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troublesomesnitch · 3 months

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The Devil You Know

Aemond x Septa!Reader - Pt. 2

Little follow-up to this, but hopefully works OK on its own! There might be a third and final part also.

Contents: Book!Aemond, filth and depravity. Coercion, manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, medieval fuckboy Aemond. Just the tip...

Words: 3200

Full disclosure - possibly a bit unpolished because I wanted to get it done before S2.

You left the grand sept just days after your investiture.

At noon on the first day of the new month, a royal courier came to fetch you, loading your meagre belongings onto a cart to bring both that and yourself to the castle. To your new home and abode: a chamber with one bed, one table and one little chair, one sconce and one seven-pointed star on the wall. Naturally in the servant’s quarters, but on the highest floor, along with the ladies’ maids, far away from the damp cellars and busy kitchens.

The queen’s household is large, and you are somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy; expected to follow orders, but able to give them, too. You are a septa now, a woman grown, and for the first time in all of your life you have no Mother Superior to answer to, no Septon Alester, and no other girls sharing your bedchamber - which is both a blessing and a curse. It is nice and quiet to be by yourself, free of prying eyes and Sister Sybella’s snoring. But no one pays notice when you slip out at night, and if you run into a maid or steward, they naturally assume that you are headed towards Her Grace or Princess Helaena’s chambers.

Luckily, Prince Aemond’s rooms are in roughly the same direction.

When others are near, he is perfectly honourable. Really, his performance is quite impressive. Not too eager, not too distant, perfectly measured when he greets you in the halls, or sits with his mother in her solar. But at night, at night he is different. When the hour grows late and the royal family say their goodnights, he will find a chance to strike, to brush past you and squeeze your wrist, or run his fingers over the small of your back to let you know that he wishes to see you. That he wants you to come to him tonight.

To his chamber, to his bed, to his arms.

It is a humiliating plight, and you climb the steps of Maegor’s Holdfast with all the enthusiasm of a convict walking to the scaffold. Weighed down by the guilt of your actions, terrified that someone should know. And resentful, of the prince for making you dishonour your vows, and of the gods for cursing you with beauty - had they made you ugly, Prince Aemond would never have spared you a glance, and you would not be in this predicament. You would not be forced to indulge his lusts and endure the liberties he takes with your body.

But most of all, worst of all, you feel ashamed. Of all the things you do together, and of the fact that you cannot deny it does sometimes bring you pleasure, too.

You have permitted him to kiss your mouth, your throat, your chest. Wrapped your hands around his member and stroked it while he fondled your breasts. Let him lie on top of you and rut against you, still fully clothed, pressing hard between your legs until both of you were sweaty and panting. And once, only once, you let him slip his hand up under your skirts and touch you there, and it felt more wonderful than anything else you have ever experienced. So wonderful that you have not allowed him to do it again, for fear that it should corrupt your soul and spirit. That you will always crave it, the warm press of his fingers, and the way your body suddenly shook and tightened with a pleasure so exquisite you could not help but cry out in ecstasy.

But he has never had you. Never put any part of himself inside you, never even seen your naked body. It is the strangest thing - there are surely many ladies who would give themselves to him, wholly and fully, yet for some reason, he wants only you.

And he does not waste time with any sort of pleasantries. The joys of night are short, and he can only keep you for so long - you must be back in time to rest, and at the very least before the scullions and kitchen maids rise. You have hardly latched the door before he wraps you in his longing arms, laying you on his bed and parting your legs. The sheets are soft against your back, and his leathers are smooth and cool, and you do not protest when he lays on top of you. You have grown used to the feel of his chest against yours, the heaviness of him, and the hard and lean lines of his body, so different from your own. You have grown used to his kisses too. You like it when he pecks gently at your lips, and when he slides his tongue into your mouth and curls it around your own. When he strokes your body in all sorts of ways, to see what darling little noises he can coax from you this time.

“Have you ever been touched like this before?” he breathes - a silly question, since he knows the answer well enough already.

“No,” you whisper. “Never.”

“Say it again,” he commands, closing his eye and breathing in deeply, pressing his nose to your sweet-smelling hair.

“No other man has ever touched me - only you.”

It arouses him very much, hearing those words, and he groans softly when he takes your hand and guides it down between your bodies. Knowing what he wants you to do, you hike your skirts up, just enough to run your own fingers along the folds of your womanhood and hold them up for him to taste. Which he does with the most fervent passion, sighing as he licks them clean of any trace of you. He has asked many times to be allowed to taste your sweetness from its source, but you have staunchly refused, appalled at the mere suggestion. He should not press his mouth to such a dirty place. He should not lick something that serves only the body’s most revolting and shameful functions.

Usually, once he has kissed you like this for a while, and pressed and rubbed against you, he will either reach his end from that alone, or he will make you pleasure him with your hands. But not tonight.

“Let me feel you,” he pants. “Just this once let me put it inside - ”

“It is a sin,” you gasp, mortified, but nonetheless shivering when he pulls at your sleeve, exposing your shoulder to cover it with kisses.

“As is this,” he whispers. “And this, and this - ”

His mouth is lovely and warm on your skin, and his teeth are gentle when they scrape along your throat, nibbling softly above your neckline, and biting down hard below it. Making your breathing uneven as you struggle to string your words together.

“But it is different - you know that it is, please don’t make me do it…”

The prince lifts his head to look at you, propped up on his elbow.

“It is the movements that are the most sinful part of the act - is it not?” he says, cupping your face and stroking your cheek in the tenderest of ways. When you nod, he adds, “and if I were to not perform them, would that not be a lesser sin?”

His tone is innocent enough, but you know that wicked look in his eyes, the self-assured draw of his mouth. He knows that he is right - it is the movements, not the insertion itself that makes the act of coupling so sinful. And if he showed restraint and did not move in any such manner, then you suppose it would be a lesser sin. Although they did not mention such possible circumventions in your training, naturally. And there are other issues, still.

“But my maidenhead…” you mutter, looking bashfully to the side when the prince touches his nose to yours.

“I will be gentle,” he breathes. “I will be so very gentle - my angel, my love - let me at least have you this way… ”

It never really is your choice to make. To be alone with the prince is to balance on a precarious ledge - you can deny him some things, but only so long as you can offer something else that might appease him. And though he never makes overt threats, you are painfully aware that displeasing him could have dire consequences. That he could hurt you in a multitude of ways if he so wished.

You squirm under his gaze, riddled with so many conflicting emotions; fearful of his intentions, yet blushing at the terms of endearment. Who would not want to hear such lovely words from a prince?

“Just this once,” he whispers, his voice soft and amorous. Just this once…

All you give him is the faintest nod, a slight incline of your head, and his hands are already pushing at your skirts, bunching them up over your parted knees. His breath hitches at the sight of your womanhood, your most intimate parts that you have never bared to him before; wet and inviting, framed by soft curls. Lovelier than he had ever even imagined, that rosy colour of your innermost lips, that little pearl you will not let him touch. And most of all your maidenhead, the delicate tissue that partially covers your entrance, and that he will earnestly try not to damage beyond what is necessary.

For reasons he could not say, you have quite enchanted him. So much so that he has lavished more patience and tenderness on you than ever before on a woman, and that despite seeing so little return on the investment. For weeks he has contented himself with just your hand and your reluctant kisses, the mere feel of your body beneath him. Many times, he could have taken you by force, and many times he wanted to, yet somehow he could not bring himself to do it, could not bear the thought that you should hate him for it. That your delicate limbs should be hurt in trying to fight him off.

He has waited long for this, and he does not want to give you time to change your mind, so he only quickly shrugs off his doublet and unbuttons his breeches to free his manhood. Which is painfully hard and in dire need of relief.

It still looks so strange to you, that unholy appendage, with its swollen shaft and its fat, fleshy head. Like the poisonous mushrooms that grow in the Kingswood, though you always keep that thought to yourself - you doubt the prince would appreciate such a childish comparison. He strokes it slowly while his other hand disappears between your legs, brushing over your womanhood and spreading your folds to reveal your little opening. Untried, uncharted by anything or anyone.

You grit your teeth when the tips of his fingers are replaced by - something else.

Slowly, steadily, he begins to ease himself inside of you, and you feel your muscles instantly and unwittingly tensing up, startled at the sensation. At the pressure, and at the sound the prince makes when the tip of his member is enveloped by your body, the tight rim of your entrance squeezing its sensitive head. The rest of him will not fit, but he spits into his palm and strokes it along his shaft, and that makes things glide a little better, as do your slow, deliberate breaths.

It hurts, it really does, only not in the way you expected. You do not so much feel like anything is being torn or ripped - rather, you feel stretched, forcibly split apart and opened far beyond what should be possible. Your insides burn from it, and you wince with pain when he adjusts his position, spreading your thighs wider and driving his hips forward. Pressing in until he is fully seated.

And he moans from how perfect you feel around him. So soft, so tight. His seeing eye closes and his breathing is hoarse, strained from how badly he needs to move, needs to thrust; his arms trembling by the sides of your head as he struggles to hold himself still. It is a bizarre thing to do, you think, just laying together like this, one on top of the other, completely motionless. Your legs raised over his hips, his chin resting against your forehead. His manhood swelling within you, throbbing with need. You can only hope it means that he will finish quickly and release you from this chore, from the searing pain that scorches your core, and the feeling of being so trapped, so tethered. Much like one of the many-legged creatures on Princess Helaena’s wall; splayed out and nailed down, held in place by a foreign object piercing your body.

