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agreeewrites · 3 months ago

Note

CONGRATS ON HITTING 1K, you deserve all the love you're getting and more <3333 for your celebration could i get a thousand stitches with bill? Your writing of him has been completely brilliant, i love the way you characterise him <333

hi my darling!!! thank you much!! I'm so grateful you're here and I hope you enjoy 🫶

1000 stitches | B.W.

feat. Bill Weasley x reader

cw: MDNI 18+, injuries and blood, near-death experience, early stages of werewolf!Bill , love confessions

masterlist

The sun crested the horizon, shades of violet, clementine, and rose, and still, Bill and the others hadn't returned from Hogwarts.

The full moon lingered at the edge of the sky, obstinate in its refusal to dip below the trees. You'd begged Bill not to go out while the moon hung bloated in the sky, an unusual, ominous shade of red.

But he'd gone anyways. Which was fair, you supposed; he wasn't yours to order about. You weren't a couple, despite the simmering tension between you, heightened by the deep connection you’d forged through over a decade of friendship and work and suffering and joy.

You'd loved him all your life, and he wouldn't be Bill Weasley, the man that held your heart hostage, if he didn't plunge headlong into danger, especially where his family was concerned.

Always eager for the hunt.

It was Harry, Lupin, and Tonks that arrived back first, bloodied and beaten, singed by the glancing blow of curses.

Molly ran out to them, screaming for her children, but Remus was quick to assuage her.

“They're right behind us��Molly, you must—Molly listen to me,” Remus snapped, shaking her gently. “Ron and Ginny are fine, but Bill—Greyback got a hold of him.”

You clutched the rusted porch railing of the safe house, limbs going numb as the blood drained from your brain.

“He's alive, but barely,” Remus continued, keeping Molly upright by sheer force of will. “And we don't know if he was—”

“Bitten,” you finished, your voice little more than a whimper. Remus looked up at you, nodding solemnly.

He looked like he was going to say something further, when the others suddenly apparated into the clearing. Ginny ran straight into the house, shouting for the medic assigned to the safe house. Ron and Neville held a body between them, the figure limp as a freshly killed stag and twice as bloody.

Bill.

Your ears began to ring, a monotonous, consuming sound, drowning out all of the shouting. You couldn't breathe.

Was he breathing?

You took a sip of air, lungs burning. You'd breathe for him.

Remus grabbed hold of Molly, keeping her out of the way as they carried Bill into the house. Up the stairs and towards you, five steps away, three, one—Ron caught your eye as they passed, looking for too guilty for a boy of only 18, but he quickly looked away, struggling under the weight of his much larger brother.

More members of the Order ran out to help carry him, relieving the boys of the burden, and you could only stand there, staring down at the twin smears of blood where Bill's feet had dragged across the threshold. Staining the stone forever.

Tonks was speaking to you, her hands on your shoulders, but you couldn't hear her, could only stare at the red, red, so much red. Too much red. How could he have anything left?

“We need more hands!” You heard someone call, the words filtering in through the din in your mind.

Hands, hands. You had hands, you could help.

“Tonks—”

“I don't think that's a good idea—”

“We don't have a choice,” Remus said, gently nudging Tonks aside and cupping your face. You forced your eyes to focus on his forehead, his crooked nose, his scars, his eyes. “Can you do this?” Remus asked.

“I-I can,” you affirmed, your voice sounding far away. Like someone else had spoken through your mouth.

“Good, let's go.”

It took more than five hours to stitch all of Bill's wounds. He'd been savaged, butchered, by Greyback. Almost unrecognizable under the swelling and bruising and gore.

The fact that he survived was nothing short of a miracle.

No one was sure if he'd been bitten. There was one wound on his right thigh that looked suspicious to Remus, but Bill was in too fragile a state for them to test anything.

So you waited, and waited, and waited. Four days of burning fever. Four days of changing head-to-toe bandages. Four days of ladling broth between his chapped lips. Four days of praying to anyone that would listen to spare him. To bring him back to you.

You knew he'd be different, no one suffered an attack like that and remained the same, but you knew that you'd love him anyways. The scars on his skin would pale in comparison to the scars left on his psyche, and you would find whatever strength you needed to help him through it.

You'd stitch him together with your own muscle and bone if you needed to.

On the fifth day, many of his wounds had finally healed down to pearlescent, puffy scars thanks to the medics magic. Deep gauges littered his torso and arms, creating new dips and valleys along the lean muscles of his body, a topographical map you could study for eons. The slashes across his face was healing better than anyone dared hoped, and he finally was beginning to look like Bill again.

But the wound on his thigh remained stubborn, pulpy as rotten fruit and refusing to knit together, growing more putrid the more magic that was thrown at it.

An uneasyness settled over the house. No longer a question of will he wake up, but what will wake up.

On the seventh day, Bill woke up screaming.

You were in the kitchen, helping Neville prepare the evening meal, when a roar shook the cedar bones of the old house.

You dropped the dish in your hands with a crash, roast and root vegetables exploding all over the grubby tile floor, and leapt over it, flying up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Tonks caught you at the end of the hall, grabbing you by the arms. “He's asking for you, but you have to—y/n, listen to me,” she snapped, and you stilled, coiled and ready to flee. “You have to be careful—that kind of trauma…he might not be the Bill you love.”

