluttering as he thrust.

“So do you, my love, so do you,” his mouth turned hungry at your neck, teeth now joining his lips as he throbbed inside of you.

You let out a small gasp when he yanked your thigh up onto the counter and he pressed you fully down on the counter. A hand fisted in your hair and the other slid under your raised thigh to rub at your clit in time with his hips.

“Need you to cum for me, beautiful. Need to feel you fall apart on my cock. Can you do that for me, my love? Can you cum for me?” He asked in your ear, as if you had any choice in the matter. Kyojuro would not settle for less than you cumming before him.

“Trying,” you answered, panting, eyes watering.

“I’ve got you, my love, always,” he said, pulling out.

He quickly turned you around and put your bare ass on the counter. He yanked your hips forward and buried his cock inside you without a moment to spare. One hand moved for his thumb to be able to sway back and forth quickly over your clit while the other buried in your hair and pulled you close for a passionate kiss.

You buried your hands in his flame colored hair and returned the passion in his kiss as you tried desperately to rock your hips into his. He hit that perfect spot that made your vision speckle and you limbs twitch, sending you over the edge. He swallowed your cries in the kiss, never stopping his thrusts as you came apart on his cock.

“That’s it, my love. That’s it. So pretty when you cum for me,” he cooed, nipping at your lips. “Just- just a little longer. I’m almost there.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair and you pulled his head into the crook over your neck as he pinned your legs apart and picked up his speed. “Cum for me, Kyo. Fill me up, baby. Need it. Want it for my early Christmas present.”

“Well then, I could never deny my beloved a Christmas wish now could I?” he teased, kissing your shoulder.

He sunk his teeth into the crook of your neck, moaning against your flesh as you arched into him, pleasure coursing through your veins and making you clench on his cock. He came hard, slamming his hips into you and grinding against you as he filled you with his warm hot seed. You slumped against the mirror, holding his head against you as you both came down from your highs.

You let out a soft breath laugh when he lifted his head to kiss you gently, and you saw what a mess you had made of his hair. You could only imagine what your own looked like. You cupped his face and kissed him gently several times. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he grinned, kissing you again. He tucked his cock back into his pants before helping you off the counter, and pulling your long skirt back into place.

You turned to the mirror, fixing your bra and shirt, and trying to fix up your hair before you reached for the toilet paper only to have him grab your hand and stop you. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it.

“No need for that. We’ll be leaving now. Can’t be awake when Santa arrives,” he grinned, reaching for the door and unlocking it. He grabbed your hand and leaned forward to whisper in your ear as he opened the door. “I am quite turned on by the thought of you walking around with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

“You are so on the naughty list,” you huffed softly at him, praying you guys were able to make a quick exit as you felt the proof of your escapade slickening between your thighs.

He laughed and pulled you close for another quick kiss. You pulled apart as you heard footsteps approaching. Tengen gave you guys a knowing smirk and pointed to the doorway above your heads. “Seems like that mistletoe did it’s job.”

“I think it was more the eggnog,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“Is that so?” Tengen asked, turning to head back to where everyone was gathered. He glanced over his shoulder towards you both and said with a smirk as he walked away, “Well… I guess all I can say is that I sure hope you two and Santa don’t end up being the only ones coming tonight.”

#sandwitchstories #rengoku smut #kyojuro rengoku smut #rengoku x reader smut #rengoku x reader #rengoku x you #kny x reader #kny x reader smut #kny smut #kyojuro rengoku #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku x you #kyojuro rengoku x y/n #rengoku x y/n #christmas smut #kny christmas smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer x reader smut

111 notes · View notes

aurumacadicus · 2 months ago

Text

This is a fill for @bitetonysassfest! Trope: Sharing Body Heat Dialogue: “You look good all soaking wet.”

This is the last of Bite Tony's 🍑 Fest 2025! Featuring: bobcat shifter Tony and hare shifters Bucky and Steve! There's no way this could go wrong with cat!Tony involved. You can find this on ao3 (here). Look out for under the cut! ("No one bit Tony's ass, Reioka." He chewed on a fucking couch guys he's not that sexy right now lmao)

“…So,” Steve began after a brief pause. He regretted it immediately, but Tony’s sharp eyes were already on him, so he continued, “I take it that you couldn’t get out of the valley.”

Somehow, despite the fact that water was dripping from his sodden hair and he was shaking slush from his feet in a very feline manner, Tony managed to give him one of his best bitch glares. “No,” he said, voice just as cold as the lengthening icicles dripping from their roof. “I could not get out of the valley.”

“You look good all soaking wet,” Bucky said, smirking, and then yelped when Tony pulled a boot from his foot and threw it at his head with all the force he could muster. He ducked, and he was grateful he did, because the boot hit the wall behind him with a thud loud enough that he jumped, and it left a black rubber mark where the sole hit the wall. He stared at it a moment, then turned back to Tony, solemnly stating, “I mean, you’re fucking ugly.”

“I am beautiful at all times,” Tony hissed, shaking his way out of his other boot. He shrugged off his coat, and it hit the the floor with a wet ‘thwap.’ “You would be lucky to bask in my glory. I am a perfect specimen.”

“Of course,” Bucky deadpanned. He went to take a step forward, but Steve grabbed him by the back of the shirt, so he took it as a warning it was not to approach Tony when he was still this irritable. “So you’re staying for dinner then?”

“Dinner,” Tony scoffed, disgusted, and pulled his visibly wet shirt over his head. Gooseflesh rose on his skin as it was exposed to the air. “Turkey’s passable. But then you went and added it to fucking beans.”

“You said you liked my chili,” Steve said, and couldn’t quite hold back the hurt in his voice.

Tony skulked in a tiny circle, irritated, then shoved his pants down around his ankles and stepped out of them. “I do. I just. It’s too close. And.” He turned to look at Steve, blinking hard, then added, “Your couch is fucking ugly.”

“You bought it for us!” Bucky exclaimed, more shocked than upset. “You said it was your housewarming gift.”

Tony scowled at the couch. “Well. It didn’t look so ugly then. It’s bad denning material.”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other in surprise, hurt and confusion quickly giving way to understanding. Tony’s abrupt desire to leave twenty minutes ago, despite the fact that he’d joked about being snowed in when he arrived that morning, suddenly made sense. Most feline shifters were very secretive about their heats, and Tony had been so closed-lipped about it that everyone on the team had sort of forgotten he had them. Steve regretted not keeping some turkey out for a burger patty. He’d known Tony was snowed in with them; he’d just thought he was being difficult because he wasn’t in total control.

“I might have some ground beef in the freezer,” he offered, even though he sincerely doubted it.

Tony ignored him, tromping further into the cabin in just his underwear, and gave the back of the couch a solid punch, scowling. Then he kicked it for good measure.

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Is this your way of threatening us? We can control ourselves, you know. We’ve been around omegas in heat before.”

“What?” Tony barked, turning his glare back on him. “I’m busy.” He turned his attention back to the couch. Considered. Then he reached out to grab the corner, hooking his claws into one of the arms. “This needs to go outside.”

“Don’t! Fucking throw out our shit!” Bucky exclaimed, rushing over to him, and pulled him away by force. Tony’s claws pulled from the couch with a loud ripping noise, but he was mostly just surprised he got him to let go at all. He gathered Tony close while he was too stunned to struggle, wrapping his arms around him tightly so he couldn’t claw at the couch again. “Tony,” he said, appalled. “You’re fucking freezing.”

Tony whipped his head around to glare at him. “I was outside in the snow.”

“Steve, get some blankets and towels,” Bucky ordered, ignoring him. “Maybe put on some thicker pants so he can put his toes under your thigh.”

“Or just take your pants off,” Tony added, suddenly agreeable.

Steve and Bucky both stopped and turned to give him suspicious looks. Steve waited an extra beat, then carefully asked, “…Why?”

“Solidarity,” Tony offered.

Steve and Bucky both looked down at Tony’s mostly naked body. Then Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes. “We could get you some extra clothes.”

“And be deprived of this? You guys are too stupid to fuck,” Tony grumbled, scowling.

“You are being really mean right now, you know?” Steve sighed, shaking his head.

Tony narrowed his eyes at them, then somehow… slithered? Out of Bucky’s grip. “Fine,” he declared, as if that meant something to them. Then he leapt on the back of the couch with his full weight, knocking it over onto its back, and began dragging it toward the door like it was the carcass of a deer or something.

“That doesn’t mean you get to be mean to the couch instead!” Bucky bellowed, rushing to grab him again.

Tony yowled, loudly, claws hooked into the fabric so deep that the couch moved with him every time Bucky tugged. “I WILL NOT BE MADE TO OBSERVE THIS UPHOLSTERED FREAK.”

Bucky shot wild eyes at Steve, and he quickly came over to help. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do—Tony seemed entirely offended by the couch, somehow, growling low in his chest and lunging forward to sink sharp teeth into it. As soon as they got one hand free, he dug the claws of his other hand back in, and he was even kicking at it with his back claws. They were at a loss. Tony had never reacted to any of their stuff like that before. Ever. And he’d been the one to buy the damn thing, anyway!

“What,” Steve asked loudly, and Tony paused, turning blown pupils on him even as he chewed at a seam in the cushion. “Is the problem with this couch? Does it smell bad? Does it look like a predator? What’s wrong?”

Tony chewed on the seam for a moment longer, until a stitch audibly popped. Then he leaned back, staring Steve down with narrowed eyes. Steve twitched like he felt the desire to run, but manfully met Tony’s gaze anyway. Finally, frustration dripping from every word, Tony huffed out, “It. Smells… evil.”

“Okay, that’s. Something we can work with,” Steve answered quickly, before Tony could bite down again. “What’s evil about it? Our cleaning products? Is the fabric degrading? Like, what exactly is it about the couch that we can change?”

Tony started looking uncertain, pulling the claws of his left hand free with the sound of torn fabric to pick at the edges of a puncture he’d made. “…It smells… too many,” he finally offered, managing to sound petulant instead of guilty.

Steve looked bewildered, but luckily, Bucky had always had more success in the dating department than he had, so he picked up what Tony was saying instead. “You mean there are other scents besides mine and Steve’s,” he concluded, tipping his head. “You can’t get comfortable because there are too many strange scents you don’t recognize, and you’re on the cusp of heat.”

Tony looked uncertain for a moment, then angry again. Steve threw his hand out before he could bury his teeth back into the couch, hastily offering, “What about a room that just smells like Bucky and me? Huh? Would that be safe?”

Tony scowled up at him mulishly. “And what room would that be? Huh?”

Steve glanced up at Bucky, and Bucky raised his eyebrows. There was only one room that could reliably smell only like them, and they both knew that it was their bedroom. With Tony about to start his heat, it would absolutely be an offer to help him through it to bring him there. He might find it offensive, being invited in by two prey shifters. They watched Tony sink his teeth back into the couch and decided it probably wouldn’t be more offensive than their furniture.

“Hey, Tony,” Bucky said gently. He waited for Tony to slant a glare at him again to make sure he had his full attention, then said, “We have the perfect room. It just smells like me an’ Stevie. That’s not too many, is it?”

Tony chewed on the fabric a little longer, then let it go with a wet sound, licking his lips. “…Two,” he said quietly, eyes narrowed in thought.

Steve and Bucky took a moment to silently and secretly panic, because they hadn’t thought it would be a problem. Bobcats weren’t monogamous, and technically neither were hares, but Steve and Bucky were… solid. They kept coming back to each other. Tony, on the other hand, wasn’t known for… catting around. Sure, earlier in his life, but that had slowed down as he got older, and had stopped almost entirely after Pepper. Maybe two scents were too much.

“…Two,” Tony repeated, glancing at the couch with more fury than his body should be able to contain. He looked back at Steve and Bucky. “That’s okay.”

“Great!” Bucky exclaimed, unwilling to give him the chance to change his mind. He turned, and Tony’s claws were torn free with comical popping sounds, nearly drowned out by his squawk of offense. The couch was already pretty much ruined, anyway. He swung Tony up into his arms and fought back a wince. He was still freezing. “Steve, grab some extra blankets, will ya?”

“Sure,” Steve answered, frowning in concern, and finally moved toward the linen closet.

Tony was surprisingly calm as Bucky carried him back to the bedroom, considering how violent he’d been getting with the couch. He didn’t even struggle when Bucky juggled him into one arm to pull back the blankets on the bed. He gently set Tony in the middle, ready to reach out and smack a pillow or blanket from his hands if he decided to give it the couch treatment, but he just looked around the room and sniffed deeply, considering, before flopping onto his back with force.

“…Okay,” Bucky muttered to himself when Tony didn’t say anything. He couldn’t help a thrill of satisfaction rolling through his gut when he noticed that Tony had turned his head and was rubbing his cheek into his pillow, though. He pulled the blankets up over him. “I’m gonna get in to help warm you up, okay?”

Tony said nothing, but he did start to purr, a deep, rumbling noise that made Bucky want to pet him. He fought the urge, instead circling the bed to his side and crawling under the covers. Tony was still worryingly cold when he reached out for him, but he also made the effort to cuddle up to him, so he probably wasn’t in too much danger. They’d get him warmed up, discuss his stay now that the blizzard he’d been trying to beat had snowed him in, and not talk about his freakout with the couch at all. He was pretty sure that one day they’d come back to the cabin to find a whole new couch after Tony was finally able to skulk off, trying to pretend he wasn’t embarrassed.

“Warm,” Tony murmured, greedily pressing his back to Bucky’s chest. His purring went up a notch, and it sent a pleasant, vibrating sensation through Bucky’s core.

Steve came in with an armful of extra blankets before Bucky could tell him so. “How’s he doin’, Buck?”

“Well, he hasn’t bitten any pillows, but we know he’d be doing that for a different reason in here,” Bucky replied, smirking.

Tony let out a huff, turning to bury his face in Steve’s pillow. “As if. Bet you guys don’t even have barbs.”

“Those are real?” Steve asked, surprised, even as he began layering more blankets onto the bed.

Tony slanted an unimpressed scowl in his direction. “I’m gonna get you guys a big picture book about alpha biology. Then you’ll be sorry. I hope you see a horse shifter’s cock and faint dead away.”

“Okay,” Steve replied, unable to hide the amusement in his tone as he carefully crawled under all the blankets. “You’ll take care of me when I faint, right?”

Tony worked his jaw, purr fading as he glared up at Steve mulishly. He didn’t struggle when Steve pressed in so they were chest to chest, though, and he muttered a petulant, “O’ course.”

“Being sincere wouldn’t kill you, you know,” Bucky teased, pressing closer so that Tony was sandwiched firmly between them.

“It would,” Tony huffed, but his purring started up again, so. He was probably just being a feline about it.

Tony warmed up slowly, even with all the blankets on them. He kept putting his icy toes on their legs, alternating between them, but when his feet finally stopped feeling like ice cubes, the rest of him quickly followed suit, so. It was bearable. His purring petered off the warmer he got, which was a bummer, but having him warm and calm between them was just as nice.