But the prince likes it. You have never heard such heavy sighs from him as just now, never seen such utter bliss on his face. His forehead is damp with sweat, his brows drawn together, his upper lip subtly twitching. One of his hands trails up the back of your naked thigh, lifting your leg to curl it around his back, and he moans from that too, as the slight shift gives him a brief feeling of movement. It is not at all comfortable for you, but you are distracted when he seeks your lips, claiming your mouth with slow, deep kisses. His tongue rolls over yours, pulling back to lick along your lip before plunging into your mouth again, over and over, in a strangely repetitive way. A rhythmic way. As if he is making love to your mouth, since he cannot make love to your body.

It feels lovely, so lovely that it makes your insides twitch. Which in turn makes the prince curse, and a violent shudder run through his body.

“Do it again,” he moans, and like always you do your best to please him. Clenching your muscles, squeezing tight around him, then releasing again. Very slowly, and each time feeling his breathy gasp against your face, and the thrum of a heartbeat inside of you - whether his or yours, you cannot say. It is painful with your already sore muscles, and it must be a poor excuse for what it is supposed to mimic, but it is still better than nothing, judging by how the prince moans. How he bites his lip and furrows his brow as your insides twitch and contract, so tight and slick and warm.

How strange to think that now you have become one. Now you are as close as two people can ever be. Closer still when the prince slithers his arm underneath your body, pressing you hard against him and cradling your head. Your fingers are clenched in the damp material of his shirt, and he unfurls them gently to wrap your arms around his neck, around his shoulders; wanting you to hold him, to embrace him as a woman should her lover.

It makes your discomfort somewhat more bearable, having something to cling and anchor yourself to. The closeness, and the intimacy of it, how his face is right above yours, your noses touching and breaths mingling. He drags his mouth against your own, from side to side, his lips brushing over yours, then over the rest of your face; your chin, your cheekbones, your temples. So, so gently, and like often before, you are stunned that he can be both so cruel and so tender with you. So selfish, and so soft.

He has had countless chances to force himself on you, yet he never did. Even now he is keeping his promise, holding back, fighting hard to not succumb to that most powerful and natural instinct of a man, this urge to thrust, to copulate. You can feel that he is shivering with the force of his need, gritting his teeth, unable to keep completely still - there is a gentle, almost imperceptible swaying of his body that he cannot help, an impossibly slow rocking with each of his ragged breaths.

He really is beautiful, you think, with his striking eyes and thick, silvery hair; pink lips parted in a breathy sigh. You could not say what possessed you to be so bold, but you find yourself reaching up to place a wet, lingering kiss underneath his jaw, right on top of the constellation of freckles that adorns his neck, swiping your tongue across it and tasting the sweat of his skin. To an almost immediate effect - at the feeling of your timid caresses, the prince curses loudly, clenching his fingers in the sheets, arching his back -

“No!” you exclaim, “not inside me, not inside - ”

But it is too late; he has already shuddered once, and his manhood is already pulsing and spurting when he manages to withdraw from you. So stiff that it flops up against his stomach, a grotesque thing to look upon, the way it just hangs there, squirting out semen as he groans and gasps. At the very end of his rapture he grasps it with one hand, stroking it hard all the way from the base to the tip, as though wanting to squeeze out every last bit of fluid. And once he is spent, he rolls off of you and onto his back, completely unceremoniously. Leaving you raw and hurting inside, and with the sticky feeling of his semen trickling out between your thighs.

“If it catches,” you whisper, afraid to even speak the words. “If I should be with child…”

The prince runs a hand over his face, panting and still too lightheaded to be thinking clearly, because he stupidly tells you that needn’t worry, he will have a tea brought to you -

“No! please no,” you shriek, panicked. “They would know I broke my vows - ”

“Then I will bring it myself,” he snaps, but rather than reassure you, his harsh tone only makes you tear up.

At the sigh of your quivering mouth, his face softens, and he reaches out to pull you into his arms, hold you against his chest, stroke your hair and rock you gently. Say forgive me, forgive me, I quite forgot myself, you mustn’t cry, my love -

“Why must you torment me,” you sob. “Sooner or later someone will know, they will shame me and ruin me - “

“They wouldn’t dare,” he says. “I would not let them - I will cut off any hand that hurts you - “

You press your ear to his chest to drown out the sound of his voice, for he has said these same words many times before, and with the same fervour and poignancy. He adores you, he reveres you, he will cut off any hand that hurts you, any eye that ogles you, any tongue that slanders your name.

You haven’t the courage to tell him - the only hand that hurts you is his own.

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @ladythornofrivia, @blackswxnn, @hightpwer, @toodlesxcuddles, @arcielee

@targaryen-madness, @qyburnsghost

And thank you @aemondsbabygirl for being a great one-woman focus group!

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut

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clonerightsagenda · 4 months

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Thank you for applying for a library card!

We are a large metropolitan library with twelve branches here in the city and a consortial agreement with ninety-seven different timelines (and counting). Your card is your ticket to our physical and digital collections, where we have something for everyone.

You’ve indicated that you are licensed for time travel and regularly travel in time or between timelines for work purposes, so you are eligible for our trans-timeline borrower’s card. Please read this document carefully to ensure you’re using your new card to its fullest potential and in compliance with library policy.

Our services:

The library has a floating collection, meaning items remain at the branch where they were returned rather than being sent back to the lending branch. However, we do return inter-timeline loans to their home universe to minimize temporal strain. If you’re browsing the shelves and see a book phasing in and out of existence, alert an employee. It’s probably misshelved.

Our new online system allows you to keep the same login information in all timelines. No more keeping track of dozens of passwords! If you previously created multiple logins tied to one card, visit the circulation desk, and we’ll merge your accounts for you. No, this will not make you responsible for alternate selves’ outstanding fines, and any version of yourself telling you that is lying to you.

You asked, and we listened. Our new online catalog displays reviews from patrons from all relevant timelines on items exceeding a 90% similarity score. We request that patrons keep debates over the superiority of their timeline’s version to venues other than our catalog.

Although our staff members are not medical professionals, they have been trained to recognize signs of temporal instability. If you are experiencing characteristic symptoms (faintness, disorientation, physical and/or mental age changes, etc.), a staff member can administer grounding agents until emergency services arrive.

The library has a robust inter-timeline loan system. If you’re looking for a book or article not published in this timeline, fill out our online form or ask at the circulation desk. The average wait time for an ITL request is five business days. That’s shortened to three if you’re requesting an item stored at the James Patterson Interdimensional Warehouse. (Note: This estimate may change as the warehouse continues to expand under its own power, or if our courier gets lost there.)

Our policies:

We do not accept returns before the publication date (month and year). Cataloging books paradoxically created through stable time loops gets too complicated. You can check a book’s month of publication in a review journal like Booklist, which we make available online and in our non-circulating magazine collection.

We’ve recently gone fine-free in this timeline, meaning we no longer charge fees for overdue books. This policy varies between consortium timelines depending on whether certain people on the board of directors have retired yet.

If a book is damaged beyond repair, lost in a Time Hole, or overwritten out of existence by timeline changes, you will be responsible for the replacement cost or a flat fee of $30, whichever is lower. We do not recommend attempting to rewrite time to avoid losing or damaging the book, as we would prefer to purchase a new copy rather than tear a hole in the fabric of reality.

Patrons may use our computers for two hours. You can extend this time if there are no other patrons waiting. Show respect to other library users and do not abuse time travel to circumvent the policy when there is high demand. We will notice if there are two of you at our computing stations. Yes, even if one of you is wearing a funny hat.

The library values your privacy. We will not disclose account information or the content of reference transactions to anyone, including alternate versions of the account holder. The library also does not keep a record of the materials you check out. However, some of our databases do track user data. If you need to conceal your presence in this timeline to avoid paradoxes, the Time Cops, or your ex, we keep a collection of electronic resource licenses at the reference desk so you can judge which products to avoid.

Holder vs. Holder found that copyright protections extend across timelines and prior to publication, and copyright is exclusive to the iteration who created the work. Patrons attempting to copy library materials and publish them under their own name will have their cards revoked, even if they created the material in another timeline. This policy was adopted after consultation with our legal team. Trans-timeline copyright enforcement is very aggressive.

The library respects the personhood and autonomy of patrons no matter their timeline of origin. However, this respect is not always universal. If you need to know what the laws are for time travelers/alternate selves/dimension-hoppers/“timeclones”/etc. in this dimension (or the terminology used to refer to them), stop by the reference desk.

Violence is against library policy. If you are about to battle your alternate self from another timeline because you ran into each other in the cookbook section, take it to the parking lot.

In conclusion:

Libraries are committed to free access to information, and with the resources of dozens of timelines available to us, our mission has only gotten bigger. In fact, we’re hiring! If you’re looking for somewhere new to apply your time travel certification, we’re looking for team members in our inter-timeline loan department. Entry-level courier positions do not require an MLIS. Familiarity with James Patterson is a plus.

We can’t wait to see you in our library. (Maybe we already have.)

#wrote this down in a frenzy a few years ago after dreaming I had an inter-timeline library card #kat writes

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animasolaoriginal · 2 months

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I n f a t u a t e d ♦️THREE

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO THREE FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN

He finds out the girl he picked up on a whim is the perfect candidate. So innocent, so submissive already, with just the right amount of Daddy issues. But she still has a lot to learn, and he's determined to teach her everything.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Sex toys. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Orgasm denial. Oral sex/deepthroating. Anal play. Creampies. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 4.9k

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

He's surprised how quickly she adjusted to her new surroundings, to the things he's asked of her, forced on her. Maybe she's still feeling the after-effects of the drug he's given her last night, maybe she doesn't understand the situation just yet, maybe she's simply the perfect candidate for this. To stay here, for him. She's barely putting up any fight, only seems embarrassed most of the time, but the way she's sucked him off has shown him how eager she really is.