“I don't care.” You yanked free from her hold and dashed down the hallway. You burst into the room Bill was being kept in, a white-washed guest room on the quieter, darker end of the house, and found Ron, Arthur, and Remus desperately trying to restrain a frantic Bill on the bed.

“Where is she?” He bellowed.

You shoved Ron aside and flung your arms around Bill's neck, throwing your weight on him in the hopes of keeping him down.

“I'm here, I'm right here,” you soothed, not bothering to hold back the tears of relief streaming down your face and into his ruddy hair.

He groaned low in his chest, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and heaving a deep breath. His knotted muscles immediately went lax, and he looped an arm around your waist, hauling you into the bed with him. You were shocked at how much strength he still had after a week of bed rest.

“There you are,” he whispered, a throaty purr against your pulse. He drew another deep inhale, nose pressed against your jugular, and you suppressed a shiver.

“Are you alright? You didn't tear anything open—”

“Don't care,” he said, his lips charting a scalding path up your neck, days of stubble scratching mercilessly against the tender skin.

“Bill,” you argued, a fire sparking in your lower belly. You tried to push back a bit from his hold so you could inspect his bandages, could escape the intoxicating effect of his newfound affection. His grip tightened, bordering on painful, and a rumble resounded from the barrel of his chest. Something carnal, possessive, and you immediately dissolved back into his arms. Helpless to resist him.

“A ripped stitch isn't going to kill me,” he mumbled into the downy space behind your ear, his voice so much softer than whatever beast had been roused moments ago.

“Bill, we really need to do a full examination,” Remus interrupted gently. “What you've gone through—”

“It can wait,” Bill snarled, glaring at Remus over your shoulder. “Now get the fuck out.”

You gasped, shocked by his crude language, the aggressive edge to his voice. Bill was hardly the delicate sort, but you'd never seen him be outright hostile. Especially not towards his friends and family.

“Bill,” Remus said, hardening his voice.

“Please, just let them check you,” you whispered, stroking his cheek. “It'll give me and your family peace of mind.”

His eyes fluttered closed as you soothed him, his breathing leveling out. From bestial to docile in the span of a few heartbeats. “Only if you stay,” he answered finally, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I'm not going anywhere,” you assured, and he finally let you untangle yourself.

The medic came in first, checking all of his stitches and his vitals. Besides the wound on his leg, he was mostly healed, just some soreness and a slightly elevated temperature and heart rate.

His hand only left your body when the doctor needed it for something, otherwise he maintained contact through the entire examination.

You weren't sure what it meant, this sudden clinginess. If it was the trauma of almost dying, a head injury making him forget you weren't actually together, or something…else.

His family came in next, a cacophonous, emotional ordeal that made your heart ache with relief. With them, he seemed more like himself; the good-natured, charismatic man you'd fallen in love with, and some of your uncertainty ebbed.

You hadn't hated the intensity from earlier though, quite the opposite, actually. You just wished you knew what caused it, and why you.

Eventually, Bill declared that he wanted to properly shower, and everyone filed out to give him some privacy. When you stood to leave though, his hand tightened around your wrist.

“Don't go,” he said, drawing you back towards him. He was standing, propped against the bedframe for support.

“But you said you wanted to shower?” You blinked up at him, completely perplexed by this dramatic shift in his demeanor. Bill had never been very physical with you, besides platonic hugs and shoulder bumps.

“Help me,” he murmured, tilting your chin up.

Your heart stopped. “W-what?”

“Are you going to make me beg?” His breath fanned across your lips, balmy and disorienting. Headier than any hit you'd taken from a roll or a pipe.

“Bill, we aren't…together,” you argued weakly, a rabbit negotiating the terms of its release from the jaws of a catamount.

“Something I'd like to remedy, if you'll have me.” His other hand ensnared your waist, pulling your body flush to his.

“I'm not sure you're thinking clearly—” you tried to take a step back, but his grip turned to iron.

“Oh, I am. For probably the first fucking time,” he growled, patience wearing thin. “I’ve loved you for ten fucking years, and I almost lost you. So forgive me, darling, I will not be letting you go again.”

You liquified, muscles and bone turning to simpering goo in his arms. You didn't care if it was the pain medicine, or a head injury, or lycanthropy. All you'd ever wanted was to hear those three little words.

“I love you too,” you breathed, and he smiled, bumping his nose against yours before dragging it down your cheek, his hair tickling your lips.

“I know,” he hummed, the hot muscle of his tongue laving over the pulse point beneath your ear. “I can smell it on you.”

You gasped, arousal hitting you like a clap of thunder, your thighs squeezing together against your blooming cunt.

He chuckled, the sound low and viscerally pleased. “Can smell that too, baby. Little heart’s racin’ like a rabbit.”

Oh, fuck. You swallowed thickly, throat closing as fear pumped through your blood, mixing into a strange ichor with the ever-present desire for him.

“You're trembling again,” he said, softening a bit as he pulled back to look you in the eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”

You shook your head. “Should I be?”

