#melody x floyd | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merakiui · 11 months

Text

monops's reflection.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader x floyd leech cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, unrequited love, obsession, drugging, kidnapping/captivity, restraints, dark/possessive/violent thoughts, biting, blood, characters written as 18+ note - happy birthday, tweels!!! :D may you continue to be crazy.

Mostro Lounge is tranquil tonight, save for the occasional clinking of glass against glass and the soft melodies tumbling from your lips. You busy yourself with song while you wipe the surface of a table, bending forwards to reach the very back with the dampened rag. Jade finds himself eyeing your figure as you flit about, observing the way you wring the cloth free of excess water, your fingers curling into the sodden fabric as if attempting to strangle it. And then it’s promptly dunked into the bucket and wrung out again in repetition. He stands behind the counter and continues to dry the same glass he started on two minutes ago, its shiny surface reflecting his distracted countenance.

There’s something curious about you.

He can’t quite put his finger on what that something is. The more he analyzes you, the further he strays from a proper interpretation of your character. For a human who can’t use magic, you’re surprisingly selfless. You cheer your friends on in their academic endeavors, offering them your help whenever it feels like they might need it, and you carry your own weight at the lounge, boldly standing up to patrons who get too big for their britches. Jade wanted to pity you in the beginning, when customers had been rough and rude with you, but you’d dealt with every difficulty with a bright grin and a few choice words.

You’re strong; you never back down.

Jade sets the glass in its rightful place and reaches for another, all while keeping his mismatched stare on you. He wonders how much pressure it would take for you to finally snap. Would you still be able to smile then? Could you even manage to stay afloat in pessimistic waters with that blithe façade of yours? If he were to cut into you with knife and fork—with dreadfully sharp words and even sharper actions—would you allow yourself to bleed out? Or would you accept your fate and smile up at him from your porcelain plate, promising him you’ll patch yourself up because it isn’t a big deal?

When you act so cheerful, so blissfully ignorant to the beast who lurks behind, it sets a potent yearning aflame. A yearning to break you well beyond repair. A yearning to take that smile, chew it up, and spit it out until it’s the most devastated frown he’s ever seen.

“Good work today, Jade!” With a breathless huff—he wants to bottle that breath and each one that will follow—you set the bucket down and roll your shoulders. Exhaustion shadows your face, adding deceptive age to your youthful appearance. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m quite all right. Thank you, though.” He returns your smile with one of his own, the usual placid, tight-lipped thing that both eases and unsettles depending on the situation. His default expression, forever the same unless circumstances call for the other faces he’s stowed in his vast repertoire. “You’re more than welcome to head back if you’ve finished for the evening. I can handle the rest.”

“You sure?” The bucket is in your hands again, and you carry it over to the sink to empty the murky water into the basin. He notes the way your arms shake ever so slightly as you struggle to balance the heavy thing against the counter. “I don’t mind waiting here until you’re done.”

“Very well. In that case, I won’t take too long.”

He finishes drying the remaining lineup, arranging each on its respective shelf before wiping the counter for extra measure. He doesn’t have to do it, but he does. It never hurts to be clinically clean.

Floyd should be done with the stock count by now, he thinks, gazing at the door leading to the kitchen. I should check it just in case.

After folding his rag into a neat square and tucking it away, he strides over to the door, opens it a crack, and pokes his head inside. The kitchen space is devoid of life. With furrowed brows, Jade opens the door wider just as Floyd jumps out from his spot behind the racks. He’s holding the clipboard in one hand and flailing with the other. His attempt at a fright does nothing to startle Jade, but it does cause you to flinch back. You do that a lot. Jade’s noticed that you scare easily, often falling victim to Floyd’s pranks during your shifts. It’s all harmless fun, but sometimes Jade catches himself wishing for Floyd to push you just a little harder. A little rougher. Maybe one day he will and Jade will finally witness tears lining your lashes.

“F-Floyd!” you snap, humiliated.

“Gotcha, Shrimpy. You always fall for it, y’know? Like a silly, stupid Shrimpy.” He passes the clipboard to Jade on his way out and adds, “Pretty sure everything’s correct.”

“Is it?” Jade peers at his brother’s handwriting. “If you don’t mind, I’ll review it once more.”

“Be my guest. Wasn’t really havin’ a ball fillin’ it out anyway.” He shrugs and then beelines for you, lifting you into the air with ease. He spins you despite your protests. Nasally laughter soon overtakes silence. Floyd has always been fond of your reactions; he eats them up as if it’s a special treat. “I wonder if you’ll get sick. You get motion sickness, Shrimpy? Tell me! Tell me!”

A covert smile stretches onto Jade’s mouth as he disappears into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him. While he goes over the numbers and corrects the errors Floyd’s made, he listens to you pleading with his brother to release you. Most of the numbers align with the remaining supplies and ingredients, and he adds his own notes in the margins so that Azul will know which are especially low and in need of replenishment. Checking his brother’s work isn’t a favorite pastime of Jade’s, but when it comes to the lounge and its success he’d rather look over a few numbers than watch sales plummet and listen to Azul’s endless slew of woeful complaints.

Once he’s made the necessary changes, he slips the sheet from the clipboard and heads back out. You’re in the process of chasing after Floyd, who’s holding your timecard above his head and dangling it like it’s a piece of bait. Part of Jade wants to enjoy the spectacle, but the other part is ready for the sweetness of sleep. For once he sides with the latter and clears his throat to get Floyd’s attention.

“Ah, you’re already done?” Having lost interest in the game, he drops your card at once. It flutters to the floor, and he watches with wide, gleeful eyes as you swoop down to catch it. “That all we gotta do?”

“I believe so. Azul’s staying late, so he will lock up.”

Jade sets the inventory sheet on the nearest table for Azul to find before retrieving and filling out his timecard. Floyd hasn’t even marked his hours yet, and Jade exhales an empty sigh and takes the initiative to write it in for him. It’s always been like this. Jade looks out for Floyd, not only because they’re family and have always done so, but because there are some instances where he’s much too careless.

It has been noted that the two of them are a package deal. A duo. A pair. Inseparable twins who balance each other with varying levels of insanity. Their bond is unbreakable, having been built from blood and the will to survive ever since they were vulnerable elvers. Floyd is a reflection of Jade, and Jade is a reflection of Floyd; that’s how they have lived. Like day and night, sugar and salt, and light and dark, they operate like clockwork, expertly in time with one another.

The center of their relationship has always remained the same, and Jade suspects it will never change, even after they’ve acclimated to human society. They are predators with finely honed instincts, masquerading above the water as humans. With razored rows of teeth and an insatiable hunger for unpredictability, the two of them function in a domesticated world. In order to survive in such a foreign environment, Jade has learned that they need each other, which is why it’s so salient that they get along most days.

And much like night and day, like a person with a shadow, one cannot exist without the other.

“See ya tomorrow, Shrimpy!” Floyd flashes you a jovial grin as you take your leave, but there’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I’ll be waiting…”

“Um, yeah… H-Have a good night.”

With your timecard now in Jade’s capable hands, he’s free to observe your handwriting. There’s nothing special about the way you write, but it still manages to mesmerize him. Every loop of each letter, messily intertwining like frayed strings of fate, adds charm to the script. It’s obvious you tried and failed to sign your name in cursive, but the fact that you even bothered to do so is cute.

It’s truly not that important, he reminds himself as he places the cards back where they belong.

“Shall we head back now?”

Floyd nods, stifling a yawn. As they walk through peaceful halls, he adds in a conversational tone, “Awfully boring when Shrimpy’s not around.”

Jade weighs that declaration and finds himself nodding in agreement. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

i. on a moonlit night, under an eave of twinkling stars, monops waltzes gracefully with the ghost of his other half. the shards of a shattered mirror reflect two sides of the same coin, of human and monster. when the clouds part and an ethereal beam encases the solitary monops, the illusion melts away into a fleeting dream.

Floyd is everything Jade is not: energetic, extroverted, and brash. Such adjectives can’t possibly describe Jade’s outward demeanor—the one he carefully orchestrates for public consumption. He’s polite and kind, soft-spoken and always wearing a smile despite the situation. He cloaks himself in a many-layered mask—a perfect predator with multiple disguises at his disposal. If he must shed a dozen skins to uphold his gentlemanly disposition, then he will gladly peel them away one at a time until he’s found one that fits flawlessly over bone. Jade could never hope to become what Floyd is, but what Floyd is not Jade is. And he is composed of qualities that reflect Floyd’s own behaviors.

He’s not ashamed to admit what he lacks. This is just a facet of life. You can never truly have everything you want. If the world was fair, everyone would achieve their goals without adversity. Any aspiration, no matter how small and insignificant, requires an adequate fight to be worthy of achievement. Survival is not much of a dream, but it’s the only thing Jade’s ever known as he floats through the world alongside his brother. His dreams are Floyd’s, or so that’s what he’s always told those who enquire. He shares these things with him because he does not have any to call his own.

Not yet, at least.

And sharing—it’s a word he knows well. Everything that Jade owns, Floyd owns as well. They share the same face, the same room, the same clothes. They might even come to share the same lover one day, should they both find their hearts pierced by Cupid’s miserable arrows. Jade has never been against the concept of sharing. It’s an acceptable way of life for him. He grew up practicing the concept, and it has taught him how to coexist with others. Sharing is an extension of the bonds he’s formed.

Still, he’s avaricious in some aspects. Hopelessly so.

There’s no denying the difficulty that arises when one wishes to share in the turbulent waters of the Coral Sea, where the natural order caters to the strong and crushes the weak, but splitting the essentials is what guarantees survival. And if it’s worked so well in the past, why should he stop now? Therefore, sharing will always be a priority, even if their desires are fraught with selfish envy.

Jade is watching you again.

You’re sitting in the courtyard with Azul, gesturing wildly as you recount a story he can’t hear from where he stands behind a stone pillar. Azul’s expression is soft with amusement; his lips quirk up in laughter, and his eyes never leave yours. Your cursive may be a mess and you might be feeble in the face of danger, but you certainly know how to enthrall others. If Jade didn’t know any better, he’d suspect you to be a siren. Night Raven College would be the perfect hunting ground for a predator of that nature. Perhaps once you’ve charmed Azul you’ll devour his heart and leave a streak of gore in your wake.

That’s impossible.

Jade is certain of this fact because he knows you’re not a predator. You are very much the harmless prey who has wandered into a den of ravenous beasts. He wonders if the thought that Azul may be dangerous ever crosses that empty, pea-sized brain of yours. He’s as much of a hunter as the rest of the students here, and with those eight tentacles of his he could easily send you to a watery grave. You wouldn’t have much of a chance to struggle, not unless Azul’s own benevolence grants you that futile hope. Thinking about it—about the thrill of a one-sided scuffle—has his heart racing, his palms wetting with sweat.

Oh, but you’re not meant to be Azul’s prey.

So get out of his eyes. Step off of the stage that entertains. Untangle yourself from unseen tentacles.

You are Jade’s.

From the moment the two of you crossed paths—from the moment you took up a job at the lounge and relied on him during your training—you belonged to him.

And he’s not quite sure he wants to share you with anyone.

Perhaps that dumb smile of yours hides something far darker. Perhaps your blood wouldn’t taste as delectable as he once hoped if it’s already been tainted by Azul’s silver tongue. In his own paradise, an ideal world constructed within the confines of his mind, you wouldn’t look at another man, another woman, another person. Not another living thing. You wouldn’t speak to another man, another woman, another person. Not another living thing. You wouldn’t know the tastes of sweet poison or bitter love unless Jade chooses to bestow these flavors unto you. You would only see him, only taste him, only adore him with those wondrous eyes—eyes that are so impossibly strong even when the harshest of insults are thrown your way.

So get the fuck out of Azul’s eyes. Step off of the damned stage that entertains. Untangle yourself from unseen tentacles before Jade slices all of them off at the root.

These feelings ignite a perilous, potent spark deep within his chest. Seeing you smile at Azul in such a casual setting—it’s not right. This terrarium display is wrong. So wrong.

The internal fuse has been lit and it’s nearing its inevitable implosion. Stop looking at him with those eyes. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

If Jade could, he would slice your smile off and keep it for himself. Pin it to the wall like it’s a rare species of butterfly, your wings having been severed from the sky.

You’re unbearable.

He fears you wouldn’t belong anywhere in his ideal world, for if you found yourself in the depths of the Coral Sea he wouldn’t allow you to surface.

The most confounding specimen I’ve ever encountered.

Azul is an only child. His mother and step-father would miss him terribly.

— — —

Jade spies the delightful pep in your step as you skip past the bar later that same day. You’re balancing drinks and desserts on a tray as you make your way to a nearby table, and he’s immediately reminded of why he’s so drawn to you. You’re a puzzle he has yet to solve—an experiment he has yet to collect enough data from. If he could, he’d shrink you down to the size of his index finger and place you in one of his terrariums so that you could live out your tiny life amongst an array of plants. And Jade would be content to observe from above like a godly sovereign with the power to change your fate in a single snap.

Perhaps it’s not right to view you as a specimen or prey. Perhaps it would be better to regard you as a slab of meat, raw and uncooked, just waiting to be snatched up in his maw.

“Please enjoy!”

Your voice pulls him from his reveries. It’s a melody he’s come to savor in solitude. Naturally lilting, it’s the type of voice even the most jealous of souls would covet. He wants to reach deep inside your throat, grasp it for himself, and cradle it to his ear as if it’s a secret-spilling conch.

But claiming ownership of your sound isn’t enough. He wants to—needs to—devour your everything. Your body and soul, marking you as his, ensuring you’re kept under his thumb forever, seared into his own existence like a brand. Then your every breath will be his, and the blood that courses through your veins shall also become his. The darkest of reds might just suit you more than the aquatic hues of Mostro Lounge’s uniform.

Oh, what he’d give to paint you in vinous vermillion.

“Jade, could you cover for me? I’m going to take my break now if that’s okay with you.” Jade must have scanned your hopeful expression for longer than normal because you begin to fidget in front of him, toying with the hem of your apron. “Uh, that’s fine, right?”

“Yes, of course. Go right ahead.” He sends you off with his trademark smile, dusting his destructive thoughts away.

After you’ve retreated to the kitchen, he turns his gaze on the patrons, listening to the noisy din of laughter and chatter. He overhears a group discussing peculiar textbook titles and how most of them are unnecessarily convoluted and complicated. One of the students brings up a title that didn’t make any sense to him and he describes his surprise when he learned it was a book full of love spells and potion recipes. His friends, as all close friends often do, crack jokes at his expense, prodding for more information on who he intends to enchant. The conversation is bland and juvenile, but it does manage to strike a chord of curiosity in Jade.

Love.

Jade has never known the true meaning of romance. Such a thing does not exist in his perfect world. In some lonesome corners of the ocean, merfolk reproduce because they must. Because it’s the only way to survive. It will be like that for him and Floyd in the future, lest they find themselves ensnared in true love’s deadly trap and choose to reproduce for the sole purpose of fickle feelings. To mate out of love rather than obligation—it’s not unheard of and he isn’t opposed to it. Many humans adopt this way of life.

Jade would like to try it for himself, but he doesn’t know how. He’s never known the answer to this question—the one equation he could never work out. Is his heart too small, or is he incapable of comprehending the complexities of romance? Perhaps neither is true. When he considers the requirements that must be met to qualify love as love, he realizes the adoration he feels for you is not fluffy or innocent. Can such a grand obsession be classified as love if it’s dark and spiraling, condemning him to horrific visions?

Jade does not gaze upon you with fondness. He looks at you as if you’re to be his next meal.

Even when he feels like breaking you would quell some monstrous urge within him, there’s another side that wishes to simply lock you away and protect you from the world and its inhabitants. Because it’s the world that will save you from him, but if you were imprisoned in his world, where it would be just you and him, no one could ever hope to reach you.

Jade isn’t entirely cruel. He would like to share his hobbies with you. He would like to live alongside you in the Coral Sea, tying his life to yours. It’s not an impossible desire, but he knows you wouldn’t be content with this arrangement. Not because it would be unwilling. Not because it would be Jade who has fallen for you and dragged you beneath the waves. It’s precisely because it’s the sea that you might object. You would have to adapt to life in a new, underwater environment. You would have to relinquish certain pleasures unique to the surface, abandoning your bipedal friends and family to live in isolation with him.

But isolation is better than the other terrariums that wait for you. He’ll smash all of them so that you’ll only know this one—the one with him.

Jade has been moving on autopilot for so long now that it finally occurs to him that you’re nowhere to be found. The longer he spends counting the lounge’s staff, the more his observations are proven true. You haven’t returned from your break, which is very unusual considering you’ve always been so diligent about time management. Responsible, that’s what you are. It’s one of the qualities that’s won Azul over.

He surmises it has also shocked his heart with bolts of not-so-lovely lightning.

Despite the bustling, crowded lounge, he slips inside the kitchen to search for you. Usually Floyd’s crowding around you whenever you have a moment to spare, but he isn’t anywhere in sight either. Jade knows his brother and his mood swings well. When he isn’t feeling the lounge, he’ll escape elsewhere until his mood has been restored. He can understand and overlook Floyd’s absence, but yours is inexcusable.

The chefs are hard at work cooking up delicious meals, and all kinds of savory scents blanket the air. Jade glances at the knife block tucked away in a corner, filled with blades of varying sizes, as he passes. After watching you for so long, he’s learned that you often spend your breaks in the storage room, away from the eyes of customers and Azul. Perhaps the space has become something of a comfort for you, or maybe you just like taking shelter in the kitchen.

A sharp gasp joins the chefs’ clattering.

Jade’s stare snaps towards the storage room door. He frowns when he notices it’s been left ajar.

As he approaches, he can make out the sounds of rustling fabric and salacious gasps. He peers through the sliver into the dimly lit space, a single yellow eye spying a terrible scene. It takes a lot to stun Jade Leech, but the view before him is stunning in a very crooked way. It sends a shockwave rumbling through his body, temporarily freezing him to his spot. Unable to look away, to preserve his eyes and mind, he watches. Every inch of him itches.

Bile claws up his throat with acidic fingers.

You’re pressed against the shelves, skirt hiked high and panties pushed haphazardly to the side. Towering over you, anatomy pinned to yours in a sinful connection, is Floyd. His hands are gripping your wrists as he rocks forward to slot himself deeper inside. You search for a solid hold to steady yourself, burying your head in your arm to muffle your keening cries.

“Please… It’s… S’too much. Hold on,” you babble, clinging like a koala.

Floyd leans in to nip at the shell of your ear, eliciting a shudder and a squeal from you. “Not happening, Shrimpy…” His lips travel along the length of your neck, pressing playful kisses into your skin. “You’re really so cute, you know that? So cute and soft… I can’t keep my hands off of ya.”

“We really—oh—really shouldn’t do—hah—this!”

Floyd hums, nonchalant, and slowly slides out of your tight, gummy walls. The tip of his cock prods at your pussy once more, glistening with the dew of your essence.

“Why not?”

“Seriously… What if someone sees us? What if—”

Your retort is cut short when he snaps his hips against yours, filling you in a single thrust. You crumple in his arms, tears gathering in your eyes.

Tears. Because of Floyd. Tears.

“So what if they do? I’ll get ’em good if they peep on my Shrimpy.” He licks a stripe up your neck and then sinks his pointed teeth into the area, hard enough to draw blood. You flinch against him, your pretty face contorting with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort while he laps up your blood. Floyd hums merrily, the sound coming deep from within his chest. “Shrimpy always tastes so yummy. I wanna do this aaall the time!”

“Wait, don’t leave any marks!”

“Oops. Too late.” Grinning boyishly, he grabs your chin and tilts your head up to meet his greedy lips. “Lemme kiss it better for ya.”

Jade watches you melt into the kiss, watches you become putty in his twin brother’s hands. Your eyes flutter shut for the briefest moment, only to flash open when Floyd begins to thrust into you. He sets a hasty, sporadic pace as he pursues an orgasmic high. Your sobs are swallowed in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that leave you breathless and reaching. You claw at anything stable enough to support you, your fingers curling into Floyd.

A perfect fit.

While he stands there and takes in the sight of his brother claiming the angel he had hoped to someday make his, it dawns on him that the entire storage room is stained with the memory of you. Your smell, your existence, your everything—it lingers even when you aren’t here. It is imprinted on the walls and shelves; it is on Floyd. Your entire soul has been his long before Jade even laid eyes on you.

Now he knows why you frequent the storage room. Now he knows your secret.

He’ll open your torso and pry it out of you, crush it underfoot, and insert a new secret. A better secret. His secret.

Floyd finishes inside of you with a husky, satisfied groan, his arms wrapped possessively around your trembling frame while you bite back bawdy moans. Jade is overcome with a loathsome chill. You have never belonged to him. Not ever. Certainly not now.

“We should get back out there.” Your mumbling reaches his ears, subdued in the cramped storage room. “Before someone comes looking.”

“Don’t wanna. S’warm and cozy inside.”

“Floyd…” Greedy hands are roaming beneath your shirt. You squirm, attempting to pull yourself off of his softening cock, but he yanks you against his chest and holds firm. “We can do this again later. But right now I need to clean up and you have to work. If we take too long, someone will definitely come looking.”

Floyd rolls his eyes, unwilling to acquiesce until yellow crosses yellow. For a strained moment Jade holds his brother’s inquisitive stare, investigating his blank expression for an iota of emotion. The air stales between the both of them, unspoken accusations festering. And then Floyd’s dull hues brighten and a wide smirk blossoms on his lips.

“Fine, fine. We’ll get back to work now.”

An apocalypse rages within Jade’s terrarium heart.

ii. when he turns to the shards for a solution, the image that is offered is weak and hazy. if he is to live without his other half, he must find ways to fill in the blanks. and so it is said that the lonesome monops clutched the largest shard in a resolute fist and cut away the impression of his other half.

In some cases, Jade is Floyd’s shadow, a reasonable body double who is admired for his patience and persistence. Sometimes he’s the collar and the leash; other times he is meticulously unrestrained. Everything is an act, carefully curated for unsuspecting audiences. Floyd is all physical destruction. He is swift like a clean cut, devastating like a tsunami.