Even though she still has a long way to go. Too fucking innocent.

She's that little ball of hair and limbs on his lap, curled up, melting into him, small hands that have been around his cock now gripping his shirt. Feet tucked under his thigh, deep little breaths against his chest. It's been only a few hours, and she's already so submissive. He's almost disappointed he didn't get to break her first. But maybe her defiance is yet to come. He's certainly looking forward to it.

His phone chimes on the coffee table, and he throws a quick look at the display. The courier is here. Good. Without a word, he stands, picking her up effortlessly. She hums against him, leans into him as he carries her into the bedroom. When he puts her down on the bed, leaning over her for a moment, he meets her hooded eyes. So pliant, so innocent. He can't help but lean down further to press his lips to hers.

She melts into the mattress as he pushes her deeper, putting his weight on her, elbows on either side of her shoulders as he gives himself a few minutes of a bit more much-needed pleasure before he has to leave her. She's hesitant at first, but as soon as he slips his tongue between her lips, her own jumps into action. A groan escapes him as she kisses him back with more and more confidence. His fingers dig into her hair, their tongues wrestling, his cock stirs back to life against the fabric of his pants.

He leans back abruptly, breathing a little harder, the girl beneath him panting as well, her lips parted and red, glistening. Her eyes on him. “I gotta take care of something,” he tells her quietly. She only blinks. “Be a good girl and wait here for me, okay?” The way her pupils dilate when he calls her that makes his stomach tense up. He's noticed it before, how she reacts to his praise. It's an intoxicating sight.

He crawls off her and stands, looking down at her small frame. White lace was a good choice, accents her innocence perfectly. Those little embroidered flowers barely cover anything, but it's still enough fabric to keep it interesting. She's beautiful, the way she lies in front of him, chest rising and falling, that flutter to her stomach, the little twitch to her thighs as she presses them together and tries to hide her sex. He raises an eyebrow at that.

“While I'm gone,” he says, a smirk growing on his lips, “I have a little task for you.”

He steps towards the nightstand and pulls open the first drawer, randomly picks some of its contents and throws them onto the bed next to her. Her eyes widen when she follows the gesture and stares at the colorful toys. He picks up one of the smaller dildos and braces himself on one arm as he leans over her.

“I want you to be very wet when I come back,” he whispers, gently taking her hand and placing the object onto her small palm. “Understood?”

She still looks at him in shock, and he can already tell she's never used any of the things he's presented her with. Another challenge, another thing he's willing to change. He leans back and looks down at her, head cocked to the side. His eyes narrow slightly when she doesn't reply.

“Understood?” he repeats a little harsher.

A tiny gasp escapes her and she sits up, nodding frantically. “Yes, sir.”

His hand finds her cheek, a gentle caress, thumb running over her bottom lip. He watches her intently. “Good girl.” The shiver that runs through her amuses him immensely. Patting her cheek, he then turns away and leaves her to her own devices.

Returning to his phone, he sends a message to the courier, and minutes later there's a chime on the door. His men are good, and fast, and when he looks through the things in the box that was brought up to his place, he nods in contentment. The things she left in the club, a jacket, a phone, case stuffed with some money, some keys and her ID. He's surprised that she's actually 19, when she looks quite a bit younger. Not that it really matters. His eyes scan her name, memorizing it. Fits her.

There's a folder tucked into the side, all the information they could gather on her, and the more he reads, the wider his smile gets. She is perfect, a random pick, an instinct, and it has still been the best choice. Alone in the big city. He checks her phone, swipes through pictures and messages. There's only one new message, someone congratulating her. Not many social contacts, no Mom or Dad or other relatives. Does explain a few things though. The girl definitely lacked the presence of a proper authority figure in her life, or at least someone who could give her the attention she needs, someone to hug her even, guide her through life, tell her what's right or wrong. No wonder she's so overwhelmed with his advances, yet strangely compliant at the same time.

Daddy issues.

What a perfect little thing that found her way into his clutches. He turns the phone off and puts it back into the box, then locks it securely in the safe in his office, before he focuses on the bag that came with the delivery. Clothes he ordered for her, more underwear mostly, some dresses, shoes. He doesn't plan to take her out much, not yet, so she won't need too many clothes anyway. They're just an illusion of safety for now, something she feels more comfortable in, before he'll take that away as well.

Grabbing the bag, he returns to the bedroom – and freezes. The bed is empty, except for the array of sex toys on the blanket. Untouched, unmoved. And the girl is gone. Something hot rises inside him, his hand tightens around the straps of the bag. He checks the bathroom, also empty. When he opens the door to his walk-in closet, he hears a soft little gasp, before his eyes move down to the far back where she's curled up on her side, wide eyes staring at him from under her lashes.

Like a beaten animal – and he hasn't even done anything to her yet. Not really, anyway.

He puts the bag down on a shelf and approaches her slowly. The dildo he gave her lies in front of her, just as untouched as the rest. She curls up even more, a little ball of hair and limbs, white lace in stark contrast to the dark rug she's lying on. He crouches down, hands resting on his knees as he watches her.

“What are you doing here, baby?” he asks quietly. “Are you hiding from me?”

She sniffles, shakes her head. “No,” she mumbles, wide eyes following his every move. Why is she so skittish all of a sudden? The drugs probably wore off. Poor thing.

He doesn't care. His hand reaches out and grabs her elbow, pulls her closer. A little yelp escapes her. He sits down on the floor and pulls her between his legs, she struggles against him but his fingers close around her arm, squeezing harder than he intended. She winces, a deep shudder rushing through her small body when he drapes her legs over his thigh, making her lean against him. One arm securely around her, holding her with enough authority that she stops squirming, he raises the other hand and grabs her chin, makes her look at him.

“What happened?” he asks, looking at her, scanning her face, fear and shock evident on it.

She averts her eyes, chewing on her lip. He squeezes her chin.

“Look at me.”

She does, with a soft little whine, blinking rapidly, eyes glistening as she meets his gaze. “M'sorry...” she mumbles.

“For what?” His voice is stern, and she frowns at his tone.

“For... for not... doing... what you told me...” she whispers, the first tear falling from her lashes. “I... I couldn't...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Her cheeks are bright red by now, her eyes moving over his face in frantic little flutters. “Felt... wrong...”

He watches her, letting go of her chin to move his hand straight between her legs. She flinches and yelps when his fingertips brush against her panties. The fabric is a little damp, warm against his touch. He doesn't hesitate and slips a finger under the hem, testing the waters. She turns her head away, whining softly as her blush spreads over her shoulders. “Do you need my help?” he whispers.

She only stiffens in his hold as his finger glides along her slit. Warm, wetter than he expected. He doesn't know why she was so stressed about this task or thinking she failed him. She's perfectly responsive. His lips brush against her temple.

“Tell me you need me to help you...” he breathes against her.

Her thighs twitch. “I... I need you to... to help me...” she mumbles out, burying her face in his chest in a little gesture of embarrassment. So fucking cute.

“Good girl,” he hums and kisses her forehead while his finger slips between her folds, gathers her slick and promptly dips into her entrance.

She flinches, but keeps quiet, leaning into him as he nudges her legs apart with his thumb. His finger slips in and out of her, her tight walls gripping him in a way that makes his cock throb. Her wetness gathers around him, quiet squelching sounds filling his ear. She lets out little noises of discomfort, barely-there whines, almost-sobs but in a way that doesn't seem too distressed. She's slowly adjusting, relaxing in his hold, her breaths deeper.

His thumb finds her clit, and when he pushes gently on it, she wails a little louder, her legs trembling, her small hands gripping the front of his shirt as she melts into him more. He keeps drawing tight circles around her nub, his digit pushing deep, in and out, faster, her wetness runs over his hand. The moment she becomes really still, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, he stops, pulls away, and she looks up with her lips parted, almost pouty, eyebrows furrowed, disappointed.

He smirks at her and brings his wet finger to her lips. She doesn't fight it when he slips it into her mouth, rubs it over her tongue and along her gums, pushes deeper. She freezes again, stares at him, but then she closes her lips around his finger and sucks, her tongue flicking around it, licking up her own juices. He pulls it out with a wet pop and leans down, capturing her mouth for a quick, deep kiss, sucking on her tongue, tasting her. She melts into him, clinging to him, but as soon as she starts to relax again, he lets go, leans back, leans around her to grab the dildo still lying behind her on the floor.

“Here,” he says and puts the small pink object into her hand. “If you want to finish it, do it with this.”

She stares at him, eyes wide, fingers curling around the toy, her face flushed. And then she shakes her head, catching him off guard.

“No?” he whispers, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Her breaths are loud through her nose as she holds his gaze, not saying anything.

He narrows his eyes. His first instinct is to grab the toy and shove it deep into her tight pussy himself, but he refrains, pushes her off his lap and stands, then grabs her wrist and drags her out of the closet. She stumbles after him and yelps when he throws her onto the bed.

Scrambling to her knees, her lips parted and trembling, she stares at him with her eyes wide in shock. He ignores her for now and walks to the bedside table, rummaging through the drawer until he retrieves a little teardrop shaped object, bright pink as well, smooth silicone with a little antenna.