“No, love. Of course not. I'm still me.” He smoothed the hair from your forehead, palming the side of your skull with his long-fingered hand. “But Remus should be if he tries to get between us again.”

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, inundated with both dread and delight.

He leaned down, catching your laughter with a lissome press of his lips. The last of your reservation dissipated, dripping out between your thighs as the kiss deepened. His lips were pillowy, tongue tinged with iron and herbs, you leaned into his embrace, content to let him devour you whole.

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orcasoul · 8 months ago

Text

Not My Man

Summary: Joel is accused of abusing you, and, oh hell no! You're having none of that!

Warnings: Swearing, injury, implied domestic abuse, use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4,132

"Ow, shit! That really stings." You wince and pull your head back as Joel lightly dabs a alcohol soaked cloth over your cheek. His hand slides behind your head pulling you back in, keeping you in place. "Quit squirming and it'll be done quicker," he tells you firmly yet softly, his big chestnut eyes fixed intently on the task at hand. You grudgingly obey, - keeping still despite the the burn of the alcohol seeping into the raw cut across your cheek - holding an ice pack over your eye on the opposite side. You just know it'll be black by tomorrow.

"How's the head? Feeling dizzy or sick at all?" It's the millionth time Joel has asked you this, and every time you have to reassure him. "I'm okay, Joel. Really," you stressed, but you can see the guilt and anger simmering within him flicker to the surface every time you try to make light of it all. "I shouldn't have let you go off alone. Fucking hell... if I'd been just a few seconds later you'd be-" Joel closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, both to calm his nerves and to avoid having to finish that sentence. Just the thought of losing you makes Joel want to rip his hair out in vexation.

"It's my fault," you try to reason, cupping Joels' scruffy cheek and forcing his eyes to meet yours. "I should have been paying closer attention. Don't you dare go blaming yourself." "You're never leaving my sight again," Joel declared, his voice low and determined. "Joel-" "I mean it Y/N! From now on when we're outside these walls I'm gonna be on your ass like your shadow!" You sigh, knowing there's no getting to through to Joel when he gets like this. So, you silently concede with a nod, mostly for his peace of mind.

After applying some antiseptic cream and a large plaster, Joel leans in to press a featherlight kiss over the sensitive gash and rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "I could have lost you today, sweetheart." The ache in his voice stirred a deep ache in your chest in return. You place your hands over his own, which are now cradling your face. "But you didn't, and that's all that matters." It crushes your heart to see Joel so torn up over something no one could have seen coming, over something he couldn't have known.

But, here he is again; blaming himself for circumstances beyond his control. All you can do is comfort him and try to make him focus on the here and now and not on the "what could have been". Easier said that done, though when your mind keeps replaying that dreadful encounter. You could kick yourself for letting your guard down.

You and Joel had started to take Ellie out to prepare her for patrol duty, now that she'd turned 18. A small town about 5 miles west of Jackson seemed like the best option, given that the place mostly remained infected free at this time of year. Most of the wooden houses had collapsed in on themselves over the past two decades. Only brick buildings had survived the ravages of time and the elements, and even some of them looked to be on their last legs. Once it appeared the three of you were alone you'd proposed you split up to inspect the last few unchecked buildings, just to get it over with ASAP. The sooner you were all done, the sooner you could all get home and stop freezing your asses off out here.

Joel, of course, objected immediately but you brushed off his concern, insisting it was safe enough. Famous last words! While Joel and Ellie searched an old bank building, you'd turned you attention to a restaurant next door. You entered slowly, gun raised in front of you, head turning in every direction, ears pricked for any indication of company. The crunch of broken glass underfoot was deafening in the eerie silence.

As the moments wore on, you began to feel less tense, there being no signs of raiders or loners passing through, and if there were any infected in here, surely they'd have heard the scraping of glass as you'd entered. A thorough scan of the dining and kitchen area revealed no danger, luling you into a false sense of security. You absentmindedly lower your gun as you make your way to back room, which you assumed was an office. All you could think about was the hot bath awaiting you later on as you opened the door and walked through.

It all happened so fast after that. A ear splitting scream echoed through the room and before you could even turn to face it, you are tackled from behind, both yourself and the rotting corpse on your back tumbling over a desk and landing with a hard thud on the floor. The impact of your head hitting the ground sent the room spinning around you, but even through the haze, your body reacted instinctively, pushing the furious creature away from you by it's shoulders. It's putrid breath and brown teeth almost made you gag as you fought desperately to keep it's searching fungal tentacles away from your face.

You let out the loudest scream you possibly could, hoping Joel and Ellie would hear. Your gun had gotten lost during the skirmish so all you had to rely on right now was your own strength, which was waning by the second. Just when you felt like you couldn't hold out any longer a gunshot split the air and the infected fell to the side of you in a heap. Through the ringing in your ears you could hear Joel's frantic voice calling your name, his hands grabbing and pulling at you, checking you over for bites. "Holy shit! Is she alright? Is she bit?" Ellie asked breathlessly from over Joel's shoulder. "No, no... she's not bit. She's fine," Joel sighed in relief.