Then he started squirming, and it wasn’t so nice.

“What are you doing,” Bucky sighed as he wiggled his hips, bouncing on the mattress between them.

“’m horny,” Tony muttered, and while he didn’t say it, his tone clearly added an ‘idiot’ to the end.

Steve blinked, stunned. “Already? That was fast.”

“I said it was coming on, didn’t I?” Tony groused, throwing his leg over Steve’s hip. “Why do you think I went out in that fucking storm? I didn’t realize I was so close when I got here. Fuck,” he gasped, then sighed, letting out a quiet mewl.

It took a moment, but then they realized they could hear the wet sound of something moving back and forth. Bucky carefully pushed his thigh forward and bit back a grunt when he felt Tony’s hand moving against it. “You’re fucking yourself in our bed?” he asked, wondering if he should feel scandalized or not. “You’re not even gonna ask us if that’s okay?”

“…I can go back out to the couch,” Tony grumbled, huffing. “But. It’s gonna happen regardless. I can’t—I need to—”

“Could just ask for help,” Steve teased, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. “C’mere.”

Bucky watched, enthralled, as Tony blinked up at him in confusion, though he willingly let Steve draw him in. He mewled when Steve brought their mouths together, gasping quietly when Steve immediately pressed his tongue in. He tried to take control of the kiss, but Steve didn’t let him, instead keeping up his languid, slow mapping of his mouth.

Then Steve glanced at him and gave him a wink, and Bucky bit back a laugh. Instead, he curled his fingers around the hem of Tony’s briefs, an ear out for complaint as he carefully slid them down his thighs. Tony wouldn’t uncurl his top leg from Steve’s hip, though, and he was too focused on trying to get his tongue into Steve’s mouth to help, so Bucky shrugged and ripped them right down the middle.

That, apparently, was enough to get Tony to jerk away from Steve’s face, immediately complaining, “Hey!”

“I’ll give you a pair of mine,” Bucky replied, amused.

Tony huffed and puffed irritably, then muttered about how they were hare-brained again. Finally, he muttered, “Fine, but you’re not getting them back.”

“Oh no, a chance to imagine you keeping my underwear on you? Say it ain’t so,” Bucky deadpanned.

Tony’s breath hitched, but he managed to mumble a petulant ‘asshole’ at him, cheeks flushed and pupils blown.

“Is this okay?” Steve asked gently. “We’re not. A species that can. Just go for a while before we come.”

“Our refractory periods are insane though,” Bucky added.

Tony leaned back and gave one very hard blink at them. “I’m a short but frequent animal too. So. That should be fine.”

“Even without the barbs?” Steve asked, brows furrowing with concern.

“I have slept with many non-cats,” Tony huffed. “I’m not picky. And there are two of you, so…”

Bucky pressed closer, pushing his pants and underwear down around his thighs even as he murmured, “‘I’m not picky.’ How romantic. Be still my beating heart.”

“I can get off without you,” Tony warned, beginning to turn his head to glare at him. Then he let out a startled yowl, back arching, as Bucky buried his length in one go. “Big,” he managed, squirming. “I thought hares were small.”

“Serum,” Steve answered, shrugging, then pulled him back into a kiss.

Bucky waited a moment, to see if Tony would voice any complaint, but then he rocked his hips back impatiently, so. He figured if Tony really didn’t want this, they’d look like the couch anyway. He took a moment to wrap his arms around Tony’s waist, holding him flush to his body as he carefully worked his cock back and forth, trying to find the right angle. He could hear Tony growling irritably against Steve’s mouth, but there were no claws or sharp teeth to go with it, so he figured that it was more frustration or impatience than actual physical discomfort.

Then Tony jerked his head back, eyes wide, and gasped, “Oh! There. Don’t fucking change anything.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, burying his face in the back of Tony’s neck as he shifted to make himself more comfortable. Then he began rutting him in earnest, pounding into him in the exact same spot.

Tony yowled, entire body jerking, but between Steve and Bucky’s hands, he didn’t move at all. Steve drew him back into a kiss, muffling his cries. Bucky was a bit disappointed he couldn’t listen to Tony enjoying himself, but then, Tony hadn’t been yowling in his ears, so. He figured he could put up with it.

“You’re not gonna make us trudge through the snow to get you a morning after pill or anything, are you?” he teased breathlessly.

Tony pulled away from Steve’s face to slant him an unimpressed scowl, which probably would have been more humbling if his face wasn’t flushed red and little mewls escaping his swollen lips. “You don’t have barbs. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, amused, then met Steve’s gaze over Tony’s shoulder. Steve just shook his head, smiling fondly, before he carefully shifted closer, one hand on Tony’s thigh to hold his leg over his hip as he pressed up against him more fully. Tony yowled again as it pressed his groin up against Steve’s other thigh, hands reaching down to grab his cock, but Steve caught his wrists easily.

Bucky started rutting into Tony harder, so every thrust rubbed his dick up against Steve’s leg, and it only took a couple thrusts before Tony was making a sound, high and reedy, in the back of his throat. He could feel Tony clenching down on his cock and briefly regretted not having barbs for him, but Tony didn’t voice any complaint as he trembled with aftershocks, so. It was probably fine. Bucky rutted into his rippling hole five, six more times before burying himself as deep as he could with a groan of his own.

Then he pulled out, and Tony barely had time to whine in complaint before Steve was burying his cock in him.

“…Oh no,” Tony said after a brief, shocked pause. “I don’t think I’m that short and frequent.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, even as he started rutting into him. “We’ll take care of you.”

Tony grunted, eyes rolling back as Steve apparently found his prostate on the third stroke and started pounding over it. “My heat’s ten days long, you’ll wear yourselves out—”

“Don’t worry about us,” Bucky soothed, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. He smirked. “‘sides. People don’t call us Energizer Bunnies for nothing.”

Tony twisted to look back at him with wide eyes. “Huh?!”

Steve chuckled. “We just keep going, and going, and—”

“Oh my god so I’m going to die,” Tony wailed, then let out a sort of ‘whuff’ as Steve yanked him closer. “If you big dumb hare-brains don’t crush me first,” he added, strangled.

Bucky ignored him, because he knew Tony was just complaining. He and Steve would never crush him, and besides, he wasn’t even trying to fight being pinned between them. He slid a hand over his stomach, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth. Their own breeding season was technically still a few weeks away, but he got the feeling that after a couple days of being cooped up with the scent of Tony’s heat, that wouldn’t matter, especially between the two of them. “I got a breeding kink that comes out after a couple hours, just so ya know,” he warned, and Tony squirmed against him irritably. “I know it’s not gonna take because of the barbs, but I’m gonna say a bunch of embarrassing breeding shit anyway.”

“What the fuck else are heats and ruts for?” Tony scoffed, then bit his bottom lip, letting out a soft ‘mew’ as Steve started rutting into him harder.

Bucky watched his mouth fall open, breaths coming out hot and wet before he let out that reedy sound again, entire body shaking this time as he panted and gasped his way through orgasm. “…I am genuinely kinda shocked that you can have attitude even though you’re literally right about to come,” he said after a brief pause.

Steve grunted, ramming forward twice more before falling still. He took a moment to suck in a deep breath, then slanted Bucky a somewhat charmed grin. “I think that’s just a cat thing. Guess we’ll have to fuck the attitude right out of him.”

“Guess so,” Bucky agreed as Steve pulled out with a quiet groan. He tugged Tony’s body back toward him, shuffling to get room to lay him out on his back. Once he was certain Tony appeared to be comfortable, he hooked his arms under Tony’s knees and pulled his legs up, effectively folding him in half so he could bury his cock in him again.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony gasped, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown. “I feel like a fleshlight.”

“Already?” Steve asked in surprise.

Tony managed a short bark of laughter, but it faded into a groan as Bucky began fucking into him again. “Fuck, how else am I supposed to feel when you guys are just ready to go at me?”

Bucky shrugged, working on the angle of his hips until—Tony yowled again, hips jerking uselessly against the grip on his legs, perfect—and began focusing his efforts on that angle. “Is it our fault you’re so sexy?”

Tony began to purr, and he looked betrayed for a moment. They assumed it was because he was going to be sassy again and his purr would undercut the sincerity of it. “Just give me breaks every couple hours or so,” he sighed, rolling his eyes, and Bucky bit back a coo at the blush crossing his cheeks.

“‘course,” Bucky grunted, and Steve crawled closer, pressing a kiss to Tony’s panting mouth the muffle his unimpressed mutterings about hare-brains and how they better at least have ointment for the chafing he’d obviously be suffering from by the time his heat was over.

#aurumacadicus writes #bite tony's ass fest #stuckony #lemon #trope #dialogue

44 notes · View notes

thealtoduck · 2 years ago

Text

Wild Side

Peter Parker x Male Black Cat!Reader

Warnings: Smut, friends with benefits, bottom!Reader, jealous top!Peter, shower sex, sex in school showers, anal sex, unprotected sex, fingering, blow job, cum swallowing…

Male Black Cat!Reader: Masterlist

Summary: You and Peter stay behind after class and shower together…

——

It was towards the end om gym class, you were hanging out with friends when you heard the bane of your existence speak up from behind you. ”Damn Y/n, if you do any more squats your gymshorts are gonna explode” Flash said flirtily.

”Hey Flash” you said dryly turning around to meet his wandering eyes. He grabbed your arm pulling you out of earshot from your friends. ”So i was thinking maybe you and me could stay after class, wait for the others to leave the locker room and have some fun in the shower”.

”Flash, that time at my place was a one time thing” you said awkwardly. ”Come on, you can’t deny our chemistry” Flash said. ”Flash, you were desperate, i was bored and drunk, i wouldn’t call that chemistry” you told him.

”Fine, don’t worry i’ll find someone else” he said walking off grumpily. You turned to get back to your friends not knowing that a certain brunette boy and his friend had overheard you. Peter couldn’t help feeling slightly jealous of the thought that you and Flash of all people had slept together.

Peter then decided to do something bold he like Flash came up to you while you were with you friends and asked ”Y/n, can i talk to you for a sec?”. ”Yeah sure” you said with a smile now that it was Peter.

”Can i fuck you in the showers later?” Peter asked casually, making your eyes widen as you were caught of guard. Seeing Peter this direct stirred up something inside you making you utter a shy ”Sure”. Then you went back to your friends.

Once the school bell rang people hurried out to the locker rooms as it was your last lesson of the day. Peter came up to you and planted a kiss on your cheek, the two of you hung out for a while in the gym hall until the others had left the locker room.

You then entered it and went to your lockers and started getting undressed. You got your towel out of your locker and then went and found a naked Peter by his locker. He closed his locker and turned to you. The two of you looked each other in the eyes and passionately started making out.

Peter then took you hand and guided you towards the now empty school showers. You put your towels aside and stepped under the showerhead, turning on the water. You made out as you were both getting drenched in it’s warm water.

Peter’s hand slipped down to your now hard cock and he started stroking your it with a firm grip. You moaned softly against Peter’s wet lips. Peter pressed you against the tiled wall, making you gasp as the cold tiles met your back.

Peter then got down on his kness in front of you taking your dick in to his warm mouth. You put your hand in his wet hair as he sucked your fat cock. He moved his head back and forth making you moan softly.

”Peter, you’re doing so good” you praised as Peter moved his tongue up your shaft. You already felt yourself getting close to cumming. ”Peter, i’m gonna cum” you said. Peter continued working your cock until he you spilled your load in his mouth.

”Shit Peter, swallow my cum” you said and Peter did as commaned, swallowing your seed. Your cock went flaccid as Peter stood back up. ”Ready for it?” Peter asked. ”You lead” you told him. Peter turned you around making you face the wall, water falling on your back

Peter immediately ran a finger over hole and started pushing one in to loosen you up, he continuly added more as he fingered you open for him. You felt your cock getting hard again as Peter got you ready.

Peter then started teasing you opening with his rock hard cock. ”Ready?” he asked. ”Yeah” you said needily as you pushed your ass against him. Peter lined himself up with your hole and started pushing himself inside.

You groaned as Peter’s thick legth penetrated you. Peter sank his shaft all the way in to your tightness. ”Fuck, so tight on my cock” Peter swore holding your hips firmly. He then slowly started pulling out before once again pushing back in.

You he started thrusting a slow paste. You moaned Peter’s name as he planted kisses on your neck. He then started moving a bit faster as he pushed in to you. He moved you closer to the wall and pinned you against it as he fucked your hole.

Your wet bodies were pressed against each other as Peter then said ”Flash, can’t fuck you like this can he” as his thrusts echoed in the empty shower and locker room. ”No” you whined as Peter’s cock hit your prostate.

”Who’s the only one who can fuck you like this?” Peter asked more dominant than usual, his body pressed hard against yours as he relentlessly fucked you into your tightness. ”You” you said wealky as Peter pounded your ass.

You felt your cock get ready to cum a second time as it was pressed against the shower room wall. ”I’m gonna cum” you said as Peter continued thrusting roughly. ”Cum for me, Y/n” he said fucking you restlessly.

You came once again your seed splashing over the shower wall. Peter chased his own orgasm his hard cock needing release. With one last deep thrust he filled your ass with his seed, once he pulled out his cock, his cum started to leak out of your now gaping ass.

The two of you then helped to wash each other off and got out of the shower. You took your towels and dried yourselves and then went to get dressed. As you both were getting dressed Peter asked ”So when did you and Flash happen?”.

”Oh, that? A couple of months ago like a week before i met you and we started you know…” you explained. ”Oh…” Peter said suprised. ”What?” you questioned. ”I kinda thought it was a more recent thing which is kinda why i wanted to do this, i kinda got a little jealous” Peter confessed.

”Well then i guess i should get you jealous more often” you teased him making him laugh. Once you both were finished you left the locker room together.

”Wanna come to my place and watch a movie?” Peter asked excitedly.

”Yeah, sure” you said and took Peter’s gentle hand in yours as you walked away from the school.

#peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #spider man x male reader #spiderman x male reader #peter parker x male black cat reader #marvel x male!reader #male reader #x male reader #x male!reader #mcu x male reader #avengers x male reader #avengers x male!reader #peter parker x male reader smut

1K notes · View notes

hatsbuckets · 16 days ago

Note

here’s a short idea of mine to distract you, didn’t manage to make it into a small fic cuz brain couldn’t come up with an ending of sort (as always😂) not sure if NikGhostPrice is your cup of tea so you don’t have to answer it if not!

Price with beard oil, Nik recommended him once and he would use it religiously. Keeps it soft, fluffy and smells really nice.

It’s a sort of ritual, either Nik or Ghost would join him, standing close to observe him slathering the oil on himself while Price hums a bit. It’s quiet and it’s comfortable, relaxing and serene.

Sometimes they touch his beard after he’s done, or Ghost looms over and not so subtly sniff him, rumbling in approval.