For the first time in a while, Jade cannot bear the face he sees in the mirror. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, for it is a reflection of Floyd. It’s a permanent reminder that the two of them are linked whether or not he fancies that. But Jade does not want to be the collar and the lash, nor does he wish to recall the day Floyd took yet another precious thing from him. This face is proof that even he cannot have anything for himself. It is evidence that he is bound to share and share and share until death. He will remain as the shadow, the dark, the salt, and the night for all of eternity, a two-faced creature lacking a true identity.

Neither of them addresses the elephant in the room. If Floyd shows any indication that he wants to bring it up, Jade sweeps the topic away before it can poison his mood. He knows as well as Jade does that it’s not worth bickering over, even if their hackles raise whenever they look at each other.

So Floyd’s been fucking you in the storage room. What’s so traumatic about that? Really, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but the image still persists in his head like a ruthless phantom. He’s left lying awake at night, sifting through that memory and the ones that came before it for any inkling of what went wrong. Was it his own patience that cost him? Was it the fact that Floyd could charm you in ways Jade just couldn’t?

They have the same face. So why did you choose to love his other half?

Without Floyd, Jade feels incomplete. That’s his family—his only brother. He shouldn’t hate his kin, but he can’t just sit with envy and frustration and pretend as if it’s okay.

The mirror reflects his grim countenance, sneering at him with troubling familiarity. Cracks spiderweb along the length of the glass, extending outwards from where his fist landed. Pain sparks beneath bruising knuckles, masterfully hidden under the pristine fabric of a pure-white glove.

The terrarium is filling with foul things, and Jade doesn’t have enough control to stop the invasion.

— — —

“It’s been really slow today, hasn’t it?” you ask, looking to Jade for his input.

“I’ll admit it’s unusually quiet.” He glances at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. He’s tired, but it hardly shows. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not at all! I welcome the break. Still… It’s weird. Mostro Lounge almost always has lots of customers.”

“I suppose it’s less work for us.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Heaving a relieved sigh, you rest your elbows on the counter, content to watch the few patrons lingering in the lounge. Jade’s eyes travel along the length of your back, over the the dip and swoop of your spine when you bend forward, and he’s immediately brought back to the day he discovered you and Floyd in the storage room.

“I’ve got it!” you announce moments later, lighting up like a bulb. “The reason it’s so quiet.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow, feigning ignorance.

“It’s because Floyd’s not here. Everything’s super lively when he’s around.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. It’s a shame he’s not scheduled today. Oh, but it’s not so bad when it’s just the two of us. We’re a good team!”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I’m happy we can talk like this. It feels like we never have the chance to speak during work and I’m always worried I’ll bother you if I try to start a conversation.”

“You couldn’t possibly bother me.” Jade pauses to ruminate on his thoughts before adding, “Well, you were awfully troublesome in the beginning. Ah, don’t look so upset. I’m only admitting my feelings.”

“Am I still troublesome?” You cross your arms over your chest, pouting.

You are. Very much so, I’m afraid.

“I tolerate you now.”

“That doesn’t sound any better!”

Jade chuckles. “It’s merely constructive criticism. Take it in stride.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst.” Despite that, a smile creeps onto your face.

It’s the same smile you show Floyd, so therefore it has no meaning. It’s not special.

Jade abhors it. He should be the one in that storage room with you. It should be Jade who touches and lavishes you with filthy praise before inevitable destruction. Consolation before bruises and bite marks. Sugar before salt. Love before lust.

You can’t possibly fit in his make-believe terrarium now—not when your heart lies with Floyd. Just what is his brother to you? What do you possibly see in him that you fail to see in Jade? They are the same. They are mirror images of one another. There is no difference.

So why won’t you look at him with admiration in your eyes? Eyes he’ll gouge out for beholding another man. Why won’t you kiss him in secret? Lips he’ll sew shut for touching a mouth that isn’t his. Why won’t you beckon him into that cursed storage room and pull him flush against you, joining together in bodily matrimony? A body he’ll cage to prevent it from fleeing. Why can’t you love him until the very feeling is leaking from your pores? Leaking like the blood that will run far and red when he transplants his love into your chest. Why must you associate yourself with the other half—the better half?

The half that’s won.

It doesn’t matter if Floyd’s willing to share. Jade isn’t feeling charitable. He doesn’t want to cut you up into tiny shreds and share. You’re for his enjoyment. This is a non-negotiable fact.

Perhaps he’s the worst just as you claimed. Because if he was the best he’d have you. Because if he was the best he wouldn’t feel the need to mourn a gutting loss. Because if he was the best he wouldn’t feel the need to fall back on a nasty trump card. But when fair play fails, one must resort to sordid schemes in order to secure victory. You can’t expect to climb the corporate ladder without stepping on a few rotted rungs in the ascent, courtesy of those who came before.

It’s fine if he plays dirty. After all, his feelings have never been defined by purity.

“You seem tired. Would you like me to fetch you something to drink?”

“Mm, yeah. Could you? I’d hate to trouble you.”

“It’s not a problem. Will tea be suitable?”

“Sure. I could go for chamomile. I heard you’re great at making tea, so I know it’ll be good.”

“I still have much to learn, but I’m flattered you hold me in such pleasant regard.”

“I doubt you could ever fail. You’re always succeeding. I’m actually kinda jealous. How are you so good at—oh! Someone needs me at table three. Be right back.”

Jade nods, replaying your words in a loop. I doubt you could ever fail. You’re always succeeding. But he has failed. He’s failed and it’s eating him alive because you’re so close and yet out of his reach.

You spread your wings like a good social butterfly and abandon your place at the counter. Jade’s left to prepare your tea in peace. He chooses from the vast selection lining the wall—chamomile just as you suggested—and goes through the motions of filling the kettle with fresh water. He’s working on a time limit here, so he withdraws his magic pen, mutters the proper incantation, and waits for the telltale hiss. Even though he would like to prepare it with the utmost care, he must be hasty and stealthy if he wants to slip the special ingredient in without garnering unwanted attention.

Luckily, you’re trapped in a conversation with a friend and won’t be returning to his side anytime soon. That’s another trait he’s learned about you. Just like Floyd, you adore chatting. It’s not difficult to hold a conversation with you, especially when you’re the one leading it. You shine when you speak. He needs to snuff you before anyone else comes to seek your light.

Perhaps it’s this intoxicating quality of yours that caught Floyd’s heart. Jade can’t quite ascertain when he started looking at you from less-than-friendly angles or what the exact catalyst for your relationship with his twin was. It must have begun as a wicked fascination. An innate curiosity with the surface and its humans. How else could Floyd have fallen for you if he rarely spoke with you? Was it your strengths that earned his approval? Was it your humanity that left him impressed?

It’s not fair, but Jade won’t whine about it. He’s not a child. Whining won’t solve anything.

He must love you until you shatter.

The kettle whistles, thus yanking him from his innermost contemplations. He lifts it, minding the burning surface, and pours the water into a porcelain cup. Steam rises and furls like wispy, ghostly fingers. He could keep the vial hidden in his pocket and serve you a normal cup of chamomile. But the situation isn’t normal and he can’t just charm you as he normally would.

That didn’t work, so he must cross that method off his list and resort to what’s next. It’s only natural to fight for the thing you cherish most, so he shall do just that.

If Floyd hasn’t broken you yet, he certainly will.

You’re back at the counter just as he finishes stirring it in with the now darkening, tea-tainted water. Jade hands it to you, reminding you that it’s still hot. It’s an empty warning. He couldn’t care less if the liquid scorches your tongue. Let it burn, he thinks, his eyes narrowed as he watches you blow on it so it’ll cool faster. Perhaps then you’ll stop tangling your tongue with him.

Sometimes love is as unforgiving as the deep sea, turbulent and harrowing. Sometimes you must kill the one you love to truly understand the feeling—to dissect it down to the biological, scientific level.

Like always, he observes you while you drink the tea throughout the remainder of your shift. You look so sleepy, your eyelids fluttering and snapping open. You’re slipping; he can see it. Jade wonders what face you might show him later—what emotion will reflect in fragile eyes.

He knows it won’t be love, but that doesn’t stop him from hoping.

iii. separated from his other half, monops is unrecognizable—a hollow monster who has lost fractions of his humanity in a selfish effort to dispose of unnatural characteristics. he cannot hope to find his own personality amidst the mess in his tower, so he sits before the broken, bloodied shards once again. his other half meets him there, shattered and in pieces as he stares.

You shift in your sleep, just barely breaching the surface of consciousness. Jade placed you on his bed after carrying you from the lounge to his and Floyd’s room, where he proceeded to bind your arms and gag you. You look mostly peaceful tangled in his sheets, an oblivious thing who knows nothing of the mountains he’s had to scale in order to arrive at this point—at the glorious top.

Floyd’s not here, but Jade suspects he might have already known what was coming. They’ve always known how to read the other. Maybe it’s telepathy.

Or maybe not. They’re just aware of the other’s monstrosities. That’s all there is to it.

It’s then when your eyes snap open. Jade doesn’t bother to hide the smile crawling onto his face as he watches you come to, slowly assessing your surroundings. It doesn’t take long for you to start struggling once you’ve registered the tie binding your wrists together and the gag shoved into your mouth. Your voice comes out muffled, but your nostrils are flaring. Your eyes are widening. He can smell your fear—taste it on the tip of his tongue.

It prickles his skin, sets it on fire.

Jade sits primly at the edge of Floyd’s bed, content to study you from a distance. You’re writhing desperately in an attempt to loosen the restraints. He’s tied them well. It’s a technique mastered and put into practice. You’re not getting out of this.

“You fainted.”

You startle, turning your head to look at him. The fear seems to diminish for a moment before it returns in full force. Your glassy eyes are pleading: Why?

“It’s not wise to overwork yourself. You should prioritize your health more.”

Oh, is this it? Are those tears? Already? When he hasn’t even done anything to you yet? Have you really been this weak all along?

You try to talk despite the gag, and the attempt is so pitiful that Jade crosses over to tug it down from your mouth. Saliva strings from the gag. Messy.

“Jade! What the hell?! Why am I tied up? Why am I in your room?”

He frowns. “I’ll admit I’m rather…displeased.” He could unleash the torrent right now, but he won’t. Not yet. “Perhaps you might know why my mood has soured?”

“I… What? Is this because I fainted? Look, I’m sorry. I’ll take better care of myself. Please don’t make this a big deal.”

He tilts his head, confused. “I don’t quite care that you fainted.” He seizes your chin and forces you to meet his mismatched hues. “I care about the company you keep.”

“The company I keep? I don’t understand. What are you—”

“Give it some thought.” His fingers dig into your cheeks. Hard.

You yelp, attempting to pull away. He doesn’t release you. “I don’t know what you mean! Seriously, what’s all of this about? Did I do something wrong? Please… Please let me go.”

“You’re getting there.” He lessens the pressure on your jaw. “Come now. You’re so close.”

“Jade, please—”

“This is regarding your involvement with my brother,” he begins, and horror settles on your face. “Ah, so you are following. Wonderful.”

“Did you… Did you see us?”

“More than I ever wanted to see, yes.” He smiles thinly and releases you. “I thought it was such a dreadful, ugly thing to behold. My own kin lusting after the only thing I’ve ever loved to such a degree.” He swipes a faux tear from his eye. His voice drops to a threateningly low decibel next, and darkness passes over his features. He looks scarily grotesque. “It made me so ill. Seeing you in that closet with Floyd… Watching you talk to Azul—to everyone else—makes me so ill. I fondly contemplated the most troubling things.”

“W-What?”

“It truly is a conundrum.” He sighs as if unloading a heavy burden. “To feel so strongly for something that even love and hate become one and the same… I want nothing more than to strangle you whenever I see you with Floyd, with Azul, with anyone who isn’t me. I want to cut into your torso and make you suffer tenfold for what I’ve had to endure.” His fingers curl around your ankles, sliding down to reach your shoes. He unties the laces, sliding both from your feet. And then he’s grasping them, rubbing circles into your soles. “I want you to look at me no matter what, even when you’re a shredded, bloodied mess.”

“You… You’re joking, r-right?”

“Am I?” He smiles again, but it’s wider this time. Exhilarated. Excited. “Should we see who’s laughing when I sever your feet at the ankles? He peels your socks off next, tossing them over his shoulder. “Do you think that’s a fitting punishment?”

“Fuck no! You’re insane!”

He hums his acknowledgement and reaches for your skirt. Your heart drops into your stomach, every muscle tightening with raw terror. Instinctively, you kick out at him. Your foot slams into his chest. If it hurts, he doesn’t let it show.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you creep! Stay the fuck away!” By the third kick, he catches your foot. And he stares at it. Quietly. Expressionlessly. There is nothing in his face. That horrifies you. “Jade… Jade, I’m sorry. Can we please… Can you please stop this?”

“Am I truly that undesirable? You would rather have Floyd than me?”

“Yes, of course! Floyd’s not a fucking pervert like you!”

Jade’s laughter is sudden and short. It trembles through him like an earthquake. “Forgive me. It was so funny I just had to chuckle.” A smug smile takes up residence on his face. “Do you really think Floyd is so pure? That he’s the perfect partner all humans dream of?”

“He didn’t outright admit to wanting to murder me so, uh, yeah, he’s much better than your crazy ass!”

Jade squeezes your foot once before setting it down on the bed. He crawls over you, his hands snaking up your thighs. “That’s a shame. You’ll think differently soon enough. He just hasn’t given you reason to fear him yet.”

“I highly doubt—hey! Don’t touch there!” You struggle again, your breath coming in short, helpless huffs. “Let go of me. Please. Jade, let go…” Your voice trails off, spotted with distress.

His hand settles over your clothed pussy next. Two fingers press up against that sacred spot, tracing the area experimentally. “This is that warm and cozy place, yes?” You shake your head at him, lips trembling. He smirks, vicious and mean, and strokes slow, soothing lines up and down the outline. “Is it your safe day? Ah, but perhaps love is stronger than medicine. Stronger than all of the filth Floyd’s emptied in you. What do you think?”

“No… No, stop!”

“It really did sicken me—the thought of you and Floyd. Together. Forever. If you were to fall pregnant, I’d have to take a textbook to your stomach. The alchemy textbook. That one would inflict the most damage, you see,” he admits with a pleasant hum. He watches the spreading wet patch with predatory glee before gazing back at you. “But you’re not pregnant, right?”

“I’m not! I’m not!” You gasp when his fingers dip into the waistband of your panties, harshly tugging them from your skin. And then his fingers are inching towards your pussy. “What are you—stop! No, no, no! Floyd! Floyd, help!” You squirm beneath him, kicking and screaming. “Floyd! Floyd, help me! Please! Anyone—someone—please help!”

A shadow passes over your face for a second before his hand comes down upon your mouth to silence your incessant shrieks. Your sobs are softer now, each plea spoken into his palm. Jade exhales slowly, composing himself.

“You’ve said his name more than enough. Say it any more and I’m afraid I’ll have to remedy this bad habit. Just how much do you value your tongue, I wonder?”

Before you can even think of struggling further, he’s switching the positions. Sitting back against the headboard, he tugs you onto his lap. You try to get away from him, but he holds you steady. The gag is fastened around your mouth once more, tighter this time.

“Now, now. You’re not going to escape, so there’s no point in exhausting your energy. Pointless pursuits are never rewarded,” he chides, tutting. He pulls his magic pen from his pocket and flicks it in the air once. A mirror materializes, displaying your disturbed expression in the glass.

Your mind blanks out then, logic overridden with the intrinsic desperation to survive. Is that really you looking back? It can’t be. The (Name) you know has never looked this fearful. Her face has never been this warped with panic.

But then you feel something stiff prodding you from behind, and the horror triples. You squirm again, much more forceful, sobbing into the gag and shaking your head as if that will earn you a sliver of sympathy from him. He continues to hold you against him with one arm while the other reaches to pull himself free from the confines of his pants and boxers.

“We have the same face, so there’s no need to cry. If it really helps, just think of me as Floyd,” he teases, and it sickens you. Makes you feel so gross and filthy. You want to step out of your skin, travel to a place that isn’t here, disappear into the tile and never return. Tears trace down your cheeks in salty rivulets. You can only produce blubbery whimpers now. His erect cock curves up towards your stomach. Jade lifts your skirt to get a better view. The mirror reflects it all in crisp detail. “What do you think? Is it bigger than his?”

His knuckles trace your cheek, uncharacteristically tender.

“It will seem that way when it’s inside, won’t it?”

In response you shift in his lap, tugging at the tie tightly secured around your wrists, and he merely chuckles. It’s delightful, really, the way you move like captured prey. Your chest heaves when the fleshy head of his cock presses shallowly inside your pussy, sampling wet warmth. You pray it’ll end fast. You pray he’ll be gentle. You pray he’ll skin you alive so you’ll never have to spend another second in this body. Anything but this.

Jade doesn’t grant either of those prayers, for he lifts you up slightly, aims for home, and slams you down in one brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs. You choke on your tongue, biting down so hard that your teeth split the skin on the inside of your cheek. Blood pools into your mouth. It stings, but nothing hurts more than the unwanted intrusion. Shamelessly, much to your horror, your walls affix to him in an attempt to accommodate his girth. Without intending to, you catch yourself in the mirror. The stretch is sinful, your pussy wrapped snugly around him, and he’s slotted all the way to the hilt.

It’s torture for you.

It’s a twisted relief for Jade. A triumphant euphoria.

He exhales a shaky breath, his lips peeling apart to reveal a row of sharp teeth. In the mirror he looks every bit the predator he’s meant to be: cruel and cutthroat, staking claim on a stolen prize. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as he rocks you up and down, occasionally bucking his hips to meet your soft, plush ass.

“It’s strange,” he manages through his grunts and groans, his breath hot on your nape, “I imagined this would feel more gratifying than any other gruesome thrill. Mm, but it’s not—” he slams you down again, reveling in your muffled wailing, “not nearly enough.”

Your eyes, wet with tears, question his reflection. You watch with bated breath as he slides your collar away, leaning in to press his lips to your neck. Your pulse stutters in his mouth, a jittery, fearful thing.

He inhales the pungent scent of sweat and sex, the scent of your fear, the scent of himself on you. From head to toe, externally and internally, you are covered in him, wrapped around him, molded to his very shape. You’ve gone stiff in his arms, too frightened to move a single muscle, but it only serves to excite him more. He needs to bear witness to all of it—to every inch of you, stripped bare and wired with anxiety.

Needle-thin teeth prick your skin. You wince and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Does it hurt?”

Despairing and hopeless, you deflate against him. Your body shakes with every sob.

It hurts. It hurts so much. More than anything has ever hurt before. And Jade knows this because he isn’t gentle. He has no interest in being sweet. He bites to harm. To kill. To destroy.

Jade sinks in deep: his teeth in your throat and his cock in your guts. And it hurts.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, his lips slick and spattered with crimson when he pulls away, breathing heavily. “I’m so pleased…”

The blood just won’t stop. It’s flowing in rivers, cascading down the juncture between neck and shoulder and staining your clothes. Did he bite something major? Oh God—are you going to bleed out? Are you going to die? Did he get that one artery—the throat artery—the whatever-the-fuck-it’s-called artery? Is that even possible? Why won’t the blood stop? Why do you feel so fuzzy—so faint? It really won’t stop. It’s an ocean.

It’s everywhere.

Jade pinches you to bring you back to yourself; his nails prick your thigh, imprinting crescent moons in skin, and it works. You surface, taking in big gulps of oxygen while your heart skips over itself. You can’t drift off even if you wanted to; your reflection is much too haunting, destroyed and debased in every possible way. It grounds you in reality, digs deeply.

“Pain is the most thrilling form of love. You’ve taught me something new. Thank you.”

From behind, peering over your shoulder, his reflection grins at you. Wildly untamed and blood-stained, he’s manic. Unhinged. Uncaged. His pupils are so large they nearly eclipse his heterochromatic irises, rendering both eyes beady and black. Two pits of a molten void—a starless outer space.

He looks just like Floyd.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade x reader #yandere jade #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: drugging

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moshpitgamma · 8 months

Text

😚Zoom Zoom Mama G has posted again!!!

HOPE YALL ENJOY THIS ONE AND I HOPE ITS NOT TO BAD….(You’re older than branch but younger than Floyd btw😌)

Family Reunion||Brozone x Sister Reader

Warning:Angst and Mild Cursing

Word Count:1.3k

Other:It’s kinda proof ridden😝✌️

====================

You knew JD wasn’t always the best brother, but you didn’t expect for it to go like this…

“It’s called BRO-ZONE meaning BROS not GALS” JD said angrily at the h/c haired troll. “So youre saying just because I'm a girl I can’t be in the band. I’m basically the damn melody John.” you loudly yelled at him clearly pissed at how your brother didn’t want you to ruin brozone. “It has to be perfect and the name is perfect for bros. MAYBE IF YOU WERE PERFECT IT COULD WORK, BUT YOU’RE JUST A FUCKING MISTAKE FOR THE BAND” he yelled at y/n tired of her shit. He didn’t mean to totally call her a mistake, but it was too late. She already ran to her room in the shared pod, crying her eyes out and muttering small complaints. All the brothers stood with their mouths agape from witnessing the scene. “John what the hell,” Bruce said, holding the blue decorated egg with blue hair sticking out. “You just called her a damn mistake” “Maybe she is and it would be best if she left….The band is almost there and she’ll just get in the way.” John said it as if he was hoping y/n would leave to save the band for the family harmony. After John said that all the brothers left the area with sour and disapproving faces. Ignoring him till later that night.

It was now 2:34am and fast paced footsteps were heard around the pod waking John up from his humble sleep. He groggily dragged himself out the bed and headed towards the noise and found his three brothers and branch’s egg sitting in the living area. “What’s going on and why are you guys up so early.” John said, kinda annoyed from losing his beauty sleep. “Y/n left” Clay said barely above a whisper. “Huh,” John asked again, not being able to hear Clay. “Y/N FUCKING LEFT” Clay bursted as his tears started pooling his eyes. “You drove our sister away because of your stupid and glorious dream. Now she’s out in the wilderness by herself and we don’t know if she’s alive or dead.” John felt his whole body freeze and run cold. Did he fuck up or was it just you overacting? Before Bruce could add in to the statement, John wasted no time in leaving to go put on his jacket and shoes ready to go find y/n. He left out the door after he finished getting dressed, without a word to his brothers.