A high-pitched squeal escapes her as he grabs her and pushes her onto her stomach, one large hand on her lower back, holding her down as she starts to squirm. “Stay still or this'll be more uncomfortable than it should be,” he tells her through gritted teeth. She stiffens, her breaths loud and frantic as she white-knuckles the sheets.

He moves the toy between her ass cheeks, pleased to see the butt plug is still in place. Nudging it slightly, he makes her wince. Pushing her legs apart a bit more with his knee, he slides her underwear aside, grabs her thigh to steady her and lets the small vibrator glide between her slick folds, and it's only a little push of his thumb before it slips into her, swallowed up by the tense muscles of her pussy. She lets out a strained whine. He wipes his palm over her mound gently, then tugs on the fat string until he finds the thicker bit at the end. The button clicks audibly when he presses it, and she gasps when the first vibrations shake her body. It's low, but still definitely overwhelming for her.

He puts her thong back in place and grabs her elbow, dragging her off the bed. Her legs are trembling, the low hum between her twitching thighs barely audible, but he hears it, sees her reaction to it, feels his blood pumping into his cock, the throbbing almost painful, and he wonders why he's taking his time with her. He could have had her last night, this morning, any time he wanted, fucked her hard and mercilessly, any hole he desired, and yet he waits, eases her into it, with a patience (or restraint) that surprises himself.

Sighing loudly, he grabs her hand and leads her out of the bedroom, she follows him on shaking limbs, too stunned to protest now. They reach the open kitchen, and he grabs her waist and sets her on the island, hears the faint clanging noise when the base of her plug hits the marble top. Spreading her legs, he steps between them, braces one arm on either side of her, stares down at her darkly.

Her eyes are wide, glistening, shock and uncertainty on her face, but there's also a deep blush and a tightness to her lips as she fights the sensations pulsing through her small body. Her hands fidget between her legs, a nervous little gesture. He rips them away, tells her to sit on them. She does with a bit of hesitation as she watches him with bated breath. He leans in, lets his breath fan over her cheek, then kisses the corner of her mouth, and there's a jerk in her neck as she turns her head, trying to meet his lips.

He pulls away before that, exhaling through his nose. His hands move over her legs, thumbs brushing along her inner thighs until he pushes them against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her wetness seeps past it already, staining the white satin bit, and he licks his lips at the sight. His restraint is slipping, he can't help it, he can smell her arousal, and it's driving him insane.

In one swift motion he grabs her hip, pulls her to the edge and leans down to press his mouth to her inner thigh, quickly kissing up the soft skin to where the little pink antenna pokes out of her. His free hand tugs at it, then he drags her panties aside and closes his lips around her folds. She yelps softly, body jerking against him. His fingers dig into her flesh, hold her in place as he laps up along her slit, gathers her sweet wetness on his tongue, drinks her up like a man parched.

She whimpers when he sucks on her clit, teeth grazing her soft, sensitive skin while he fumbles with the toy and presses the button a few more times, feeling the vibrations increasing, her hips jerking, thighs pressing against his head. Her noises are getting louder, helpless whines and mewls as she squirms on the counter, hands still squished under her legs while he continues to eat her out with a passion that he hasn't felt in ages.

Holding her with one hand, he tries to counteract her uncontrollable twitches, while his other hand rubs over her thigh before his index finger pokes at her entrance, following the toy inside. It's thrumming hard against her tense muscles, and he pushes it around a little with his finger before he finds the right spot, and that's when she really wails, body spasming against him, the heels of her feet thudding loudly into the cabinet as she tries to ground herself somehow.

He holds the toy pressed to her g-spot, still sucking on her clit, eyes moving up to watch her lose it in front of him. She's arching her back, head tilted upwards, chest pushed out, arms trembling before she can't keep her composure any longer and pulls her hands from under her legs and grabs his hair, two sets of small fingers with an iron grip that surprises him. Either to push him away or hold him right there, he isn't sure. Whatever the case, he lets her, gives her that one moment of control.

Her walls tighten around the toy and his finger, rhythmic clenching, her orgasm is so close, she's right on the edge, and it's that moment that he hooks his finger around the toy and pulls it out, leaning back, slipping from her suddenly limp fingers, and leaves her throbbing and panting, watches her deflate as her orgasm slips away again. A whine escapes her, and she falls backwards onto the counter, body convulsing without release, hiding her flushed face behind her shaking hands.

He straightens himself, licks his lips and then his finger, puts the vibrating toy on the counter before he turns it off. She's sobbing now, overwhelmed and left hanging. Poor thing. But it's not over yet.

Hooking his hands under her arms, he hoists her off the counter and pushes her down on her knees in front of him. She's too surprised to react, slowly lowers her hands and looks up at him, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Without a word or command, he unbuckles his belt and opens his pants, then snaps his fingers at her. Despite her trembling state, she follows the order instantly, automatically, that inborn desire to please stirring within her, when her small hands move up to push his pants and underwear down enough to free his erection.

The initial touch is almost enough to push him to the edge and over, but he braces himself, puts his hands on his hips and watches her as she closes her fingers around his length, slowly stroking up and down like he's shown her. Her eyes stay on him, watching him closely, and he tilts his head, pressing his lips into a thin line, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. He sees her swallowing, and barely a second later, her lips brush against his hot skin, the contact enough to coax a little groan out of him.

He watches her closely as she moves her lips up and down his shaft, tongue licking along his bulging veins, circling his tip, flicking over his slit, before she opens her mouth and takes him deeper. She's a little hesitant, careful, one hand still on his girth, the other braced against his thigh as she slowly bobs her head, lips closed around his tip, cheeks hollowed, the little suction really tempting his self-control. He wants her to find her own pace, get better on her own, learn to pleasure him properly, but he also really wants to fuck her throat and make her choke on his cock. The struggle is real.

His hands move to her head, a gentle little caress, fingers sliding through her hair, slowly nudging her closer, she shifts on her knees, the hand on his thigh pulling her into him. Her eyes are closed now, and he can see tears forming under her lashes as she keeps moving her head back and forth, the hand that's tight around his girth keeping her from taking him deeper. He feels her warm mouth, that little tongue flicking around his tip, hot and wet, sucking softly, almost meditatively, and he can't help it, he bucks his hips slightly against her, his cockhead poking into her cheek when she turns her head with a little muffled whine.

One of his hands moves down to grab her chin, holding her in place, head slightly tilted, as he repeats the same motion, pushing into her mouth, watching her cheek bulge. He hasn't noticed it before, but she's a natural at keeping her teeth out of the way, her jaw opened wide enough to allow him to slip in and out fairly easily. Her eyelids flutter open, and she meets his gaze, her eyes glistening, pupils dilated more than he has expected. She's enjoying this, huh?

He smirks at her, moves her head a little and tilts her chin up before he pumps his hips a little harder against her, more of his cock slipping into her small mouth. She stiffens, both hands now gripping the fabric of his pants, bracing, a sliver of panic in her eyes. He watches her closely, the grip on her chin hard as he concentrates, holds back, fights the urge to just fuck her cute little face. His breaths are quick and loud through his nose.

She holds still, doesn't fight it, and he uses that submission to move faster and eventually slips deeper, feeling his tip prodding the back of her throat. She gags almost immediately, a sudden reflex, her body convulsing against him, fingers digging into his legs, and he lets her pull back with a deep cough, saliva dripping from her lips. But he only lets her relax for so long, before he pushes his cock back into her mouth, deeper, to that spot once more, and she gags again, spit filling her mouth, coating his tip, yet this time he holds her head in place, and she lets out a pained little howl, muffled but clearly distressed.

Sighing, he grips her hair and pulls her back again, lets her catch her breath, swallow the excess spit. Tears stream down her face, her eyes are red, eyebrows furrowed, a helpless expression mixed with something like indignation looking up at him. A low laugh escapes him, and he grips her chin and pulls her back, cock slipping into her mouth, her tongue scraping along the underside, frantic little breaths through her nose, warm on his skin.

“Relax,” he tells her, and strangely enough it's that command that lets him slip deeper, past her gag reflex, further into her tight throat. It's only a few seconds though before she gags yet again, fingernails sinking into his legs, that little uncontrollable twitch as her body fights the new sensation of having her throat stuffed. She gurgles, desperate to breathe, too panicked to relax anymore. He pushes her away, and she splutters, spit and precum flying from her trembling lips, her shoulders shaking.

It takes all of him to loosen his grip on her, but when he lets go of her chin and her hair, inhaling deeply, she looks up almost surprised. Bracing his arms on the counter behind her, he closes his eyes, fighting the urge to make her choke again. That feeling when her throat tenses around his tip, squeezes him, it's something he enjoys a little too much, almost as much as watching her suffer through it, with her tears streaming down her face and her hands digging into his legs, that desperate struggle for control.

He'll force that urge right out of her, soon. Another time.

“Suck,” he grunts instead, standing still as he leans over her.

She resumes her ministrations, one hand around his girth, pumping and stroking, while she closes her lips around his tip again, sucking and licking it, keeping it far away from the back of her throat. She's shaky and sloppy, her wet slurping noises echoing through the room, her body still trembling, but she somehow manages to bring him right to the edge after all. He feels his balls tightening, his stomach tensing up, his cock throbbing in her hold. His hands itch, clenched into fists on the counter, his body shivering. So close. So fucking close...

A deep groan escapes his throat, and he leans back abruptly, grips her hair and pulls her off him, a sharp inhale coming from the girl beneath him. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, and he just ignores her, hooks his hands around her elbows and pulls her to her feet. She's that tiny body he can manhandle however he wants, and she ends up on her stomach on the counter, short legs dangling off the edge, feet kicking before he cages her in, one hand on her lower back, the other moving straight to the little shiny knob sitting between her plump ass cheeks.