Other times they’re more hungry and aggressive, pulling Price away and pressing their face into his jaw impatiently while Price laughs.

I like two big guys spoiling our dear Captain with attention :3

hi gomz :) 🤭 I adore NikGhostPrice. Literally so much to unpack with these gruff ass men. Price trying to keep it together, Ghost a walking emotionally constipated cat, and Nik our low-key traumatized Russian who laughs through it. Yeahhhhh I like me some strong emotionally repressed men old man yaoi. thank you thank you <3 i uh took it and ran

Pure spoiled Price fluff ahead

...

The bathroom is warm, thick with steam from the shower that just ended. Price stands at the mirror, towel slung low on his hips, bare chest glistening faintly. His hair is towel-dried and tousled, but his attention is on his beard, neatly trimmed and still damp.

He hums as he unscrews the cap of the beard oil. The scent fills the room almost immediately, sandalwood and something smokey, a hint of citrus. It's clean and grounding. (It sells unscented, Nik added the essential oils.) Nik had given it to him once, with a small shrug and the casual authority of a man who knows what quality grooming smells like. Price had taken to it religiously ever since.

He drops a few golden beads of oil into his palm and begins working it in, fingers gentle, massaging through the grain of his beard, into the skin beneath. There’s care in the way he does it, like everything with Price, measured and thorough.

The door creaks open behind him. No rush. No surprise.

Ghost appears in the mirror first. Shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, blonde hair still damp from his own rinse, his face clean and fresh. He doesn’t say anything, just leans on the wall behind Price, arms crossed, watching like it’s his favorite show.

Then Nik steps in after him, quieter, bare feet on tile. He doesn’t speak either. Just approaches, moving like a large shadow until he’s just behind Price, close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin.

Price doesn’t look up. Just smirks faintly and keeps lazily working the oil in.

“Didn’t think you two were so interested in hygiene,” he teases, voice low and amused.

“We’re not,” Ghost rumbles. “Just yours.”

Nik reaches past him without speaking, palm up. Price raises a brow, but drops a few more beads of oil into his hand.

Price tilts his chin up slightly as Nik steps in front, fingertips slick and warm as they work through the lower part of his beard, like scratching an old dog under his chin. Slow. Intentional. Ghost’s eyes are glued to the motion.

“Could get used to this,” Price mutters.

Ghost moves then, silent, sure, and presses in behind him, chest to back, hands resting heavy on Price’s hips. He dips his head and noses at the side of Price’s neck, breathing him in.

“You smell like a bloody forest,” he says, voice low.

“That a complaint?” Price murmurs.

A low chuckle against his skin. “Not a chance.”

Nik finishes with a final stroke, smoothing the shape of the beard. His eyes meet Price’s for a moment. There’s something reverent there. And then his hands drop slow, one curls around Price’s waist. The other touches his chest, fingers splayed.

“You’re spoiling,” Price says softly, grin twitching. “Two bloody giants doting on me like I’m delicate.”

“You are,” Nik answers, pressing a kiss to his throat. “Delicately built for handling two greedy bastards.”

Suddenly Nik’s fingers are digging a bit deeper into his skin, possessive. Ghost’s mouth is open against his neck, breath hot. Price chuckles, but it breaks on a note of pleasure as Nik leans in and licks a stripe along his neck, shameless.

“Oi,” Price says, not moving an inch away. “You lot are animals.”

Ghost growls against his neck. “You smell too good. That’s on you.”

Nik presses his lips to Price’s cheek, slow and deliberate.

Price laughs, deep and indulgent. “Fine, at least let me put a shirt on first.”

Neither of them move.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he mutters. “Greedy, the both of you.”

But He doesn’t sound the least bit annoyed.

...(soft cuddles below. I meant for this to end here, but I needed them 🥺)

They don’t move. Price sighs, quiet, content, and lets his shoulders drop just a little, body easing back into Ghost’s chest while Nik rests against his side. The heat of them wraps around him like a second towel, solid and comforting.

No one says anything for a long moment. There’s no need. The only sounds are the distant hum of the shower pipes settling and the soft inhale-exhale of three steady heartbeats.

Nik lifts his hand again, thumb brushing under Price’s eye like he’s memorizing the lines there. He doesn’t speak. The silence is one Price has learned to read in touches and glances. Right now, it says: You are here. You are safe. And you are mine.

Ghost’s hand shifts slightly, from hip to stomach, slow and splayed. He presses his face into Price’s neck, breath fanning over damp skin, his eyes shut. Nik's hand finds Price’s again, fingers lacing.

It’s quiet again, but the weight of them is there, pressing in just enough. Price lets his eyes close. Leans his head back against Ghost’s shoulder. Nik shifts only to press a kiss to the back of Price's knuckles.

“You lot keep this up,” Price mutters sleepily, “I’m gonna fall asleep right here on the bloody tile.”

Ghost snorts. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Nik’s low chuckle is like velvet. “Bed, then.”

It's more like a suggestion that’s already halfway to a command. But Price feels the tired in it, the weight in his chest, and he turns in Nik’s arms slowly, lifting a hand to cradle Ghost’s jaw for a moment before nodding.

Price never gets that shirt.

The lights stay low. The covers don’t matter at first, because they’ve got each other.

Nik sits against the headboard, Price is pulled back against his chest, broad and solid and always warm. Nik wraps around him like armor. One arm drapes heavy across his stomach, the other resting across his chest, hand curled gently over one shoulder. Price exhales, soft and low, letting the weight settle into him.

Ghost settles in last. He moves without words. He crawls up into the space between Price’s legs and chest like he was made to fit there, bigger than he should be for curling up like this, but he makes it work. Nik moves his hands to make room and hold him too. He presses his face to the center of Price’s chest, nose to skin, arms loosely around his and Nik's waists. Like a fucking cat.

Price huffs a quiet laugh and cards a hand through his damp hair. “You’re too bloody big for this, Simon.”

Ghost just grunts. His voice is half-muffled, lazy.

Price rolls his eyes, but his hands are already moving, one over Ghost’s back in slow circles, the other resting atop Nik’s where it lies on Ghost's back now. His eyes slip closed.

The three of them stacked together like puzzle pieces, breathing each other in, fitting around one another in the stillness. It’s the softest part of their day. The safest.

Ghost shifts just enough to press a kiss to the center of Price’s chest, then sighs. Nik’s breathing slows behind him, steady and even. Price lets himself relax, lets his body go slack.

The room is quiet except for their breathing and a hum of a fan.

And when sleep finally finds him, it’s easy, like slipping beneath water, held and warm and wanted.

#Thank you so much gomz #this is genuinely like the sweetest idea and I needed a reason for big man cuddle piles #big man cuddle pile gotta be one of my favorite things fr #nikghostprice #captain john price #cod nikolai #simon ghost riley #cod #call of duty #thank you thank you gomz #I lowkey cried a little idk #big ask button #I have an unrelated OC named Niklas (he's german) and he also goes by Nik and for a hot second I started writing for him and not Nikolai bu #I fixed it we good #Nikolai is hardly like my sweet boy Niklas #anywho #It was like when you think it's saturday but it's actually friday or something for a second #oops I rambled okay baiiiii #my writing

33 notes · View notes

sparrowrye · 5 months ago

Text

The Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 6: a gold, comfy cage

Synopsis: Alastor presents you to the ruler of Pentagram City and lays down the law.

Master List

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor left me at the edge of the airship and moved about the deck giving orders. I watched with astounded curiosity as the men and women threw ropes twice their size over the edge and pulled the ship into dock. Magic lifted the heavy crates over the railing and piled them nearby.

The sudden realization that those crates held my old books was like a new hit to the head.

My angry eyes searched for Alastor's red coat a moment before he planted a hand on my shoulder. I jumped at the contact and he was quick to take a step forward and lead me off the airship. I followed, ignoring the urge to itch my trapped wings.

The stone was more solid—obviously—and my knees weren't ready for it. I stumbled off the ramp but kept walking, cheeks burning from the chuckles of the crew. It was then I noticed the cat leader from the attack was walking close behind me, arm carried in a makeshift sling from the injury I had caused. His yellow eyes met mine and I didn't dare look back a second time.

Alastor walked to one of the pulley systems for passengers and held open the small door. I casted him a wry look as I stepped into the funny contraption. I stayed in the corner and did my best to avoid accidentally brushing elbows.

At the center of the ravine was a large stone castle. It had several attaching gray structures and looked more like a fortress than a castle. The surrounding buildings were bright, beautifully designed, and as exotic as the people.

Is that...electricity? I noted different lamps and the static of radio music coming from several buildings. They did have electricity.

The pulley system stopped at a platform right at the fortress. The cat, with his crazy red wings, was already waiting for us. He moved so quietly—too quietly—and the look in his eyes unnerved me. He stayed close behind as we walked up the front steps and through the large wooden doors.

The inside of the massive building was uncomfortably cold. I folded my arms over my chest as my footpaws took on the brunt of the cold stone. The huge windows helped, though, and I made it a point to walk into the sun-soaked stone. Alastor looked over his shoulder but said nothing.

Eventually we came to a door that looked like any other but the inside was much larger and more extravagant than the door suggested. The floor was lined with red and brown rugs, the wall coated in dark wood, and various yellow trinkets were scattered across any available surface.

My eyes scanned the bookshelves and trinkets before discovering a second half to the room, a half that was occupied by comfortable furnishing, a crackling fire, and a short man dressed in white and red. He turned upon our entrance.

His coat was whiter than anything I'd ever seen. He wore a light pink vest with gold buttons and a red long sleeve underneath. There were red ruffles at the ends of his sleeves, around his chest, and at his waist where the pink vest met white pants. He was so strikingly different than his surroundings. His short, bright blonde hair added to his ethereal appearance.

Movement in the corner caught my attention, and I turned to find another person. I immediately noticed the family resembled in their blonde hair and puffy red cheeks. Her colors were inverted compared to her father.

She wore a red, sleeveless crossbody coat and black pants. Underneath her coat was a pristine white long sleeve which ruffled at her wrists and chest, topped with a beautiful red pendant in the shape of an apple. Her brown boots were knee high and her hair braided behind her back. She somehow managed to embody both femininity and masculinity, and it made me feel all the more awkward and plain.

"Lucifer," Alastor spoke, gesturing to me with a single hand, "may I present the most brilliant Archivist of our age."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as he placed a light hand on my lower back and guided me closer to the important pair. Their eyes looked me over just as much as mine had. It took every ounce of effort not shrivel and curl inward on myself.

"It's an absolute pleasure to meet you." Lucifer gave a small bow and stepped forward with an outstretched hand. "Though I wish it were under different circumstances." He was only an inch or two shorter than me compared to his daughter who stood an inch or two taller than me.

"Me too," I said curtly, ignoring his hand. He cleared his throat with the rejected hand and straightened up. I kept my face as neutral as possible despite the shaking in my legs.

"I'm sure she will come around," Alastor said in response to my rejection. "She's proven to be...resilient in times of hardship, but not beyond my ability to persuade."

"I won't be persuaded to do anything." I crossed my arms and took a step away from both men, eyeing the young girl standing behind Lucifer. "I'm bound by—"

Lucifer held up his hand and I fell silent. "I know you're bound by an oath. And I understand your anger, truly. But I hope you see this not as an act of malice but an act of survival." His cheery smiley was contrasting his true intentions.

"Your city seems to be doing just fine."

"On the surface," Lucifer explained. "We have worked hard to keep our looming demise hidden from the public. A demise we hope you'll be the key to preventing. The people...our people," he looked over his shoulder at his daughter, "are counting on us. They're trusting us to make the hard decisions."

"Hard but necessary," Alastor added, finding my eyes. "You've kept those texts hidden for too long, letting them gather dust while the rest of the world falls apart. It's time to put them to use."

"If your city is dying then it's your own doing," I said carefully. "There are plenty of communities doing just fine on their own. Yet you conquer and kidnap hundreds every year in the name of what? Power?"

"Survival," Lucifer corrected gently.

"That's not survival." My smile contrasted my true feelings, just as Lucifer's had. "You want an empire to control in the name of survival. I hate to tell you, but that's how Humanity fell."

"Which is why we want your help." Lucifer didn't seem to be losing patience, compared to Alastor who seemed to be building in impatience."We need to know Humanity's history so we don't repeat it."

"Most people know Humanity's general history, thanks to my people," I argued. "What you're asking from me is Old World technology and weapons."

"No weapons," Lucifer put his hand up again as if to banish the notion. "That's something I am personally against. But yes, we are also looking for Old World technology. It can protect our city, it can duplicate our resources, and families won't have to go hungry because we don't have enough food to feed them."

"We don't wish to take anything from you," he went on. "You'll have access to your archive as well as our own collection. We are asking for your help. We're not just a city, we're a refuge. And your knowledge—"

"A refuge from what?" I interrupted, arms finally unfolding so I could talk with my hands and point at Alastor. "Communities fear the day the Radio Demon comes to collect them and trap them in this city."

"In time," Alastor spoke before Lucifer could, "you will see the glory of this city and the peace it brings to families who were on the verge of death in their community." His words held firm but the underlying tone showed a glimpse of the level of irritation he was withholding.

I took another step back. "But apparently so is the city."

"Nothing is without fault," Lucifer interjected when white noise got caught in Alastor's throat. "But we are a better chance than what they had. Regardless of how you view our city, one fact remains: the knowledge you hold can save hundreds of lives and, later on, the entirety of Humanity. You hold that power."

Alastor moved silently and laid a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder. He leaned down so our faces were close. "This isn't about the past. This is about saving the future, the very thing you also want to save. You have the power to help build it bigger and better than our ancestors. You can be a part of that," he straightened up and donned the Radio Demon, "or find yourself on the other side of history. The world is moving on and if you don't adapt, you will be left behind."

"I don't think you realize what you're asking of me." I stepped away again so his hand would fall from my shoulder. "You're asking me to betray everything I've known. You're asking me to go against my predecessors and the oath we live by."

"Not necessarily," the girl spoke up.

"Charlie..." Lucifer whispered.

She ignored him. "Your oath says it can't be used for bad, right? That it's meant for the rebuilding of Humanity? Well, that's exactly what we're trying to do. You have knowledge--insight into Humanity's old ways. Farming techniques, materials for reinforcements, and even ways to survive against natural disasters. They're not weapons. We're just trying to survive like everyone else."

"And what about him?" I gave a terse nod in Alastor's direction without looking at him. "He spends half his time ranting and mocking the Old Humanity. Calling them weak and pitiful and whatever other derogatory terms you can think of. Why does he suddenly care about Humanity's legacy and its future?"

Lucifer and Charlie both looked to Alastor, whose grin faltered slightly. He recovered and stepped forward to circle behind me. "You judge too quickly, my dear." His voice was laced with feigned innocence. "I may have my strong opinion of Old Humanity, but that does not make me blind to progress. It's their strengths we need, not their weaknesses."