The fog in your head cleared, bringing you back to yourself and that's when you noticed how much your body hurt. A dull ache settled in your ribs where you'd landed, your head felt like it would explode at any moment and your cheek and opposite eye socket throbbed continuously. A warm, tickling sensation ghosted along your cheek. When you pulled your fingers away they were red and sticky. You can't even remember hitting your face on anything in all the commotion. "Joel..." you whimper, body trembling from fear and adrenaline. Before you could say another word, Joel pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest in a crushing bear hug, a chorus of "You're safe, sweetheart" and "I've got you" repeating over and over.

You're snapped from the memory by Joel's weary sigh. "It's my job to protect you and I nearly failed... again." You're heart sank on his last word, knowing exactly what he meant by "again". Pulling back, you gently cup Joel's face in both hands, staring compassionately into his tormented eyes.

"Don't do that, honey. Please. It was my fault." you asserted, shaking your head. "I suggested we split up, I let my guard down. That's on me." Joel released a small, humourless laugh, clearly not about to relinquish any of the blame and it guts you; to see what your carelessness has caused. "But do you know what's all on you?" you ask, your tone softening. Joel shot you a quizzical look. You wave a hand over the front of your body, Joel's gaze following your gesture.

"Me... here, alive and well. You saved my life today. If it wasn't for you I'd be dead... or worse," you shudder at the thought. "So, you see, you didn't almost fail. You saved me and I love you for it." Joel exhaled long and slow, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. Joel lifted his hand to caress the back of your head and pulled you towards his face. His soft lips pressed against yours in a deep, lingering kiss. "I love you too, sweetheart, so damn much!"

The next morning as you, Joel and Ellie made your way towards the mess hall for breakfast, you can't help but notice the stares from passers-by. You were right about the black eye; the deep purple hue had bloomed overnight, the swelling causing your eyelid to slightly droop and a few bruises decorated your jaw. Even the area surrounding the bandage on your cheek was flushed red. You must be quite the spectacle right now. After collecting your food, the three of you joined Tommy and Maria at their table, as you do every morning, but this morning something felt... off.

A few times you could have sworn you'd heard yours and Joel's names mentioned in hushed tones, heads turning away from you quickly as you glance around. Joel and Tommy, being so deep in conversation, remained oblivious to the odd atmosphere, and Ellie was too busy shovelling food in her mouth - like it was her last ever meal - to pay attention to her surroundings. Maria, however picked up on your unease, also noticing the excessive looks and whispers in the hall. She looked to you, eyebrows raised in silent question, to which, you could only shrug in response.

Once you had finished your meal, you got up to take your tray to the used area, setting it down on the pile. Just as you turned to walk away you hear your name being called by Millie - one of the serving ladies. With her short, dumpy stature and short grey hair, she gave off the classic warm granny vibe. She's also a renowned gossip around town. "Are you okay, dear?" she asked in a breathy whisper. "Um... yeah?" You weren't really sure what she meant at first. When you noticed her concerned eyes darting all over your face you suddenly remember how ghastly you look. "Oh this..." you wave at your face, casually. "I got jumped by an infected yesterday. Knocked my face pretty bad but I'll be fine."

Millie didn't answer for a few seconds, her eyes flicking to your table, then back to you. "Are you sure?" she finally spoke, even quieter than before. "Of course." you tilt your head, wondering why she's acting so weird. "It's just..." Millie bit her bottom lip, nervously. "If you need someone to-" "Millie? Can you help me out in her for a minute?" came a shout from the kitchen. "I've got to go. You take care," she smiled sympathetically before rushing off into the kitchen, leaving you bewildered. "What the hell was that?" you muttered under your breath before returning to your seat.

Later that afternoon you were alone in the house when you heard a knock on the door. Maria stood on the other side, and one look at her face told you this isn't a social call. "Hi, can I speak to you?" she asked. "Sure, come in." You opened the door fully and stood aside, allowing her in. "Is everything okay?" you asked sitting on the settee opposite her. "Maybe I should be asking you that." "What?" Maria cleared her throat and shifted, uncomfortably. "Is... everything okay... between you and Joel?" "What do you mean? Why would there be something wrong?" you queried, taken aback at such an abrupt question.

"Look, if you don't feel safe enough to talk about it-" "Talk about what? What exactly are you insinuating?" You don't like how this sounds one little bit, but you want to hear her say it before you possibly jump to conclusions. Maria sat forward, looking you dead in the eye. "Y/N... did Joel do this to you?" There it is; what you were hoping she wasn't going to say. "Of course he fucking didn't!" You sprang to your feet, fists clenched at your sides. "You know what happened. I reported it yesterday when we got back!" "I know but-" "How could you even think Joel would do such a thing!" Maria raised her hands in a show of surrender.

"I'm sorry. It's just I heard he might have been... hurting you and as a member of the council I had to investigate. I'm also your friend," she continued, "and I just had be be sure." You can feel the blood in your veins boiling as the seconds tick by. "Who the hell has been spreading bullshit like that?!" "There have been rumours going around-" "Rumours!" you scoff. "And you believed them?" Maria stood up slowly, counteracting your indignation with calmness. "I'm not saying I believe them-" "It's obvious you do or why would you be here?"