Before she can comprehend what's happening or try to fight him, he drags her panties aside and pulls the plug out with a plop, puts it on the counter with a clang, before he grips his throbbing cock and pushes the tip against her sphincter. She lets out a surprised wail, her hands reaching back to swat him away, but he only grabs them and bends her arms behind her back, held by one large hand. She still struggles as he pushes further, forcing his tip deeper. He doesn't have time to prepare her properly, he's close to exploding.

She whines, writhing on the counter despite his unrelenting hold, and he watches her tight muscles give way to him, the grip almost as good as her tensing throat. His crown slips in, and he stops, letting it rest there as he strokes his shaft hard and fast, until he feels that tension finally dissolve. He comes with a deep grunt, arching his head back, feeling his cock throb and twitch in his hand and in her ass.

Spurt after spurt shoots into her tightness, filling her up until the first drops seep past the tight ring of muscles that clench around him involuntarily as she squirms helplessly, sobbing softly. When he relaxes against her, shoulders sagging, the grip on her arms loosening, he wishes he'd prepared her better, made her more pliant, open her up properly to take more of him. But this'll do for now. Once the twitching subsides, he gently pulls his cock out, watching her ass gape for a moment, his thick seed slipping out almost immediately.

He pushes it back in, feeling her tense muscles close around his finger. Then he grabs the plug and brings it back into position, holding her down again as she starts squirming more, the cold metal slipping into place, plugging up his warm cum. He exhales deeply once he is done, and when he lets go of her and steps back, he can't help but slap her plump cheek once for good measure.

She sobs louder, but remains lying on her stomach, legs dangling off the edge, immobile, all the fight gone from her body. He watches her as he puts his spent dick back into his pants. “What a good girl you are,” he whispers, noticing a wave of goosebumps rippling over her skin. His hands are on her round rear, gently sliding up and down, thumbs teasing between the cheeks. He fixes her thong, nudges the plug, smirks when she flinches at the motion.

Then he grabs her waist and pulls her off the counter, turning her so he can scoop her up into his arms. Despite her reluctance and the fact that she's still crying softly, she leans against him, needy little fingers digging into the collar of his shirt. No matter how hard she fights him, fights the sensations and experiences he gives her, she is clearly craving this, his attention, the care he gives her afterwards, the gentle moments after however rough he treats her.

It's a good dynamic. It'll work, he's sure. She will be absolutely perfect.

He carries her into the bedroom, carefully putting her down on the bed. She immediately rolls onto her side, knees pulled up to her chest, wiping at her wet face, avoiding his gaze as he watches her closely. When he leans down, she flinches, but he only grabs the edge of the blanket and drapes it over her small body.

“Rest now,” he tells her, straightening back up. “I'll order us some food.”

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

End notes: Just a little side note on where this story is set: it could be literally anywhere (where there are skycrapers or a downtown area with taller buildings). I did not have a specific place in mind, could be any major American city, could be a bigger European city, anywhere you like to think of. It doesn't really matter anyway. (And if it is set in America, just imagine his club to be one of those more lax ones where the drinking age isn't 21 or at least nobody cares about it.)

Also, you may have guessed it, but our male protagonist is a little bit more than just a nightclub owner. I won't go into too many details, just know he's influencial, if you'd like to call it that. And definitely intimidating enough for anyone to bow before him, not just our poor girl who might just be a little in over her head at this point.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE◾

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN◾ELEVEN

#ao3 original work #dead dove do not eat #dom/sub #d/s dynamic #older man younger woman #size difference #praise k!nk #modern au #joel miller smut #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #arthur morgan smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #original fiction

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amjustagirl · 2 months

Text

Chapter 2

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 2.7k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

The first step in your mission to reclaim your heart back from Hoshina Soshiro is to ignore his texts.

// omg my blade got chipped in a fight // // daikaiju with a ridiculously hard shell // // so annoying!! // // hmph!!! // // fix it for meeeeee //

// !?!?!??!?!// // u still have indigestion???//

You really should’ve foreseen his sheer stubbornness though, considering the mountain of rejection he had to claw through to get to where he is. He springs a surprise visit on you, breaking into your lab without warning.

“Did you seriously ask me to fill in an official form for upgrades?” he demands, miffed.

“Record keeping purposes”, you lie through your teeth. “My boss is on my back.”

“Your boss?!” he repeats incredulously. “Aren’t you the head of your department?”

A department consisting only of three overworked blade specialists servicing the entirety of Japan’s Defense Force and private security forces, but he has a point. “Well, the auditors might run their checks, and how am I supposed to justify spending budget on reckless improvements that a certain vice captain demands -”

He slings an arm over your shoulder and a crackle of electricity zips up your spine. “C’mon, don’t be silly -”

You shrug him off, waiting nothing better than to run for the toilets to fan away the heat spreading up the column of your neck to the apples of your cheek. “Fine”, you acquiesce. “I’ll get to it - just, stop bugging me -”

He smirks, content at getting his way. “Great, now we can grab lunch. Food here’s so much better than on base -”

That, you can fend off. “Can’t”, you say. “Lunch with colleagues. And no, you can’t join, Hana-chan wants to cry about her ex, and you’ll make her uncomfortable if you’re there.”

He goggles at you. “Since when do you have friends besides me?”

“Always, you rude shit”, you say, though really, you’ve just been putting in more effort in being more social at work. “Now, get out.”

At last, he leaves, so you can reset your heart to its factory settings. You fix his katanas and send it back via courier, when previously you might have delivered it to the base yourself as an excuse to see him again.

The next step is to find something else to preoccupy you.

You sign up for pottery lessons on Sunday afternoons, which clashes directly with when Soshiro gets the majority of his time off. You aim to slaughter two birds with a single stroke, an excuse to avoid him coupled with a hobby for you that has nothing to do with him.

It comes naturally to you, since you’re accustomed to using your hands and handling heat to create things, even if it’s usually steel, not soft clay. But it’s different when you do it for fun, for yourself. Blades can be beautiful, but your focus when hammering at them has always been its function, not form, so it’s a welcome change to just create things for its beauty.

You make cups and bowls for your colleagues (now friends), a set of sake cups for your parents in a rust-red glaze. Your proudest creation is a tea set that you keep for yourself, displayed on the windowsill to remind you of a summer sky when it’s grey.

Even Yamamoto-san gets a little gift since you now consider him a friend, a stone pot for a plant he complained of having outgrown its home. He reciprocates next month with a plant for you, who he says needs a home. This you struggle with, not being born with a green thumb. You studiously research plant-rearing tips and plunk the monstera you are gifted with by your prized tea set, but it truly thrives when you bring another potted plant home. Pothos, at first, because they’re too-determined to live. Bird’s fern, for it’s graceful leaves. When you’re more confident, you top it off with azaleas, for colour, hydrangeas to match your tea set.

(not violets, never violets)

“Huh”, you stare at the jungle on your balcony “Even plants need friends, I guess.”

It’s still little too soon to put yourself out there on the dating apps and start searching in the radioactive waste pool of the Tokyo dating scene when your heart is still tethered to Hoshina Soshiro. Any willpower you have to stay away is shaken when you hear that Soshiro’s been assigned a numbers weapon, especially after hearing whispers in the lab that testing has been going terribly. You ask permission to be on base to watch one testing session yourself as a weapons technician. The Numbers Weapon 10 has a mind of its own, and it keeps clashing with Soshiro, causing their test results to be abysmally low.

“Will he be safe?” you question Okonogi-san, the overworked third base operations leader.

“If he doesn’t get his numbers up with the weapon, I doubt he’ll be allowed to wear it out on the field”, she shrugs.

You slip away before he’s released from testing grounds.

// did u srsly come to base // // and not say hi!?!??! // // i haven’t seen ur face in forever //

It’s the truth. Despite your pledge to carve out more space to live a life that yours, you make an exception, burning hours on a new weapon to match the volatile Numbers weapon that by all reports, only wants to be worn by Soshiro. Anyone who knows anything about Soshiro knows of his preference for twin blades, ‘cos it makes me look cool’, he jokes, so no one will anticipate a single katana as a backup weapon.

// ty for the katana // // it’s q cool // // ok, v v cool // // wld be cooler if you dropped by to say hi // // free this weekend? //

You take a train all the way back to Osaka to visit your parents instead, lest he take it upon himself to commit larceny by breaking into your apartment. You don’t put it past him, since he has the combination to your front lock - his birthday, that’s another thing you need to change.

“How’s Yamamoto-san?” your mother asks, none too subtly.

You know your parents are proud of both you and your older brother for following the family’s traditions, and you’re lucky they’re progressive enough to encourage it even in you, but they’re of the age where they’re starting to long for grandchildren. Your older brother’s wedding scheduled for next year should distract them for now, but they’ll soon look to replicate their success with you.

“He’s pretty nice, but I don’t think he’s the one”, you reply.

Your mother’s lips purse. “Are you still hung up on that Hoshino boy?”

You’re stung into silence, your mother’s directness catching you off-guard. She tsks at you, pouring you tea that’s bitter from being steeped too long.

“I’m not - that’s not -”

Her gaze is sharper than any blade you’ve ever made. “Don’t insult me by lying.”

“Ka-san. It’s hard but I’m trying to get over it- gods, it’s so embarrassing to say this aloud in front of my own mother -”

She sniffs imperiously. “Try harder.”

“Will do”, you reply dryly. “I’ll just walk into the nearest combini and pick up the first guy they have sitting on the shelf, shall I?”