________________

{Y/n’s POV}

I woke up in a cold sweat, absolutely drenched from the wrenched nightmare of your older brother. My mind has been messed up recently ever since my eventful trip to mount ragous.

FLASHBACK

“It’s some kind of love”

A voice rang through the area. It was so soft, but with a familiar melody.

“It’s some kind of fire”

It was my part? But sung by someone different. An angelic voice.

“I’m already up, but you lift me higher”

But that’s when it hit you..it was your brothers with a now full grown relationship saving Floyd.

TIME SKIP DONE

{2nd POV}

After your brothers and those two mystery girls brought Floyd back, you couldn’t help ,but feel nothing but relief and a little wave of nervousness. All five of your brothers were standing right there together but the time just didn’t feel right for you. You wanted to go hug and celebrate with them, but you just felt disappointed and angry at them for not trying to find you. Without a word you started walking away, but caught what now sounds like a grown man spruce saying “How about we all celebrate at Vacay island this weekend.” You then had an idea set up perfectly for this Family Reunion.

{Y/N POV}

I sighed heavily as I parked my motor beetle in front of this big resort looking restaurant. “I hope they aren’t too mad to see me” I told myself, trying to hype myself up from all the nerves. As I step foot into the resort I see this tall yellowish woman at the bar, so I head over to ask her where the boys may be. “Umm excuse me…can you help me” I asked her in my nice bright tone. “Of course hun! What can I help you with and by the way you can call me Brandi” she exclaimed, clearly being an extroverted person. “Well you see I’m here looking for my brothers and i’m kinda here to reunite with them after basically being away for 22+ years” I say not trying to sound crazy or out of the ordinary. “Ok well what are their names?”Brandi asked me as she took out a notepad ready to write them down, assuming that it was more than one. “Well to start off it’s John Dory for the first one and Bru-” “Is that them?” she pointed to a corner before quickly apologizing for cutting me off. I was literally stunned when I saw all of them bonding and getting along like we were little kids again. I guess Brandi picked up on my distressed and nervous face that she offered and said” If it makes you any better I can go with you for emotional support” She says tucking a burgundy loc behind her head. “I would like that very much”I say releasing some pent up air that I didn’t know I had.

As Me and Brandi walked to the corner it felt like time was slowing down and my breaths were getting shorter by the second. I was trying to calm myself down in my mind, but I was brought out by Brandi speaking. “Um hi y'all sorry to interrupt, but you guys had a little surprise that decided to drop in today.” As on cue I stepped from behind Brandi with nothing but hope and fear in my chest.

“Who’s that?” Bruce said as he looked at the familiar troll. “If you wanted an autograph you could’ve asked us” John laughed as he pulled out a notepad and passed it around to each of the brothers to sign. “Are you guys kidding me?” I exclaimed, wondering if they were joking or not. Every single last one of them looked at you with a dumbfounded expression. “After leaving, you guys clearly forgot me” I said with tears in my eyes as i couldn't believe that they forgot me. “It’s me Y/n…. but I guess you guys didn’t care” I bitterly laugh as I see the visible expression changes on them except Branch. Guess John got what the fuck he wanted” I said getting ready to leave, but felt a hand gently catch mines, stopping me from leaving in the progress. Before I could turn around, I was pulled into a hug by a pink and white haired troll. “We could never forget you n/n” Floyd said genuinely. Slowly one by one the others hugged me except JD and branch.

Me and JD stared at each other as if we were to look away, we would die. Jd cleared his throat before saying “Umm are you good” while giving you that charming smirk. If looks could kill, JD would be dead right now. “That’s all? No sorry or are you ok sis.” I say starting to get angry. “Just be glad I'm happy to see you.” “Or what Jd” I said, letting a few tears fall. “You wanna know how tired I am from fighting with you. I bet Branch didn't even know he had a sister till now.” I advertise my hand to point at a shocked Branch. “But when I want my older brother to show me affection and let me be apart of the group it’s a fucking problem.” I say getting tired of his mess. “I don’t care no more JD. I will really walk out of this resort and leave again if that’s what you want.”I said, grabbing my helmet from the nicely made table. When Jd just stared at me I knew he meant it. So therefore without any words I got out of there and left. But before I did I said….

“So much for a Family Reunion….Hope we meet again, but on better conditions.”

IF YOU WANT A PT.2 WITH FLUFF LMKKKKKK!!!!!

#trolls #trolls band together #brozone x reader #brozone #trolls 3 #trolls branch #trolls viva #trolls x reader #angst

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storydays · 10 months

Text

Clay X Wife! Reader

"We call them meat circles." Clay greeted his brothers dramatically. Their brothers and Poppy greeted him in varying ways before he continued to pinch and baby-talk Branch, ignoring his pleas to call him "Big Branch" or just "Branch."

A voice called out, "Clay, darling, if you want to talk to an actual baby...yours are right here." The group turned to see a light-pink-haired Troll, wearing a dress with a similar design to Clay, walking over with 2 peach color haired Tollings, one sleeping who had mini wrist bands and a diaper and one awake, a yellow pacifier in her mouth, with a couple of flowers placed in her hair and a diaper.

"Melody! Hey, sweetheart, you're finally awake!" Turning to the woman as he took the baby, his eyes softened even more, "Hey (Y/N), how was your nap? You feeling better, baby?"

(Y/N) smiled, adjusting her son slightly. "Yeah, I feel like that fog in my brain is lifted, like I can think clearer. But enough about me, who are the new Trolls?"

"Oh, yeah! Everyone, this is my wonderful wife, (Y/N), and mother of our twins, Melody and Lallo! Baby, these are my brothers, John Dory, Spruce, who goes by Bruce now, and Bit-I mean Branch. That's Poppy, Branch's girlfriend---and wait a second, where's Floyd?" Clay asked, looking for his slightly younger brother.

After explaining why they were there, Bruce spoke up. "Wait, I just realized, you're a dad, too Clay!" He laughed excitedly. Clay grinned from where they were tickling Melody. "Yeah, man! These two are only a few weeks old, but they are amazing! I wouldn't change anything for them."

Melody then started to pull on her father's wild green locks. "Ow! Mel-Mel! Let go! (Y/N), get your demon child!" "Mm-no." snorted (Y/N), as she then gave Clay their son who'd woken up wanting to play with his sister and father. "You traitor!" cried Clay, fighting his grin yelping again when one of the twins grabbed his hair and pulled hard.

Viva and (Y/N) giggled, before finally giving mercy to the CPA. They each took a twin and turned to the group to give Clay a chance to compose themself.

-----------------------------LINE BREAK-----------------------------------

(Y/N) knew it would bother Clay if he didn't try to help his brothers, but she didn't want them in danger.

Clay gave the sleeping twins a kiss on the head before pressing his forehead against hers, cupping her cheek, and wiping away a few tears. "Promise you'll be safe and come home, okay? These babies are too young to be without their dad. And I don't want to be a widow."

Laughing softly, Clay whispered, "I promise," before pressing a kiss to her lips, and let her rush off to stall Viva.

Bruce pat his brother's shoulder and led them to Rhonda. "Don't worry, buddy. We'll get you back to your wife and kids."

-----------------------------LINE BREAK--------------------------------

After freeing Clay and the others freed Floyd, they came to rest at Putt Putt village and picking up (Y/N) and the twins.

Everyone getting along so well, and Bruce offering advice for those first time parent jitters, he could see written all over both of the younger couple's face.

(Y/N) being the most supportive wife,and getting along splendidly with Bruce's wife, Brandi.

The two having a bi monthly moms date, having a monthly girls' night, with Poppy, Viva, Bridget.

Every month, (Y/N) takes her daughter Melody and Brandi brings her daughters for a mommy daughter cousins sisters in law date.

(Y/N) being the Putt-Putt troll preschool teacher, having her kids in class when they're old enough.

Melody and Lallo are both names after music(Melody being the melody of a song, and Lallo means lullaby in Spanish.)

I headcanon that the Putt Putt trolls' two main languages are English and Spanish.

Let me know what you guys think!

@vacayisland

#brozone clay x reader #brozone x reader #clay trolls #trolls band together #dreamworks trolls #x reader

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pinkdaisies9285 · 4 months

Text

Shiny Rings and Forgotten Means

Bob x Reader

Summary: Waking up next to your handsome boss wasn't on your list of things to do on a Las Vegas business trip. Waking up with a shiny, new ring wasn't either.

Warnings: Fluff, Vegas Wedding trope, CEO!au, kinda of Implied Smut

Word Count: 983

Author's Note: Here's my story for @bobgasm 's Au Writing Challenge! I almost forgot to post it so, I hope you enjoy it!

Waking up next to your boss wasn’t on your bucket list, especially when you don’t remember the night before. Everything was very blurry and only spurts of memories came back. Trying to remember more, made your headache even worse. The pulse behind your eyes was making itself very present. Reaching the nightstand quietly, you see a little glimmer reflecting off your hand. Looking closer, you see a stunning ring nestled on your ring finger. Forgetting about trying to find your phone, you completely focus on the piece of metal encompassing your finger. How did you get there? Why is it there? More importantly, who did you marry? The groan behind you gave you a queue of who this mystery husband was. Turning around, all thoughts flew out of your mind. The man who married you was none other than Robert Floyd, your boss.

The man in question had rolled over to lay on his back which allowed the sunlight from the windows of the room to wake him up. Squinting his eyes open, his vision focused on you. His eyes widened along with yours. Both of you seemed stunned by the situation at hand.

“May I ask why you’re in my bed, Dove?” he asked with a raspy voice.

Dove, the nickname he gave after working for him for a year. It came from you one morning humming a random melody while getting work done. When he heard your little melody, he jokingly called you a morning dove. So it spurred the nickname Dove, which is what he only calls you now.

“That I do not know Mr. Floyd, but could you explain this?” you replied holding up your left hand to show the glittering ring. You wanted answers to why you had what looked like a wedding band on your hand.

Robert grabbed your hand looking down at the pretty diamond ring with surprise and confusion. What made you more anxious was when you spotted a ring sitting on his left ring finger. He seemed to realize that as well when he had cradled your left hand in both of his.

“Dove, did we do something last night?” he questioned slowly. Looking up at you, he realized that you were trying not to throw up. You looked nauseous and panicked. This was true for the most part.

While you had always had a small crush on the handsome young CEO, you knew the boundaries of a personal assistant. Don’t flirt with him and don’t try to date him. These two mental rules you had been set in place very early in your career with Robert. Yet, by the time you had been working for him, you were completely enamored. He was kind, willing to work with you, and gave you a nickname that made you flustered still to this day. Now if you were connecting the dots correctly, you were married to him? Married to the man who haunted your dreams with fleeting touches and soft words. Married to the man who has been your boss for almost six years.

“I have zero idea, Mr. Floyd. All I know is that we had secured the deal with Mr. Robinson and decided to celebrate. After that, I can’t remember anything else,” you replied. Quickly getting up, you decided to see if anything in the room would give you more hints.

Scanning the area, you see a piece of paper sitting at the desk. It was hidden under a quickly thrown notebook. You inch closer to it, hoping it would be the key to your and your boss’s answers. The document had an official-looking seal on the bottom right corner and in the middle had both your signatures. In a pretty cursive said Certificate of Marriage with the officiant’s signature underneath it. You truly had done it somehow, you married your boss without any memory of how you did it.

Robert had made his way over to where you had been standing frozen looking at the pretty piece of paper. Looking over at what you were staring at, he found the answer to all the questions running around his head. He was married to you. He married you, his gorgeous assistant. The one that haunts his dreams all the time. His assistant whom he told himself he would never fall for. He didn’t know if this was a divine stroke of luck or a sick cruel joke. How would things go now made him feel unsure.

Should he immediately call his lawyer to file divorce papers? Or does he continue to float in this hoax of a marriage? His heart is yearning for the latter but his mind wants to immediately make sure you’re comfortable with what’s happening first before his feelings. So, he decides to break the tension stewing in the air for ten minutes.

“What would you like to do, Dove?” he softly asked. He didn’t want to scare you away with the prospect that he liked this.

You turned and looked at him for the first time since waking up. What do you do? Tell him that you’re okay with how things have panned out? Tell him you would divorce him as soon as he said he didn’t want this because you wanted him to be happy? You felt sick to your stomach like you just got off a roller coaster after eating a whole funnel cake. God, what do you do? Your brain and heart were at war with this decision. Live in this fantasy or break your heart by doing the right thing.

“I don’t know, Bobby,” you mumbled. Widening your eyes, you realized what you called him, Bobby. Looking over at him, you saw that he was smirking.

“Well, I do Dove,” he replied.

“What’s that?” you asked tilting your head to the side.

“Start our Honeymoon,” Bobby said still smirking.

You definitely were in for a ride.

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune

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delopsia · 3 months

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Cinnamon, Coffee & Vanilla | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 12,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Bob, omega! Reader. Physical altercations, implied abuse/mistreatment & trauma from the Navy, a little blood, brief food mentions, handjobs, mating cycles, first ruts, knotting, unprotected sex, a (slight) open ending, and a weak traitor plot woven between the lines. Brief Summary: You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing.

Wind howls around the corner, rain pattering against the window with soft thunks that dance and twist down the hallway like their own little melody. You haven't got the slightest idea where your feet are falling, barely guided by the pale blue light that peeks out from the kitchen and out into the hallway.

Turning the light on is a viable option; the switch should be somewhere on your right, but your arm is too heavy to lift, dangling limp at your side as you amble down the hall.

There are some things that you can't bring yourself to do this late in the night. Not when this is the first time you've seen these walls since you left this morning, skipping off into the sunrise, naively believing that you'd get to come home at a normal time.

Lightning flickers so brightly that, for a moment, you think the kitchen light has turned on by itself. But it's gone just as quickly as it appeared, thunder rattling the picture hanging on the wall as you drift past.

The kitchen isn't that much better. It seems that being closer to the window doesn't do all that much in regards to lighting because...you can't see a damn thing. All you know is that you're surrounded by vaguely shaped splotches, all varying shades of black. Some of them are familiar: the round blob that is the clock on the wall, the rug, the step stool, the dining table, the foot sticking out from underneath it...

Your eyes narrow. Squinting as if that can possibly brighten the room.

"Bobby?" Because there should only be one other pair of feet in this apartment.

"Hm?" It's faint, but you recognize that hum all the same.

Your weary knees creak as you crouch down, peering below the table. Light leaks out from a crack in the curtains, casting across a familiar mop of hair. His eyes squint back at you, unfocused and blurry, without the assistance of his glasses.

"What are you doing?" Your head tilts to the side, trying your best to shake an idea out of your brain.

"Dunno," Bob raises his hand, watching intently as he knocks his knuckles against the wood above his head, "trying to figure out what omegas get out of this."

You're...not following. "I've never gotten under the table."

"You said you like small, dark spaces." His shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "This is the only place I could fit."

"Well..." pausing, you shrug the backpack off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a resounding thunk. The neighbors downstairs probably heard that, but it's not your problem right now. "Is it striking any instincts for you?"

A chuckle rumbles out of him. "Not a damn thing."

But he's not making the slightest effort to come out from under there. Content to rest with his back against one of the table legs, like it's the best spot in the house. If the sun were still out, and your eyes weren't halfway closed, then you'd probably have a lot more questions for him, but fuck if questions are the last thing you want to think of right now.

Your palms flatten against the floor, left knee chirping as you begin to crawl under the table with him. Another motion, and it pops, the remnants of a nagging ejection injury. It's usually an easily missable sound, but in this quiet little kitchen, it might as well be as loud as the thunder.

"Was that your knee?" Bob asks it as if he doesn't already know the answer, his hand darting out as you settle next to him. His palm is hot against your bare skin, thick fingers squeezing around the joint like he thinks that a bit of pressure will heal the old fracture.

You wish it was that simple.

"Yeah," your head falls against his shoulder, unable to keep it up any longer. "I should bill Maverick for the surgery."

As if they'd even give you enough time off to heal. The consequence of being the best of the best: your free time vanishes because everyone on planet Earth needs you.

Bob's head comes to rest against yours, a subtle weight that seems to quiet your thoughts in an instant. No worries about getting into bed before six-thirty rolls around, what you'll pack for your rushed lunch tomorrow, and whether or not you'll come home from this mission alive. All you can do is breathe and watch as Bob reaches for your weary hand, squeezing it gently.

His wrist shakes, and you don't need to ask to know that it's been caused by another one of those full-body tremors. One of the side effects of being taken off navy regulation suppressants for the first time in over a decade, left to suffer the consequences of a body that has never learned to regulate its own hormones.

Slow, you tilt your head, nuzzling into the soft fat of his cheek. Squishy. "Anything change for you yet?"

"I can smell your scent now," you can feel the flex of muscle as he smiles, peeking at you through the corner of his eye, "but...nah, I think that's about it."

You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing. Still the same vanilla shampoo and faded woodsy cologne.

"What do I smell like?" Asking after a moment.

"Somethin' like..." All of a sudden, the tip of his nose finds the shell of your ear. His fingers dance across your sensitive thighs, tickling.

"Hey!" You squeal.

A kiss presses to your cheek. "Sugar." Kiss. "'n fresh laundry." Another kiss.

Your noses bump together. It's too dark to see, but you know there's a shade of cherry dusting across his cheeks as he pulls you into him, mouths colliding like galaxies, merging into one.

There is no end to your exhaustion—simply an intermission.

Your feet fall so heavily that it sounds as if you're stomping down this empty hall. Boots pounding against the floor with heavy thump, thump thumps that pale in comparison to the voice that booms above all. It's so loud that you can hardly understand a single word, and you're making no effort to try and decipher it.

The hand on your bicep tugs, forcing you forward. A voice in the back of your head sparks to lie; they shouldn't be hauling you around like a mutt on a leash, but you can't bring yourself to say a damn thing. Not when your throat is already raw from shouting, voice run ragged in a desperate attempt to convince Cyclone that you're not the person he's accusing you of being.

What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty, anyway?

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Maverick's voice crystallizes as you round the corner, feet flailing beneath you as you're thrust into the room.

Weary heads turn your way. Jake. Natasha. Rueben. Mickey. Bob. Javy. Billy. Brigham. Callie. And you know the names of the remainders, but their names just aren't coming to you right now. But one glance is all it takes to realize that they must have pulled all of you all at once; they look just as miserable as you feel.

"The Navy trusted you!" Spit flies out of Maverick's mouth. "I trusted you!"

He turns, hands combing through his hair as if to try and soothe himself. It doesn't work. It never works. "I paraded you as the best goddamn pilots the Navy has seen this decade, and you make a fucking fool of me!"

Bob's head tilts, muttering something to Jake that you can't quite hear. Whatever it is, it's enough to have Jake nodding his head and leaning over to Javy.

"I give you my best and how do you repay me?" Mav doesn't seem to hear them, too red in the face to think about anything other than this. Betrayal. A figurative knife in the back. "By running off and becoming an insider for the goddamn enemy!"

His arm swipes across a shelf. Porcelain figures and glass frames fly in your direction. Shattering on the ground into a million and one pieces. Damn near invisible on this white floor, presence merely indicated by the glisten of the shards in the light. But he's not done. A potted plant strikes the wall, exploding like a firework.

"God, so help me," spinning around, Mav jabs his finger in your face, "if I find out which of you fucking did this—"

"For godsakes, Mav!" Bradley's voice is loud in your right ear. Every bit as strained as yours is. Cracking in the middle. A husk of its usual sound.

Just as quickly as he's turned to face you, Maverick is moving again. Storming across the room. Turning. Pacing back to you and Bradley like a mad dog, thirsty for someone's blood.

"How are you so damn sure it was us?" Bradley continues, throwing his hands up. He's so close that his nails scratch your elbow on their way past. You hardly feel a thing. "We weren't the only ones who knew this shit!"

A hand appears on your shoulder. Warm, a thumb swiping back and forth in such a familiar manner that you don't need to look to know who it is. Bobby. His slight nudge is enough to get you to follow him, slinking toward the back of the room. Walking backwards has never been your talent, but somehow, you don't bump into anything.

What's he trying to do?

"You and your team are the only pilots who knew the information that made its way across enemy lines," there's a sudden calmness to Maverick's tone that wasn't there before. You don't like it, not one bit. "And now you've cost us an entire goddamn mission."

Boots stomp across the tile. Louder. Closer.

"And not one of you is fucking leaving!" And all of a sudden, Maverick is nose to nose with Bobby. "Not until someone starts talking!"

Bob's mouth opens, but for a moment, nothing but air escapes. "You can't lock us in here."

Jake's head nods. So does Javy's. Silent agreement.

Mav shoves Bob's shoulders. Knocking him against the wall. "Yes, I goddamn can."

Bob's lip curls. Canines uncharacteristically flash in the light with the same glisten and sharpness as the glass scattered across the tile.

Maverick strikes him.

You don't even see him reeling back. You blink, and his fist is crashing into Bob's glasses. The frames fracture, falling to the floor with a clatter.

Someone gasps. Mav falls backward, hand shielding the side of his head. A boot finds his jaw. Hands grab hold of his hair. A flurry of bodies dart between. Someone's got Mav by the collar, and Bob—

Bob growls.

Held back by Jake and Bradley. Teeth bared. Blood pouring from the corner of his mouth. Shoving against Jake and Bradley's hold. And he's strong, but he's not stronger than both alpha and omega combined. You hardly feel your feet moving, bending to scoop the fractured frames off the floor.

"What's gotten into you?" Natasha shouts. Somewhere off on your left. "Both of you!"

Her shoulder clocks yours.

You spin on your heels.

She's nose to nose with you. "Get your roommate under control," she hisses under her breath. For a moment, her gaze darts to Maverick, eyes so wide that you fear she may never close them again. Then, back to you. "If this goes south—"

"I know." Your hands find each other at the same time. Squeezing once. Twice. Four times. She's got this handled. "I'll get Bobby sorted."