"I just needed to know. We both know that Joel can be volitile-" "Oh trust me, I know how Joel can be. I travelled across the country with him, remember. I know what he's capable of and I also know what he would NEVER do! He'd never hurt anyone he loves. Your head is now throbbing from the anger bubbling under your skin, but you just can't stop yourself. "He's never laid a finger on me or Ellie and I won't have anyone spreading vicious lies like that!' "He's killed innocent people before. How can you be sure one day he won't-" That's fucking it, the last straw!

"Do you trust Tommy?! Do you fear what he might do one day?" you throw back at her, sarcastically. "Because Tommy killed innocent people too, or have you conveniently forgotten that?" Maria's demeanour hardened slightly at your judgement of her husband. Good. Now she knows how it feels. "Tommy was just following Joel's lead." "Oh don't give me that bullshit!" you snapped in frustration. "He's a grown ass man capable of making his own decisions, and he chose to do that. You can't keep making excuses for him, but still hold it against Joel." Maria remained silent, seeming to realise the truth of your words. You inhale a calming breath before continuing.

"Maria, you've got to let go of this constant animosity you feel for Joel. Yes, he's made some wrong choices in the past, but he's not that man anymore... just like Tommy isn't. And wether you like it or not he's your family now. If not for Joel's sake, do it for Tommy's. Joel means the world to him and you know it." After a few tense seconds Maria nodded slowly, looking slightly abashed. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. As a council member it's my job to keep the peace in Jackson, so I had to ask..." she steps closer to you, taking your hand in hers.

"As your friend, I believe you. I can see how much you love Joel. No one would be so fiercely protective over someone who hurt them." Your shoulders sag as the tension drains away. "Thank you." "You also make a fair point," Maria says. "It's true I've never been Joels biggest fan, and maybe I have been a bit harsh on him," she rubbed the back of her neck, awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I'll try to... make things right with him, I promise." You squeeze her hand back. "That's all I ask."

"So, we'll see you tomorrow for breakfast?" The sincerity and hope in her voice, softened you up a bit. "Sure, see you then," you smiled at her. Maria began to walk towards the door but stopped when you called her name. "If you hear anymore gossip-" "I'll be sure to set the record straight," She interjected. "Thank you." When the door closed and you were alone once again, you slumped back down into the settee, leaning your head over the back, bringing your hands to your face in exasperation.

The weak winter sun began to dip behind the mountains, casting looming shadows in the streets of Jackson. Joel was due home from maintenance duty any minute, so you put the kettle on to make him a cup of coffee before you head out together for dinner at the mess hall. Worry had been plaguing you all afternoon. You just hope word of these rumours hasn't reached joel's ears. As Joel entered the house - tired but otherwise in good spirits - you felt your worry settle, knowing he's none the wiser or he would have, rightfully, been a murderous mood.

The last thing you want is for Joel to have to deal with hearsay from sad busybodies with nothing better to do with their lives. If you can discreetly nip this in the bud without Joel having to know, that would be for the best. Joel sauntered into the living room after kicking his boots off, sitting down with a groan. Even though his back ached and knees creaked, he relished in the deep satisfaction that came at the end of a hard day's work. He never though he'd have the opportunity to live a normal ( well, as close to normal as you can get) life again.

Instead of smuggling and scraping to get by on a day to day basis, he now has the chance to do something honest and meaningful, and he'll never take that for granted again. "Hey honey," you greeted joel as you sat next to him, handing him his favourite tawny owl mug. "Thanks, darlin'," he smiled and kissed your forehead. You watched as he closed his eyes, savouring the rich flavour of coffee as he swallowed. "You look tired," your voice was a gentle whisper as you ran your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, knowing how it soothes him. "I'm okay," he said, stifling a yawn.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Joel gently brushed your hair behind your ear, examining your your face. "I'm fine. The swelling's actually starting to go down now." Joel smiled, relieved. He still blames himself for what happened but any indication that you're recovering is music to his ears. "MOTHER FUCKING ASSHOLES!" You both jumped half a mile in the air as Ellie barged through the front door, slamming it so hard behind her the whole thing rattled. "Whoa, whoa, easy. What happened?!"

Joel rushed over to Ellie, his shoulders tensing and fists balling. You've seen that posture many times on the journey here. A posture that screams "I will kill anyone who hurt you". "Stupid people running their fucking mouths. That's what fucking happened!" Ellie seethed as she ripped her jacket off and flung it on the floor. Oh god, Ellie. Please don't! "What the hell ya goin' on about?" Joel drawled, his Texan accent thickening as it always does when he's upset. "Oh you didn't hear? Well, you would have soon enough. People have been going around saying you gave Y/N those bruises."

"What the fuck?!" Joel roared, the muscles in his shoulders and arms visibly straining as anger flooded his body. Joel looked back to you, a mixture of disbelief and fury contorting his features. You dash over to him, resting a hand on his arm in support. "Joel, please ca-" "What the hell is wrong with people!" he continued to rant looking between you and Ellie. He felt sick to his stomach that anyone would even entertain the idea the he would hurt you. "I'll fucking kill whoever said that," he mumbled in an ominously dangerous tone as he began pacing back and forth. "I'll rip their goddamn tongues out for them. I'll make sure-"

"Joel!" Reaching out, you grab both of his shoulders, forcing him to stop and snap out of this manic descent he had slipped into. When his eyes landed on yours, the darkness swirling within them, melted away, replaced with a devastation that almost made you cry. Joel brought his hands to cup your face. "Darlin', you know I'd never do that." "You don't have to tell me that, honey." Joel brushed a thumb over your cheek, sighing and shaking his head. "Did you know?" You nod, pressing your lips together in a thin line. "Yeah. I was hoping to put an end to it without you having to know."