"Old Humanity used to think they were invincible," I replied. "In taking all their strengths, you will think yourself invincible too. In fact..." I looked him up and down with a wrinkle of my nose, "I know you believe you are."

His grin widened. "Such harsh words from the woman who was so gentle when she stitched my chest." He laid his long fingers across the lapels of his coat.

For the first time since my kidnapping, I smiled. "I'd love the opportunity to gently unstitch them for you."

"Enough," Lucifer grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alastor may not express himself well--"

"I find that many people understand me quite well," Alastor enunciated.

"--but he does understand what's at stake," Lucifer went on, ignoring the comment. "We all do. This isn't just about Pentagram City. It's about Humanity as a whole, which you are oath-bound to protect. With your help, we can build a future for Humanity. But we have to start small. One city at a time."

I shifted my weight between my feet. For years I had loathed my destiny; I had loathed the weight of Humanity's fate on my shoulders and now it was being increased ten fold. What they were saying made sense but my instincts were telling me this was wrong. I wanted to trust my instinct. "And if I refuse?"

Lucifer's lips dropped into a sad smile. "Then I'm afraid you'll find even the strongest wills can be broken." He glanced at Alastor still standing off to the side of me. "Alastor brought you here because he sees potential in you—a rare notion in itself."

"And for other reasons," Alastor added more quietly, glancing over me from head to toe.

"And I happen to agree with him just from this conversation. Most Archivists are blindly stubborn and see nothing past their oath. You know there is a way to save Humanity. Your region has known more about our past than any other region in the last ten years. Working with us, not for us, you'll find what you've been protecting will finally serve the purpose it was meant to."

My tone held no bite. "You're twisting my oath around to serve your purpose. If you really thought this to be a noble action, why kidnap me? Why steal my archive? You could be asking me for specific information then leaving me alone in my bunker. Yet you didn't."

Lucifer chose not to answer me directly. "If there was another way, I would take it. But we're running out of time and options. I know what I'm asking from you is a sacrifice, but one that could save the fate of Humanity."

Alastor's hand came to rest on the back of my neck, the pad of his finger brushing my skin. His tone was gentle and it sounded like Al was talking to me, "This doesn't have to be a battle, my dear. You're no longer alone. Allow us to work together."

All of them went silent for a long time. My gaze was rooted to the floor. I couldn't do what they were asking me; I couldn't translate those texts and allow them to use it how they wanted. There was no telling what they would do with it, no matter how small or insignificant the information might seem.

After my internal conflict went on for too long, Lucifer said, "Think about it."

Alastor's hand slid down to my lower black and led me out of the room. Charlie looked like she wanted to say more but thought better of it, folding her hands politely in front of her and watching the two of us step through the doorway and back into the cold hallway.

The sound of Alastor's boots on the stone echoed in my head. My mind swirled with all kinds of emotions--doubt, anxiety, resentment, fear, hurt, and even a glimmer of curiosity.

I wanted to trust them. Lucifer was obviously the ruler, even though I thought Alastor was, and what he had said made sense, along with his daughter. The city was in a type of danger thanks to Mother Nature and was looking for a way to survive; a way that I had hidden in my mountain of texts.

Yet I couldn't ignore the probing thought in the back of my mind: what happens if I help them survive their looming threat? They dragged me and my archive all the way back here, which likely meant they were looking for more than just a rain shield. They would want more.

"Care to share your thoughts, my dear?" Alastor's voice snapped the tense silence.

My shoulders stiffened. "Why? So you can twist them around for your benefit?" The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I felt a presence behind me. I spun to find Husker walking silently behind me, sharp eyes glaring up at me. Why could I never hear him?

"Such venom," Alastor chuckled, continuing his stride down the hall. "I would've thought you'd have seen the bigger picture by now."

"Oh I see it just fine," I walked after him. "You trick me for your benefit and then expect me to save your precious city in the name of saving Humanity. All because you suddenly decided Humanity is worth saving. Please."

Alastor glanced over his shoulder. "I admit my methods are...heavy handed."

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "You put a spell on my wings, threw me and my archive on a ship, and presented me to your ruler like some trophy. I'd say that's a little more than heavy-handed."

He came to a stop and so did I, eyeing him carefully as he turned to face me fully. "You cannot deny it achieved results. You are here. You are safe. And despite your protests, I think you're starting to understand just how important you are."

I took a step back, fists clenched tightly at my sides. "Don't flatter yourself, Alastor. The only reason I'm not 'hissing like a feral cat' and attempting to throw my life away is because Lucifer's words have some merit. At least he has the grace of making me feel like part of the bigger picture and not some pawn on a chessboard."

His eyebrow twitched as he leaned down, voice lowering with him. "Lucifer is an idealist. He'll sugarcoat everything to make you do his bidding. But me? I won't coddle you. I'll do whatever it takes to keep this city from falling. Even if it means being the villain in your story." His words soaked into my skin as those red eyes bore in mine. This was the Radio Demon.

He straightened up, back to glaring down his long nose at me. "I trust you'll make the right decision, for yourself and for all of us."

{|}

We passed two guard towers at the entrance to a ravine and stepped into a world of unworldly things. People dressed in bright cloaks and shawls hustled about, spirals of dusty air flew overhead, and a bright green light pulsed through the ground beneath my feet like a heartbeat.

Buildings were carved into the stone wall and carpets hung over their edge, paints of red, oranges, and browns outlined their designs. All kinds of sights, smells, and noises pummeled my senses. It was hard to focus on one thing in all this chaos. It was amazing but...overwhelming.

We came to a fork in the road. The stone buildings and makeshift stands and tents continued onward. How much more of this was there? How long was it? How many more people lived here?

My questions remained unanswered as we approached a building sitting at the corner of the divide. It was a tower of some sorts and dressed in reds and blacks. The colors were so bright and demanding that I instantly knew this was where Alastor lived.

"Fetch Rosie," Alastor ordered, and the cat slid off without a word or a sound.

Alastor opened the door and gestured inside. My eyes looked him over as I carefully stepped through the threshold, a heavy weight settling in my lungs. It was dark for only a moment before a fireplace sparked to life in an instant, followed by lanterns on the ceilings and curtains drawing apart to let in natural sunlight. The motions made me jump.

The room was rather simple but, in my eyes, it was by far the most luxurious place I had ever seen. To the right was the grand fireplace surrounded by a simple couch and chair. The cushions looked soft and in perfect shape—not a scratch or patch in sight.

Bookshelves leaned against the staircase directly in front of me with trinkets and other things on display. Directly behind the couch was a standing cabinet. Both pieces of furniture were made of finely sanded dark wood. At the end of the room was another threshold that looked like it lead to a kitchen and dining room.

"Welcome to my home, my dear," Al said from behind me. I had shown him my home and now he was showing me his. "You may go anywhere in this house. What's mine is yours."

My cheeks burned at the realization that my bunker had probably looked shabby to him. It was dark, rusting away, and cold. Everything had been made to withstand time and life, not to impress. Despite everything that had happened, I wished I had made the bunker more presentable for him.

Then I heard a lock click and everything came back. I stepped forward, turning around to face him with my arms crossed and face set. He let out a sigh through his nose. "What is it?"

"I suppose you want me to be thankful you're not tossing me in a cell?"

He smirked, passing me and withdrawing a glass canter from the standing cabinet. He poured two cups of a reddish-yellow liquid, placing one at the edge and picking up the other. "You're not a prisoner here, my dear. At least, not in the way you think." He moved to the single chair by the fire and motioned for me to sit. I remained standing.

"You brought me here against my will," I reminded him firmly. "I call that imprisonment." Curiosity made me glance at the drink still sitting on the cabinet.

"I've brought you here because you're valuable and because despite everything—" he swirled the liquid around in his glass, then glanced up at me with those ruby eyes, "I still seek your company."

"Valuable?" I ignored the glass and moved to stand in front of the fire. "I suppose that's how you've always seen me and just tricked me into thinking it was something more. I expect nothing less from the Radio Demon."

"It's not that simple," he said. "I have responsibilities. I have an entire city to protect from the inside and outside."

I crossed my arms. "And I'm just the tool to fix all your problems."

He sipped from the glass then placed it on the small table beside him. His eyes seemed to glow in the firelight looked at me. "I will not pretend like this is ideal for you. But you are here now. Safe and with access to more knowledge than your ancestors could ever dream of. But in order for this arrangement to work, there are rules to follow."

I scoffed and walked in a circle. "What makes you think I'm interested in following your rules?"

His tone dropped. "You should be." He deposited the glass on a small side table and stood. "For your safety and for your books. Archivists have been hunted down and burned alive with their archive on this side of the region for centuries."

I backed up when he came too close.

"Firstly," he began. "You will continue your work translating your archive as well as any others I present. I expect progress and will not take kindly to any attempts of sabotage or withholding information. Am I clear?"

I crossed my arms, taking another step away. "If I refuse?"

He looked at me as if he was persuading a child. "You won't refuse. Not if you want to protect your books, live by your oath, and still get to live a life no Archivist has ever dreamed of living."

A single step put him in my personal space and I had run out of room, the wall practically pushing me in the direction I didn't want to go in.

His tone softened with his eyes. "I do not want to be your enemy, my dear. But my devotion to Pentagram City must come first, just as your devotion to your oath does. I hope you will come to understand this and we may once again have what we did in that forest." His hand came up to brush his knuckles on my cheek.

Had it not been for his appearance, I might have fallen into that trap. But his unfamiliar, bright red coat and monocle under his eye reminded me of the reality I was being forced to live.

I swallowed on nothing, voice struggling to speak at a normal volume. "Are you expecting me to just blindly believe you're Al?"

He blinked. "I don't follow."

"I have spent the last five years listening to your broadcasts. You're not Al. You're the Radio Demon, the man I've sworn would never touch my books. The man who laughs at Humanity's downfall but uses only the good parts for his benefit."

He pulled his hand away and the Radio Demon came back in a very jarring way. "Secondly, you may go anywhere in this house but you're not permitted to leave. My district is full of life but the streets are very dangerous, especially for someone who has not grown up in such an environment. If you step outside without me, you're putting yourself and the fate of Humanity at risk."

My hands pressed into the wall as if to ground myself. "What do I get out of this? A gold cage is still a cage."

"You'll have my protection, my resources, and my company."

"I don't trust you nor want your company."

A knock on the door drew our attention. Alastor didn't seem at all concerned about it, calmly approaching the door as he continued the conversation. "Consider this a new start, then. A way for us to...coexist and discover if there's any hope of reestablishing our connection. But I remind you, your work is vital and I need you focused."

I shifted my weight. "So I'm stuck in a fancy cage with a man I don't trust. I'm not so sure this is any better than my previous circumstance."

His smile was...complicated. "I hope as time goes on that you'll see more of this city and the wonders it holds. And I hope that one day you'll come see this place isn't as terrible as it seems. Maybe...you'll come to find I'm not so either."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Oh to be in a fanfic. Things are never so simple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette

#archivists oath #demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #charlie morningstar #hazbin charlie #hazbin husker

37 notes · View notes

not-so-allegiant-general · 3 months ago

Text

"If not for your incompetence, Ren, we would be in possession of not only one useless droid but maybe the entire resistance fleet! But no! You know better than obeying a single order!"

"I am not taking orders from you general! Thanks to the droid we will find them sooner or later."

"Sooner or later? You thoughtless idiot they will move somewhere else before we will have a chance to get them. You destroyed the past months of our work!"

"I will get them, Hux. Calm down, maybe someone needs to fuck you properly so you won't be so uptight."

"Maybe someone needs to!" he barked in full voice and suddenly remembered that he was on the bridge. His mind went blank when he realized what he said. Some of the crew members desperately focused more on their jobs, but most of them turned around very slowly to look at Hux, including Mitaka, who was standing a few steps next to him.

Kylo Ren grinned amused he gave Hux a mocking bow.

"Always at your service, General," he said laughing and left the bridge.

"Get back to your work!" Hux hissed realizing everyone was looking at him. Everyone obeyed, only Mitaka was still looking at him. "You have something to say, lieutenant?"

"N-no… No, sir. Sorry, sir. I will get back to my station, sir."

Hux quietly sighed rubbing his forehead.

Kylo Ren was certain that after the last events on the bridge, Hux will avoid him. But he was wrong, oh how wrong he was. When he opened the door to his quarters with the intent to meditate and go to sleep, Hux was leaning on the wall inside, smoking. He gave Kylo a judgmental look as if the knight was the one, who sneaked into not quite his quarters during the night shift.

"General Hux."

"Lord Ren."

"How can I help you?"

"Never again undermine my authority in front of my subordinates."

Kylo smiled amused.

"You were the one who demanded to be fucked." He was not in the mood for another fight, no matter how entertaining fights with Hux were so he added "I will consider it. Anything else? I am tired."He will taunt him later. He thought to himself, heading to his bedroom. Hux smiled sharply, tilting his head.

"Aren't you always at my service?" That made Kylo halt. He glanced at Hux, not sure if he was mocking or not. He was certainly in no position to mock but… "Or these were only empty words?"

"They were…" He mused looking at Hux's arched brow. He slowly ran his tongue on his teeth looking as Hux unfastened his uniform. Kylo swallowed "Not empty."

Hux smiled amused, and Kylo felt that he was doomed. He was the one that supposed to be in control here. But here he stood, disarmed only with a flash of pale skin.

"Good." Hux smiled content. Almost like a cat. "I demand to be fucked right now, are you at my service, Ren?"

Kylo's mouth went dry, and he was only able to nod.

He was the winner here. Hux crawled to his quarters after his shift to beg, but somehow Kylo was the one who ended up begging for it, when Hux was straddling his thighs and rocking his hips deliciously slow.

The general was in an exceptional mood during his next shift. And by exceptional I mean he showed up on the bridge half an hour before his shift, with a cup of tarine tea and commanded fight simulation. He turned nice, quiet morning into a nightmare.

After they barely completed the simulation Mitaka proudly reported to Hux their victory, with extensive losses but victory, nevertheless. Hux only took a sip of his tea and said:

"Again."

Kylo Ren became the most hated man among the alfa shift crew.

#kylux #armitage hux #kylo ren #general hux #kylux fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars

27 notes · View notes

collapsedglasshouses · 2 months ago

Text

LOST IN ALL THE CITY LIGHTS

CHAPTER SIX aka No Time To Talk ♫ PAIRING: Vinny x Jean (f!singer) ♫ SUMMARY: Jean, part-time streamer and programmer, and her band Join Me In Pieces are invited to be the support for Motionless in White at their upcoming US tour. Adding to her anxiety about meeting the people she had been a fan of for over a decade at this point, is the fact that the internet seemingly seems to think that her and Vinny would be a perfect match. ♫ WARNINGS: SLOW BURN, Jean being an anxious mass for weeks straight, swearing, corny af, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use, eventually smut (specific warnings at the beginning of the chapters), too much tension too little spoken words, MDNI, 18+ ♫ A/N: Here is the chapter I promised. Hope you enjoy and if so, consider reblogging. Thank youuu ♡

MASTERLIST || MASTERPOST

The venue was alive, buzzing almost, with a kind of chaotic electricity that seeped into every crack of the walls and settled deep into Jean’s bones. It wasn’t just noise; it was anticipation almost making her crack. The thrum of amps being tested, the distant pounding of a bass drum, people shouting over each other as they maneuvered heavy pieces of stage equipment through narrow corridors. That all mixed together into one tangled mess of pre-show adrenaline.