She raps your knuckles with her chopsticks. “Don’t be insolent”, she clucks. “Hoshina Soshiro -”

“I know, ‘ka-san”, you interrupt, the wound still raw under its scabbing. “You don’t have to say it.”

“Hm.”

It’s too difficult to meet your mother’s eyes, so you’re glad when she bustles off to the kitchen. A plate is shoved under your nose, oranges, painstakingly peeled, apples, perfectly sliced.

“There’ll be mangoes if you come back next week”, your mother says.

“That’ll be nice”, you smile.

The next step is the hardest, the part you fear the most.

Soshiro insists on seeing you. There’s no excuse he accepts, not after forty two calls and unread messages. Initially you toyed with changing the combination on your front door to keep him out, but you’re certain he’ll stand outside and cause a ruckus until you let him in.

He’s waiting in your apartment when you return from class. “Okairie”, he grounds out, jaw set. “It’s nice to see you again.”

There’s no point running. He’ll catch up with you within seconds anyway.

You drop your bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. “It’s nice to see you too”, you reply, skirting around his palpable annoyance. “Are you staying for dinner? I can make curry rice - ”

“I wanna know why you’ve been ignoring me.”

You plaster on a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, you hedge. “I mean, I’ve been busy at work, you’ve been busy at work - I’ve been picking up new hobbies -”

“Which I’d know, if you talked to me in the past three months -”

“I’ve really been too busy, haven’t had the chance -”

“Nonsense”, he scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t know that you dropped by base without saying hi -”

“Pretty sure you were too busy tussling with that new combat suit -”

“You didn’t even bother to lunch with me the last time I came to your office -”

“I was busy working on your weapon, which I don’t hear you complaining about -”

You stop short when he takes you by your shoulders. You smell coffee and steel, a scent that just so Soshiro, that it makes your heart forget to beat. He’s close, far too close that you can see the dying sun-gold illuminating the violet iris of his eyes. You squeak as he tips your chin up, calloused fingers so painfully gentle as he meets your gaze. “Are you sure we’re okay?”, he asks softly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Other than torturing your heart by being within your vicinity?

Shaking your head, you take a large step back. “All good”, you splutter, ears on fire.

He doesn’t give you a chance to hide, shouldering into your space. “Somehow I don’t believe you”, he pinches your cheek. “Spill it. Stop lyin’.”

The pieces of your heart are stitched together with fragile threads, but his presence makes your heart slam itself against your ribcage over and over again. You are powerless from stopping it from falling apart again.

“You can eat my entire tub of chestnut ice cream -”

“Stop tryin’ to distract me.” He leans in, almost nose to nose with you, the curve of his mouth so dangerously close to your lips that your heart chooses this precise moment to combust. “Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”

Courage has never been your strong suit, but you owe it to Soshrio to be brave enough to be honest that it’s not him, never him that made you run and hide. It’s your traitorous heart at blame. Plus, you figure, when he turns you down, perhaps it’ll finally deprive your heart of any lingering hopes it harbours, so you can finally, finally reclaim ownership of your heart.

Your lungs claw for air.

“It’s not anything you did”, you whisper. “I just wanted more than what you probably ever thought to give.”

His brows pinch together in confusion.

“It’s just - I know you’re busy doing big things in the Defense Force and you probably never have time in between killing a million kaijus to consider anything outside of work, and I know that you’ve never given any indication that you see me more than just a friend, cos really, I know where I stand -”

“You’re rambling.” He shakes you. “You’re not making any sense.”

You close your eyes.

(plunge a knife into your chest, carve it out whilst it's still beating, still bleeding)

“I like you, Soshiro-kun”, you say. “Not just as a friend, in case that wasn’t clear enough.”

“Oh.”

It’s a simple word with exactly one syllable, but it does the job. He stares at you, slack jawed. His reaction twists the knife deeper into your belly. You clutch the counter for balance, prevent yourself from doubling over, spilling your guts on your kitchen floor. “I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship so I’ve just been kinda distant. I needed - I needed space. Just to get over it. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

He still doesn’t respond.

“Soshiro -”

He looks up and you read only pity in his gaze. “I’m sorry -”

Your hurt pride will not allow you to let him see you fall apart. “Can we attack that tub of ice cream now”, you interrupt. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“Right”, he says after a long pause, face carefully blank. “Ice cream.”

You spend the rest of the evening eating ice cream and decidedly avoiding his gaze while chattering away about everything and nothing at all, papering over any awkwardness in a desperate attempt to pretend you don’t care that you’ve just killed any chance you’ve had at keeping your friendship intact. He’s almost silent save for some mmhms and grunts to indicate he’s still listening, so unlike his usual talkative replate with a joke in hand. You too, cannot put up with this charade anymore, so you feign tiredness, just to cut this ordeal short.

“Stay safe”, you remind him. “Don’t get eaten by a kaiju.”

“Yeah”, he replies.

He doesn’t say seeya later, as he usually does. You’re unsurprised by that.

Your phone remains empty of any new messages from him.

In the initial aftermath, you drown yourself in work to overcompensate for your wandering mind and wishful heart. All tweaks to his weaponry are done purely through official channels, as you previously requested. He doesn’t even text you a thanks when you stay up working on changes to his blades. Not that you’ve ever felt entitled to his gratitude. It’s just your job - one that you’ve decided to take up because your seven year old self lost her heart to him, but really, that’s on you, not him.

There are no spontaneous lunchtime visits, not even when you make updates to his brother’s tech. He doesn’t drop by your apartment the next time he’s off-duty, nor he does ask you to accompany him to another overpriced dessert cafe, not even when the gingko trees in Tokyo turn yellow, marking the season for every store to have a mont blanc special which you know he’d be weak for.

This is good, you tell yourself.

It hurts less than you expected. Of course it splits open your stitched-closed wounds to hear him say in your face what you already knew, that Hoshina Soshiro will never love you, not in this lifetime or the next. You allow yourself a few lonely nights to wallow in self-pity, spend a weekend facedown on your bed, stifling your screams into your pillow. You might have lost your footing momentarily, slipped down a ravine of despair, but with a few weeks’ grace, you start to claw your way out of the ravine of despair.

You will find your footing, find a way to get over him, live a life without Hoshina Soshiro by your side.

You will. You will.

It will become easier. You find contentment sitting on your balcony by yourself as the evenings grow cooler, leaves catching in the breeze, a meal you cooked for yourself on your lap. You throw yourself headfirst into pottery classes, where all you focus on is the feel of soft clay melting into your hands. Between work, your hobbies and weekend visits home, you don’t give yourself time to think about anything or anyone else anymore.

Weeks pass.

You catch a glimpse of him on the office TV as you clock in for work. Though you almost always turn it off right away, lest your heart believe it can find its way back to him, you make an exception today when the TV starts to blare about some daikaiju appearing, one after another across Japan, the third division deploying to a location not too far away from you.

<don’t be eaten by a kaiju>

The building starts to shake.

You put your phone away. Your co-workers surround the screen, yelling about evacuations and contingencies. You start to head down towards the forge, determined to save as much of your handiwork as you can. Soshiro and the rest of the swordsmen in the Defense Force will need whatever you can save.

a/n: manga spoilers from the next chapt onwards, read at your own risk! also, am off riding in mongolia til the 20th - next chapter out after - pls lmk what you guys think in the meantime ;)

#hoshina soushirou #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro #hoshina x reader #kaiju 8

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pomefioredove · 4 months

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*does a little dance*

vil prompts you say? Can i get your take on Vil being confronted by Yuu's real and imminent return home? And it's their only chance too (ie. the portal can only be opened with a meteor traveling overhead and surprise surprise its passing NOW they have three days max)

*does a little jig, going away*

you guys love torturing this man omg. so much angst. I'm about to pour all my abandonment issues into him ikyk

summary: yuu leaving type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, angsty, post-book 7 author's note: my partner has been ignoring me for the past few days (I can't figure out why) so vil is about to experience pain, as he should

There are only six visible letters in lonely, and a thousand more hiding behind them.

The word carries such a weight with it, its meaning and its leaden implications, crushing the lungs of all who dare to shoulder it. It's a sore, tender sort of hurt, one that constricts the chest and numbs the limbs. Paralyzing, strangulating.

They say beauty is pain, but Vil has never felt more hideous in his life.

He had known; of course he had known. There was always a possibility you'd get your chance to return to your home, a world alien to him, and never come back. He'd been preparing himself for that reality from the moment he met you.

It didn't make it hurt any less.

Love is blind, but it's ignorant, too. Vil had pushed that thought to the back of his mind, covering it up with an if rather than a when, like throwing a veil over a tombstone. He had convinced himself that the chances of you leaving were slim, that when the time came, years from then, he'd be ready.

He wasn't counting on a few months.

"It works for about three days," you explain, a giddy smile on your face. He forces himself to share the expression. "The spell is so powerful, it can only be cast under specific circumstances... if I miss this, who knows when my next chance will be?"

Vil is an actor, yes, but this is different. This isn't something he's reading off a page to a room full of production assistants and actors. This is you and him, alone, tangled in an uncertain future with no ending in 12-point Courier.

His voice cracks. "That's wonderful,"

Sevens, is he selfish.

A part of him wants to slap you across the face and call you an idiot for even thinking about leaving him here, let alone being excited about it, but he can't even move his feet from where he's standing.

He should be celebrating with you.

He should be happy that you get to escape this terrible place. You get to go home, where you're accepted as you are, and loved, and where you belong...