"By safe," she's stepping away, already beginning to shout something that you don't quite catch.

By the time you turn around, Bob is gone.

For someone who usually operates at a turtles pace, Bob sure does move quickly when he wants to. Jake tells you that he caught a glimpse of him leaving the locker room, and by the time you get outside, his truck is missing from its usual place beneath the old maple tree in the back corner of the lot.

"Do you think he's realized that he can't read the road signs?" Javy wonders aloud as you walk toward your vehicles. Always parked next to each other. He's the only one you trust not to ding your car with his door, and vice versa.

You're still waiting on Mickey to pay for that giant scratch he gifted you this past Christmas.

"He's probably wearing the set with the tinted lenses," you chirp, adjusting the bag weighing on your weary shoulders. "I think he usually keeps them in the center console." That's where you last saw them, at least.

Javy nods his head like he's agreeing with your train of thought. "Well, if I see a black truck swerving in and out of lanes, I'll give you a heads up."

The front of your boot thunks against the curb. Your weight falls forward. But your footing recovers just as quickly as you lost it. Javy's already grabbing your shoulder, holding you steady.

You might be too tired to be driving. But what other choice do you have other than to call a car and pay the fine when your car gets towed overnight?

"Maybe we should check for him around Mav's place," the sound of Reuben's voice is the only reason why you remember that he's walking behind you, "might be looking for a round two. No referees this time."

Your hand darts into your pocket, pressing a button on your key fob. A second passes, and the locks in your car doors audibly open. "Well, if he's not home, I'll sound the alarm,"

"Y'all make it home safe!" Jake's voice echoes across the lot.

"Text the group chat, or you'll find me at your front door!" Natasha picks up right where he left off, her phone shaking in the air as she yells. "That means you, Bradshaw!"

Bradley's horn honks. "It was one time!"

It's not until you get situated in the driver's seat and are combing through your music, looking for something decent to listen to, that your phone dings with a singular message.

Bob: Made it home 👍 12:47 AM

With everyone leaving at the same time, it's not difficult to find yourself falling into a loose line as you all make your way off base. A symphony of honks soar through the air once you've crossed onto city-owned pavement, some dumb little routine that sparked from Jake's incessant need to remind you all that he's here before you can possibly begin to forget.

This place is so far out that for a good three miles, the only vehicles on the road belong to your little group, following the slightly too-fast lead of Mickey's project car until the street guides you into town. Jake and Bradley take a left at the red light. Natasha cruises off onto the upcoming exit. Mickey and Rueben turn off into the parking lot of a sandwich shop; Javy tails you until you enter a roundabout.

And all of a sudden, you're by yourself.

It's almost strange, actually. You've grown so used to Bobby's headlights reflecting in your rearview mirror that without them, the road feels impossibly dark. Not another person on this Earth but you.

The sight of his truck parked in its spot is just as foreign, and once parked, you catch yourself trying to wait for him to pull in next to you. But there is no smiling WSO to accompany you on the walk into the apartment complex. No giggling as he tries to beat you to the elevator doors. It's just you and your overfilled backpack.

All that, only for the apartment to be dark when you open the door.

"Bobby?" You call out, trudging into the darkness. No response. Blindly, your hand feels along the wall, seeking the switch.

A whine jumps out of your throat. Light does nothing to reveal him, but his backpack rests in its usual spot beside the door, those tinted glasses sit on the arm of the couch, and his work shoes rest in the place of the beat-up pair reserved for the gym.

Is he not tired?

Evidently, you aren't either because somehow you've got the energy to slip into a softer pair of shoes and head back out of the apartment. Eyes half-lidded, barely paying attention to your surroundings as you make your way down the hallway.

There's absolutely zero reason for you to be doing this. It's not as if Bob is never going to come home again, but something has got you hunting him down like a bloodhound on a trail. Frozen images flicker through your head, like flipping through a picture book.

The drop of his smile when Cyclone made his accusations that someone is leaking information to the enemy. How tired those usually bright eyes were when you were finally hauled out of the office. The flashing of fangs, the fist connecting with the side of Mav's head. You don't understand. You've seen him riled up a number of times, but this...

This is new.

You suppose that you can't blame him; you acted similarly when they finally took you off those suppressants. Too many unbalanced hormones, all at once, thrown in the deep end with no idea how to swim.

You hear him before you've even stepped off of the basement stairs—the soft patter of fists against leather echoing throughout the stairwell like a beacon. Heat greets you like a slap in the face, enveloping you as if you've just walked into a sauna. It's always so damn hot down here; you don't know how Bobby can stand working out in it.

The door to the bottom of the stairwell is missing, seamlessly opening up to the gym. Treadmills, a long rack of weights, specialty machines you've already forgotten the names of; the mini fridge in the corner is still broken, and whoever left their neon yellow yoga mat has yet to come back for the poor thing.

It's so big that at first, you don't notice him. But then you do, and...

Shit. Has Bob always looked like that?

It's got to be a trick that the lighting is playing on your eyes, set off by the sweat that pours off his body like a waterfall. Dripping down the swell of his chest, running loose across a toned stomach, only makes it that much more obvious when his abdomen flexes. There's no way that he's fully awake, but his feet are alive beneath him, dancing left and right as if this old punching bag might start punching back.

You've seen this sight more times than you count, have followed him down here for the sole purpose of drooling over his swollen biceps, but this...this is different. Something has changed, and you can't pinpoint what that is.

The strike of his fists might be more aggressive than you remember them being, but maybe the exhaustion slowing your senses is causing you to misjudge. His upper lip twitches up, breathing hard through his nose. It's the only other sound in the room. Too shy to allow himself to make much noise, for fear of hearing his own grunts.

There's a foreign scent in the air. Something hidden beneath the stench of sweat and the indescribable sourness that comes with a poorly maintained gym. Your brows furrow. It reminds you of...a kitchen. Fresh. Warm. Kind of like...the pot of black coffee that he brews every morning. Wrapped around a cluster of cinnamon and vanilla, like a hand-crafted candle.

Is that...?

All of a sudden, the gym falls quiet, his fists frozen at his sides, the punching bag still swaying from his final strike. From across the room, his eyes lock with yours, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed, unkempt in an almost endearing fashion.

Oh, his poor eye. Mottled with red and darkening purple, swollen around the corner, just enough to be noticeable when compared to his right one. The split in his lip doesn't look that much better, a visible scab resting in the corner.

Something in your lower belly twists. A shiver wracks down your spine.

Bob doesn't say anything, and you don't either. Frozen into silence.

Coming here may have been a mistake. Shit. Why did it never occur to you that he probably came down here because he wanted to be left alone? Why else would he be down here at one in the morning?

"I...I'm sorry," Bob's voice breaks through your thoughts like sunshine peeking through storm clouds, warm enough to melt away the words fluttering about your head, "I almost blew—"

"Mav had it coming." Cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. You were never upset about that to begin with.

Again, it's quiet. Hesitant, Bob steps forward, then pauses, looking back toward the swaying punching bag, then back to you. Then, one foot falls in front of the other, head hanging low as he crosses the room. A small part of you wishes that he would have stayed right where he was because that little voice in your head stirs to life the moment that he's within an arm's length of you.

Touch his chest. Touch his chest. Touch his chest.

You're no better than an omega in heat.

"'s my face look that bad?" A chuckle rumbles out of him, blindly pawing at his bruised cheek with the side of his hand.

Blink. "Huh?"

"You're looking at me kinda funny," he says it like there's absolutely nothing different here. As if today is just another average day. Same old, same old.

"You really haven't figured it out, have you?" It's more of an observation than a question. Even through your half-open eyes, it's not hard to tell that he hasn't put two and two together.

He reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. "...no?"

Ugh.

"Flashing your teeth, sudden aggression..." You're starting out slow, listing your evidence out bit by bit, but he's not reacting to a word you've said, "developing a scent..."

A scent is an understatement. He smells like a goddamn bakery.

A beat passes, and then, slowly, his shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "I'm not following."

For a guy with glasses, Robert Floyd can be really fucking dense sometimes.

If you were more awake, then maybe you'd put more effort into spelling this out for him, but a king-size mattress on the ninth floor is calling your name, and you're running low on willpower. Your brow furrows, swallowing hard. It's been a minute since you last tried to do this, but if you dig deep and focus on flexing your throat...

A chirp bursts out of you. Sharp. High pitched.

Jake did a piss poor job of explaining what that noise does to an alpha, but he must be right about one thing. Bob stiffens. Holding onto his breath, his wide eyes flickering up and down your body.

His eyelashes flutter. "Oh."

You're fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Alphas.

Of course, that's what he would wind up being.

It seems that you can only fight one battle at a time because your hands are on the move. Palms skittering up the sides of his waist on a one-way track to his chest. He's on fire, burning so hot that the feel of his skin alone is enough to have you feeling light-headed. There's no reason for you to be embarrassed by it, but you find yourself masking your intentions by using him to remain steady as you lean in.

His scent glands have only just begun to awaken, producing so little oil that your scent almost wipes his out entirely, but it's there, and it's real, and it's so...him. Hands appear on your waist, drawing you in, his sweaty body pressing against your uniform. Slow, his head moves against yours, temples brushing against each other once more.

"'m I doing it right?" He asks, breath tickling your ear.

"You're getting the hang of it," your confirmation doesn't amount to a whole lot. He knows that as well as you do. You're only slightly better than he is, too far removed from the instinct that resides in your DNA to make much connection with it.

Even so, that doesn't stop him from following your lead. Letting your hand curl around his jaw, guiding him to nuzzle against you in a sloppy, unpracticed fashion that just feels right. A noise lurches out of him, a low, rumbling thing that sounds like the beginnings of a purr.

Lips appear on the corner of your ear. Breaking your attempt at scenting in favor of kissing along the side of your cheek, each one growing closer and closer until his lips finally meet yours. Soft, melding with yours in a dance that you know like the back of your hand.

This is something that the Navy can never take from you. The weightlessness that settles into your joints, the way your head goes completely and utterly quiet when you kiss him. He molds against you like he's been built just for this, the soft jabs of his prickly chin drawing you into him like a moth to a flame.

You can feel the flex of muscle in his arms as they curl around you, strong and burning and so, so familiar. The fresh, warm scent that greets your nose is new and yet so undeniably him; you've only known it for a few minutes, but you can't wait to spend a lifetime wrapped up in it. In him, and his soft hums and the dizziness that he puts in your head.

It's the voices in the stairwell that break you apart, but it's the deepest craving of your soft, cozy bed that has you both tumbling up each and every step. Shoulders bump together as your weary legs carry you to that familiar apartment door, not quite awake enough to maintain any sense of balance.

"I can't believe you never put it together," you find yourself saying as you meander down the hallway. Whoever decided that the elevator should stop on the first floor and not the basement should be fired.

"Well...I sort of already did," Bobby pauses, squinting at the buttons, "I just didn't..." he trails off, too focused to finish his sentence.

"Uhuh, sure," Your hand darts out, pressing the correct one. "What other symptom could I have possibly missed?"

"A knot."

Saliva catches in your throat. "Huh?"

The elevator dings, evidently just as surprised as you are. A moment passes, and the door slides open. It's empty, thank god. No prying ears to overhear what is about to come out of your partner's mouth.

"I'm just as surprised as you are," his hand squeezes yours, obediently following along as you walk into the elevator. There's no use in him trying to do anything else. Not when he can't see. "It's not...you know, all the way there yet, but it's either that or an unfortunately placed tumor."

Almost automatically, you press one of the buttons, not even entirely sure if it's the correct one or not. Guess you'll find out when the doors reopen because this cheap old contraption gives no indication as to what the hell you just did. Are you going to the ninth floor or the third? Only the elevator knows.

Bob's weight sways from foot to foot, and in the thin sliver of mirror in the corner, you can see the overhead light glistening against his sweaty chest. There's that twitch in your lower belly again, thighs pressing together on their own as if to keep something at bay. Maybe there would be something if your head weren't so...empty.

"Nobody ever warned me about how sore it'll be when it's coming in," Bob's words are stretched around a yawn, quickly chased by a second one.

Almost simultaneously, your mouth pries itself open, yawning, too. "That bad?"

"You have no idea," his laugh bounces off the metal walls, ringing in your ears; it's the kind of thing that might put you to sleep right here and now. "I forgot about it while I was in the shower this morning and about hit the floor."

With another ding, the doors slide open, and as it turns out, you did pick the correct floor. The next thing you know, you're stumbling into the apartment together; your phone rests on the couch, screen flickering to life with a text. Right.

You: Made it home! 2:12 AM

Almost instantly, a new message appears on your screen.

Rueben: Is Rob home, or should I send the search team to Mav's house? 2:12 AM

Bob: 🙄 2:15 AM

Something about that text has both of your phones buzzing away with a flurry of texts as if some kind of floodgate has been opened. Bob entertains it, but you're too focused on gathering clothes and towels, dumping them in an unceremonious pile on the bathroom sink.

Where your belongings end, and his begin can be figured out when you're out of the shower. For now, all you're focused on is turning on the water and pulling this stuffy uniform off your body before it becomes permanently stuck there.

"Do we have work in the morning?" You find yourself croaking as you test the water. Still a little chilly.

Lips appear on the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. "We don't work on Sundays, remember?"

"I don't even remember what day it is." Oh how you wish that you were exaggerating. At some point in the week, you've just quit looking at the calendar and let your overfilled schedule swallow you whole.

There's no reason for him to guide you into the shower; hell, it's a walk-in, but he does it anyway. One hand on your waist, moving at the same slow pace until you're standing under a warm stream of water. Your eyes are already trying to drift shut, fighting against you as you try to keep them open.

Defiant, they drift down between Bob's legs as he reaches to grab a bottle off the shelf. There's a soft swell to the base of his cock that wasn't there before; skin stretched tau, not quite adjusted to this sudden change he's been hit with. Whether or not he catches you staring, you don't really care.

Moving is the last thing that you want to be doing. Your shower gel is only an arm's length away, but it might as well be a mile, and once you finally grab it, it's almost too heavy to hang onto. Somehow, though...somehow, you manage. You think you do, at least; you catch the familiar scent from the soap, and you certainly remember washing the bubbles off, so you must have washed something.

You're staring at your reflection in the foggy mirror when a cold wipe presses to the side of your neck, rubbing at the scent gland there. Funny, you'd almost forgotten about that. But now that it's been brought back to the forefront of your mind, you can't help but pluck one from its container.

The corner of Bob's lip lifts, obediently tilting his head to expose his neck for you. A few little swipes are all that it takes to unveil a scar atop the scent gland there. Faded white with age and almost blending in with his pale neck. For something that could cost you both your jobs, it's quite small.

"We're lucky Mav didn't see these," you mutter, thumb swiping over top of it. The gland is still dry, hasn't figured out how to produce that thin sheen of oil yet.

Maybe it never will.

Bob's frown is something that you find yourself having to kiss away, can't stand the sight of such a thing. And that's really...that's the last thing that you remember doing. Standing in the bathroom, feeling his arms snake around you, as you kiss his lips until they lift with a smile one more.

What you do know is that somehow, you get into bed because the next time you open your eyes, you're snuggled into the sheets. Sunlight peeks through a crack in the curtains, casting a horribly bright light into this otherwise dark little bedroom, all too visible behind your closed eyelids.

Defiant, you roll over.

If you don't acknowledge it, it's not there.

Guided by habit, your arm darts out from your side, sliding across Bob's warm belly. His hand settles around your wrist, squeezing gently as if to test and see if you're really there. Through the haze of sleep still lingering in your head, you think you can feel him moving, hips wriggling back and forth against the mattress, unable to keep still.

It takes a moment to find your voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's..." fuck, you forgot how deep his voice can get in the mornings, it's the kind of thing that can put thunder to shame. "It's nothing."

The room is darker than you expected it to be, nothing but that little sliver of light to illuminate the whole place, stretching across the bed and up onto the wall.

"Well, it's got to be something," gliding your palm up and down his belly in that lazy sort of fashion that always makes him sigh.

His mouth opens, then snaps shut just as quickly, afraid of the words that rest on his tongue. "'m hard," he croaks, and then, before too much silence can build in between sentences, "which wouldn't...which wouldn't be a problem, but that stupid...that stupid knot hurts."

Oh, and his cheeks are on fucking fire, red as they can possibly get. All these years, and yet he's still so shy about these topics. It's cute. Even if part of his face is decorated in a frightening mixture of red and purple, only just beginning to recover from yesterday's events.

You're only just beginning to blink away the blurriness resting in the corners of your eyes, but there's already a lightbulb going off in your otherwise foggy head. So bright that you can feel it lighting up your features, eyes brightening, smile sprawling across your face.

Bobby clocks it before you can even begin to formulate words. "I suppose you have an idea."

"When do I not?" Your weary arms help to push yourself up, lazily swinging a leg over his waist.

The sheets jostle, pooling around your hips, a chill nipping at your skin. But alphas run pretty warm, and Bobby was already a furnace, to begin with, downright burning against you like a flickering campfire.

Your plan isn't that unpredictable. It's so easy to figure out that Bob is already leaning up, elbows settling on either side of himself as he meets you halfway. Teeth knock together, lips crashing with so little grace that you distantly wonder if you're at the start of your relationship again—just two fools who don't know how to navigate around each other's bodies.

But you do know.

Only several years spent together could teach you that he'll shudder when your nails trace down his chest, gasping into the kiss when they drift across his nipples. Always has been sensitive here, even if he struggles to admit it.

Biology suggests that you won't get away with it, but history assures that putting your hands on his shoulders and forcing him onto his back will be rewarded with perfect compliance. Instinct be damned, he's putty in your hands. Blinking up at you with those big, unfocused eyes, like a lamb caught in the hungry gaze of a wolf.

You just can't help yourself. Mouth finding the soft underside of his jaw, where a little bit of stubble has managed to make itself known, scraping against your nose as you drift past. His hands splay out on your hips, his only attempt at reigning you in as you kiss down his neck. Soft little pecks that can't last any longer than a second or two, lest you get carried away and leave a mark that your superiors may spot.

One of these days, you're going to childishly mottle his neck with marks. Make everyone understand that the cute WSO is yours, nobody else's. Alpha or not.

"Don't tell me..." his chest heaves as you make your way across it, peppering every little freckle with attention, "don't tell me you're..."

"I'll be gentle," peeking up at him through your lashes, blindly following the hard valley of his sternum. Down, down down to the start of his upper belly, soft and squishing beneath your kiss. Here, you can pause, sucking gently at a patch of pale skin.

A hand slides up your back, settling into the space between your shoulders, just resting there. "Ain't worried 'bout that," his words come out breathy, not quite focused on what he's trying to say.

You've already got a little red spot forming. Then a second, and a third, before you've reached the treacherous territory of where his shirt may unexpectedly ride up. Being visible in the locker room is one thing, but if he reaches to grab something while wearing that little black regulation t-shirt...

"Do you want me to stop?" Pausing in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," his head shakes back and forth, then, hesitantly, "'s just...new."

Your knee pops as you scoot further down his legs, fingers hooking under the thick elastic of his boxers. Obedient, his hips lift, letting you slide the fabric down his thighs. But you're a little too close, forcing him to pull his knees to his chest in order to get it safely past his ankles.

Fuck, he really does have a knot. Properly swollen at the base now, the skin stretched tight and flushed a dark shade of red, not quite adjusted to this sudden change. At least at sixteen, your body encounters these things over time, gradually increasing in intensity. But he's a decade older and up the creek without a paddle.

"Well, if you could handle me on my first heat," carefully taking his length into your hand, feeling the weight of it, "then this should be a walk in the park, right?"

Bob's head tilts to the side, gaze fixated on what you're doing. "'s easier when I ain't the one changing."

Fair point.

Maybe you would have more to add if you weren't too busy settling between his legs. In hindsight, you should have detailed your plan a little bit more because now that you're here, you're not entirely sure what to do. Start at the base? The tip? Somewhere in the middle? What do you usually do here?

Your tongue darts out, running over the swell of his knot. Just one little lick and—

"Oh."

A spring squeals as his hips writhe against the mattress, suddenly full of life.

Curious, your tongue pokes out once more, gliding across it slower this time. A whine cuts through the morning air, rising to chase your touch. Greedy. Like he hasn't been touched in forever.

"Do that..." sucking in a desperate gulp of air, "do that again."

You don't need any more encouragement; already beginning to fall into some kind of rhythm. Lazily mouthing at his delicate knot, all lips and tongue, like you're playing with a lollipop and not the base of his twitching cock. So simple and yet he throws his head back and whines, content with this and this alone.

"Lube," speaking against him, if only to see the shiver that ripples up his spine.

His hand audibly pats around the bed, feeling around until he makes his way onto the bedside table. A beat passes, and the bottle appears next to you. Thank god for being lazy; otherwise, he would have had to move and dig into the drawer.

This is something you know. Leaning back to pour it directly onto him, savoring that little hiss at the chill. Maybe you're a bit too generous with it, thick globs of it running down him like some kind of waterfall, but it's too early in the day to be worrying about such a thing.

All you care about is getting your hand around him, feeling that familiar girth beneath your fingers as you give him an experimental stroke. How his back rises up off the bed once more, his hand reaching to grab a handful of the pillow, anything to keep himself from pawing at your arm.

"Feel good?" Your wrist twists. His thighs squeeze around you.

Dumbly, he nods. "Uhuh."

It's not enough for you, and so you're already opening your mouth with another question. "Can you use your words for me?"

But that pretty head shakes back and forth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "N-no."

He's cracking. Hand flying away from the pillow, making a little grabbing motion until you offer him your unoccupied one. Always has to be holding your hand. Always. Even if it's when your other hand is lazily gliding up and down his weeping cock, working at its own comfortable pace.

Swift, your thumb darts out, massaging circles around his enflamed tip.

You don't know what's louder, the squelch of lube or the cry that rips out of him, muffled a little too late. This is so new. He's so much louder, reacting to every little thing as if it's the first time all over again.