"What do you mean?" Joel asked, his brow furrowing. "Maria came by earlier..." Joels face slid into a cold stare. "Of course she did," he huffed with disdain. "Oh don't worry, honey. I had a few choice words for her. I told her, well, practically screamed at her that you'd never do such a thing. And if she hears anymore talk, to shut it down." "Even when the world goes to shit, people still love a gossip," Joel spat the last word out like it was a bad taste on his tongue. "So, did she believe any of it?" he asked, his expression hardening once more.

"I think at first she did." Joel rolled his eyes. "But after I corrected her," - you emphasized the word corrected - "She believed me." Joel huffed with scepticism. "Joel, I don't want you to worry about this okay. I'll take care of it." "We both will!" Ellie, who'd been watching the whole exchange in silent anger, piped up. "We're not gonna let them drag your name through the mud. I'll make them fucking eat it first!" You couldn't help but chuckle at Ellie's choice of words.

"Ellie, as much as I would love to see that... and help you, we can't just go around roughing people up. There's rules here for a reason, unfortunately," you muttered the last part under your breath. "So... what? We just sit back and let them slander Joel!" Ellie threw her hands in the air in irritation. "Absolutely not!" you retorted, determination settling into your voice." We show them just how wrong they are." Joel placed his hands on his hips, a typical stance for him when he's stressed. "And how exactly do we do that?" he asked, sounding defeated.

"By presenting a united front. We make them see how strong and happy we are, all of us..." You look to Ellie, then back to Joel. "We show them there's nothing to hide or be ashamed of, and then they'll have nothing to yap about." Taking Joel's hand, you give it a reassuring squeeze. "And if I hear just one more person bad mouthing you, I'll make sure they regret it." Joel's face softend into a grateful smile. He's not convinced he's worth such loyalty and devotion, but he can't deny the warmth spreading through his chest at the thought of his girls so eager to defend him. It's an odd feeling for him, as he's used to being the protector. He could secretly get used to this.

"It'll be okay. I promise," you say, not letting go of Joel's hand. "We've got your back, old man." Ellie slapped Joel on the back, drawing a chuckle from him. "Not that old, you little shit," he replied in mock offense. "Now... let's go," You moved to grab your coat and boots. "The mess hall is open and I'm starving."

On the way to dinner, you found yourself paying close attention to everyone you passed, noticing a few side eye glances and disapproving looks. And every time, you pulled Joel's arm further around your shoulder and nestled closer into his side, a silent sign to the doubters that you feel no fear or discomfort in his embrace, as you would expect from an abused victim. Dinner wasn't as bad as you were expecting. Maybe Maria's influence with the townsfolk is to thank for that.

However a few inevitable glimpses were thrown in your direction. A middle aged couple made the mistake of allowing their eyes to linger on you for too long as they passed your table and you just couldn't let that slide. "Something you want to say to us?" you narrowed your eyes at them, daring them to open their mouths. Joel's arm snaked it's way around your waist, his jaw ticking as he too, stared them down. The woman's colour left her puffy face, while her husband forced a placating smile.

"Um... uh no, no." You smiled smugly at the alarm the old man was trying and failing to keep from his voice. "Good. keep it that way," Joel growled. The nervous couple looked at one another and hurried on by. Ellie smirked, "Fuck yeah, man! That's how it's done." "Damn right," you agreed, triumphantly. You could feel Joel's whole body relax around you and you gave him a "we've got this" look.

It may take longer than you'd like for all this nonsense to die down, but no matter how long it takes, you'll prove Joel's innocence, one way or another. You remember a saying from "Before"; "it's not all men", and if it's the last thing you do, you're going to make damn sure everyone knows it's certainly not your man!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller x fem reader #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou

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attapullman · 1 year ago

Text

That's Mine | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Bob likes Rooster. He does. So why does he suddenly hate him when his childhood best friend agrees to go out on a date with the pilot?

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: f!reader, 18+ ONLY as always, smut, protected pinv, oral (f receiving), praise!kink, fluff, dirty humour, alcohol mentions, sorry to all the Rooster girlies

Author's Note: This is my official jealous best friend!bob entry for my event International Bob Floyd Fucks Month. Thank you to everyone who has celebrated this silly little thing and continued the Bob Fucks agenda. I just love him so much. Save a Rooster, ride a Bob!

“What do you mean Rooster asked you out?”

He’s hot on your heels through the house, following you out to where you’re watering the ferns on the deck. You can’t see his face, but the simmering annoyance is palpable. In your mind’s eye you can see the little vein that pops out only when he’s seriously irritated. An emotion he reserves only for you.