But you belong with him. He accepts you. He loves you. Why do you need anyone else? What can they offer than he can't?

It's an egotistical fantasy Vil holds in the back of his mind for the rest of the day, one where you wake up and realize that your place is here, by his side, and not a world away from him.

He tries to convince himself it's not the end yet. Perhaps the spell will fail. Perhaps Crowley will change his mind. Perhaps someone else will overblot and throw the school into chaos. Each thought is more indulgent than the last, but without them, he might have lost his mind before noon.

What is he supposed to do?

Smile and wave while the only person who has ever understood and loved him unconditionally leaves him forever? Make a fool of himself pretending to be happy for you?

Every second without the certainty of seeing you the next day feels like an eternity.

It's wrong. He knows that. He can't keep you chained to the foot of his throne like a pet. You want to go, don't you? That's what you've wanted all along.

Once again, Vil only comes in second.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #this hurts me anon

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serafilms · 10 months

Text

song 24! message in a bottle (taylor swift) + aang requested by @fylithia (spotify wrapped event)

but now you’re so far away and i’m down, feeling like a face in the crowd, i’m reaching for you, terrified

It’s been years now since the war ended. Years since you and your friends saved the world, defeated Zuko’s father and brought peace to the four nations once more. Ever since, everyone’s been busy trying to piece the world back together. Katara’s been staging a feminist revolution in the water tribes, Toph has been reinventing Earth bending, Suki taking the Kyoshi Warriors all over and recruiting, Sokka inventing, Zuko rebuilding a nation and Aang flitting all over the place.

You, on the other hand… What have you achieved? You went back to your village and spent some time telling stories of your adventures to children, then picking up odd jobs on fishing boats and cargo ships to hitch a ride to wherever your friends are off making history. You tell yourself you like the simplicity, like not having to worry about the fate of the world, but you feel like about as insignificant as a speck of dust at your biannual (twice a year) catch ups.

I’m like an old lady telling stories to relive her glory days, you think bitterly.

But you like reliving them. You miss adventuring and seeing the world with your friends. You miss when you were all just kids and there were no real titles or duties in the way (aside from your common goal of ending the war, of course). You miss when Aang looked at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky, when he was just a boy who liked you but never said it, and when you liked him but refused to show it. Now you feel like you’re miles apart, like he’s on the top of the mountain and you’re left waiting at the base.

You still all write each other, Aang more than the rest but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s out of pity; it’s an obligation to you as an old friend. They’re busy now and that’s not their fault, and you all really would have no reason to go back to camping out. In fact, with the Avatar and Fire Lord especially, it was probably a security risk.

You’re too busy drowning in your own misery to notice Katara until she’s already nudging you in the arm. “Hey, why aren’t you over there with everyone else?”

Starting a little in surprise, you stare at her for a second before sighing as you kick your foot into the dirt and watch the dust rise.

“No reason,” you lie. Because I don’t want to talk to you guys. Especially Aang.

Your time alone has dulled your social skills, because Katara stares at you for a good seven seconds before you realise she expects you to keep talking.

“I think it’s just a little overwhelming to be around many people when I’m usually by myself.”

Her face softens and she reaches out to put her hand on your knee. “But it’s us. We want to make you comfortable and be around you. You know that, right?”

You nod, and she squeezes then releases you. “Let’s start small. Aang!”

Your chest flickers with panic as his bright eyes locate you instantly and he leaves his conversation with Zuko without a second thought. Katara takes his place, striding back up to the group as Aang stops right in front of you.

You feel your heart lurch at finally seeing him up close after spirits knows how many months. He's taller than you now, so it's not hard to avoid his gaze, but you can't tear your eyes away yet. His eyes sparkle at you and you feel yourself flush at how cute he looks with faint freckles dusting the upper part of his cheeks.

"Hey," he greets you softly, taking a seat beside you. "How are you?"

"I'm good," you find yourself saying, despite your mind being devoid of any thought that's not of him. His smile that's as sweet as ever, his eyes, his pink lips. How he's so, so out of your league.

Much like Katara, Aang seems unsatisfied with your short reply. "What have you been up to?"

Thinking about how much I love you. You can't say that, of course, so you babble on about the courier job you did a few months ago, which was great because you helped find a few new Kyoshi Warriors for Suki. When you look back at him once more, Aang has a soft look on his face, and a smile that seems to be there without his knowledge. Your face flushes, stomach flips and something akin to hope rises within you.

His cheeks turn pink when you've trailed off and he realises you're looking at him.

"Wow," he says. "That sounds really great."

You roll your eyes a little, feeling a sense of familiarity. "It's fine, you don't have to pretend you're interested. I know it's all boring compared to the work of the great Avatar."

"No, really," he insists, and there's an urgency in his voice, as if he needs you to know how genuine he is. "I think everything you do is amazing."

You smile. "Really?"

Aang nods down at you, eyes wide. "Well, yeah. I mean, it's you."

Embarrassed but pleased, you look down at your shoes before looking back up at him. "Thanks, Aang."

He grins at you, before glancing over to the others. "Wanna go catch up with everyone else?"

You take a look over at your friends. They look normal now, like a group of friends laughing, instead of the incredible figures they are. You nod at him and he extends a hand out to help you up. You take it.

You can't tell him how much he means to you, but you feel closer now. All you can do now is hope that one day, he gets the message.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #aang #aang x reader #atla x reader #avatar x reader #atla imagines #atla imagine #avatar imagines #avatar imagine #avatar the last Airbender x reader #avatar the last airbender imagine #avatar the last airbender imagines #aang imagine #aang imagines #written works !#2023 Spotify wrapped event !

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deezneezz · 1 year

Text

Jamil's Healer class in @dirtspouse's Jamidia fic, Star Courier!

"In the end, the adventurer's father dies and the Star Courier still only has seven stars, but the story is about letting go and becoming your own person and doing things for yourself." - Light Party (Vivarium) by en passant (corinthian)

Please read it, it's SO cute!!!! 😭

#jamil viper #twst #twst wonderland #my art #please read it i need other unfortunate souls to fall with me or ill be going insane alone #it really is very cute though #big brothers and their gremlin siblings #ortho and najma are there!! and they are menaces!!!#besties together #idia and jamil are both in their respective family cursed jail together #but at least they have eachother...#idia having to deal with jamil's normie behaviour is also the funniest thing ever

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hungermakesmonsters · 10 months

Text

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Billy is a bit of an asshole in this one and briefly restrains reader during an argument. Also he's kind of an entitled douche. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : ~2.8k

A/N : Ok, so this chapter and the next chapter technically happen on Halloween (I know, i'm super late with this, it's just how things panned out when I decided to post a chapter a week) Thanks to everyone still following this and for all the likes, comments and reblogs, y'all are awesome!!

Chapter Seven

You should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy to get Billy Russo out of your life, not after the night you’d shared together.

Six days.

That was all it took before he was trying to pull you back in and you hated that you hadn’t expected it. You’d let yourself hope that your one night had been enough, that he’d managed to get you out of his system and he’d be able to move onto whatever woman caught his eye next.

And, you - you’d been trying to forget all about it, about him. You hated leaving him but you knew it was the right thing to do, your life was too messy and you knew that you’d never recover if you let yourself fall for a man like Billy and he broke your heart. You’d done what was best for the both of you, so it pissed you off that Billy didn’t seem to want to accept that.

And it pissed you off even more that he’d decided to use your job against you - a job that he’d never seemed to judge you for, that he was now using to drag you across the city because he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer. He’d even had the audacity to pre-pay with a two hundred dollar tip, like he thought he could buy you.

By the time you got to Anvil to collect whatever it was Billy wanted you to courier, you were livid. You made your way through the lobby and up to the top floor and, eventually, found yourself in front of the secretary.

“I’m here to collect a package,” you told her.

“Mr Russo wants to hand you it personally,” she answered in a flat tone, waving her hand towards his door, barely looking up from her computer.

“Of course he does,” you sighed, “look, I’m in a rush, can’t you just get it and bring it out here?”

“That’s above my paygrade.” And something told you that that was all you were going to get from her.

So, you did the only thing that you could do; you took a deep breath and stormed into his office. He was sitting at his desk, a takeout coffee and a half eaten bagel in front of him, and when he saw you, he had the nerve to smile.

“One night, Billy, that was the agreement,” you snapped before the door had even finished closing behind you, “We had one night and now it’s done, over.”

He didn’t answer straight away, instead he buzzed the intercom and told his secretary to go get her lunch, presumably so no one would overhear you screaming at him. And, then he stood, smoothing down his suit jacket as he did, looking every bit the businessman with an offer to pitch.

“I want a new agreement,” he stated calmly, rounding his desk and stepping closer, clearing the distance between you. “Nothing is over.”

“And - what? - you think you can buy me now? You think you can just throw a two-hundred dollar tip at me and I’ll fall into bed with you?” You didn’t even try to hold back the anger and the hurt. “Does it make you feel powerful, dragging the poor little bike messenger across town to your big fancy office? Is the money because you want to fuck me or is that supposed to be payment for the other night?”

“That’s not - I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” the hint of regret in his voice earned him no mercy from you, “I just wanted to see you, the money was so you couldn’t refuse.”

“I don’t want your money, Billy. And, for the record, when a woman sneaks out on you before you wake up, it’s because she’s done with you and doesn’t want to see you again.” You hadn’t come here with the intention of being needlessly cruel, but you needed to make Billy understand that things between you were finished. “When you care about someone you don’t go out of your way to make them feel cheap - Oh, wait, that’s right, you’re not capable of caring about anyone, are you?”