The day had really come. Their first big tour.

The magnitude of it hadn’t truly hit her until she had stepped foot inside the venue that morning. She’d seen photos, sure. Watched videos of bands playing crowds that size. Had been in crowds that size. But standing there - feeling the sheer size of the space, staring into the empty pit that would sooner than later be filled with thousands of screaming fans. It hit her differently. It was terrifying.

You’re fine, she told herself. You’ve rehearsed. You’re ready. You can do this.

But as the hours ticked by, the cracks started to show.

Mars’s guitar rig wasn’t working.

“What do you mean it’s dead?” Mars’s voice was tight, hovering on the edge of full-blown panic. “It worked yesterday! What did you do to it, Callum?”

Callum, who was already sweating through his shirt, threw his hands up defensively. “I didn’t do anything! Maybe if you didn’t treat your gear like a punching bag—”

“I didn’t touch it the wrong way, you idiot! It’s your fault if—”

Jean tried to block them out, focusing on her own checklist. She didn’t have time for Mars and Callum’s usual pre-show bickering.

Except then… “Hey, uh… Jean?”

She turned to see Will hovering awkwardly, clutching a half-empty bag of chips like a life raft. His eyes were wide with panic. “So, funny thing… I think they forgot to pick up our merch shipment.”

Jean blinked. “They what?”

“I thought this was handled. I know I was responsible for it. I’m sorry!” Will stammered, gesturing wildly with the chip bag. “But now I’m not sure, and I tried reaching out, but then everything got busy, and-”

“Will, breathe,” Cat interrupted, rubbing her temples and pacing the small backstage area like she was preparing for battle. “We’ll figure it out. It’s not like the fans will riot if they can’t get a T-shirt on night one — right?”

Jean didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Every nerve in her body felt like it was stretched to its breaking point. Her hands trembled as she double-checked the list Will gave her, her mind racing with every possible way tonight could go wrong.

If we mess up, it’s on me.

That thought hit harder than anything else.

“Okay, no,” Jean said suddenly, cutting through the tension. “We’re not just going to hope it works out. Will, give me the supplier’s info.”

Will blinked at her. “You… you’re going to call them? Now?”

Jean extended her hand, her jaw tight. “Yes. Now. We still have a couple of hours before doors open. If there’s any chance we can fix this, we’re going to try.”

Will handed over his phone, and Jean quickly scanned through the contact list until she found the supplier’s number. She hit call, putting it on speaker for everyone to hear.

One ring. Two rings. Three—

“Hello?”

Jean didn’t even let relief settle in. “Hi, this is Jean from Join Me In Pieces. We were supposed to receive our merch shipment today… it was meant to be here by noon. We need to know where it is.”

A pause. Then- “Oh… uh. Yeah, I think we’ve got that shipment still in the warehouse. No one came to pick it up.”

Will let out a strangled noise of pure panic.

Jean clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. “We were told it would be delivered. We’re on a strict timeline here - we’re playing our first show tonight. Can we pick it up now?”

Another pause. “If you can get here within the hour, sure. But we close at five.”

Jean ended the call, already moving. “We’re going. Now.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jean was in a van with Cat behind the wheel and Will squished into the back, looking like he might combust from stress at any second.

“This is a disaster,” Will muttered for the tenth time, hunched over with his head in his hands. “I screwed everything up.”

Jean turned in her seat to face him. “Hey. You didn’t screw everything up. We’re fixing it. That’s what matters.”

Cat snorted from the driver’s seat. “Yeah, and besides, if someone’s gonna screw something up, at least it wasn’t a guitar rig mid-set. You’re not the worst offender today.”

Will gave a weak laugh, but Jean could see how much it was eating at him.

“Seriously,” she added, softening her tone. “We’ve got this. We’re not gonna let missing merch ruin our first show. We’ve worked too hard for this moment.”

The rest of the drive was a blur of tense silence and bad music blasting through the speakers in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

By some miracle, they made it to the warehouse with fifteen minutes to spare. The supplier handed over the boxes with a shrug, clearly unaware of how much chaos this delay had caused.

Cat helped load everything into the van, while Jean kept Will focused, grounding him with small, encouraging words.

“This show’s gonna be fine,” Jean said as they strapped the last box in place. “We’ll get back, set everything up, and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

Will nodded, breathing a little easier now.

They made it back just in time to unload everything and scramble to set up the merch booth with the help of some of the crew before the doors opened. The adrenaline from the mad rush didn’t fade - it just morphed into the sharp, electric anticipation of the show itself.

Backstage was pure chaos again.

Mars’s rig was working—somehow. Callum had managed to work some last-minute magic with the tech crew.

Jean took a moment to breathe, surrounded by her band, the hum of the crowd on the other side of the walls growing louder by the second.

“This is it,” Cat said, resting a hand on Jean’s shoulder. “We’re about to play our first big show.”

Jean nodded, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. “Yeah. And it’s going to be good.”

No more distractions. No more panic. Just the music, the moment, and the thousands of people waiting for them to take that stage.

The chaos was behind them now. It was time to play.

As their band began warming up, Jean spotted Vinny for what felt like the first time that day. He was completely in his own zone. Headphones on, sticks spinning effortlessly between his fingers as he ran through warm-ups. His focus was intense, laser-sharp, and something about that made it impossible to look away.

About ten minutes later, everything was like a pressure cooker of nervous energy.

Their band gathered in a tight huddle, the air thick with anticipation. The distant roar of the crowd bled through the walls, a reminder of just how real this was.

Mars tried to break the ice. “Okay, new rule: nobody trips over their own feet tonight. Especially you, Callum.”

Callum shot her a glare. “Fuck off. I haven’t tripped since-”

“Yesterday,” Will helpfully supplied, eyes wide and still stress-eating his chips.

Jean forced a laugh, but her heart was pounding like a war drum. Every beat counted down the seconds until they had to step on stage and prove themselves.

Ten minutes.

Five minutes.

One minute.

And then - like some cruel twist of fate - Vinny appeared. Out of nowhere.

“Hey.”

Jean blinked, thrown completely off balance. “Hey-”

He stepped closer, voice low and steady in the chaos. “You’re gonna kill it.”

Just like that, the noise around her seemed to fade. For a second, it was just him - the warmth in his voice, the unexpected softness in his eyes.

She didn’t even get the chance to respond before their tour manager’s voice cut through the moment. “Jean! You’re up - now!”

Her feet moved on autopilot, carrying her toward the stage, but her mind stayed behind with him.

The spotlights hit like a tidal wave, blinding and immediate.

The crowd’s roar was deafening, a wall of sound that slammed into Jean’s chest and nearly knocked the breath out of her. Thousands of voices, thousands of eyes - it was overwhelming in the most stomach twisting way.

The first few notes of the opening song rang out, her band launching into the set with practiced precision. But for Jean? Everything blurred together.

Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out the music. Every lyric felt heavier than it should. Every movement felt too calculated, like she was stuck inside her own head.

Don’t screw this up. Don’t screw this up.

But by the second song, something shifted.

The nerves didn’t disappear entirely, but they dulled, melted away into the rhythm of the music. Her body remembered what her mind had forgotten: You’ve done this a thousand times before. You belong here.

Her voice found its strength. Her confidence returned in waves with every beat, every chord, every cheer from the crowd.

By the time they hit their final note, the audience’s reaction was thunderous—an eruption of pure energy that left Jean breathless.

They had done it.

The moment they stumbled off stage, drenched in sweat and high on adrenaline, the backstage area exploded with chaotic celebration.

Mars threw an arm around Jean’s shoulders, grinning ear to ear. “Holy shit. We didn’t die!”

Callum laughed, though his face was pale. “I almost threw up, but yeah. That was insane!”

Will looked like he might actually cry, clutching his drumsticks to his chest. “We did it. We actually did it.”

Everyone was buzzing, energy bouncing off the walls like static electricity. But as the others celebrated, Jean’s eyes drifted, drawn like a magnet toward the other side of the stage.

Motionless in White was preparing for their set.

And there he was.

Vinny caught her gaze.

He didn’t say anything. No teasing smirk, no playful comment; just a soft, knowing smile. The kind that settled under her skin and lingered there.

Jean stayed side-stage, tucked into the shadows as Motionless in White took over the crowd.

It was one thing to admire them as a fan - to listen to their albums, to watch videos, but seeing them live, this close? It was something else entirely.

The raw power of their sound reverberated through the venue like an earthquake. The energy was feral, electric, every beat pulsing through the floor beneath her feet.

And then there was him.

Watching Vinny behind the drum kit was… something else. The way he moved - fluid, precise, effortless. His entire body was locked into the rhythm, every muscle working in perfect sync with the music.

Jean tried really hard not to notice the way his arms flexed with every hit of the snare.

She failed. Miserably.

By the time MIW’s set ended, the post-show buzz had started to fade.

The adrenaline was still there, but more muted now, humming quietly in the background like a song she didn’t want to end.

She wandered aimlessly backstage, lost in her own head, when she heard footsteps behind her.

“So… you survived.”

She turned to find Vinny standing there, sweat-soaked, the body paint on his arms not as covering as it was before and breathless from his own set.

Jean let out a soft laugh, the tension she didn’t realize she’d been carrying easing from her shoulders. “Barely.”

There was a pause. Not awkward - comfortable, surprisingly. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

And then - softly, almost too quiet to hear - Vinny said, “Told you you’d kill it.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes. “You say that like you weren’t waiting for me to crash and burn.”

He hesitated.

“Nah,” he said, quieter this time. “Never doubted you.”

Something in his voice made her throat go dry.

Jean opened her mouth to respond, but Vinny had already turned away, heading back toward the others – like he hadn’t just said something that completely short-circuited her brain.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

TAGLIST: @ladyveronikawrites @sitkowski @deathblacksmoke

@bugseatmesoon @circle-with-me @measuredingold @cncohshit @jilliemiw86

@exitwoundsx @vinyardmauro @devilsfuckingdance

#✧.* lost in all the city lights #vinny mauro x oc #vinny mauro x female oc #motionless in white fanfiction #motionless in white fanfic #motionless in white fic #vinny mauro fic #vinny mauro fanfic #vinny mauro fanfiction #collapsedglasshouseswrites

20 notes · View notes

shiorihyugawrites · 4 months ago

Text

The Legendary Black Cat

Selena de la Rosa, known across Marley as the Legendary Black Cat, is the world's deadliest assassin—a master of agility, precision, and deception. When Marley turns against her, she is shipped to Paradis as a living weapon, chained and drugged, with her survival all but assured to be short-lived. But Selena is no ordinary prisoner.

Bound by no one, loyal to none, Selena plots her next move, determined to seize her freedom by any means necessary. Yet, her plans are complicated by the Scouts who captured her, particularly Captain Levi Ackerman—the so-called Humanity's Strongest Soldier. Selena is intrigued by his strength and reputation, but her pride refuses to acknowledge him as her equal.

Caught between Levi’s unrelenting gaze, Selena plays a dangerous game of manipulation. She’s biding her time, but when the moment comes, will her calculated escape bring her freedom—or will her path collide violently with Levi’s unwavering resolve?

The Black Cat has always landed on her feet, but for the first time, she might meet her match. (Levi x OC)

Chapter Twelve

Hange led Selena to the female barracks, her usual boundless enthusiasm practically bouncing off the walls. Selena, however, strode beside her with a casual confidence, taking in her surroundings as they walked. She noticed the barracks were modest but well-kept—a clear sign of discipline among the scouts.

“Here we are!” Hange announced cheerfully, opening the door to the barracks. The smell of fresh linens mixed with the faint scent of cleaning supplies greeted them. Inside, Mikasa, Sasha, and a few other female scouts turned their heads at the sound of the door opening. The room fell silent as their eyes landed on Selena.

Mikasa immediately stood, her distrust evident in the way her dark eyes narrowed at Selena. Sasha, who had been in the middle of snacking on a piece of bread, paused mid-bite, watching the interaction cautiously. The other scouts murmured amongst themselves, exchanging uneasy glances.

Hange, oblivious to the tension or perhaps choosing to ignore it, gestured to Selena. “Ladies, meet your newest comrade, Selena De La Rosa! Isn’t this exciting?”

Selena took a slow step forward, her piercing green eyes scanning the room like a predator sizing up its prey. She wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, even if it was unspoken. Her lips curled into a sly smile. “Buenas tardes, ladies,” she greeted smoothly. “I hope we can all get along.”

Mikasa crossed her arms, her expression unchanging. “You attacked us.”

Selena chuckled, unbothered by Mikasa’s bluntness. “Yes, I did. And you’re still standing. Consider it a compliment to your skills.”

Mikasa didn’t react to the flattery. Her posture remained stiff, her distrust evident. “Compliments don’t erase what you did.”

Selena smirked, amused by the younger girl’s icy demeanor. “I like your spirit, niña (girl). But let me give you some advice—you’ll live longer if you let go of grudges.”

Mikasa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. Sasha, however, spoke up, her voice quieter than usual. “Are you really on our side now?”

Selena turned her attention to Sasha, her smirk softening just slightly. “I am,” she replied. “Your commander convinced me. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping into a teasing tone, “I’m not interested in stabbing any of you in your sleep. Unless, of course, you give me a reason.”

The other scouts stiffened, unsure if she was joking. Hange laughed nervously, clapping her hands. “Oh, come on, lighten up! Selena’s here to fight with us now, not against us.”

Selena tilted her head, studying Mikasa more closely. Something about the girl’s demeanor—her cold, calculated movements, her intensity—it reminded Selena of Levi. The resemblance was uncanny, not just in appearance but in attitude. It amused her.

“You’re skilled,” Selena said to Mikasa, breaking the silence. “I could see that when we fought. But…” She paused, letting the tension build before continuing, “You’re still an amateur. A skilled amateur, sure, but there’s much you don’t know.”

Mikasa’s eyes narrowed further. “And you think you can teach me?”

Selena laughed, a low, melodic sound. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I wouldn’t be so quick to assume you’ve got nothing to learn.”

Hange stepped in, sensing the tension was about to boil over. “Okay, okay! Let’s all take a deep breath, huh? Mikasa, Sasha, everyone—give Selena a chance. She’s been through a lot, and she’s on our side now. Isn’t that right, Selena?”