Who would have guessed that two strangers pairing up for a Mommy & Me class decades ago would evolve into the inseparable, eye-rolling, belly laughing attachment of you and your best friend. He keeps you focused, eyes on the prize and safely home by ten. You bring Robby out of his shell, actually wanting to jump in and join the crowd. Occasionally both giving each other a headache, but always ending with a punch on the shoulder while sharing a carton of Haagen Daas.

You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him. He’s being so annoying about this Rooster thing.

It’s been four months since you followed him out to San Diego. A quick summons to Top Gun that led to him out in the middle of the ocean while you whined to your roommate about what if he doesn’t come home this time? How could you possibly survive without him infodumping about WWI missiles and whether milk or dark chocolate made better cookies?

And then you’d gotten the call, B.O.B. flashing across the screen and the photo from that summer in high school where he let you paint a butterfly on his face. The mission was successful. He was safe. And he was staying in Fightertown permanently with this squadron. A few months later, when your roommate accidentally lit your stove on fire, he asked if you wanted to come down and stay for a few weeks. By the end of the month you had rented a small craftsman and his truck was a regular fixture outside.

Then a month ago, when he’d swung by after work, khaki uniform freshly pressed, and asked if you wanted to come to the local Navy bar to meet the names he spent so much time talking to you about. Fiddling with the edge of his glasses, nervous you wouldn’t like his new crew as well as the Lemoore squadron you’d spent years befriending. But if they were good enough for Bob, they were good enough for you.

Rooster was hot. All curly auburn hair and big brown eyes. You’d hit it off quickly, the two of you against Phoenix and Bob, sharing stories about your beloved bespectacled WSO and his sassy quip of the day. Phoenix still couldn’t believe that Bob had used a Superbad quote for the high school yearbook. You still remember the horrified look on his mom’s face.

But last night had been different. Phoenix and Bob had huddled a Budweiser cup of peanuts and discussed strategy most of the night, Fanboy rounding off the table once he heard “electronic warfare”. Your best friend’s dedication to work was commendable, but what were you supposed to do at a Navy bar when he was busy? Luckily the baby cow-eyed pilot had taken pity and bought you a round, taking you out to the back deck to appreciate the beach while Hangman rowdily dominated the pool table.

Rooster had been sweet, asking about your childhood with Bob and what you thought of San Diego. Between the kind male attention and the slutty light wash jeans, you were only human for looking up at him through your lashes and flirting a little. And you felt light as air when Bob came outside ready to take you home, your number in Rooster’s phone and a date secured for Friday.

“Seriously? You’re not going to answer me?” Why was annoying Robby so fun? So sweet and calm under the most pressured of situations, every once in a while he prickled.

You finish with the deck plants and retreat back inside, making sure the windowsill babies are plenty hydrated in the late afternoon sun. “Why do you care? You like Rooster.”

It’s alarmingly loud in the silence as he thinks through that one.

Because Bob does like Rooster. He’s a little older, outgoing, the kind of guy he trusts on a life-or-death mission. In the last few months he would even venture to say they’d become more friends than coworkers, Natasha always bringing them together for a night out. So why did it bother him so much when you said you were going out with Rooster tomorrow night?

Instead of answering, he keeps his conflicted thoughts to himself and starts helping with the plants. There’s no point in an argument he’s not going to win, especially when he’s not sure what he’s even fighting for.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, metal frames glinting in the low afternoon light, gelled hair out of formation from training with his helmet on all day. Maybe you did overstep by agreeing to go out with one of his coworkers. “You want to get street tacos and make fun of C-list celebrities?”

His eyes light up as he nods and overwaters your calathea.

Half a six pack of Mexican lager later and the two of you are sprawled across the living room furniture, Bob’s socked feet up on the coffee table and yours over the arm of the wingback he helped you haul home four years ago. Save the fuzzy tipsiness clouding your senses, you’re transported back to weekend nights in high school. Watching old John Hughes movies and laughing so hard soda shot up your nose. Life has been full of so many incredible opportunities, but evenings in front of the TV with Robby are your most cherished memories.

“Oh my god!” you squeal. “Could he be any more cringeworthy? Put a shirt on!” Your fingers cover your eyes, pretending to be offended by the young twentysomething currently stripping off on your trashy television show of choice.

Bob laughs from his spot on the sofa, beer can dwarfed in that massive hand. “Oh please, you love when they’re half naked for no reason.” He feels that weird tug in his chest for the second time today, but chalks it up to the meat from his street tacos.

You roll your eyes playfully, giving him that toothy smile you’ve perfected since elementary school. “Ya,” you slur a little. “But as my best friend you’re not allowed to judge.”

As if he could find fault in you.

Payback has been talking to him for the past twenty minutes. Bob hasn’t heard a word. Just continues staring at the front door of the Hard Deck like it will magically conjure you.

You’re out with Rooster right now, at that restaurant with the breathtaking ocean view and spicy mozzarella sticks. And while you didn’t tell him, he knows you’re wearing the dress with the eyelet lace and your hair down for once. And you’re probably giving him that toothy grin while he talks about 80’s music and shows you photos of working on the Bronco. You’re likely planning your second date already.

He likes Rooster. He likes Rooster. He likes Rooster. So why does he suddenly hate him?