"Up—mmh!" Bobby's eyes squeeze shut, then flutter open again, panting hard. "Up here."

If this was his first time requesting such a thing, you wouldn't know what he's talking about, but it has almost become second nature at this point. For a moment, you let go of him, needing both hands as you crawl back into your place beside him. He rolls onto his side, already beginning to reach for you before you can even settle in.

"This better?" You chirp. He's nodding before you can finish your question.

The change in angle makes it so much easier to stroke him, following your own undisclosed rhythm, feeling the way he twitches under your touch, sensitive to all hell. But you're already growing distracted, letting go of him once more, lightly tracing your fingers over that newly formed bulb at his base.

"That..." his thighs squeeze together, whimpering high in his throat. "That..."

In the back of your mind, you wonder if the neighbors can hear this. The unusually loud noises that just keep tumbling off his pretty tongue, so beautifully overwhelmed with the newness of all this. Glassy-eyed and pink in the cheeks, reaching out to hang onto your wrist as your fingers wrap around his cock once more, if only to keep himself grounded.

Maybe he's worried about being overheard because he's craning his neck, lips crashing together with the same clumsiness as before. Your tongue darts out, wrapping with his for a fleeting moment, wet and messy and certainly getting saliva on the pillow below.

Again, your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, running back and forth across his slit. His body jerks, gasping into your mouth so sharply that it startles you.

"Talk to me, Bob," you've got to quit using that phrase outside of the workplace, but it just works so well on him.

"Feels, feels, aha—!" If he sounded this pretty in the backseat of a jet, you probably wouldn't have a license anymore. "Feels good!"

Vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee kiss your senses with all the strength and intensity of a roaring freight train. The scarred gland on the side of his neck glistens, finally producing that intoxicatingly warm scent. So strong that it makes your head spin, senses downright swimming in it.

"I want...I'm gonna..." Bob's eyes scrunch shut, his foot kicking at the sheets like he can possibly keep it at bay if he fights hard enough.

But you're not slowing down.

"That's okay," squeezing him a little tighter, twisting your wrist in a fashion that makes his knees knock into each other. Close. So, so close. "Cum for me, Bobby."

And he does. Twitching in your hand one, two, three times before that first rope of cum paints your palm with white. Fuck, and it just keeps coming, knot swelling impossibly wide, pulsing with every spurt, until your entire hand is fucking dripping.

You've never seen so much of it. Not from him.

On their own, your fingers dip down, delicately rubbing at his expanded knot; it throbs under your touch, his thighs snapping together on impulse. The greedy voice in your head wonders what it would be like to feel that inside of you, locking your bodies together, cum flooding your pussy until you can't possibly take another drop from him.

"Feels..." he's fighting for a proper breath, eyes rolling, "feels so different."

"Is that a good thing?" You hum, drawing your hand away before that nonexistent refractory period of his can raise its ugly head and drag you in for a round two.

Weary, his head nods, but you're not entirely sure that he realizes he's doing it. "Uhuh."

You don't know if he's just not awake or if it's something about the alpha thing, but he hardly has his eyes open, lying next to you like a lazy puppy. His belly and your hand are a downright mess, drenched in an obscene mixture of cum, saliva, and lube, and more just keeps spilling out of him.

A shower is the only thing that can clean this mess up, but it's too late for that. He's already wriggling an arm around you, his head nuzzling beneath your chin, and moving is suddenly impossible.

If he's not worried about it, then you suppose that you aren't either.

It takes twenty minutes for his knot to go down, disappearing entirely as if it were never there, to begin with. It takes an hour to get out of bed and another one for your impromptu bubble bath to end, only for you to crash on the couch like a pair of sleep-deprived teenagers.

What else are you meant to do on your day off? Something productive?

You'd known this day was coming, but Christ, you didn't expect it to arrive this soon.

A gray building with gray floors and even grayer walls. The definition of boring and exactly where you're supposed to spend the next several hours rotting away in a meeting. The plastic chairs, the doors, and the pen that the lady sitting at the front desk taps her cheek with are all the same, dull monochrome.

It's such a severe lack of color that it makes the fading on Bob's cheek appear brighter. Fresher. Like he walked out of the fight ten minutes ago and not three days. There's no uniform, but Jake's red t-shirt is almost offensively vivid, persistently resting in your peripheral, no matter which direction you turn your head.

All of a sudden, the unnamed girl stands, darting into another room without a word.

"Sure can't wait for this to be over," Bradley mutters almost as soon as the door slams closed.

Jake shifts his weight, bumping their shoulders together. Hard enough to make Bradley sway with the impact. "Worried you can't take the heat?"

"Are you projecting?" Bradley hums, hardly even reacting to the second attempt to shove him.

There's a response there that you don't quite catch about something back at home. But before you can decipher those whispered words, your eavesdropping is cut short by a weight appearing on your own shoulder. The burning press of Bob's nose against your neck, shamelessly burying into you.

"Bobby?" You chirp, craning your neck to try and get a better look at him. No dice.

He doesn't move. "Mmm?"

Rueben's head swivels in your direction. Nose wrinkling.

...did you forget to take a shower? What's he looking at you like that for?

All of a sudden, Bob's feet stumble. Weight falling atop your back as he tries to regain his footing, so damn heavy that he's got you wobbling right along with him. A strangled noise rumbles out of him, riding on the coattails of his breath.

"Robert?" Because he's not answering to your nicknames. "Do you feel okay?"

"My head is..." his words vibrate into your collar, arms wrapping around you as if to use you as a pillar, "spinning."

"You're not gonna get sick on us again, are you?" Nat has suddenly appeared on your left, brows knitted together.

Between the lingering glances from Rueben and the sudden end to Jake and Bradley's conversation, it's suddenly far too quiet in this little room. A second drags by. Then a second, and a third. Your only indication that Bob is even awake is the brushing of his eyelashes against your skin.

Just as you're beginning to think he doesn't have a response, he opens his mouth.

"'s not that kinda spinning," he mumbles, hardly even loud enough to reach your ears.

Surely, it can't be something that he ate; you two have shared the same meals all week. If he's feeling off, then you should be, too. It's certainly not allergy season, and as far as you could tell, he was perfectly fine on the drive over here.

So what gives? What could have possibly changed in the span of a few minutes?

The unnamed woman stumbles back into the room, her heels clicking with every little step that she takes. Something comes out of her mouth, but the grumbling noise that rumbles out of Bob covers it up entirely. It must be a request to follow her because all at once, everyone around you begins to move, filing through the same door that she just came from.

Bob's arms loosen from around you, and he's straightening up, all things that should make him appear better, but...he looks worse. Pale in the face, shoulders appearing to slouch in on themselves as he walks next to you. He's moving, though, feet falling in perfect tandem with yours, following the crowd down the corridor and around a corner.

The group comes to a sudden halt.

Bob's shoe squeaks against the floor. His shoulder hits the wall, his head rolling like it's too heavy to hold up. Eyelashes flutter, his chest rising with a breath so shaky that you can see him quiver with it.

Something's wrong.

"Bobby?" You start to reach for him, but Rueben's quicker than you, settling a sturdy hand on the back of Bob's shoulder, trying to draw him away from the drywall before he can accidentally put a hole in it.

Abnormally short fangs flash. Something akin to a growl rips out of Bob's throat. Heat rushes between your legs.

His face drops. Eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's nothing personal," Rueben's already backing up, his palms facing the ceiling. The closest thing he can get to waving a white flag. "I get it."

You don't believe what you're seeing. Smelling, even. It's way too soon for this, but...

He's starting his rut.

"Is everything okay?" The girl from before is asking; you wish you could remember her name, but reading her nametag is the last thing you're doing right now.

Bradley's shoulder nudges against yours, his head hanging low as if to shield out the rest of the group. "Get him home," he whispers. Firm. "I'll cover from here."

Your attention flickers to Bob, then to the rest of the group. "You're sure?"

All it takes is a look. Unwavering, jaw stiff, commanding all the authority that he can possibly muster. Omega or not, he's not one to be argued with.

Bob's shoulders shudder. Sweat is already beginning to bead at his forehead; lips parted, breathing through his mouth.

You don't need any more convincing, already beginning to take him by the wrist. There isn't the slightest bit of resistance, falling into step with you without any ounce of convincing. Whether or not he's actually comprehending what's going on, you're not sure, but he knows enough to not try and let go of you.

Taking the keys from him is the hardest part, trapped in the front pocket of his jeans, right next to the growing tent in the fabric, downright begging for your attention.

"Feels...weird," he grumbles, foot missing on his first attempt to climb into the truck. The second is a little more successful, almost trembling as he pulls himself up into the seat.

"I know," if it's anything like what your first heat felt like, then you've got a pretty good guess of what he's going through. Heat flashes, loss of coordination, nausea, the overwhelming need to orgasm damn near eating you alive.

In fact, you think that's exactly what he's going through. Grumbling with every turn you take, slouched against the corner of the seat, his head against the glass. There's a tremble in his hands that wasn't there before, knee bouncing up and down, unable to slow itself even for a second.

There are more signs that you would likely notice if you weren't so focused on the road ahead. You've only driven this truck a handful of times; the turn signal is in a different place, the view of the road is different, and it doesn't quite take turns as sharply as your car does.

But he's quiet. Uniquely so, as if he's lost in his own head. Doesn't make a comment on how you pull his truck into its spot rather than backing it in, only grumbling when you don't immediately give him your hand during the walk toward the apartment complex.

His chin falls onto your shoulder the moment the elevator doors close.

"Still feeling weird?" You ask, attention flicking to the mirror.

He whines, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist. A familiar hardness shamelessly grinds into the curve of your ass. Even the thick material of his jeans can't stop you from feeling the way he twitches, desperate for something. Anything.

Warmth rushes down into your thighs. Knees knocking together as they clamp shut, helpless to do anything but wriggle against him. His shaky exhale tickles your ear.

Something clangs overhead, but you can hardly pay it any mind. The elevator could be falling, and you still can't bring yourself to care. Too focused on twisting in his hold, bodies so close that your noses crash together.

Bob looks no better than he did while you were in the truck. Skin so clammy that he glistens in the overhead light, not quite pouring with sweat but if you give him a few minutes, that story may change.

The elevator doors open with a squeal. You move toward them. He doesn't budge.

"Bobby?" Your head tilts.

His eyes dart toward something in the hallway. You follow his gaze, but not a damn thing is there. Nothing but the same old gray carpet, dusty, decorative table, and the welcome rug sitting outside your neighbor's door.

Your alpha neighbor.

"Bobby, it's your instincts running wild," your attempt at diffusing fails to evoke the slightest reaction, "nobody is going to hurt us."

He doesn't seem to believe you. Still staring off into the hallway as if his greatest enemy is about to slink around the corner at any given moment.

You reach over his shoulder, fingertips brushing over the back of his neck. Scarred and battered from all those scruffings during basic and every other time a superior thought they caught a glimpse of defiance. Delicate, you pinch the soft skin there, but his shoulders don't loosen like they should. No, they stiffen.

His chest swells with a sharp inhale.

"It's okay," whispering, as gently as you can, "it's just me."

Hesitant, he takes a step forward. Obediently following your lead, those big blue eyes flickering back and forth across the hall as you walk down it. The apartment door is only a few steps away, off in the corner of the building, but it must take a minute or two to get him there. He's just sane enough not to fret when you let him go in exchange for digging the keys out of your pocket.

The door opens, and it's as if an invisible string snaps.

Kisses appear on the side of your neck. Crowding you through the threshold, the door slamming closed the moment you're through it. The apartment is at the same temperature it's always been at, and yet it's too damn hot in here. Feels as if you're walking into a burning room, but instead of flames licking at your skin, it's Bob's hands. Darting under your shirt, desperate to feel more of you.

"I..." Bob's voice dies in his throat. Rumbling against your nape. "I..."

It's too easy, letting him pull that thin piece of material over your head, your back finding its way up against the wall. The meeting, your friends, the buzzing of your cell phone in your back pocket, none of it matters. Only the press of Bob's lips against yours, how his body slots against yours, built for this and this alone.

He's everywhere. His lips are crashing into yours, and his hands are creeping up your naked back, and the bulge in his jeans is pressing against your hip, and, and—

It's so much.

Fuck, it's so much.

"Bob," you find yourself gasping, aimlessly uttering his name as if it can quench the fire beneath your skin. "Bobby..."

He whines at that. Rumbling against your mouth and down your spine, rattling through you like a shockwave. Your fists gather the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Deeper. Draws a surprised groan right out of his throat, caught off guard but making no move to stop you.

His hips roll into yours once more, all too eager for something, anything. Your thigh slots between his, pushing up just enough and...

"Shit," he's swearing under his breath, so quiet that you hardly hear it.

Your impatient hands tug at his shirt. The kiss only breaks long enough for you to yank it over his head, taking his glasses with it. They the floor with a painful clatter.

He makes no effort to retrieve them.

Neither can you because he's back in your space within an instant, his lips stealing your breath away as if it has belonged to him all along. He tastes like coffee and the honey biscuit he scarfed down on the way to the meeting, so warm and sweet that it's like kissing a bakery instead of a man.

It ought to drown you. Flooding your senses like some kind of pleasant assault swirls your thoughts and delves deep into your belly, disturbing the butterflies there and setting you alight. This is...this is new. He's always made you weak in the knee, but you don't recall them nearly buckling from his scent alone, only held up by the strong arms looped around you.

Something in your lower stomach clenches. So upset over the overwhelming sensation of being empty that it begins to cramp, a wave of slick rushing to ease the ache.

Bob's moving, and it's all you can do to throw your arms over his shoulders and hang on. Following blindly as he backs you through the bedroom door, feet stumbling blindly. Back, back, back, guided by the pressure of his hands and the bump of his chest against yours.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, crumpling out from beneath you.

Your ass hits the bed. Vision swimming as you try to regain focus.

That soft belly is right in front of you. Pale and dusted with freckles, the thin layer of fat concealing the muscle that lurks beneath. You just can't help yourself, greedily leaning in and kissing a fading hickey. One of your hands finds its way to the tent in his jeans, pressing softly.

Bob sucks in a breath. Jerking. "Hurts."

"I'm gonna take care of you," you say it as if you've got yourself together. You don't. "I promise."

The button to his jeans pops open without the slightest resistance, zipper racing down the tracks at a record pace. He's too quick to help. Hands colliding with yours as you both yank at the hem of them, pulling his pants and his boxers down in one go, sloppy as it might be. His cock springs free without warning, the flushed tip nearly hitting your cheek as you try to help him pull the fabric past his thighs.

Once they're past his knees, you can no longer reach them.

Your eyes dart to the bottle of lube sitting on the bedside table. With the heat between your legs, you're almost certain that you won't need it, but you're squirming across the bed anyway, rolling onto your belly, arm outstretched, reaching for it. Your fingers wiggle, catching on the side. The bottle spins across the table, right into your grasp.

Hands appear on your hips, dipping beneath your waistband.

"Hey!" You squeal, but it's too late. He's already tugging your pants down, too, pulling you across the sheets in the process. Your phone pops out of the pocket, landing next to you.

"Sorry," but those half-lidded eyes and his lazy grin imply that he's definitely not sorry, already hovering over top of you. There's barely enough room for you to roll onto your back, caged between his shivering arms.

Funny, you'd always presumed alphas to fall under the same old, aggressive stereotype once their rut started, but this one...he's anything but. Pink in the face, pressing soft kisses against your cheek, almost entirely himself.

Whether or not he hears you uncapping the lube, you don't know, but he doesn't react to it in the slightest.

"Ah—!" He does react when your dripping hand wraps around his heavy cock, spreading cold lubricant across him without so much as a warning.

His knot is hardly there, nothing but a slight bump at his base, as it should have been this whole time. You reckon that something about his rut finally kicked his hormones into gear.

Your hand is hardly doing anything special. Simple strokes to spread the sticky substance across him, thumb swiping over his head once, twice, drawing little whimpers past his lips with every motion. Sensitive and so wrapped up in the feeling that he doesn't realize that you're surging up off the bed. Pushing him over, your leg swinging out to straddle his hips.

Those wide eyes draw a giggle out of you. "Dummy."

It's so easy, reaching between your thighs and taking hold of his weeping cock, guiding it up until his tip slips through your folds, nudging against your clit and all. Ugh, you've missed this feeling.

"You're..." Bob sucks in a trembling breath, eyes flickering from your face to the sight of his cock nuzzled against your cunt. "You're sure?"

"Are you?" Mirroring him. You've already made your intentions loud and clear.

He nods before he can find his voice. "Uhuh."

"Then so am I," and before either of you can begin to conjure up a response, you're sinking down on him.

A sudden pressure appears at your entrance, an ache already arising from your severe lack of interest in stretching yourself for him. It's a dizzying kind of burn that has your body shuddering, taking his cock head in with a soft 'pop' that ought to make your heart stop.

"Jesus," Bob's hands fly up to your hips, squeezing tight, "fuck."

There's just something about hearing him swear that gets your head spinning, fighting to keep your body upright as you take him inch by delirious inch. Not obscenely thick, but enough to already be rubbing against those little hidden nerves. It's not fair. He has no right to have your thighs tremoring before you've even taken him halfway.

Your hands fall forward, bracing yourself against his heaving chest. The feeling of the pitter-patter of his heart beneath your palms isn't doing much to help you either, beating at his chest like a caged animal.

Coffee and cinnamon strike your nose with the intensity of a freight train, tearing through your head so quickly that everything becomes muffled, wrapped up in your own little world. A little place where Bobby is your only concern, with his oddly sweet scent and soft blue eyes that threaten to drown you if you gaze too closely.

But your ass is settling into his lap, and you're too damn full to remain up in your head much longer. Fuck, you can't breathe. Lungs tight as if you've run out of room, forced to pant for air that you can't possibly hang onto.

Already, Bob's hips roll up, unable to keep himself from squirming beneath you. His hands roam up your sides, idly touching, as if to make sure that you're really here. That you're not a figment of his rut-clouded mind.

"So pretty," he babbles, sounds absolutely awe-struck, "you're so pretty."

"You're just saying that because I'm riding you," teasing, a little smile emerging onto your face as you draw yourself up.

"No, I'm—mmh!" His head falls backward, thunking against the pillow.

This...this is something. You've hardly even drawn yourself up an inch, and he's already whining about it, his hands squeezing your sides once more, hanging on tight as you sink back down on him.

It's on the second attempt that your breath hitches, stars sparkling in your vision as he rubs against a particular bundle of nerves. An experience nearly identical to any of the other times his cock has been in you, but something...something is different here. You don't recall feeling a sudden gush of slick, reacting to an extreme.

He should have quit taking those suppressants sooner.

You're drawing yourself up quicker now, clinging to his chest as you try to find your pace. Something quick enough to get what you want but shallow enough to avoid wearing yourself out before you've even gotten close. But it's so hard to remain rational when he's downright nailing that little spot, cock head kissing it over and over and over.

Bobby's hips jump up once more, meeting you halfway. His whine intertwines with yours, dancing about the room and through the walls. You hope the neighbors aren't home because you don't have the strength to quiet him down. Not when he sounds so pretty.

"Darlin'," his head rolls back and forth, blinking rapidly, "darlin', I..."

A beat passes. He doesn't finish that thought.

"Hm?" Fighting to keep your eyes open, "talk to me, Bob."

You're using workplace phrases in the bedroom again.

But his eyes only scrunch shut. So tight that his nose wrinkles with it. "I don't know."

On its own volition, your hand darts out; he meets you halfway, fingers lacing together as you push them onto the bed. It's a motion that forces you to lean forward, such a subtle change in angle, but—

"There," you blurt it as if you're not the one in charge here. Heat rushes up your belly, burning high into your throat, smoke clouding your vision.

You're babbling something, but you just can't hear it. Control crumbling like a house of cards, impossible to rebuild as your hips quicken, chasing the delicious pressure of his cock against your nerves. Cunt clenching around him like a vice, every little motion punctuated by an obscenely wet noise that you're only vaguely aware of.

It's a sudden growl that rips you back into reality. Bobby's short fangs sink into his shivering bottom lip, pretty blue eyes glassy as he bats his lashes up at you.

"Huh?" Freezing in your tracks. Is there something...did you do something that he doesn't like?

He's pushing himself up, suddenly all too close. "Wanna roll over."

The room is spinning before you can even realize what he's just said. Back hitting the soft mattress, a familiar weight settling atop your chest. Arms brace on either side of your head, already finding his favorite position.

Your newly empty hand darts up. Grasping at his wrist until your fingers lace together once more, his weight pinning them into the sheets. You haven't the slightest clue how he stayed inside of you, but he's already beginning to move, and your shaking legs are coiling behind him, and—

"There!" It rips out of you so suddenly that you think you sound akin to a wounded animal. Little shocks jump up your core, pussy fluttering around him. "There, there..."

His hips move a little harder, properly jostling you beneath him, rubbing into those little nerves once more. "Jus' like this?"

All you can do is nod, tongue limp in your mouth.

Bob's leaning closer, his nose nuzzling against yours, hardly an inch of space left between your heaving bodies. The slight swell of his knot catches on your entrance, such a sudden thing that it rips the air out of your lungs, fighting to keep your legs hitched around his waist. All it's doing is drawing him up against where you crave his touch most, growing impossibly wet from the feel of his knot alone.

A stray squeezes out from the corner of his eye, rolling down his cheek and leaping down to hit your nose. His lips crash into yours before you can begin to ask about it. A soft intertwining that makes your thoughts swirl together until they've blended into a constant, incessant murmuring. Bob. Bob. Bob.

"Bobby?" It slips out before you've realized it, and if your voice itself could echo a word, you have no doubt that a hundred incantations of his name would be tumbling out your parted lips.

His whine cuts through the air.

"Feels good," he gasps, speaking against your lips, making no effort to pull away any more than he has to. "Feels...it's so—mmh."

There's no possible way to keep himself quiet, his whimpers so distracting that you hardly notice the ones coming out of your own mouth. Your unoccupied hand rises, shaking with the heavy thump of your heart as it settles against his cheek.