Selena’s smirk returned. “Of course.”

The room remained thick with unease, but Hange didn’t let it linger. “Great! Selena, your bunk is over here.” She gestured toward an empty bed in the corner. “Get settled, and I’ll come fetch you for dinner later.”

Selena nodded, walking toward the bunk with measured steps. She could feel Mikasa’s eyes on her back, but she didn’t look back. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, leaned back on her hands, and surveyed the room with a faint smile.

This was going to be fun.

Selena leaned back on her bunk, her short legs stretched out in front of her as she studied the room with mild amusement. The other female scouts kept their distance, shooting her wary glances as they whispered amongst themselves. Selena didn’t mind the tension—it was familiar territory.

Her fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on the metal frame of the bed as she let her mind wander. She had no delusions about being welcomed with open arms, but she wasn’t here to make friends anyway. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Sasha fidgeting, looking over at her with what could only be described as hesitation mixed with curiosity. Selena quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, watching as the freckled girl started making her way over.

Mikasa, standing near the doorway with her arms crossed, immediately stepped forward and grabbed Sasha’s arm. “What are you doing?” she hissed under her breath.

Sasha turned to her with a nervous smile. “I just want to talk to her. She’s part of the team now, right?”

“She’s dangerous,” Mikasa replied, her voice low and firm. “You saw what she did to us.”

Sasha glanced back at Selena, who was now watching their exchange with an amused smirk. “I know, but… she doesn’t seem that bad now.”

Mikasa’s brow furrowed. “Sasha—”

Before Mikasa could finish, Sasha gently pulled her arm free and took a step toward Selena’s bunk. Mikasa let out an exasperated sigh, crossing her arms again but staying close, her sharp eyes fixed on Selena.

Sasha stopped a few feet from Selena’s bed, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “Um, hi,” she said, her voice a little shaky.

Selena tilted her head, her green eyes glinting with curiosity. “Hi,” she replied, her tone amused.

Sasha shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly nervous. “I just wanted to say… you’re, uh… really beautiful. And… I think the way you fight is amazing.”

Selena blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Of all the things she expected to hear, compliments weren’t one of them. Her smirk softened into a genuine smile as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You think I’m beautiful, huh?” she teased lightly, her accent wrapping around the words.

Sasha’s face turned bright red, and she started waving her hands in front of her. “I-I mean, not in a weird way or anything! Just, you know, you’re really cool, and—”

Selena laughed, a warm, melodic sound that put Sasha at ease. “Relax, niña (girl), I’m not offended. I appreciate the compliment.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, “And you’re not so bad yourself.”

Sasha blinked in surprise. “Really?”

Selena nodded, gesturing to the bunk beside her. “Sit.”

Sasha hesitated, glancing back at Mikasa, who was glaring daggers at Selena. But curiosity got the better of her, and she sat down cautiously. Selena’s gaze lingered on Sasha for a moment before she spoke again. “You’ve got heart, I’ll give you that. But tell me… why do you fight?”

Sasha blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Why do I fight?” she repeated, frowning slightly as she thought about it. “I guess… to protect people. My friends, my family. I want to make sure no one has to go through what I’ve been through.”

Selena studied her, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. “That’s a good reason,” she said softly. “Hold onto it.”

Mikasa, unable to stay silent any longer, stepped forward. “Sasha, that’s enough,” she said firmly.

Selena’s smile returned, this time sharper. “Your friend is protective. I like that.” She stood and stretched lazily, her movements fluid and feline. “But don’t worry, niña,” she said to Mikasa, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I won’t bite. Unless provoked.”

Mikasa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. Sasha, meanwhile, looked back and forth between the two women, feeling the tension thick in the air.

Selena smirked, clearly enjoying the power dynamic. “I think I’ll like it here,” she murmured to herself, sitting back down on her bunk with a satisfied sigh. “Yes, I think I will.”

…

Selena stepped into the small, dimly lit bathroom and closed the door behind her, letting out a sigh. For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—she felt somewhat human. No forest grime sticking to her skin, no blood drying under her nails, and no itchy, ill-fitting rags clinging to her body. She glanced at the cracked mirror above the sink and tilted her head to get a good look at herself.

Her reflection stared back at her, cleaner but not entirely unfamiliar. Dark green eyes still sharp and calculating, the faint shadows under them a reminder of sleepless nights spent plotting and surviving. Her skin, free from the layer of dirt, glowed faintly under the dim light. But it was her hair that drew her attention.

Her curls had grown out unevenly, falling awkwardly around her face and brushing the tops of her shoulders in some places while hanging longer in others. She ran her fingers through the thick, unruly strands, frowning at how wild it looked. It was a mess—just like her life lately.

Selena rummaged through the small cabinet beneath the sink, her fingers closing around a pair of scissors. She straightened and stared at her reflection again. “Time to fix this,” she muttered under her breath.

She wet her curls slightly with water from the tap, letting it drip through her fingers and soak the hair until it clung to her skin. Then, with practiced precision, she began to snip away the uneven edges, pausing occasionally to tug at a strand or tilt her head to check her progress.

The sound of the scissors cutting through her hair echoed in the small space, steady and rhythmic. She remembered the last time she’d cut her hair this way—quick and messy, with no thought except survival. Back then, it had been out of necessity. Now, it felt different. She wasn’t running. Not at the moment, anyway.

Each snip felt like shedding a piece of the past few weeks: the grime of the forest, the constant fear of capture, the exhausting battle for freedom. As the curls fell into the sink, Selena felt lighter—not just physically but emotionally. She didn’t need to carry that weight anymore.

When she was finished, she ran her fingers through her freshly trimmed curls, adjusting them until they framed her face neatly, just brushing the nape of her neck. The haircut wasn’t perfect—she didn’t have a stylist’s tools or patience—but it was clean and sharp, just how she liked it.

Selena leaned closer to the mirror, studying herself. For a moment, she didn’t see the Black Cat or Marley’s most notorious assassin. She saw a woman trying to figure out who she was outside of her reputation, outside of her past.

Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smirk. “Not bad,” she murmured, turning her head slightly to admire her work. “Still got it.”

A knock at the bathroom door pulled her from her thoughts.

“Selena,” Hange’s voice called through the door, cheerful and insistent. “You’re not in there planning an escape, are you?”

Selena rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “Relax, cuervo loco (crazy crow),” she called back. “I’m just making myself look presentable.”

“Well, hurry up! We’ve got plans to make, and Levi’s already glaring at everyone for no reason.”

Selena chuckled softly. “Does he even need a reason?”

Hange’s laugh echoed through the hallway, and Selena shook her head, wiping the stray hairs from her hands and brushing them into the sink. She took one last look at her reflection, gave a sharp nod, and stepped out of the bathroom.

The scouts were wary and her future was uncertain, but at least she felt like herself again. And that was a good start.

As Hange led Selena into the mess hall, the air seemed to shift. The usual chatter and clinking of utensils came to an abrupt halt as all eyes turned toward the newcomer. Selena, freshly cleaned and dressed, exuded a confidence that only added to the mixed reactions of the scouts. Some were in awe, others visibly wary, and a few seemed outright terrified.

Jean and Connie exchanged wide-eyed glances, each leaning in to whisper to the other.

“Her hair looks nice…” Jean muttered under his breath, trying not to be obvious as he stared at Selena’s sharp features and the effortless sway in her walk.

“Yeah, it does!” Connie muttered back, though his face was tinged red.

Armin, sitting stiffly at his table, fidgeted with his hands as Selena’s gaze briefly passed over him. He was clearly nervous but made a valiant effort to smile in what he hoped was a friendly manner. Meanwhile, Eren scowled and crossed his arms, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his unease. His memory of Selena slicing through his titan form with surgical precision was still fresh, and it didn’t help that she carried herself as though she owned the room.

Hange, oblivious or perhaps just ignoring the tension, strode confidently to the table where Erwin and Levi were seated. She gestured for Selena to follow, and Selena did, her gaze sweeping over the room like a predator sizing up her prey. When they reached the table, Erwin greeted her with a polite nod.

“Selena,” Erwin said warmly. “I trust Hange has made you feel welcome.”

“Absolutely,” Selena replied smoothly, her accent curling around the words as she smiled. “Though it seems your soldiers are still deciding whether to trust me or run away.”

Erwin chuckled softly but didn’t deny it. “That’s to be expected. Trust is earned, not given. But I have no doubt you’ll prove yourself.”

Levi, sitting to Erwin’s right, barely acknowledged Selena. He kept his arms crossed, his expression impassive as his sharp eyes flicked to her and then back to his plate.

Selena’s gaze immediately locked onto him, and her lips curled into a sly grin. Of course, she didn’t take the open seat across from Levi—she slid right into the chair next to him, her movements deliberately graceful. As if that weren’t enough, she shifted closer, her chair scraping lightly against the floor as she scooted toward him with an air of mock innocence.

Levi didn’t even bother hiding his irritation. He glared at her, his gray eyes narrowing into slits. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What?” Selena said, her tone light and playful. She leaned closer, resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand as she batted her lashes at him. “I just want to sit next to my dear Capitán. Is that a crime?”

Levi huffed and scooted his chair a few inches away from her.

Selena’s grin widened as she immediately scooted closer again, their chairs practically touching now. “You don’t like me close, Capitán?” she teased, her voice dropping into a flirtatious purr. “I thought we were bonding earlier.”

Hange, watching the exchange, burst out laughing so hard she nearly spilled her cup of water. “Oh my god, Levi, I’ve never seen you this flustered!”

Levi shot Hange a glare that could’ve turned her to stone. “I’m not flustered,” he snapped, his voice calm but laced with annoyance.

Selena tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Oh, but you look so cute when you’re flustered. Maybe that’s why I can’t help myself.”

The other scouts at nearby tables exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly unsure whether they were witnessing pure insanity or some bizarre new dynamic forming between their captain and the assassin. Jean leaned toward Connie again.

“Is she really still flirting with him?”

“Yeah, and she’s still alive,” Connie whispered back, eyes wide. “She’s either crazy or unstoppable.”

Eren, who had been watching with a mixture of disbelief and irritation, finally muttered under his breath, “This is so stupid.”

Levi, seemingly deciding he’d had enough, scooted his chair farther away, this time putting a clear gap between him and Selena. “Stay. There,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Selena, ever the provocateur, simply smiled and leaned back in her chair as if she’d won some invisible battle. “Whatever you say, Capitán. For now.”

Hange wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Erwin, I swear, this is the best decision you’ve ever made. Putting Selena in the squad? Entertainment for days!”

Erwin’s expression remained calm, but there was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “As long as she proves herself in battle, I don’t care how much she flirts.”

Selena turned her attention back to Levi, her grin never faltering. “I think we’ll get along just fine, don’t you?”

Levi didn’t respond, but the slight twitch of his eye betrayed his exasperation. For all his strength and discipline, it seemed even he wasn’t immune to the chaos that was Selena De La Rosa.

“Selena,” Erwin began, his tone calm but commanding, “tell us more about Marley. Specifically, their weaknesses. Anything you know that could give us an advantage.”

The casual hum of conversation among the scouts around them dimmed slightly as people strained to listen. Selena’s expression hardened, her fork pausing mid-air before she set it down delicately.

“You want weaknesses?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Her usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced by something more serious. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Erwin nodded, encouraging her to continue. Levi shifted slightly next to her, his sharp gaze locked onto her profile as if he could read her thoughts. Hange, as usual, leaned forward with unabashed curiosity, already scribbling notes on a scrap of paper.

“Marley’s strength lies in their numbers and their tactics. They rely heavily on overwhelming their enemies with sheer force. Their army is well-trained, and their officers are cold, calculating bastards. They’ll exploit any vulnerability they can find,” Selena began, her voice steady and measured. “But... their weaknesses lie in their arrogance. They think they’re untouchable, and that blind confidence makes them predictable.”

She pushed her plate away slightly and crossed her arms. “They’ll try to crush you with brute force first, and if that fails, they’ll resort to psychological warfare. Scare tactics, propaganda, anything to demoralize their enemies. It’s all about control.”

“And their titan shifters?” Erwin asked, his brow furrowing. “What are they planning?”

Selena shook her head. “I can’t give you much on that. The titan shifters operate under Commander Magath, not General Calvi. The assassins and I reported directly to Calvi. He kept us separate from most military operations.”

Her voice dropped slightly, and the faintest trace of bitterness crept into her tone. “But I can tell you this: they’ll use the titans as their ultimate trump card. If they send Hummingbird or Salamander after me, they might coordinate with the titan shifters too. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Levi, Erwin, and Hange exchanged subtle glances, each of them filing away the information. But something about the way Selena had spoken—specifically, the venom dripping from her words when she mentioned General Calvi—caught their attention.

Hange, ever the bold one, decided to tread cautiously. “You mentioned Calvi... You don’t seem too fond of him.”

Selena’s eyes darkened, her posture stiffening. She stared at her hands for a moment before letting out a humorless laugh. “Fond of him? That disgusting old pervert?” Her words dripped with disdain. “No, fond isn’t the word I’d use.”

The table fell silent as her words hung in the air. Even Levi, who had been chewing methodically, stopped and glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

“Calvi wanted to control me,” Selena continued, her voice steady but laced with anger. “Not just as a soldier. He wanted... more. He thought he could own me, like I was some kind of trophy to keep on display. The missions, the punishments, the training—it was all about breaking me down until I’d beg for his approval.”

Hange frowned, her usual cheer dimmed as she scribbled furiously. “That’s awful,” she murmured. “But you didn’t let him, did you?”

Selena’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Of course not. I’m the Black Cat, remember? I don’t beg. Not for anyone, and certainly not for that bastard.” Her voice wavered slightly as she added, “But that didn’t stop him from trying.”

Levi’s grip on his fork tightened. He didn’t say anything, but his sharp eyes flicked to Selena, studying her carefully. Erwin, ever the strategist, seemed to be processing her words, already thinking of how this information could be used.

“What else did he do?” Hange asked gently, though her curiosity burned behind her glasses.

Selena hesitated, her fingers curling into fists on the table. “He wanted me to fear him. To depend on him. And when I didn’t, he punished me. Sometimes through isolation, sometimes through... other means.” She glanced briefly at Levi, then at Erwin. “But no matter what he did, I survived. And that pissed him off more than anything.”

Erwin nodded solemnly. “Your resilience is why you’re here now, Selena. And it’s why you’ll be invaluable to us.”

Selena didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Erwin. There was a strange mix of suspicion and gratitude in her expression.

Hange broke the heavy silence with a light laugh, though it lacked her usual exuberance. “Well, one thing’s for sure—Calvi doesn’t sound like someone we’d want to invite to dinner.”

Selena snorted softly, her mood lightening slightly. “You have no idea.”

Levi finally spoke, his voice low and sharp. “Good. Then you’ll have no problem helping us take him down when the time comes.”