There was a flicker of hurt on his face but he was quick to recover.

“How long was it?” He asked. “How long had you gone without being fucked before me? Years, I’m guessing. You think you can go back to that after a night in my bed?”

“Who says I’m going back to that?” You answered back, and Billy didn’t like it one bit.

“You think you’re gonna find anyone who can make you feel the way I did?” Billy gave a huff of laughter, shaking his head. Some part of you knew he was right, that nothing would ever be like the night you shared, but you were angry and you weren’t going to let him win.

“Guess I’ll just have to find out,” you shrugged and his gaze darkened. “I suggest you do the same, Billy.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” He admitted angrily, and you felt like you’d just been punched in the stomach.

“What?” Rage and pain coiled inside you. Less than a week and he’d already tried to replace you. How long had it taken to fall into bed with the next one? You hated yourself for even daring to wonder. You wanted this, you wanted him to move on, but you never expected it to hurt so much. “So you dragged me here to tell me how much you want me after you’ve been fucking other women?”

“I didn’t fuck anyone. I couldn’t because of you,” and you could see just how angry that made him. “D’you think I want to feel like this? That I want to be stuck on the one woman in New York who doesn’t want me? Who doesn’t even want to use me? Have you got any idea how fucked up and broken you make me feel?”

There was a painful honesty in his words, something that he clearly saw as a weakness that needed to be overcome.

“You want to talk about feeling fucked up and broken, Billy? I told you from the start that I couldn’t do this, but you pushed and pushed until you got your way.” Your voice broke, betraying your pain, eyes desperately blinking as you tried to fight back tears. “You turned my whole fucking life upside down and now - now you’re telling me you only want me because you can’t fuck anyone else?”

Something in him seemed to break in that moment and whatever anger he’d been feeling washed away. He reached for you, fingers ghosting your cheek before you pulled away.

“Let me -”

“No, Billy. This has to stop, you have to let me move on.”

“No.”

“It’s not your choice to make.”

He took a breath and, for a second, he looked like he was going to relent. But, of course, he didn’t.

“So, that’s it? You’re gonna go fuck some random guy just to try and prove to yourself that you don’t want me as much as I want you?” His sharp tone was quick to return. “You’re gonna let some guy use you just to make a point?”

“If that’s what it takes, I -”

“Bullshit,” he shook his head, “we both know that’s not gonna happen.”

Were you really that predictable, that easy to read? Probably. He’d seen you panic, afterall. No. No. Billy-fucking-Russo didn’t get to dictate what you did or how you felt. You weren’t going to give him that power over you. No one got to have that power over you. Never Again.

Anger had you reaching out, slapping him before shoving him backwards, knocking him off balance. And, after that first stumble, you found yourself lashing out again and again, pushing Billy back across his office, and you didn’t stop until he made you. He took hold of your wrists, stopping you from pushing again.

“Fuck you!” You all but snarled at him as you struggled against his grip.

“That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do, sweetheart,” he answered back, tone matching yours.

“I’ll fuck whoever I want, Billy, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He gave a sharp tug on your wrists, pulling your body against his.

“I told you before; you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of. I won’t let you” He was right, you didn’t, but you found yourself remembering what Krista told you, that he was dangerous. And you started to think that maybe she was right afterall.

“You can’t stop me.” All the while, trying to pull yourself from his grip.

“Yes I can. You’re mine and I don’t let anyone touch what’s mine, sweetheart.”

“I’m not yours,” and that was when the panic started to set it. You thrashed against his hold on you, lashing out and trying to knee him in the balls. He angled himself away from you, twisting your arms and managing to turn you so your back was pressed against him.

All you could think was that he’d never let you go, that this would be your life now, completely at his mercy. You’d have to leave New York to get away from him, you’d have to uproot your whole life again. He held tight, even as your feet lifted off the ground, kicking out as you struggled, desperate to get away from him.

“Let go!” The tears that you’d been trying to hold back soon started to fall.

“Not until you calm down,” you hated the concern in his voice - he didn’t get to worry about you, not when he was doing this. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“You’re hurting me!” You cried out in a strangled sob.

Billy let go of you suddenly and pulled away from you, realising that he’d fucked up. You took a few steps forward before you dared to turn back to him, and he looked broken, devastated by what he’d done. When you said he was hurting you, you meant in general, you meant the ache he caused in your chest, but Billy was looking at you terrified, like he’d done even more than that. For reasons you didn’t understand, it made your heart ache to see him like that.

“I didn’t -” he tried but there weren’t any words. Billy knew that he’d crossed a line, that he’d really fucked up. “I wasn’t trying to -”

“Just - just stop,” you finally managed, a hand clumsily trying to wipe away your tears.

“I can’t,” barely able to bring himself to look at you, “I don’t know what I did wrong. What was so bad that you can’t even bear to see me again? I don’t know how I fucked this up, you just left me and I don’t know why...”

“I -”

You hated that he was right, that you hadn’t even tried to see any of this from his point of view. This all could have been avoided if you’d done things a little differently; all the times you chose not to remind him it was just for a night, the way you’d slipped out without saying goodbye. How had he felt waking up to find you gone after the amazing night you’d shared? You hadn’t thought about it. Leaving him had been hard enough but, after everything, the least you could have done was leave a note.

What had been on his mind that night when he fell asleep wrapped around you? Had he dared to hope that he could convince you to stay?

“What did I do?” He asked again.

Nothing. Your night together had been perfect and it had meant so much to you.

“I thought you had a good time with me.”

“I did, but it was one night, Billy. I left because it was over.” You wanted to at least give him that, to let him know that it wasn’t him.

“It’s not over, not for me.” He dared to take a step forward, and you took a step back. The pain on his face was unbearable and it felt like everything you said only made it worse.

“It’s not a discussion, Billy. I told you this couldn’t go anywhere.” You took a few more steps, not stopping until you were by the door. “Don’t do this again. Just leave me alone. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Yes you will.” Spoken like there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

“Goodbye, Billy.” You shook your head as you pulled the door open, not daring to look back, not daring to say anything else; you needed it to be over, you needed to get away from him. Thankfully, he let you leave without any fuss. But, as you made your way to the elevator and out of the Anvil building, his words kept replaying in your mind, and the more you thought about it, the angrier you got; the fact that he’d tried to move on so quickly while he thought you’d be stuck on him forever, the way he’d dared call you his when he didn’t even know you.

You finally managed to choke back your tears in the elevators and, by the time you were outside, you had your phone in your hand, texting Tammy - she’d mentioned a Halloween night out with some of Anvil’s new recruits and, suddenly, you were very interested in a night on the town. You were going to go out and you were going to prove Billy wrong.

But, you didn’t have anything to wear and that meant borrowing one of Tammy’s old Halloween outfits, all of which came with the prefix sexy. Of course you very quickly ruled out sexy nun, sexy nurse and sexy cop. And that left you with a sexy catwoman costume, consisting of a faux-leather bodysuit, cut a little low at the front, but it had long sleeves and came with a mask, so you could at least hide just how embarrassed you were. You managed to cover yourself up a little more with fishnet tights, a pair of knee high boots and a leather jacket.

At the start of the night Tammy was full of questions, wanting to know what had happened with you and Billy, and if it was going to affect her position at Anvil in any way. She knew that you’d spent the night with him, but that you’d snuck back into the apartment before six am. But, fortunately for you, once other people started showing up at the bar she lost interest in you.

You started out in a little bar, drinking vodka and Redbull, and shots of tequila every time one was placed in front of you. Over a dozen people turned up, mostly Anvil trainee’s but a few of the office staff who worked with Tammy too. Including Michelle. But, aside from throwing you a shitty look, she stayed away, too distracted by the attention she was getting for her costume; a strapless white bodysuit, shirt cuffs, and bunny ears. It wasn’t long before the phones started coming out and people started taking pictures. You stayed in the background, enjoying your drink until it was time to move on to the club.

Before leaving the bar, you decided to dip into the bathroom, needing a moment to think about what you really wanted. Part of you just wanted to go home; you didn’t want to hook up with some random guy just to prove a point, but what other choice did you have? How else could you get Billy to finally let you go?

“I can’t believe Billy took her to the gala and not you,” the voice sounded vaguely familiar, one of Tammy’s friends. You froze, knowing that they were talking about you.

“He probably just wanted an easy lay,” Michelle. You held your breath, not even daring to move, even though some part of you wanted to storm out of the cubical and confront her. “But, tonight’s the night, I’m going to show Billy Russo just what he’s been missing out on.”

“He’s coming to the club?”

Fuck.

“Look what I sent him,” you heard shuffling and remained completely silent, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Oh my God, you sent him a thirst trap and he fell for it.” They both laughed, finishing up whatever they’d been doing at the sink, their voices getting further away as they finally left the bathroom.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry - after everything he’d told you, all it had taken was a picture of Michelle to have him moving on. Was he doing it to hurt you, you wondered. He knew how it had made you feel seeing him with her in your apartment. But, that was ridiculous. Billy didn’t even know that you were there. And you realised you could turn that to your advantage; if he saw you leave with another man, he’d have to admit that it was over between you...

CHAPTER EIGHT

END NOTES : With this one being a Halloween chapter, I decided to post it a little earlier than usual and will probably post the next part within the next week before we get too close to Christmas (and also because then hopefully the chapters that are set at Christmas will be posted at an appropriate time). Also I'm sorry everyone was so shitty to reader this chapter.

Thanks for reading!!

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @uncontainedsmiles @damagelove

#billy russo #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x reader #the punisher #cmiyc ff #ben barnes

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