As if it's come alive, your back twitches up off the bed, legs squeezing around his bony hips, a wildfire rushing across your skin. Head swimming with the noise that is Bob Floyd and the incessant nudge of his growing knot rubbing against that sweet little spot. It's so new and it's so much, and, and it's got spots decorating your vision. Patches of black fading in and out, like you're about to faint.

His knot catches on its way out of you. So big that it doesn't slip back in on the next pass, merely pressing into your pussy once, twice, three times.

You don't feel it coming.

One moment you're fine, and the next, your eyes are rolling, cumming without warning, as his knot finally pops inside of you. Quaking with the force of it, ears ringing so loud that you can hardly hear Bob's cry as he cums inside of you. Knot swelling to its full size, locking your bodies together, his cum flooding your spasming cunt, with nowhere for it to escape.

You're only distantly aware of your back hitting the bed once more, legs slipping out from around him to fall at his sides instead. There are teeth sinking into your shoulder, and your heart is pounding against your chest, lungs burning for a breath you've gone too long without.

The first inhale grounds you. Brings you down from the ceiling and back into his arms.

The second rips every ounce of strength from your body. All too limp beneath Bobby and his crushing weight that has long since settled on top of you.

"I love you," his words are jumbled together, so unintelligible that you hardly realize what he's saying.

It must take a minute or two for you to squeeze his sweaty hand, still linked with yours. "I love you too."

There's no way that you'll be separating any time soon, not with his knot pulsing inside of your poor pussy, stretched to a limit you didn't know you had. Even when his phone dings from the other room, there's nothing he can do about it. How cruel nature is, forcing you to lie here and accept his snuggling advances. Barbaric, even.

"This..." Bob hums, kissing at your jaw, "feels so damn weird."

Idle, your arm loops around his shoulders, hand greedily delving into his hair. "Tell me about it. If you cum any more, I think I might pop."

Your giggles melt into yawns; whoever said that sex was a quick and easy thing clearly wasn't doing it right. The moment that Bob gets his head comfortable, his nose nuzzled beneath your ear, you know that you've lost him. Frankly, you're not far from it, either, already beginning to fight back another yawn.

But your brain isn't on the same page because while your body is already sinking further into the bed, growing heavier by the second, your thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Maverick. The prescription suppressants sitting on the dresser, waiting for the day that the Navy requires you to start taking them again, for the sake of efficiency and making the job easier for all parties.

You don't understand it.

Why does the Navy prioritize scrubbing you of alpha, beta, and omega statuses? What's the point of soap designed to strip your scent glands when all it does is make you so much more sensitive to the variety of scents out there? Was the endless scruffing from your superiors really meant to 'build character'? Or was it just a bunch of insecure superiors desperate to make themselves feel in charge?

Bobby should have known whether he was alpha, omega, or beta over ten years ago. Why is it that you and he have been medicated to high hell while Maverick has walked around for the better half of thirty years without being given a single fucking pill to take? He's exactly what the Navy preaches about; a hot-headed, cocky alpha who gets so invested in instinct that he hurts his team.

God, fuck, his fangs aren't even formed properly. Short and stunted from the lack of hormones, not an ounce of threat to them, no matter how many times he may try to flash them.

Your eyes dart to your cell phone, resting on the unoccupied side of the bed.

It's barely within reach, but it's nothing that a little stretching won't resolve. Heavy in your hand as you type in the passcode and navigate toward an app, resting in the far right corner. The screen turns black.

A beat passes.

Then, a second.

And a third.

The camera opens, little squares dancing across the screen as it scans your irises. A microphone crosses the screen. Your name tumbles off your tongue.

Finally, it opens. A crudely built messenger app, a myriad of texts flooding in as it loads. Wire transfers. Messages about the mission. Information that the Navy never thought would leave your lips. Names. Javy. Natasha. Jake. Rueben. Bob. Mickey. Three other familiar names that you cannot be bothered to read. All you care about is finding a contact by the name of Admin, and pressing the call button.

As the dial tone sounds, Bob's head lifts, sleepy eyes flickering up to meet with yours. Doesn't need to look at the phone to understand what you're doing. It's a call he made when Admiral Cain left a mark on your wrist. The same number Bradley dialed when Cyclone started that brawl with Jake.

Bob's just beginning to settle back into the crook of your neck when someone picks up.

"Who hit him?"

You know that voice. You know what happened the last time you called. But for once in your life, you've forgotten how to feel hesitant about the words that are about to leave your mouth.

"They call him Maverick."

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #oneshot

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whisperofsong · 8 months

Text

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: Bob takes care of you after a long day.

Word Count: Approx. 3,082 words

Warnings: Language and explicit sexual content

Note: This piece was written for @attapullman ‘s International Bob Floyd Fucks Month celebration and intentionally posted on Lewis Pullman’s birthday. I adore our collective boyfriend and loved writing this to honor one of my favorite characters of his💛

____________________________________________

The rain patters against your windshield as the windshield wipers rhythmically glide back and forth, almost putting you in a trance. Your shoulders are slumped as you stare ahead and count the minutes until your car is once again in the driveway.

Work had been more stressful than usual. The incessant alerts signaling the arrival of new emails flooding your inbox. Additional things being asked of you despite your already taxing workload. Interruptions from your coworkers as you attempted to focus on completing the various tasks on your to-do list. Despite these challenges, you managed to accomplish a few things, but it wasn’t enough. And you feared that the week may only get worse.

When your tires meet the smooth pavement of your driveway and you pull the key out of the ignition, you remain in the car. The stillness and silence is a welcome respite from the pandemonium in the office. Your energy is almost nonexistent and you find yourself wincing when you look at the distance from your car to the front door. You eventually muster enough energy to grab your things and head inside.

Faint music and a pleasant aroma greet you and the man responsible for them is Bob Floyd. But Bob Floyd isn’t just any man. He’s your boyfriend. Your boyfriend of a little over a year to be exact.

“Boyfriend” is almost an inadequate label for what Bob Floyd is to you. He’s the man who memorized your coffee order just so he can get it for you every Saturday morning. He indulges in your favorite TV shows alongside you and makes remarks that he’s confident will make you laugh. When you inevitably fall asleep in the middle of watching them, he doesn’t disturb you, but instead covers you in the coziest blanket you own because he knows you sleep more soundly on the couch. He’s the man who embraces you at the end of each day and whispers the most tender words while kissing you between each sentiment.

But as you stand in the tiny entryway of your home, your heart deflates because not even Bob’s presence can buoy you right now. Your chest is tight, your shoulders are throbbing, and your whole body feels heavy. When you enter the kitchen, Bob’s back faces you as he busies himself with stirring something on the stove while the comforting melody of “Silly Love Songs” surrounds you.

“Hey,” you say softly. Even your voice is strained.

He immediately turns around to face you, his eyes twinkling. “Hey, honey. I didn’t even hear you come in,” he says as he happily makes his way toward you. His strong arms engulf you and you sink into his warmth, his scent calming you in ways you can’t even describe. It’s one of his specialties. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, wishing you could permanently reside there.

“Hey.” He slightly pulls away while putting his hands on your shoulders in an attempt to get you to look at him. “Talk to me, honey.”

You slowly lift your head, reluctant to meet his gaze. There’s no use lying to him. He can read you well and therefore detect anything that seems amiss. “I had a bad day.” Your eyes travel downward, refusing to maintain eye contact. You’d prefer not to make this a big deal. Ideally, you’d prefer to curl up in bed, hibernate under the covers, and drift into a deep slumber where work can’t get to you.

Concern decorates Bob’s features as he furrows his eyebrows and cocks his head, preparing to prompt you further.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

You release a long and labored sigh. “Eventually. But right now…I just…” You shake your head and peer down at your shoes.

He gently nudges your chin with his fingertips. “What do you need?”

Hesitantly, you lift your head once more, two sets of pleading eyes meeting each other. You chew on your lip, contemplating your response, before saying, “I need to not think. To turn my mind off.”

Bob’s quiet for a few beats as he mulls over your admission. “That’s what you really want?”

You’re momentarily stunned by the lower octave and rougher edge to his voice. You almost forget that he’s waiting for your confirmation, so you lightly nod in response, eyes locked with his own.

Wordlessly, Bob catches your jaw in his hands, his thumb slowly moving back and forth across your bottom lip in a tantalizing motion. After several sweeps of his thumb, he presses it firmly against you, silently requesting that you part your lips. You oblige him and as soon as you do, his thumb enters your mouth. Your tongue darts out to wet it and your lips wrap around him, closing your eyes to savor the way he pushes it farther into your mouth.

“Good girl. Just like that, honey.”

This elicits a whimper from you because he knows the effect his compliments have on you. When his thumb pulls out of your welcoming mouth, you find yourself thrumming with anticipation. Your heart is hammering against your chest and your toes are curling inside your shoes as you await his next move. It’s almost torturous.

He crouches down and carefully removes your shoes, one at a time, his eyes refusing to leave yours. He caresses your calves and his touch alone has you weak in the knees. Without warning, his hands grab the back of your thighs and he wraps your legs around his waist as he ascends the stairs with you in tow. Your hands play with the tufts of hair positioned at his nape as your chest fits comfortably against his.

Once you reach the bedroom, he gingerly lays you down on the bed, a hungry and determined look evident in his eyes.

Your hands begin to lift the hem of his t-shirt, but he stops you.

“No,” he objects in a low voice. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. I wanna make you feel good, baby. No thinking. Just feeling.”

You shiver at his words. You’ve never been more eager to be intimate with him than you are at this moment.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His lips descend on your neck and a soft moan leaves your lips as he litters your neck with kisses, licks, and marks that are proof of his love for you. Although you try to remain still, you can’t help yourself from lifting your chest toward him, silently imploring for more of his touch. Needing more, more, more.

He chuckles against you, understanding your plea. “So needy for me, baby. Such a greedy thing.”

“Bob. Please.” You’re growing impatient and have no right to feel this way. He’s just getting started, after all.

He leans up on his knees and stares down at you laid out beneath him, sporting a smirk that seems to imply he’s got you exactly where he wants you. His hand expertly dives under your dress, gradually climbing until he’s reached your stomach. When his hand finds the cups of your bra, he squeezes each one, but the fabric prevents you from enjoying the full sensation.

“You know better than to hide them from me,” he chides.

“I-I have to wear a bra or my nipples will show through my dress.”

“Mmmm.” He nods in agreement. “Because no one deserves to see them. These are for me only, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Only for you, Bob.”

“Sit up for me,” he orders gently, guiding you so that he’s able to support you in this position. As he pulls down your zipper, he plants several kisses on the side of your forehead, his sweetness almost overwhelming after the day you endured. His touch grounding you when you need it most.

Bob peels the fabric from your body, helping you remove your arms from the confining sleeves. He pulls it down your body and you use your feet to kick off the now rumpled dress on the bedroom floor. Before you can resume your position beneath him, he deftly unclasps your sleek black bra and flicks his skillful tongue against your exposed, peaked nipple, causing you to fall back against the mattress.

Your unabashed moans fill the room as your fingernails dig into the thick comforter. You’ve imagined moments like these on nights when you were alone and Bob was deployed miles and miles away with email being your sole form of contact. But knowing that you have him here, that this is real, is enough to send you careening over the edge.

His tongue is strategically rolling your pointed nipple back and forth and you find yourself fighting the urge to touch yourself because his touch is worth the wait. When he moves to your other nipple, your hands card through his hair and your legs wrap around his waist because you need to be as close to him as possible. This closeness allows you to feel his bottom half and his erection is prominent, reminding you that he’s as turned on as you are right now.

His mouth travels down your stomach as it leaves wet and somewhat sloppy kisses in its wake. Your nipples are now exposed to the cool air and missing the heat of his mouth, but its current destination is enough to dull your disappointment.

His nose nudges the lacy edge of your black panties, but he doesn’t rush. His sincere eyes meet yours questioningly.

“Can I eat you out, sweetheart?”

“Please, Bobby. Take care of me.”

“Always.” He presses a soft kiss to your clothed center before tugging the fabric to the side and dipping his tongue between your soaked folds. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You try to cross your legs, a little self-conscious about your body’s response to his minimal touch, but he protests.

“Don’t hide from me. Please. Don’t ever hide from me.”

Your legs fall to the side and he tugs your panties down and flings them over his shoulder. The sight of him positioned between your legs with his slightly askew glasses, perfectly styled hair, and enthusiastic gaze is something to behold. His strong hands grasp your thighs and his tongue laps at you fervently. Within seconds, you’re bucking against him and he holds you down, wanting to take his time in tasting you. His tongue enters you and you yelp in surprise as pleasure surges throughout your body.

His tongue moves upwards and swirls around your clit before sucking on it as if it’s the greatest flavor of candy he’s ever tasted. You can’t imagine it ever being any better than this, yet he always manages to prove you wrong the next time. You’ve never been so ecstatic to be wrong.

You feel your orgasm approaching and as much as you want to wait until he’s seated inside you, you can’t garner the strength to tell him to stop. Instead, you pray that he doesn’t stop because you want this. You need this. Less than a minute later, your release arrives. “You’re making me come, Bob. I can’t-“ Your words abruptly trail off and you feel wetness pool out of you, but Bob doesn’t change his motions. His tongue accepts everything you’re giving him with enthusiasm.

When Bob pulls away and meets your satiated, dazed face, his glasses are fogged and his mouth is glistening.

“Bobby.” With this singular word, his mouth is on yours in an instant and he’s kissing you passionately, his tongue clashing against your own. You bring him to your level and clutch him to your chest.

“Not done with you yet,” he growls and this intensifies the heat blooming in your chest along with the achiness thundering between your legs.

He swiftly removes his jeans and t-shirt, but before he strips completely, he guides your hand to the massive bulge that’s barely contained by his briefs. “That’s what you do to me. Every day.”

A small gasp leaves your mouth, even though you’re cognizant of how easily you’re able to turn him on. Though somehow, he seems bigger this time, if that’s even possible.

“Need you inside of me,” you whine impatiently, growing frustrated without his closeness, without his body claiming your own.

“Can’t be premature, honey,” he reminds you. He leans over your exposed body to fetch the vial of lube in the drawer of his nightstand. Although it’s no longer painful, there’s still a burning stretch that accompanies the first few minutes of him entering you. The lube reduces your discomfort and even though you prefer not to prolong the timeframe when Bob’s not inside of you, you know you’re always grateful for it once he’s where he belongs.

He strokes his length with a generous handful of the sticky substance and you watch him, mesmerized at the sight of his mouth-watering, glistening cock. He’s a delicious eight inches with a plush head that always hits the right spots.

“Spread your legs for me, honey,” he instructs sweetly and you notice the blush that colors his cheeks when you heed his command. Even after all this time.

Bob languidly strokes his cock against your soaking clit and through your drenched folds. “Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes scrunching shut. “You feel so good like this. Can’t get over how wet you are.”

“I-I’m sorry. Can’t help it,” you admit as you find yourself barely holding on.

“Don’t apologize. I love it. Love that you’re so needy for me.” He continues sliding his dick up and down your clit and your hands grasp his forearms as you try to steel yourself. You glance at his dick, now covered in a combination of lube and your arousal, and the way it moves against you in a frenzied manner while his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. The sight is so erotic that your body begins to shake. It’s already happening again.

“B…Bob.”

“Come for me. Give it to me and don’t hold back,” he says breathlessly.

A sharp cry pierces the otherwise silent room as a deluge of pleasure consumes you. You relish every second of it, riding the heady wave of euphoria until it’s gone and you’re nothing but mush.

Your chest rises and falls dramatically just as Bob moves so that he hovers above you. “You’re definitely ready for me now,” he shares with a shy smile despite the events that just took place. He lines himself up and fleeting eyes meet yours to confirm he can proceed. Your fingertips graze his cheek with a feather-light touch and the two of you exchange earnest smiles.

Bob slowly pushes himself inside of you and the burning stretch that’s accompanied the other times is almost absent. Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he exhales deeply and shuts his eyes in concentration. You know he’s trying to focus in an effort to make this last as long as possible.

You brush the stray tendrils of hair that fall in his face aside and he looks up at your touch. “It’s okay, Bob. You can move. Just wanna feel you.”

He wordlessly shifts forward and this singular action practically steals the breath from your lungs. He’s so deep and it wasn’t until he reached that spot that you realized how much you yearned for this. This intimacy, this contact, this unparalleled devotion.

Bob inches out only to enter you again and you’re clawing at and clutching at the expanse of his broad shoulders.

“You have the sweetest little pussy. Being inside you feels like home.”

All you can do is make incoherent noises because his sinful movements are robbing you of your voice. Of your ability to do much of anything besides bask in this glorious session of lovemaking. He directs your chin downward. “Look at that. The way you respond to me.”

Watching him disappear and reappear over and over again causes your head to spin. You’re so wet that a prominent squelching noise seems to echo off the walls. Bob notices it, too, because he’s biting his lip and hastening his movements.

“You trust me?” he asks in a serious tone.

“Always,” you reply.

He takes your legs and places each one on his opposite shoulder. He then resumes his movements, but picks up the pace, and this angle causes your vision to blur, colors fading in and out.

“Beautiful,” he punctuates with a particularly emphatic thrust. “You’re so beautiful,” he gushes.

“Honey…honey,” you moan, a victim of his tender words in tandem with every thrust and twist of his hips. You clench around him and Bob shouts, unable to contain himself.

“Close, honey. So. Close.” His voice is huskier, tired, and indicative that he’s in need of a release.

You clench around him again and this time, he freezes above you before a final thrust of his hips that ends with his seed spilling into and dripping out of you. He’s spent and already gave you two orgasms, but this doesn’t stop him from getting you to the finish line a third time.

“You don’t…you d-“

“I made a promise to take care of you, baby. I never break my promises, especially when I’ve made them to you.” He bends down and kisses you, communicating with each stroke of his tongue. You’re important to me. I’ll always take care of you. I love you.

In the middle of your kisses, your third orgasm overtakes you and your release soaks his cock, the two of you a complete mess from your activities. When you come down from your high, Bob rolls over and pulls you to his chest that is now covered in a sheen of sweat, peppering your forehead with kisses.

“Thank you for that,” you whisper bashfully against his chest. “That was amazing.”

He tips your chin so that you’re face to face now. His eyes are soft again and he’s looking at you with such reverence that you think you might cry. “You’re amazing,” he tells you. He tangles his fingers in your hair as his eyes search your face. “Was that what you needed?”

“It was better,” you correct with a kiss on his nose.

A broad grin stretches across his handsome face. “Anything for my best girl.”

Several minutes pass before you speak against, the afterglow of your lovemaking too precious to interrupt.

“Um…Bob?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Did you ever turn the stove off?”

“Oops,” he says sheepishly, causing both of you to erupt into laughter as your naked bodies intertwine and hearts beat in unison.

@bradshawsbaby @luminousnotmatter @rhettabbotts @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @bobgasm @delopsia @up-thereinthesky @floydsmuse @roosterforme @ryebecca

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #international bob floyd fucks month #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman

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sailor-aviator · 11 months

Text

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Flirty Bradley, Talk of near death experience, Dagger Squad acting sketchy, talk of hookups, Bruises, Scratches, FBI, Police, Murder.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I'm starting to wonder if y'all actually read these lol Anyway, here is Chapter Three! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! Also, if you DO NOT fill out the form below (Tag List) then you will not be tagged! I will be referring to that Google form from now on! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

Your head was pounding and the sheets stuck to your skin in a way that made you want to scream. You slowly cracked an eye open, wincing at the bright light that filtered in through the window. It was still overcast outside, and you could see the tiny droplets of water that ran down the window pane. You blinked as you took in the sight of your room, trying to remember how you ended up there.

You shuddered as you remembered the crashing of waves all around you, struggling to find the surface for a desperate breath of air. Sitting up with a groan, you rested your head in your hand, trying to remember anything after that. You remembered hearing the song again, a high-pitched frantic melody and arms that had grasped you. Scoffing, you shook your head to rid yourself of the ridiculous notion that that had been anything other than a dream. At that moment, the door to your room creaked open softly to reveal Bob poking his head around the side. He let out a heavy sigh, opening the door fully and stepping through at the sight of you sitting up.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, walking over quickly to sit beside you on the edge of the bed. You gave him a half-hearted smile, still trying to ignore the throbbing in your temples.

“I am,” you grimaced.

“How much do you remember?”

“There was a storm,” you started, running your hand through your hair. “It got bad, and the waves kept coming and coming, and then…”

You paused, looking up at your friend who smiled at you gently.

“And then I fell overboard. I thought-I thought I was drowning,” you choked, feeling the tears well up in your eyes at the memory of how scared you had been. Bob reached out to place a comforting hand on top of yours and you smiled gratefully at him. “But I had another dream.”

“What?” Bob’s brow furrows in confusion. You chuckled softly to yourself.

“It was so real,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I mean, I’m sure it was just a hallucination, but…”

“What happened?” Bob pressed, leaning forward with a clench of his jaw. The way his face hardened made you uneasy, wondering what happened to your usually easygoing best friend.

“Well,” you started, clasping your hand around Rusty. “I was sure I was dead, but then I heard that song again. And then I felt arms wrap around me. Then I was on the shore, and I-”

You stopped, your cheeks heating up as your brain caught up to what you were saying. Your remembered the soft lips that pressed hot and heavy against your skin. The way the arms caressed and held you. The way you had responded to his touch, his bite.

Your cheeks grew hotter, and you saw Bob cock his head to the side from your peripheral.

“You what?” He asked. You cleared your throat.

“I remember there was a man.”

“A man?” Bob furrowed his brows, frown growing deeper. “What do you mean?”

You bit your bottom lip. “I think he saved me.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Sorry,” you muttered, looking up to meet his blue eyes. “I know that sounds ridiculous. I’m sure it’s just my brain trying to comprehend how I got back to shore in that storm.”

Bob stared at you for a moment, seeming to choose his next words carefully.

“You probably just got a boost of adrenaline,” he said, smiling at you softly. “Probably swam yourself back to shore. We found you on the rocks there, you know. Bradley carried you back.”

“He did?” You asked, feeling the heat creep its way back onto your cheeks. Bob nodded.