Selena turned to Levi, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “Oh, Capitán,” she said softly, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “You might just be starting to understand me.”

Levi didn’t respond, but the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. Hange and Erwin exchanged glances, sensing the weight of what had just been shared.

For now, the meal continued, but the stakes had been set higher than ever.

…

The faint sound of scratching echoed in Levi's dimly lit office as his pen glided across yet another report. The hours stretched on, and the stack of papers seemed endless. His sharp mind, however, was elsewhere. Despite his best efforts to focus, it kept drifting back to Selena de la Rosa.

Her words about Calvi had stuck with him. Levi knew pain when he saw it, no matter how well someone tried to hide it. And Selena? Her playful demeanor and incessant flirting were masks, just like his stoic exterior. It annoyed him how much space she occupied in his thoughts, but he couldn’t deny it—Selena was unlike anyone he’d ever met.

As he scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page, the faint creak of the door pulled him from his thoughts. He instinctively reached for his blade but stopped when he saw who it was.

Selena.

She entered without knocking, her lips curled into a mischievous grin, her hips swaying deliberately as she sauntered over to his desk. Levi noticed the way her eyes gleamed in the dim light, calculating yet playful. Her hair, now freshly cut and even, framed her face neatly—a stark contrast to the wild, uneven curls she sported when they first met. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that he liked the new look.

“Something you need?” he asked flatly, his pen still poised over the paper.

Selena didn’t answer. Instead, she slid onto his desk with feline grace, crossing her legs slowly, the hem of her pants brushing against a stack of neatly arranged reports. Her posture was casual, but her presence was commanding, as if she belonged there.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “Get off my desk.”

Selena leaned back slightly, resting her hands behind her and tilting her head at him. “Make me,” she challenged, her voice low and teasing.

Levi set his pen down deliberately, his gaze never leaving hers. “You really want to start something with me, de la Rosa?”

Selena’s grin widened. “Who says I haven’t already started something?”

Levi stood, his chair scraping lightly against the floor as he moved to stand in front of her. His height advantage over her sitting figure didn’t seem to faze Selena; if anything, she looked even more amused.

“You’ve got ten seconds to move before I make you,” he warned, his voice sharp but calm.

Selena leaned forward slightly, her face close enough that Levi could see the flecks of green in her hazel eyes. “What’s the matter, Capitán? Scared of a little harmless fun?”

Levi’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have time for your games.”

“Oh, but you’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” Selena countered, her tone dropping to a whisper. “I can tell.”

Levi didn’t flinch, but his silence betrayed him. Selena’s grin softened into something more thoughtful, though she didn’t drop the playful edge in her voice. “You’re an enigma, Levi Ackerman,” she said, her gaze studying him intently. “And I don’t like not understanding the people around me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So this is what? You trying to figure me out?”

“Maybe.” Selena shrugged lightly. “Let’s just say I like knowing who I’m dealing with. Trust isn’t something that comes easy to me.”

Levi crossed his arms, his sharp eyes scanning her face for any cracks in her expression. “You agreed to join us. That should mean something.”

Selena leaned back again, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the desk. “It does. But agreeing doesn’t mean blind trust. I’ve been burned before, Levi. Badly. And in case you forgot, Marley trained me to survive at all costs. That means having contingencies.”

Levi didn’t reply immediately. He understood where she was coming from, though he wasn’t about to admit it aloud. He glanced down at the papers she was now perched on and sighed. “Fine. You want to observe me? Knock yourself out. But don’t think for a second you’ll catch me slipping.”

Selena laughed softly, a genuine sound that surprised him. “Oh, Capitán, you’re as sharp as they say.”

“And you’re as annoying as I thought,” Levi shot back, though his tone lacked the usual venom.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Levi didn’t trust easily either, and while Selena’s methods were unorthodox, he could see the logic behind them. She was studying him, but she wasn’t the only one doing the observing.

“Get off my desk,” Levi said again, his voice softer but still firm.

Selena sighed dramatically, sliding off the desk with a mock pout. “You’re no fun, Levi.”

Levi ignored her comment and sat back down, picking up his pen again. “If you’re done playing, you can leave. I’ve got work to do.”

Selena didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she lingered by the desk, her arms crossed as she watched him. “You know,” she said after a moment, “you’re not what I expected.”

Levi didn’t look up. “And what did you expect?”

“A brute. Cold, unfeeling. Someone easy to hate.” She smirked slightly. “But you’re not, are you?”

Levi paused briefly before continuing to write. “Get out, de la Rosa.”

Selena chuckled softly and turned to leave, her footsteps light as a whisper. Just as she reached the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Capitán.”

Levi didn’t respond, but his pen stilled for a moment before resuming its work.

The door clicked shut softly as Selena left, her final words lingering in the quiet room. Levi set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he stared at the stack of unfinished reports. But his thoughts were no longer on the paperwork.

Selena’s parting words replayed in his mind: “You’re not what I expected.”

It was such a simple statement, but it carried more weight than he cared to admit. Selena wasn’t someone who made idle observations. Every word that left her mouth, no matter how playful or flirty, had intent behind it. Levi knew that. And yet, her comment gnawed at him. What exactly had she expected? What had she seen in him tonight that made her say otherwise?

Levi shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside as he stood and moved to the window. The camp outside was dimly lit, the sounds of scouts settling in for the night faint in the distance. His sharp eyes scanned the grounds automatically, ensuring all was quiet. But even as he surveyed the camp, his mind drifted back to Selena.

He hated to admit it, but she intrigued him. She was bold, reckless, and far too confident for someone in her precarious position. Yet beneath that, Levi could sense something deeper—a vulnerability she worked hard to mask. Her flirty demeanor and cocky attitude were shields, just like his stoicism. They were more alike than he wanted to acknowledge.

And then there was her skill. Levi had seen plenty of fighters in his time, but Selena was on another level. Her agility, precision, and ability to adapt in battle were nothing short of extraordinary. She moved like a shadow, fluid and unpredictable.

Tomorrow, he would begin training her with the ODM gear. He already knew she’d likely take to it faster than most recruits. Someone with her agility and balance would probably be a natural. But Levi wasn’t about to go easy on her. If Selena was going to be part of the scouts, she needed to learn their methods, their discipline. No amount of natural talent could replace hard work and practice, and Levi would make sure she understood that.

He glanced at the clock on his desk. It was late, but he didn’t feel tired. Instead, a strange anticipation stirred in him. Training someone like Selena was both a challenge and an opportunity. If she truly committed to their cause, she could be an invaluable asset. But there was also the danger of her slipping back into old habits, of her loyalty being tested.

Levi returned to his chair and picked up his pen again, but his focus wasn’t on the reports. Instead, he found himself thinking about Selena’s potential, about what it would mean to have someone like her fully integrated into their ranks.

And perhaps more troubling, he found himself wondering about her past. She hadn’t shared much, but the bitterness in her voice when she spoke of Calvi and Marley hinted at deep scars. Scars Levi understood all too well. He’d seen them in the mirror every day of his life.

As much as he wanted to keep her at arm’s length, to treat her like any other soldier, he couldn’t ignore the part of him that wanted to understand her. To see what lay beneath the mask of the Legendary Black Cat.

With a resigned sigh, Levi set his pen down again and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. Tomorrow would be a long day. He’d push her, test her limits, and see if she was as adaptable as she claimed to be. And in the process, maybe he’d get a better understanding of the woman behind the codename.

For now, though, he allowed himself one last thought before turning his attention back to the reports: Selena de la Rosa was a mystery. And Levi Ackerman hated unsolved mysteries.

The room fell silent once more, the faint scratching of his pen the only sound as Levi prepared for the challenges that lay ahead.

Masterlist | Patreon

Join my Taglist

Note: I am three chapters ahead on patreon :)

Tags: @Thirstyb-ches @spaghetticarbs @demonslayeranimex

29 notes · View notes

webanglikethat · 3 months ago

Text

Thalassophile, do you remember our crestfallen hearts?

— prompt: cooking together & unrequited love.

📝: word count: 2500.

🎹: [and is this not treason? / my soul belongs far more to you than it does to me.]

or: Vyxaria's evening at Walter’s apartment begins with a cooking lesson, but it's their feelings that end up stirred.

Had Vyxaria been true to herself, she would have never agreed to this in the first place.

Truly, what role did she have to play in Walter’s kitchen at 5pm? If he wanted to so desperately invite her out to eat, a fancy restaurant should’ve and would’ve been the obvious route to take. With tall buildings and luxurious cars being driven by sinful humans she could’ve gotten as desserts … truly, what a missed opportunity for a delicacy worthy of her presence. Instead, here she stood, in the dim xanthous light of the kitchen, watching as the merman’s shadows danced on the walls, portraying the stage of his life; and she, the avid watcher. his hands carefully took the ingredients out of the fridge and laid them on the counter like an army to direct. Had she known the nature of his plans beforehand, she would’ve rejected them outrightly and spent the evening scrolling on Lamazon, buried under those expensive sheets she’d bought using Elliot’s card, adding niche and frankly weird decorations for her house – truly, who needed a flag that spelled out ‘beware of sarcasm’? Lamazon apparently thought she did – and enticing lingerie to her shopping cart. But alas, there she was now, spending the first Friday night of the month in the presence of a man’s gastronomic epicurean fantasies and his wandering cat.

It was better than staying in her own place, she told herself.

It filled the silence that slowly spread the perforation on her body from where her wound still spelled out the shape of her name.

It was better than thinking about Xantheia. Her Xantheia.

It was better than lowering her hand and still feeling the treacherous laceration burning, melting away her fingertips and creeping onto her lungs.

It was better than replaying the scene over and over, hitting repeat on her encephalon and watching herself stumble; first from joy and bewilderment, then from despair and moribund.

So she rolled up her sleeves, swept away her thoughts in a corner, and took a curious look at Walter’s phone, where a cooking tutorial for Cuscuz Paulista was playing. He had already started cooking before she entered his apartment; to give her an easier time, he had declared with a smile, as if cooking was a challenge to her (it was; why would one need to get their hands dirty when all she needed to do was touch a few buttons on her phone and have everything delivered to her? If she couldn’t own this city, she could still be treated like royalty!).

Well, it wasn’t a private chef’s entourage, but she would have to accept it for tonight.

Walter stirred the cornmeal and vegetable broth together in a large bowl, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, brows furrowed in concentration as if his being there and doing this was a task to present to royalty, and he couldn’t mess it up — as if stumbling over any step could lead to the demise of this evening. “It has to sit for a bit,” he murmured in reply to her silent stare, and then turned to the skillet, already pre-heating the olive oil. In this light, he looked ethereal, the blonde of his hair contrasting with the blue of his eyes; the sweetest querencia.

Her fingers drummed against the counter, watching as his smile didn’t falter even when confronted with her firm expression. “You could’ve just ordered takeout,” she said, sitting down on the counter, pulling the bowl closer to her, “could’ve saved you the mess of having to clean all of this up.”

He let out a soft laugh, chopping an onion with effortless precision. Was that a skill merfolk performed well in? “Maybe. But I thought you might enjoy this.”

She nearly scoffed. Enjoy? What was there to enjoy? Standing in a too-warm kitchen, his cat’s movements echoing in the apartment, dimmed lights flashing their shadows and watching Walter soften onions and garlic, as if it was all a movie premiere? Perhaps they had different definitions of enjoyment. Hers included flashy cards and expensive wines; and all Walter needed instead was the quiet of his same old walls and the familiarity of his surroundings. Bold of him to invite her then, she thought as she stole a slice of tomato off the counter to eat. If he was water, then she was fire; how long would it take for their encounter to dissipate?

But she bit back the argument and simply hummed in response. Despite all of her elevated parapets, she could see it in his eyes — the silent question that had lingered, trapped in between his fidgeting hands and the tip of his tongue. She could sense the true meaning behind this evening, concealed behind the innocuous invitation.

Just a few nights ago she had finally told Walter about what had happened that fateful night, when Xantheia’s embrace had turned into a cage, and her joy had bleached into pain to exploit. Just thinking about it brought back all the emotions; at first, it was anger that knocked at her chest — anger for trusting, for allowing the vessel of her soul to actually feel, for forgetting that she was a demon who wasn’t supposed to partake in such humanly frivolousness. Then, it was fear that brought its luggages, sitting down on her sternum, blocking the alleyways of her breathing. Somewhere in this city Xantheia lingered, breathing the same air as her and walking past the same faces glued to their phones; but she didn’t show herself to Vyxaria. What they once had — what they weren’t supposed to have in the first place – had dissipated, wilted and withered, till all the life had been siphoned by the bloodshed, and she wasn’t sure the ashes could ever bring back was once stood so legendarily. And at last, it was grief that slithered its way down onto her heart, knocking down her arteries and bumping into the edges of her chambers – it was loss for the bond she thought she had, the rarest of luxuries she’d ever had the opportunity to hold; it was also loss for the person she’d been before that night and the person she could never be again. She could’ve lived in the shadows of her death if needed, but knowing Xantheia, her Xantheia, was alive and was probably hunting her … she didn’t know how to accept that fact. She had faced many deaths, met countless sphacelated bodies on her trail, but what was one meant to do when it was your twin flame that decided to put an expiration date on your being? How was one meant to retire from the shadows of loss when it perforated your every beat? She’d been hurt before; arrows digging their way into her body, unstitching her limbs till the ground beamed with scarlet maroon, but this, this was a tenebrosity and hurt she could have never imagined. That in itself was against her nature; she should’ve known, she should’ve expected it. How could she have given so much of herself, only to watch it crumble?

Lost in thoughts, she recounted the night her and Xantheia had laid on the grass, admiring the dark canvas of the night’s cloak. It had been a break from the hunt, though the details of it were blurry. Her eyes had wandered over to Xantheia, taking in all of her features. Even when darkness veiled half of her face, she still was the most beautiful being to her, the only sight to quench her desires. Xantheia, ever the wise, had told her stories about how some beings connected the flecks of light in the sky to constellations, giving them their own stories. Vyxaria had wondered how the personages to come would then remember her and Xantheia. She imagined her face in the sky, those brown eyes that warmed her, her own apricity in the dark to seek each night.

And perhaps, that night had been a warning, a cassandran scream that Xantheia was just a fleeting star, never meant to be caught in the orbit of her life. Constellations after all are just made up lines, and their bond turned out to be perpendicularly shaped; walking on the same trail, meeting once, and leaving everything bereft in their meeting in the wake of their affair.

Ah, there it was. Another soft knocking against her door, another key being entered, valises in the corner and boarded windows open at last. Vyxaria had lied to herself; it wasn’t just anger, fear and grief that lingered – her love overstayed its stay too. She could pretend it wasn’t there and paint over its presence, but it knocked and knocked, till it squandered everything in its wake. Broken planks and azul rain were left in the destruction, and even then, Vyxaria could not distinguish the red of anger from the redness of love.

The knife in Walter’s hands paused midair as he caught the change in her expression, his eyes squinting slightly, as if weighing whether to illuminate the conversations she so desperately had run from, the one that had led her to his apartment. Even in her silent hours, he could read her too well. She hated it. It was mortifying to be known this deeply; it had never brought something good, clearly. Be it the silent nubes gathering in her shaky hands or the thunderous fury that swarmed out of her lips; he knew her too well. So before he could say or do anything — anything that could threaten the floods to open – she came closer and grabbed the knife from his hands. He looked confused, but let her take it. “Well, then. I might as well partake in this, right?” She took the onion and garlic and started working on chopping them. Surely it couldn’t be that hard. Not harder than trying to outrun the flaming ghosts of your life, she added mentally while pulling up her hair. The blade was long, pointed, and slightly curved, and the knife danced across the cutting board, its sharp edge slicing clean through the onion’s translucent layers with a satisfying noise. Vyxaria wasn’t a stranger to knives, though her preferred weapon was herself. She could master this with ease. She could do anything! With each cut, a crisp snap echoed through the kitchen, followed by the sting of its aroma creeping into the air. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and Walter remarked with a chuckle, “You’re chopping like you’re trying to murder it’’. Vyxaria scoffed, glancing down at the poor onion under her blade. “It deserves it.” He simply laughed, shaking his head in amusement. He watched as the garlic became her next enemy, yielding under the pressure of her hands, releasing a pungent, almost sweet scent as it was crushed beneath the side of the knife and finely minced into a fragrant paste.

“You’re better at this than I thought’’, he remarked.

She rolled her eyes, “I might just start believing you’re finally impressed by me. Well, at least you are.’’

The sentence should’ve been laced by a satirical tone, but as soon as the words were evicted, she could tell they felt anything but. Walter’s eyes worryingly looked at her, and before she could say anything, he passed her the sea salt. ‘‘What?’’, she asked, confusion draped on her expression. ‘‘Add chopped black olives, parsley, scallions, sea salt, and black pepper — that’s what the recipe says’’. She nodded confused and did as he asked. Meanwhile, Walter just silently stood there, watching her every move. He didn’t pry, didn’t ask, didn’t try to ungrave the thoughts bathing in Vyxaria’s face. He could read her like a passage whispered in the dark, like a prayer passed through folklore, and it was through that act of knowing her better than his own limbs that he decided to stay silent. He didn’t want her to feel attacked, pried open, laid on a table for all to see. But he also didn’t want her to feel alone, washed away on a shore on her own. So he simply added the vegetables to the bowl and asked her to stir it with the cornmeal mixture. He could see the evergreen confusion in her eyes, but he wanted her to be distracted, to be able to outrun at least for a few minutes the disquietudes that scourged her. He didn’t mind being silent with her if it meant her barricades’ troop could rest. To be voiceless was a game token, and her melioration his sweet shore. It didn’t matter that he knew that her heart didn’t reach for his own. He could sense it in the way she spoke of Xantheia, in the way her tone changed when her name was mentioned; softer, calmer, unlike what she presented to him. Her gaze would drift, recalling memories she’d locked inside a vault, as if reciting chronicles of a life that he could never reach; both in time and in closeness. It was almost venerated, as if keeping a star in the tips of her fingers, only for her to see. She was never like that with him, no matter how hard he tried.

He watched her grip the cutting board a little too tight, the way she had held onto him when tears had fallen while recounting the truth. It had been spread through soft whispers, as if speaking of it in itself was a sin, a reopening of the wound. He had held her tight that night — perhaps tighter than needed in his selfish desires — and let her spill the ink of her pain onto him, which he’d absorbed like his own. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he wanted to be that for her. He wanted to be the sponge that enthralled her ache, the hunter that kept away tingles and bruises. If he couldn’t be more, at least he could be a shield. As long as he was hers.

Her voice shook him out of his thoughts as she asked him for help; she had steamed the cuscuz and almost messed up and dropped the mixture because Seaweed had unexpectedly decided to deign them of his presence. With a smile, he helped her finish gathering everything while simultaneously petting the cat. ‘‘To you, the honour’’, he said, almost curtsying while holding the steamer basket; the last step of the recipe. She rolled her eyes, a laughter escaping her almost unthinkingly. God, that laugh, he thought as his heart picked up its beat, if he could never let its light shine on him, could it be enough to just bask it from afar? Would it ever be enough to just witness it in different orbs, like a supernova’s descending light years away?

And when she spoke again, lining the steamer basket with a damp cloth and trying to spoon the mixture into it, she muttered, ‘‘I don’t know why I keep expecting this to get easier.’’

Walter could only nod.

He really didn’t know why.

#romance club #rc catalog vday #thank you to my jaan shah for beta reading #rc vyxaria #vyxaria x walter #webanglikethat.writing #🖼️: JB.moodboard ˚｡𖦹 ⋆#rc fanfic #rc fanfiction #rc soulless #rc walter

25 notes · View notes

thechaoticdruid · 5 months ago

Text

|This Bites| (9)

Astarion x Chubby! F!MC

Plot: Something crazy happens when Winnie and Astarion try to set up an arrangement for Astarion's dietary needs.

Content/Warnings: Sexual humor

Chapter 8: Woot woot!

Chapter 9: Right here!

Chapter 10: Hopefully sooner this time ;-;

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Oh so you're the one Becca mentioned? Come in then, and be quick. I don't want anyone catching on to my business.” The blonde haired boy quickly ushered them inside. Becca and Winnie followed him in. The inside of his house was absolutely covered from head to toe in extravagant gothic decor. He even had what looked like a stone gargoyle head above his fireplace. The curtains were long and thick, keeping any trace of sunlight out. In front of the fireplace was an elegant looking armchair along with a coffee table that a light grey laptop sat upon. Off to the side on another table sat against the wall, decorated with several jars of green liquid and an assortment of strange creature-like objects (Winnie was pretty sure one was a cat skull). Jimmy was a short and petite young man who appeared to be about 25 years old. He spoke with a slight lisp, likely caused by the false fangs he wore in his mouth.

“So…about the blood…It's uh for this vampire bat I've been taking care of.” Winnie began.

“And you need human blood for your bat?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

“He's uh..very…….” Winnie stuttered a bit, getting nervous as she scrambled to come up with a story.

“Her bat is a very rare breed. One that primarily feeds on the blood of primates. But because there are no chimpanzees running around the neighborhood you can see our issue.” Becca stepped in, quickly trying to save Winnie from any kind of suspicion.

“I can't just give out handouts. If I'm going to let you take some of my supply I'll need payment.” Jimmy went on to sit on the couch as he spoke.

“Not only do I go through great lengths to secure this blood, but it is vital that I keep some on my person at all times. Otherwise it could lead to dire consequences.”

Winnie was about to speak when she felt something crawl down her back.

“Dire consequences you say?”Astarion's mocking tone chimed in from behind them. “Well, we best be careful how much we take then.”

“Wait, who are you and where did you come from?” Jimmy's blue eyes widened in surprise as a tall curly haired man appeared.

“Oh I've been behind Winnie this entire time! I'm surprised you didn't notice me sooner.” Astarion chuckled, giving the blonde a forced grin.

“Star!-” Winnie gasped in surprise as she noticed Astarion had hopped out of her coat and shifted behind her. Jimmy gave her a questioning look.

“Star is his name.” Winnie quickly continued.

“I am Winnie's lover.” Astarion added with smugness.

“He's my boyfriend. My annoying and eccentric boyfriend…” Winnie huffed and gave the elf a slight side eye.

"Rude!" Astarion scoffed and crossed his arms.

All she wanted to do was get in, get the blood and go home but no he had to make a scene like he always does.

“Anyway I really need some blood. How much do you want for it?” The brunette haired continued, trying to divert attention away from Astarion.

“200 dollars a pint.” Jimmy crossed his arms.

“You can't be serious! I need much more than that.” Winnie snapped.

“This stuff isn't easy to come by!” The blonde hissed almost literally as he barred the very clearly fake fangs in his mouth. Astarion rolled his eyes with a look of disgust as he stood behind Winnie. The vampire seemed to mutter something under his breath as he gazed over at the strange young man.

“Come on Jimmy Winnie really needs this. And 200 dollars for a glass of blood is insane.” Becca insisted, taking a step towards the short male before suddenly a door opened.

“Jimmy, what’s going on in here?” A tall dark haired male walked in. His eyes were an icy blue and his skin was like ivory pearls. In Winnie’s mind he was almost as pretty as Astarion. Almost. The dark haired male had a softer, more slim physique.

“Just some business to take care of Val.”Jimmy said, trying to shoot the other male away.

“Valentin!” Becca spoke up as the two of them locked eyes. “Maybe you can talk some sense into Jim. He's trying to charge my friend 200 bucks for a pint of his stash.”

“Seriously Jimmy. You don't even need this crap.” The dark haired male rolled his eyes.

“I DO! If I don't I'll lose control!” Jimmy argued.

“I'll only need about maybe a few liters a month.” Winnie insisted before suddenly Astarion stepped in front of her.

“Now darling, clearly our friend here needs the blood far more than we do. We'll just have to go and get some from the hospital. Maybe let them know to send extra blood his way to help with his little condition.” Astarion looked over at Winnie and then at Jimmy with a sly smirk.

“You're going to talk to them?! Wait! We can work something out!” Jimmy began to sputter. “I'll give y'all half a gallon a month. For 50-”

“Jimmy…” Valentin growled at him.

“Fine 30 dollars. Deal?”

“That sounds good to me.” Winnie nodded with a smile before taking out her wallet and pulling out the amount of cash she needed. Jimmy then begrudgingly went to fetch the half gallon he owed them while Val sat on the couch with his laptop and began to start a game, apologizing for Jimmy's behavior in between starting his laptop.

“Oh right.” Becca suddenly looked at Winnie.

“Wyn, this is Valentin. He's Jimmy's roommate. The three of us went to school together.” The red head explained with a sweet smile. “Val, this is Winnie. She's my coworker.”

“A pleasure.” Valentin gives Winnie a ghost of a smile, his icy blue eyes sending chills down her spine. Astarion gives Winnie a slight smirk before placing his hand on the small of her back.

“Ah….g-good to meet you.” Winnie replied shyly with a small wave before she gazed over at Valentin’s laptop. Winnie’s eyes widened as she noticed the black haired male was playing BG3.

Valentin hummed quietly as he clicked through his mod list. One of the files immediately caught Winnie’s attention. It was a familiar looking cheat mod.

“Where did you get that mod?” She asked, her body shaking in fear. If that mod was what she thought it was they might end up having a hell of a time dealing with whatever comes out of it.

“Oh this? I found it on Nexus a while back. Haven't had time to play since then because my work schedule is hell.” Valentin said as he clicked on the button to continue his save. His computer began to blink suddenly before suddenly turning off. Then a spark of electricity shot out of the laptop through the charge cable and into the wall before suddenly the lights flickered on and off.

“Hells…” Astarion gasped slightly before looking towards the front door and sniffing. “It can't be…”

“Star, is everything okay?” Winnie asked with a face full of concern before suddenly the vampire began to leave the house, bolting out the door.

“Hey!” Winnie called after him before glancing back at Becca.

“You go after him. I'll make sure everything here is taken care of.” Becca stated.

“Sorry.” Winnie said before running out the door. Luckily for Astarion the sun had set on their way to Jimmy's house. It took a few minutes for Winnie to catch up to him and by the time she did she was panting hard.

“Ast-Astarion, what the h-hell?” She panted out as she looked over at the white haired elf. Astarion glanced back at Winnie.

“Winnie, be careful. I'm not sure what's going on, but I think I-” A beam of electricity zipped through the power lines before bursting out into a ball of light and ricocheted off a nearby building. Eventually it stopped right above the two of them and began to form a swirling vortex. Before Winnie could even think something came hurtling out of the vortex and landed right on top of her, crushing her against the dirt below. Something large and squishy was pressing down on her face, making it a bit hard to breathe. Whatever had fallen on her was really warm. A couple beads of sweat had even begun to drip down her face.

“GET OFF OF HER YOU OAF!” Astarion snarled out, fangs barred as he shoved whatever had fallen on Winnie off. The young woman was dazed. It took her a few moments to realize she'd just been sat on before she then got to her feet with a bright red face

'Well…. I'm pretty sure I just lived through someone's wet dream…'

Astarion quickly moved closer to Winnie, his hands hovering over her shoulders.

“Ah fuck. Sorry bout that.” A familiar female voice spoke as Winnie regained her composure. Standing in front of the two of them was a nearly seven foot tall tiefling they both knew rather well. Karlach Cliffgate. The tiefling barbarian companion from Baldur's Gate and one of Astarion's friends.

“You better be sorry! You could have killed my Winnie!” Astarion hissed, showing his fangs like a guard dog.

“Astarion, it's fine.” Winnie grasped one of his hands gently, receiving a gentle but firm squeeze in return.

“The hells it is! She could have crushed your skull!” Astarion placed a hand on Winnie’s head, gently moving a lock of hair out of her face before cupping her cheek.

“I'm fine Astarion.” Winnie said a little more sternly as she looked him in the eyes. Astarion pouted slightly with a frustrated sigh. “Besides, it's Karlach! Your friend! She's actually here!”

“Fangs! You're here! Gods am I glad to see you! Everyone has gone missing and…Ah shit where in the hells are we?” The tall mountain of a woman looked around in confusion.

“We have a lot to explain, but right now it's probably best if we get you somewhere…” Winnie trailed off as she noticed her friend catching up to them.

“Wyn, everything is set up with Jimmy. Val even agreed to deliver the blood-” Becca stopped in her tracks as she suddenly spotted their new companion. The redhead clutched the container of blood she was holding tightly as the world around her seemed to slow down.

“B-Big….W-Woman….” Becca stuttered out as her face flushed dark red, heart pounding at ninety miles per hour. Her eyes were glued to Karlach as soon as she came into view.

“Uh….Is she okay?” Karlach asked with a dumbfounded expression.

“Yeah she's just a bit surprised I think.” Winnie replied, rubbing her neck nervously.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Sorry for the wait! Honestly my mental health lately has been meh... And inspiration just hasn't been coming to me as much as it did last year. I Will continue This Bites since I actually know how I want it to end but updates may be shorter or more spread out. I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Hopefully I'll get another project out before Christmas 🤞🤞

~Druid

@seradyn , @plimsim , @astarioffsimpmain , @marcynomercy , @iamsexytrash , @gaymistakeboi , @divineknightmare , @tinyfreakgirl , @misscrissfemmefatal, @gianchan-de @jaksfanficsaver , @the-disaster-in-waiting , @hp-art-studio , @im-just-a-simp-le-whore , @dajeong , @iamnotokei , @the-pale-elfs-love , @geminipridekitty , @just-a-refrigerator , @vixstarria , @ellaprime7, @beewilko

39 notes · View notes