“Yeah, everyone was so worried about you.”

“They were?” You frowned. The door swung open to reveal the group of friends standing in your doorway.

“Hell yeah, we were!” Bradley exclaimed, smiling at you widely, but there was a tinge of concern to his expression. “Thought you weren’t going to wake up there, Skipper.”

“I’m so sorry, you guys,” you murmured, turning to face them. They all glanced at each other and then back at you in confusion.

“What for?” Asked Javy. You felt tears well up in your eyes, and you let out a sniffle as you tried to wipe them away. The group quickly circled around you, doing their best to comfort you which only served to make you more upset.

“I just seem to keep causing all of this trouble,” you hiccuped. Nat pulled you in for a hug, stroking your hair as Bob squeezed your hand. “You guys must be sick of me by now.”

“Sick of you?” Bradley chuckled leaning against you on your left, causing Nat to grunt as your weight pressed into her more. “How could we be sick of our little Skipper, huh?”

“Besides,” Javy spoke up, smiling at you gently. “Accidents happen, right? It’s not like you went out looking for trouble.”

“I know,” you sniffled, “But-”

“No buts!” Natasha declared, pulling back to look at you. “You must be sick of our little town by now after all the excitement.”

You gave her a watery smile. “Never.”

“That’s our girl!” Bradley beamed, tweaking your cheek. He looked down at where you held the stuffed stingray and cocked a brow. “Who’s this little guy?”

You were sure your cheeks were going to be be permanently red by the end of the summer at the rate you were blushing. You clutched Rusty a little tighter, shyly peaking up at the mustached man through your lashes.

“This is Rusty.”

He hummed. “Well, Rusty better watch out because I don’t like having competition.”

You let out a giggle as the other boys rolled their eyes. Nat scoffed as she moved to stand.

“Alright boys,” she said, fixing them all with a look. “Let’s let Skipper get changed in peace, yeah?”

“I dunno,” Bradley smirked, leaning in closer to you. “She looks like she might need some help.”

“Out,” Natasha snapped with a roll of her eyes. Bradley shot you a wink before filing out after the boys, raising his hands in surrender as he walked by the brunette. Once they had all left, Nat looked at you with a soft expression.

“You don’t need help, right?” She asked, chewing on her bottom lip. You shook your head.

“I’ll be fine,” you smiled. “I promise I’ll holler if I need something.”

She seemed to accept this and walked out, closing the door behind her. You sighed, looking out the window. The throbbing in your head had had moved down to the base of your neck, and the uncomfortable pulse had you scratching at the skin. You furrowed your brows when you felt the way the skin was raised there when it wasn’t yesterday. You stood from the bed, swaying slightly. When you were sure that you weren’t going to collapse, you grabbed a change of clothes and made your way down the hall. You heard the others down in the living room chatting.

“What was he thinking?” You heard Nat say.

“He obviously wasn’t,” Bradley scoffed. “This will be his third go around and he still won’t give Mandy-”

The floorboard underneath you creaked, and you silently cursed when you heard the conversation die. You hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind you. You let out a heavy sigh before turning to look in the mirror.

You looked an awful sight. Your hair was in disarray and there were bruises littered across your skin. You grimaced, grabbing a brush to try and tame your wild locks. When you had fixed the state of your hair enough, you pulled your hoodie off over your head, seeing the dozens of other bruises that scattered your arm. You let out a huff as you ran your fingers down your skin, but you stopped when you caught sight of your neck for the first time. Narrowing your eyes, you leaned into the mirror, carefully inspecting the skin that had been throbbing and raised. Your skin was almost iridescent as it reflected the lights of the bathroom. You moved, watching as the circular patch of raised skin shifted from a teal blue to a mossy green. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that it almost looked like a bite mark. You quickly changed into the clothes you brought with you, depositing the old ones in your room before making your way downstairs.

“There you are!” Bob smiled from where he was perched on the arm of the couch next to Mickey. “Was wondering what was taking you so long.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, brow still furrowed in confusion. Bob took in your expression, and his own changed to one of concern.

“Everything alright?” He asked you, causing everyone to focus on where you stood in the doorway. You nodded slowly, hand still covering the mark on your neck.

“Yeah, I think so?” You murmured, eyes shifting uncertainly to his. “Would you take a look at this?”

Bob nodded, already moving towards you as you dropped your hand. Bob stopped moving as everyone else in the room took in a breath at the same time.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” You chuckled nervously, uneasy as everyone watched you intently. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What do you think it is?”

Your eyes roamed the room and you saw all eyes trained on your neck. Bradley had his jaw clenched and his nostrils were flaring with anger, Reuben and Javy had grim looks on their faces, Mickey and Bob looked concerned, and Nat looked like she was ready to strangle someone.

“Yeah,” Bob said finally, giving a poor attempt at a smile.

“It must just be some algae or something,” Reuben offered, glancing nervously at his friends.

“Probably nothing to worry about,” Javy nodded, giving you a smile that looked more like a grimace.

“You think so?” You asked them, shifting uneasily at the sudden tension in the room. Mickey nodded, standing up from where he sat.

“Of course!” He chirped, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the front door. “Now come on! Let’s go get something to eat, yeah?”

Two days later you were perched on Richard’s boat as he and Bob finished packing up their fishing gear.

“I hope we didn’t bore you too much!” Richard called from where he was taking a part his fishing rod. You turned, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the glaring sun as it began to set.

“Not at all!” You laughed. “It was nice to just get out here and relax, even if I was the only one in the water.”

Bob had worried after you most of the day when you told him you would be joining him and his father for their weekly fishing excursion.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go back in?” He had asked, eyes studying you for any sign of hesitation. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Yes, Bobby,” you teased, earning a less than amused look. “If I don’t go back as soon as possible, then I might never go back. I can’t let the fear win, right?”

And Bob had begrudgingly agreed, keeping a closer eye on you than his fishing pole much to his father’s chagrin. You had been fine, if not a little apprehensive at first. But the sea had welcomed you back, and you had embraced it happily. You swam until your fingers began to prune, and then you had settled on the deck of the boat, napping as you basked in the summer sun.

Now, the sun was sinking fast towards the horizon, and you stood up to stretch, feeling a pleasant buzz from the rays you had soaked up.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You offered, walking over to where Richard and Bob were still cleaning up from the day.

“Nah, we’ve got it,” Bob smiled up at you. “Just go have a seat and we’ll head back to shore here in a second, yeah?”

You hummed, slinking over to the cushions on the opposite end of the deck. You plopped down, resting your head back as you basked in the rocking of the waves. You could have used another nap.

“Do you kids have anything planned for tonight?” Richard asked, standing to head for the helm.

“I think we’re going to go have dinner with the gang,” Bob said, locking his tackle box and looking up at you. “Does that sound okay to you?”

“That sounds perfect,” you smiled, lolling your head to the side as as a warm breeze washed over you. Movement caught your eye, and you turned to where the door at the back of the boat was still opened, leading onto a ledge that you used to get in and out of the boat from the water. On the ledge sat several different shells. You stood, walking over to get a better look. You felt excitement swell as you took in the different whelk and calico shells. Scattered amongst the shells were different colored pearls, all shining in the dimming light.

“Bob, come look at this!” You called out excitedly. You heard his footsteps as he approached, crouching down next to you. You held one of the whelk shells out to him, practically vibrating in excitement. He took it from you, brow furrowing as he examined it.

“Aren’t these amazing?” You exclaimed, reaching down to grab some of the pearls. “These are some of the best specimens I’ve ever seen! And look at all of these pearls!”

Bob’s eyes shifted to your outstretched hand where you held five pearls of varying shapes, sizes, and colors sat.

“These are beautiful, aren’t they?” You continued, but then your excitement dimmed, turning into confusion as you looked back out at the water. “But, how did they get here?”

Bob stiffened next to you before standing, casting a look over his shoulder at his father. He turned back to you with a nervous smile.

“Must have been the current that brought them up,” he said. You frowned up at him.

“The current? But that doesn’t-”

“Hey, Dad!” Bob called, the older man popping up from where he was sitting at the steering wheel to the boat. “Are we ready to go yet? I’m starving!”

“Just waiting on you two!”

“Bob,” you started, but he gave you another smile.

“You’re hungry too, right? Why don’t you grab those and I’ll shoot a text to the groupchat and let them know we’re heading that way soon, yeah?”

Before you could respond, he turned around, walking off and leaving you still crouched by the ledge. You heaved a sigh, rolling your eyes as you began to collect the little treasures at your feet. Once you finished, you made sure the tiny door was latched closed before settling back into the cushions. You looked back out at the sea, swearing you heard the song from your dreams off in the distance.

“I’m telling you, they’re gonna hook up by the end of the summer,” Mickey laughed, popping another french fry into his mouth. Reuben scoffed, throwing his head back as the rest of the group smiled.

“I think my cousin has better taste than Garrett Fletch, Mickey,” the dark-skinned man fired back. Mickey raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“I don’t know, didn’t she hook up with Bradley last summer?”

“Hey!” Bradley exclaimed, earning a round of laughter from everyone as Reuben turned to fix him with a narrowed stare.

“You and Christina hooked up last summer?” He huffed. The tips of Bradley’s ears turned bright red as he gave his friend a sheepish smile.

“It’s not like anything really happened,” Bradley defended himself. “She dumped me almost immediately after.”

Reuben seemed to mull over his words before nodding firmly. “At least she has some sense.”

Bradley’s jaw dropped at the dig, and you fought against the soda in your mouth to prevent it from shooting out your nose. Bradley turned to you with a smirk.

“Oh you think that’s funny?” He teased, grinning at you. You nodded.

“Extremely,” you giggled. Bradley bit his bottom lip as he watched you and Reuben shook his head.

“Skipper, please have more sense than my cousin,” he sighed, looking at you. “Do not mess around with this fool.”

“She could do worse!” Bradley interjected, casting his friend a sideways glance.

“Speaking of worse,” Bob said with a scowl. “Where’s Jake?”

Bradley’s nostrils flared at the name, and Nat rolled her eyes.

“Same as usual,” she grumbled.

“Mandy is really laying it on thick this year, huh?” Reuben chortled, sipping his milkshake. A warm breeze floated in from the beach, providing a pleasant reprieve from the jam packed diner.

Mickey grimaced. “I mean, this is his third-”

Javy cleared his throat, cutting the other man off. He glanced your way, and Mickey smiled sheepishly.

“His third what?” You asked, looking around the table. Everyone refused to meet your gaze.

“His third year of dancing around the subject,” Nat offered quickly. Your brows furrowed.

“What subject?”

“Mandy and Jake have been practically engaged since they were babies,” Bradley said with an eye roll. “Mandy is all for it, but everyone around here knows that Jake’s never been thrilled with the idea.”

“He made it pretty clear years ago that he wasn’t going go with the plan if he could avoid it,” Javy chimed in with a sigh.

“Is it really that big a deal?” You asked them. Javy grimaced.

“It’s a good match,” he said simply. “They’re both from founding families, and they make the picture perfect couple.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you commented, earning a snort from Nat.

“Except Mandy is a nightmare human being,” she scoffed. “She’s rude, stuck up, selfish, and a textbook narcissist. Jake would be miserable.”

“So why doesn’t he just tell her no outright?”

“Because until recently,” Bradley huffed, eyes shifting to stare at the raised patch of skin on your neck with distaste, “he didn’t feel like he had any other options.”

Before you could ask any more questions, a terrified scream sounded from outside. All of you looked at each other before scrambling up out of your seats to head outside with the rest of the crowd. It was hard to see in the dark as you stumbled down the beach, but what you saw before you sent ice down your spine.

A woman was crying hysterically into her partner’s chest, the wind whipping her dress about her. Your eyes glanced down, seeing the twisted body of a young woman. Her skin was pale with a bluish tinge to it that made you nauseous. Her eyes were widened in terror, glazed over with a milky whiteness that made your food resurface. You barely had time to remove yourself from the crowd before you were on your knees, emptying the contents of your stomach into the sand.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you heard Nat shush you, stroking a hand up and down your back as you continued to vomit. She pulled your hair out of your face. “Let it out.”

“How are you so calm about this?” You asked her, watery gaze glancing up at her. Before she could answer, you saw several figures race down to where the crowd was gathered. A man with dark hair and a sheriff’s badge trotted down. He nodded at your group as he passed.

“Bradley.”

“Mav,” Bradley nodded back at him, lips pressed in a thin line. Behind “Mav,” two more figures came into view, flashlights scanning over the sand. One was older, about the same age as Mav, grey hair and weather-worn face. The other was tall, dark hair turning grey at the edges, and he had an air of seriousness about him. You saw Bob look around with wide, shock filled eyes at his friends.

“What is the FBI doing here?”

Tag List: @jakeseresinlover @haley-hotchner @queerqueenlynn @nicestgirlonline @dempy @fanficfandomlove @bobgasm @goldenseresinretriever @aworldwideapart @stoptaking-the-good-names @maximus890 @sky2nd @devil-angel-winchester @hopip99 @hookslove1592 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @uniquedreamlandcheesecake @imamomof8 @pietrothemovie @comicgollum20 @kmc1989 @mayhemmanaged @rhettsluvr @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @whyamiheresomeonehelp @na-ta-sh-aa @acarboni21 @tgmreader @blue-aconite @rosedurin

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #top gun hangman #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman seresin #hangman top gun #jake seresin imagine #mmats #meet me at the sea

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king-trollex-fangirl · 11 months

Text

Trollex x Melody x Floyd songs

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"It Will Rain" by Bruno Mars

"Loves and Lies" by Anthony Ramos

"Just a Dream" by Sam Tsui and Christine Grimmie

"Love Story" by Taylor Swift

"Be With You" by Mondays (ft Lucy)

"In The Name of Love" by Bebe Rexha and Martin Garrix

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Bonus!! ♥️♥️♥️💖💖💖💖

👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾

Cooper x Jussy x John Dory songs

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

"I Want You Back" by NSYNC

"You're In My Head Like a Catchy Song" by Pear Butter/Buttercup (from My Little Pony)

"Boyfriend" by Justin Bieber

"I Love U" by Loving Caliber

"What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction

"If I Can't Have You" by Shawn Mendes

Floyd/Cooper/John Dory/King Trollex belongs to DreamWorks

Jussy belongs to @jade-green-butterfly

Melody belongs to me

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cursedcupcakemaster · 2 months

Text

A continuation for a gift series for @melodyseashell22 for her oc Melody

Warnings:implied deaths, blood, eating of human flesh(idk if you can call it cannibalism with them being merpeople ), Bonnie is implied to "help" the twins sometimes

Notes:I don't own Melody Seashell she belongs to @melodyseashell22 or any of twisted wonderlands characters they belong to Disney and Yana Tobosos wonderful mind , Floyd is Melodys boyfriend in this, I only own Celine and Bonnie

Type:Poison candy apple

Yandere Floyd Leech x Melody Seashell

Eat or be eaten pt 2

Melody wasn't used to asking for what she wanted without someone yelling at her for her entire life. Ordinarily it wouldn't be so bad but she couldn't exactly take what she wanted without consequences, after all many societies frowned upon it.

Melody sighed to herself as she wrote her notes. She really hopes the class would end so she could at least take care of the hunger pangs. Within a good thirty minutes she was allowed to leave and find a spot to take out some snacks her friends had made for her. While she enjoyed Celines' sweets unfortunately they weren't enough this time, this time she needed something much more filling. Melodys thoughts raced through her mind until a certain tall eel approached her. "Angelfish is sad why~ ?" Floyd questioned his usual smile adorning his lips.

"J just a lot on my mind Floyd " Melody explained

Floyd sat by Melody pulling her a bit closer.

"You can tell me angelfish~ " Floyd crooned

"Well you remember our last date right?" She asked twiddling her fingers a bit as a blush coated her cheeks before Floyd raised a brow

"Yeah?"

"Well it was really good and I-" she trailed off but Floyd smiled again

"You want more right?~" he snickered

"Y yes"

"Well angelfish I can give you more~ I know someone who can help us out ~" Floyd said clearly happy he made something she enjoyed, taking her hand in his he lead her to the mirrors going through the one that led to Heartslabyul

Melody wasn't sure why Floyd took her here but she had a feeling he had a good reason once she saw a familiar scarlet eyed blondie sharpening a pair of scissors

"Well if it isn't my favorite eels~ how are you Melody, Floyd?~" she giggled

"We need a little help~ think you can?~" Floyd asked before Bonnie cocked her head to the side

"Oh?~ what kind of help Floyd?"

"The inviting someone to dinner kind~ know anyone?~ "

At this Bonnie's smile only seemed to widen

"Why not one of Horsts old friends~ I'm sure they'd like to make up for being jerks~ " the scarlet eyed young woman suggested

"What?" Melody was confused she knew Horst and his gang weren't sorry even after he was found with his throat torn out and ripped to bits now why would one be sorry enough to accept a dinner invitation and Bonnie who saw this only gave her a smile

"Don't worry Melody I'm fairly convincing ~" Bonnie promised

Later that night Floyd was excited, he had even made himself look nice just for Melody

Said girl soon made her way to the lounge which Azul had agreed to allowing herself and Floyd to have the place to themselves since it would be after hours and he had his own buisness to attend

Jade had been kind enough to cook for them smiling as he brought the two their supper

Unfortunately there was no sign of her former bully in sight

"You know you can start eating angelfish I'm sure he won't mind~"

The smell was certainly maddening so Melody started eating

It was amazing just like before but there was still no sign of the boy

As Melody kept eating she felt something in her mouth before pulling it out and found a small bone

The bone resembled that of the smallest part of the finger on one's hand

It was then Melodys face seemed to go pale

"You remember what I said right angelfish?" Floyd asked quietly

"Floyd you didnt- " she started

"No Jade did but I couldn't let you go hungry" Floyd admitted

Melody looked down before the male continued

"He was already a horrible person, Melody he had to go, it's not as bad since we aren't like them" Floyd insisted with a dark smile

Melody looked at the floor before Floyd spoke again

"You don't have to feel bad angelfish, you'll never have to worry about this since thats my job so you can eat as much as you want ~" Floyd cooed at her as he walked behind Melody nuzzling her cheek before the girl picked up the fork and took another bite

#twisted wonderland oc #friends oc #Floyd leech #Floyd x melody #melody seashell #octavinelle #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney #yandere floyd leech #My ocs #Bonnie Hattleaxe #Celine Perrine #Heartslabyul cameo #Mermaids #dark fantasy #eel mermaid

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cannedpickledpeaches · 5 months

Text

The Drive Home

Floyd Leech x Reader

Notes: Haven’t finished the side stories for Insert Your Name so here’s some Floyd angst while you wait.

Somehow or the other, over the years, you’ve become Floyd’s designated driver.

You’re good friends, so of course you go to the same parties. You don’t drink, so of course he needs someone reliable and sober to take him home . . . if he isn’t going home with a new friend. The latter happened often enough in university that you only showed up to events when he was too hammered to leave with anyone else.

You never bothered to learn about his more personal life. It wouldn’t be too weird to ask—he’s happy to volunteer information unprompted, regardless—but you simply aren’t interested. You’re his childhood friend. It would feel almost gross to like him when his parents’ home welcomes you as warmly as your own. Jade and Floyd are just like your annoying brothers, that’s all.

You’re also really good at convincing yourself.

When you were young and fueled by emotion in high school, you constantly dreamed about Floyd if he was the perfect boyfriend. One who was attentive, fun, and loyal. One who would treat you as someone special, who would never get bored and cast you aside. One who would devote his entire being to you.

Maturing is realizing that’s just not Floyd. And you can respect that. Maturing is understanding that no matter how much your heart likes him, that fairytale prince you conjured in your daydreams with his face doesn’t exist. Maturing is realizing just because you like him doesn’t mean he’s good for you.

But you still like him. You tried, but you can’t change that.

Neon letters flicker and cast their light over the interior of your car as you wait in the driver’s seat. After graduating from university, he moved on from frat parties to clubs. Even while parked by the curb, you can hear the booming music thrumming in your steering wheel. The bass pulses like a second heartbeat.

A tall silhouette stumbles to the door on the passenger side. Neon pinks and purples from the sign behind him light up the flyaways in his messy hair. When he opens the door, the stench of alcohol crashes into you the same way he crashes into the seat. The cologne swirling around in the headache-inducing miasma doesn’t help in the slightest.

“You stink.” To alleviate your nostrils, you roll the windows down. The muted music transitions into a different song with the exact same beat. “I’m thinking about kicking you out and making you walk home.”

“Don’t do that, s’not nice.” His words sound as though his tongue has lost half its flexibility. “Ya’ve got your best friend in your car! Would never dream of doin’ somethin’ so mean, wouldya?”

“If you throw up over the seats, I’m kicking you out. Too bad my best friend isn’t worth cleaning up whatever’s in your stomach right now.”

“Won’t throw up.” His snicker ends in a groan. It takes him several tries to secure his seatbelt. “Fuck. Feel like the world’s spinnin’.”

You pull out a plastic bag from the glove compartment and shove it in his lap.

For a good stretch of the drive, he’s content with humming to himself. You don’t play music in case it makes his headache worse. He makes enough noise to fill the car anyway. His off-tune humming switches through several melodies, some you recognize, some you don’t.

The humming fades into silence. At a stop light, you glance at Floyd to make sure he’s okay. His eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones. You think he’s asleep until his eyes flash open and he gives you a grin.

“Eyes on the road.”

“Just making sure you didn’t kick the bucket.” You catch a glimpse of a red stain on the right side of his Adam’s apple. Your gut twists unpleasantly. “If you’re gonna sleep, turn your face to the right.”

“Why? Y’don’t wanna see my handsome face or what?”

You look forward as the light turns green. “No, you told me to keep my eyes on the road. I just don’t want you transferring those lipstick stains onto the seats.”

“Ain’t gotta be salty that you don’t get laid.” You don’t need to look at him to hear the grin in his voice.

“That’s because I have standards.”

“Like what?”

“Something higher than ‘has a hole.’”

He clicks his tongue playfully. “Jealousy ain’t cute on ya.”

You’re aware. Painfully so. Jealousy feels ugly, gnarled, like a twisting mess of poisoned vines reaching insidious tendrils through your veins. They eventually follow your veins back to your heart, squeezing its walls with every lipstick stain you see on his skin. The wish to possess, to confine him in your clutches when the thing he hates above all others is to be tied down—that isn’t cute in the slightest.

Maturing is keeping the worst thoughts inside. A mature adult like you won’t throw a tantrum or cry dramatically in front of him. No, a mature adult like you can do that in the privacy of your room.

“What’s cute on me, then?” You swallow hard. He won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow. Probably. Not when there are so many other, more interesting conversations from the club to remember.

Awkward silence fills the car. Your fingers leave sweat on the steering wheel. Focusing on the road might help distract you from the odd pause from his ever-present noise.

“Your hands.”

You very nearly step hard on the gas by accident. You weren’t expecting an answer at all, much less this one.

“Why? Is that a fetish, or . . . .”

He barks a laugh. “Nah, who knows?”

“Ew. I’ll kick you out.” Both of you know you won’t. If you’re being honest, you’re a little flattered that he thinks your hands are cute, even if it’s in a platonic way. “Why my hands?”

“Dunno. Just the part of ya I was lookin’ at when y’asked.”

Now that’s an odd answer. At a stop light, you look at him again. His sleepy eyes meet yours, and a lazy grin tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I told you to face your right.”

“Right, right.” He sticks his tongue out, but doesn’t oblige. “How’m I s’posed to give ya a proper answer when I’m not s’posed to look atcha?”

“You can’t think of cute things about me if you aren’t looking at me?” You scoff, turning onto a side street. Almost there. “Think of me in your head or something.”

“My head can’t do ya justice.”

Your heart almost skips a beat. Almost. Because you think of all the other people he’s said those words to. All of a sudden, you feel much less special.

Childhood friends. Maturing is understanding that is all you are, and that is all you will ever be, and that you will never, ever be in a relationship with Floyd Leech unless you want it to come crashing down in infinitesimal pieces.

“I like your eyes, too. Always lyin’.” He laughs. “The eyes of a liar, that’s what ya got. But I like them more this way.”

“Doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“Well, it is.” His chuckles fade into the ambient rumbling of the car for a few moments before he starts rambling. “I like your laugh, too. And the way ya come to pick me up even when ya complain. And when ya scoff when I do somethin’ nice for ya, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell you’re happy anyway. And your nose when it scrunches up. It gets red when it’s cold.”

“Most people’s noses get red when it’s cold.” You choose to ignore everything else he said.

“Not mine.”

“Most humans.”

It’s the novelty that attracts him. You’d have thought that after living with humans all this time, the novelty of flushed skin would have worn off, but it’s hard to tell with Floyd.

“Wouldya like me more if I was human?”

His voice is nearly lost in the humming of the car. You keep your eyes straight ahead. Vaguely, you wish there was more traffic in this side street. Something to keep your mind off the odd vulnerability in his voice.

“I like you the most the way you are,” you say, and it’s the truth. No matter what he is, human or mer or otherwise, you like Floyd as himself. You’ve fallen in love with a natural disaster, and you only barely have enough sense not to throw yourself in the midst of it. The winds would shred you apart. You desperately struggle against the part of your mind that whispers: at least you would have had it once before being destroyed.

But you’re older and more mature now. You won’t indulge that emotional side of you.

You stop outside his home and put the car in park. “We’re here. Get out of my car.”

A mix between a groan and a whine drags itself out of his throat. The alcohol might be making him woozy, but he can walk to his door just fine. You won’t need to help him anymore than this.

He unfastens his seatbelt and leans over to you. The hug he gives you is so uncoordinated, it feels like he’s simply throwing his weight onto you, his arms flopping uselessly.

“Thanks,” he says a little too loudly for his mouth to be next to your ear. “See ya ‘round.”

“Don’t ask me to pick you up again.”

“Ya say that every time.” He laughs again. Laughter always hides just under his tongue when he drinks. “Ya still come when I call.”

“I won’t anymore.” You don’t mean it.

He waves off your remark and plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You stiffen, but you’re sure he’s too drunk to notice. With a boisterous farewell, he stumbles out of your car and disappears beyond his front door, leaving the ghost of his kiss on your skin.

You hate being a mature adult. If you weren’t, maybe you would’ve called after him. You might’ve rolled down the window all the way and pulled on his collar, yanking him close enough to kiss him on the lips. Consequences be damned, caution to the wind, whatever else they say about being young and reckless. But you’re a mature adult, and the best you can do for both of you is watch as he leaves.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst x reader #twst fanfic #floyd leech #twst floyd #floyd leech x reader #older au

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ghostieyanyan · 1 year

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Hey I really like the secret musician Mc, could I request Yan Jamil and Azul reacting?

yesss i love those two so much. But since I just did the octavinelle, I’m gonna to do scarabia, if that’s okay.

i admit that this is probably not my proudest work but i do like the ideas in it. maybe ill re write it in the future but honestly i don't have much brain capacity to re read this again and check it again. (I've done that so many time that im so tired of see this in my drafts, im so sorry xD

~Musical!mc~

Yan!Kalim x mc

Yan!Jamil x mc

Warning: yandere, obsessive nature, slight-nsfw, drugs mention (in art form), kidnapping mention,

~~~~~

Kalim

Kalim actual found out that you can sing first, Jamil wasnt happy that kalim found out first but what can you do?

He was on his way to the ramshackle dorm to invite you and Grim to a party he was throwing at Scarabia. He was really excited about it. Going through all his plans in his head. They were gonna get colorful balloons and fun games, lots of food and dancing.

But in the middle of his through, he stopped and heard something, a sweet melody. He's heard the melody before but the lyrics were new. but where is it coming from?

Like having no sense of dangerous, he started to look around for the reason. And then he saw you… through a window.

You were cleaning in the Ramshackle and singing as you did so. He was mesmerized, like he was getting hypnotized or charmed. then it clicked! That’s why he’s heard it before! He caught you humming the melody before when you and grim decided to support Ace, Jamil, and Floyd in their basketball game.

It’s was before they were playing and everyone was just getting into their seats. Since he got a special seating, where there's lot of room, vip seating, he offered a seat or 2 for you and grim. He was playing with grim when he heard it for a second. It was too short and too loud in the gym to process the melody but boy does it sounded nice. And its been in his head for a long while. He might have even tried to copy the melody or try to continue but he couldn’t, it didn’t feel right. But with how you sang it, it was just perfect! Your melody to him was like a siren calling him closer, until it’s practically trying to crawl inside.

When you finally noticed him with a quick scream. Kalim had to apologize and had to ask how you didn’t tell him about your musical talents? You should join the music club! Everyone will love you. If you tell him you were shy or that you don’t like the idea of performing in front of others. He’ll be insistent on helping you and tell you that you’re amazing. He’ll even bring the music club to show you. You be a star!

To be honest, he was 50/50 on wanting you to share you talent but he also want you to be his personal song bird. He’ll feel guilty about keeping you to himself but he’s spoiled… he doesn’t know what to do~~~

He asked Jamil on what he thoughts, can who would know him better than his best friend!!

~~~~~

Jamil

Jamil hated everything of this. How didn’t he noticed you could sing?! And how did Kalim find out before him? Has he been that busy and oblivious? Not fair. But he can’t worry about that now, now he has to worry about kalim wanting you! No, you are his! But he did want to hear you sing… he had to make a plan.

He decided that he’ll “stop by” just to see if you’ll sing for him. Which is very childish but he'd rather do a 1 on 1 sessions than the entirety of the music club taking you or even kalim being near you. Kalim has had you long enough!

If you are too shy to sing in front of jamil, he might encourage you by singing together. He does know he has a pretty silky smooth singing voice. You two would sound perfect together, like it was meant to be.

Your voice is like a snake charmer to him. Hell, do whatever you want and take care of you. He'd honestly wish you were his master instead. But he also like the idea of being the one in control. You're his so its only fair of you'll only sing for him. He'll love to sing more together. He'll love to fall asleep with you in his arms, singing him a melody that will melt his stress away as he dreams about having a life with you in his dreams

He has fallen for you so hard that he just wants to run away with you. Travel the world and see amazing places. You two will be a power couple! If there’s trouble, he’s prefect to fix it. Food, safety, awareness, smart, good looking, handsome, is there anything Jamil cant do? The only problem is that he needs you to fall for him. If you fall for him then everything will fall to place, perfectly. He would have to be tempted to hurt anyone who got too close. But thats a lot of variables in this situation, but he can handle it. He will handle anything for you. Jamil will move mountains for you. Or mind control someone strong enough to move it.

But for right now, what he allows himself to do, without being too suspicious, is whenever you come over to Kalim’s crazy childish parties, he’ll take you away for the last quarter of the party and have you sing for him. Just him. It’s enough time for no one to notice and if anyone ask? You’re using the restroom. Or you went to get some food or a drink. No one will notice a thing. Even kalim, with his puppy dog personality, will be distracted by the party. Kalim won't mind if you become his...

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merakiui · 1 year

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Hi merakiui! For the lunar love hotel if it's alright can I get a cherry wine and red velvet cupcakes with floyd leech with an AFAB reader, please?

yandere!floyd leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, cunnilingus, brief mention of pregnancy, serial killer floyd au note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

Your back slams into the floor with a harsh, spine-cracking thump, and pinpricks of pain explode within your skull. The kitchen knife is centimeters from your face, driven into the wood flooring so deeply that it splinters from the sheer force, and you surmise he’s put it there intentionally. It’s a very easy trap. Unfortunately, you’re too petrified to fall for it.

You stare up at a face bathed in shadows, nerves alight with fight or flight, and watch in muted horror as he tugs the surgical mask from his face to show you his needle-toothed grin. Though his hair is dyed Stygian and he’s wearing colored contacts—twin pools of the prettiest blue—this is undeniably Floyd Leech. You’d recognize that creeping, crawling lilt in his voice any day because it’s stuck with you ever since you first met him, carved into your being like a terrible tattoo or a melody you can never forget. And it’s remained in the corners of your brain ever since news of his escape shook the city, a constant reminder that one day his voice wouldn’t be so far away.

Today is that day.

“S’no fun if you let me catch ya right away,” he says, peering around your dimly lit bedroom. “Your place’s reeeal nice. Much nicer than the cell. Shame ya never invited me.” He’s pouting now, scuffing his sneaker against the floor as if he’s a child whining about a lack of dessert. “Shrimpy’s so mean, excludin’ me from your life like that…”

You’re at a loss, opening and closing your mouth like a beached fish, eyes blown impossibly wide. He doesn’t look particularly livid, but then there’s manic glee shimmering in his azure hues and that’s far more terrifying than any anger he could harbor.

I have to call for help. I have to run away. I can’t let him kill me. I have to—

“Hey, hey. Whatcha thinkin’ about?” He bends down to inspect your eyes as they travel towards the handle of the knife. “You wanna kill me, Shrimpy? Put me back in that cold, cramped cell?” He tilts his head, amusement waltzing across fearsome features. “Have fun tryin’. I ain’t goin’ back now that I got ya all to myself.”

“F-Floyd… How did you—” You swallow thickly, flinching away when he drops to his knees to trap you between sturdy arms. You scoot away, propped up on your elbows, and the gears in your brain are turning in an attempt to work out a hasty escape. “W-Why are you here?”

Keep him talking. Pretend it’s an interview. Silence leads to stagnation, and Floyd loves talking when he’s in the mood.

“I told ya, didn’t I? Soon as I’m gettin’ out I’m comin’ to find ya.” His fingers curl around the handle of the knife and he yanks it up from the floor. “Ya never answered my question, y’know.”

“Your proposal?” You stare at him in disbelief. All of this…just for a reply to a yes-no question. He can’t be serious.

“Ah, that’s the one! Shrimpy remembers!”

He is. Very serious, apparently.

“What happens if I agree?” you ask slowly, taking great caution to structure the sentence just right, lest you offend him and find that blade stabbed through your skull. “We can’t get married the normal way.”

“Normal’s borin’ anyway.” With that same dopey smile, he narrows his eyes, reels his arm back, and throws the knife directly at the wall beyond. You don’t see it burrow into the wall, but you hear it. It's explosive in the stifling quiet of the bedroom. Floyd gazes at you, smiling sincerely. “See? No more knife. I’m gonna be good for Shrimpy if Shrimpy’s gonna be good for me.”

“Right… R-Right. Okay. I’ll be good. Can I… Can I stand up now? The floor isn’t very comfortable.”

“Okaaay!” He pulls away, rises to his full hulking height, and offers his hand. Gingerly, you place yours in his and he lifts you up. “S’nice to touch ya without the cuffs.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Floyd.” Like always, you speak directly, firmly, gently. He stares at you, a strange shadow passing over his face. “What happens if I agree to marry you?”

“You’ll become Mrs. Shrimpy. Duh.”

“Okay… And you won’t hurt anyone? If I become Mrs. Shrimpy, you have to promise.” Floyd’s gaze strays. You lift your hand to his face to guide him back to you. His hand closes around yours, and there is an uncanny softness to his face that reflects something tame. He’s almost…innocent like this, leaning into your palm like an oversized puppy desperate for affection and attention. And to think this is the same man who could be so mercilessly cutthroat. “You have to promise me, Floyd. No hurting others. No matter how difficult it gets—no matter how angry or upset you become—you can’t hurt people.”

He frowns as if it’s an unreasonable plea.

“Promise me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Floyd.”

“I promise,” he mumbles and then exaggerates an obnoxious sigh, his shoulders drooping. “Shrimpy’s really wringin’ me dry here. Then if I’m promisin’ to be a goody-goody, you gotta promise to marry me, ‘kay?”

“I promise.” You force a wobbly smile as your stomach churns.

This is sickening. There has to be some way out of this. Maybe it’s possible to distract him long enough to make a run for it…

Floyd lights up at your acquiescence and wraps his arms around you in an embrace that would have felt bone-crushing if you hadn’t already prepared yourself for the brunt of his aggressive affection. You consider the situation while he buries his face in the crook of your neck, humming his happiness.

Surely he wouldn’t come here without a plan. What happens if I do manage to get out or call for help? Or is he planning to take me somewhere else? Is he even here to kill me? But then he was so focused on the marriage proposal and—

Your thoughts come to an abrupt halt when Floyd, still hugging you, drags you over to your bed and shoves you onto the mattress. It depresses under his weight when he climbs onto it next, hastily kicking his sneakers off and shucking his hooded sweatshirt in the process to reveal well-toned musculature. The once joyous glaze in his eyes mellows into something predatory, and it occurs to you that he isn’t here for a response to a question. Upon recognizing this, your heart plummets into your stomach.

There were two things Floyd pestered you with when you’d visit him for interviews. How you managed to blot the second demand from your brain is beyond you, but it becomes abundantly clear when he seizes your ankles just as you attempt to crawl out from under his looming shadow.

“W-Wait… What are you—”

“Don’t go anywhere, Shrimpy!” He squeezes just hard enough to warn you, and even though it doesn’t hurt the implication that it eventually will should you defy him has you wincing. “Aw. Don’t be scared. I’m not scary, yeah?”

You stare helplessly at him. He’s smiling, face flushed with wicked excitement. “Floyd, I don’t want—stop! Let go of me!” A rough hand traces its way up to the waistband of your shorts, and his fingers curl around it. Your eyes widen with newfound terror. “No, no, no! Let go of me! Stop! Stop, stop, stop—”

An unknown darkness passes over your face for a fraction of a second, and then his hand is covering it entirely, squeezing ruthlessly. His nails dig into the plush of your cheeks, and through the crack between his fingers you spy his hateful expression. It’s murder and death all at once, so frightful you wonder if this is the same face he showed all of his past victims.

“You promised to be good,” he says, voice devoid of the warmth it once held. “I like Shrimpy’s voice, so don’t make me take it.” Those last few words are spoken in low, threatening octaves.

“Please don’t do this,” you whisper, voice cracking. “P-Please, Floyd…”

“Why not? You’re my wife now, and when you’re engaged you gotta show your love nice and proper.”

Your eyes find the knife lodged in the wall. It’s impossible to get to it without Floyd’s quick interception, and even if it was in your grasp you’re not sure you’d have the courage to hurt him. As much as you despise him, he’s still human—a foolish excuse, for he’s a serial killer on death row, and therefore it shouldn’t matter whether or not you hurt him. After all, he’s hurt dozens. And he’s hurting you.

But despite that…

His hand withdraws from your face, and the intimidating aura that surrounded him earlier vanishes at once. “I got lotsa practice at lunch. It was lame to do it on fruit, but I pretended it was Shrimpy and it became really fun!” He giggles at the recollection, shaking his head as if it’s a silly topic. And it would have been if it weren’t for the circumstances. “I’ve wanted ya so bad. Always. So fuckin’ bad it hurt.”

He tugs your shorts down to your ankles, leaning down to press a kiss just above your navel. You catch his eyes as he does this and a sly smirk curls onto his face.

“And now I get to have ya.”

“Please don’t…”

But he may as well be deaf, for your pleas never reach his ears. Floyd kisses his way to your hips, tugging your panties down as he goes. You stiffen at the way the cool air settles on your bare skin, and he laughs breathlessly, exhilaration reflected in wide, eager eyes. As a last-ditch effort you attempt to shut your legs, but he grabs them and throws them over his shoulders to lock himself in place between your thighs. You squirm restlessly beneath him while he studies your pussy, his warm breath ghosting over it.

“Aah? Shrimpy’s so cute, shavin’ just for me.” Mirth-filled eyes flick to yours. “You don’t hafta, y’know. I don’t mind if Shrimpy’s hairy. No matter what, Shrimpy’s always gonna be pretty to me.”

“Don’t look!” Shakily, you slide your hand down to shield it from his view.

And I didn’t shave it for you! you want to add, but the words just won’t come.

His fingers knead your thighs encouragingly, and he leans in to nose your knuckles. “Aww. But it’s really so pretty.” He winks at you, playful. “A pretty pussy for my pretty Shrimpy.”

A potent concoction of embarrassment and shame flares red-hot under your skin. There’s a sick part of you that preens under his filthy praise. You strangle fistfuls of the sheets in your other hand to ground yourself. He’s not attractive. He’s a criminal. But even with those reminders you find yourself clinging to his words out of some carnal instinct.

“Stop… Stop talking.”

He giggles and leans in to lick a wet stripe along your fingers, enticing you to separate them. You shake your head at him, mumble another objection, but he refuses to have any of that. Floyd pinches your thigh and you grimace at the sharp, stinging pain. It’s enough of a temporary distraction because his tongue slides past the part in your fingers to prod at your clitorial hood. The warm muscle flicks, almost like a snake catching a scent, and presses up against the hood to lap at the nub that resides there. The breath sticks in your throat and you retract your hand, your heart skipping one too many beats within your ribs.

He braces himself against you, hands splayed across your inner thighs to keep you perfectly spread. Floyd angles his head in a way that allows him to affix his lips to your slit, and at first it feels like a wet, sloppy smooch when the flat part of his tongue laves across it. But then his tongue is sliding away, slowly circling your clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, and you throw your head back against the bed, the breath punched out of you. He pats your thigh in what you think might be a consoling gesture, and you respond with a shiver. A subdued groan just barely manages to slip past puffy, bitten lips, and it occurs to you that you’ve been chewing them this entire time. Iron thickens in your mouth, and you swallow both blood and moans as Floyd’s enthusiastic ministrations draw more reedy sounds from the depths of your throat.

Tears gather upon your lash line, and for a moment all you see is the ceiling as salty liquid obscures it. But then you blink them away and hazard a glimpse at Floyd, whose head is still between your legs. Salacious squelches of tongue on flesh join your soft, needy gasps, mingling into a duet so lewd it fills your brain with thoughts of pure obscenity. And at the very center of it all, Floyd is all you can think about.

It’s your fingers carding through his hair that momentarily breaks Floyd from his rhythm. He doesn’t stop; rather, he hums his delight against you after realizing you’re touching him and the vibrations fill you much like the thick tongue forcing its way inside tight, gummy walls. You’re tugging on obsidian locks, battling chagrin and pleasure all at once, and he seems to enjoy the rough treatment, for he groans into you, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs.

At some point, amidst every enjoyable sensation that crashes into you, his thumb finds your clit to massage harsh circles against it while two slender fingers curl up inside you alongside his tongue. You’re trembling now, digging your fingers into his scalp to brace yourself, as you rock against his face and sob as if mourning. It feels so, so good—much better than when you’d do it with your own fingers and toys—and all you can manage is incoherency as his fingers work you open and his tongue slurps up your slick. Every little touch, hum, and stroke has something building in your gut, a ferocious, coiling sort of heat that’s pulled unbearably taut.

And with one particularly rough grind of his thumb it snaps, and you howl your relief as you gush all over his handsome face. Floyd licks you through it, laughing against your pussy, before drawing back to inhale deeply. His fingers slide out of you with ease, but you lament the emptiness. Bathed in the amber glow from the bedside lamp, Floyd’s features shimmer with wetness.

He licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste of you in his mouth, wipes your juices from his brow, and sighs dreamily. “Shrimpy’s much better than a grapefruit!”

You have a retort for that, surely, but it never leaves your swollen lips. Floyd lowers your legs onto the bed and you remain sprawled, unable to do much other than watch. He’s quick to slip his sweatpants and boxers off while you recover from the high of your orgasm, your chest heaving. And before you can even think to stop him, the soft, fleshy head of his hard, leaking cock presses against your slick folds, and you, delirious with mounting lust, peer up at him through glazed hues. You don’t have the energy to protest because in the back of your mind you know he won’t listen and you’re too boneless to put up much of a fight.

Floyd beams like the brightest sun, serrated teeth on full display in that boyishly toothy grin he does so well. “Hope you’re ready for triplets cuz that’s what I’m givin’ ya!”

You’re not ready—not in the slightest—but you’ll have to be.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere floyd x reader #yandere floyd #serial killer floyd #tw: pregnancy mention #tw: noncon #n/sfw #lunar love hotel 2023

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