Payback has completely given up on conversation when the door opens and in strides that floral print smug son of a bitch. Bob’s hand grips the table, grounding himself that it’s not a hallucination. Rooster’s hand is respectfully on your waist, leading you through the throng of Friday night patrons. And you look pretty as can be in that dress, your hair slightly covering your warm cheeks and bashful eyes as a strong man looks after you.

The pilot grins at his squadron, tipping his chin in greeting, knowing he’s got the prettiest girl in the room on his arm. You give Bob a goofy lopsided grin, happy to see him after a lovely night out. Happy that Rooster offered to drop you by before taking you home so you could see your best friend.

There’s nervous energy bubbling under your skin, eager to download about your dinner and drinks, and you wish you were back at home in the kitchen, mugs of hot chocolate in your hands while you and Robby gabbed about your latest romantic excursions like back in the day.

Things were so much simpler when you were seventeen.

Especially because back then he wasn’t weird when you had crushes, or met someone on Hinge. And he certainly didn’t give you that tight lipped frown that you want to smooth off his face. It’s you and him against the world, so why does it suddenly feel like it’s you against him?

“Hey Robby,” you start, giving him your gentlest smile. “You win darts?” He gives a half shrug, picking at his cup of peanuts. Cool, that’s how he’s gonna play it.

You sit next to Rooster at the piano, letting him play a few songs and rally the crowd. You’re a little bored of the repertoire you’ve heard on repeat since your first Hard Deck visit, but give him an encouraging smile nonetheless to be polite.

You like Rooster. But even after a nice night, you know you don’t want to pursue this. Not at the sake of your friendship with Bob.

Everyone’s stomping their feet and slapping their hands to Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” when exhaustion hits you. The back of your hand against your mouth signaling that you’ve had enough for one day. The sweet chocolate eyes of your piano partner give you a caring look as he asks if you want him to drive you home. The hope for a goodnight kiss twinkles in his eye.

“No need, I can take her!” It’s instant adrenaline the way the WSO has launched across the room. You rush to thank Rooster for a nice night as he’s left behind on the piano bench. Bob hasn’t said a single word to you all night and yet he’s borderline dragging you out to his truck. The calloused edges of his fingers digging into your bare arm, the soft flannel of his shirt brushing against your hands when he helps you into the truck. They’re all familiar feelings, yet tonight feels different.

He’s completely silent on the drive, the radio playing some alternative rock music barely audible over the silence. He may be quiet with others, happy to take a back seat, but he’s never had an issue piping up with you. It’s punishment. Punishment for trying to have a good time with a guy who you’ve decided you don’t want.

When he parks in front of your cozy craftsman - the house he toured with you, helped you with the paperwork, bought the bubbly to commemorate the occasion - you’re both at a standstill. Last night you’d been able to put your differences aside for trashy television and tacos. Tonight…you’re just hoping he’ll come inside.

“Who do I gotta bang around here to get you to come inside?” His chuckle is weak, eyes looking anywhere but you.

Because while you’re trying to figure out where you’ve gone wrong, Bob has been having an existential crisis since Bradley fuckin’ Bradshaw put his hand on your waist. A crisis that’s been gaining speed since you followed him out to Lemoore all those years ago and has arrived at a screeching halt, crawling out of his throat. And he’s too shy to tell his lifelong best friend what’s been bothering him for as long as he’s known.

You’re…it.

It’s the way you laugh with your entire face. How you always have a comeback. Your endless love for others. The endearing way you order a pancake for the table at brunch. You’ve been the entire package this whole time. And someone seeing it before him is infuriating.

He follows you inside, watching the way the light radiates at the high points of your face. This is going to be harder than expected.

Robert Floyd has known for years that his best friend is amazing. Practically his whole life. Not a single doubt they’d make an incredible partner. The tiniest crush forming at just how good of a partner. Daydreaming about their current arrangement - the movie nights, the early morning beach walks, the Sunday afternoon bubble tea runs - with a dash of domestic bliss had his heart thudding in his chest.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was Wednesday night, when he came to collect you for the drive home. Sitting next to Rooster, a cup of peanuts loosely hanging from your hand as you looked up at the pilot with long lashed eyes and a seductive twitch of a smile. The way you’d bitten your lip when you said goodbye, turning back to Robby with that flirty glint still in your eye; instantly resetting to friendly excitement as you followed him to the parking lot.

He needed to make you look at him like that.

And now here, in your living room, while you hand him a glass of water and look at him with those impossibly pretty eyes - fuck. How does he explain?

You’re concerned, watching the turmoil on his face and convinced you’ve seriously crossed a line this time. You’ve always been the troublemaker of the dynamic, the bursting bubbly energy to his impossibly sweet silence. Won’t he please share what’s on his mind?

He’s not sure if it’s the burning need to release this tension from his body, or the way your face looks so upset at his indecision, but suddenly the dam bursts. All rational thought out the window as he finally speaks up.

“If I don’t fuck you right now I think I might die.”

It’s impossible to tell whose eyes are wider. His in embarrassment that came out and so whiny. Yours in total shock. Your brain has blue screened and all you can do is blink slowly back into focus, centering on the pink cheeks and bashful baby blue eyes in front of you.

Licking your lips, you sputter out, “W-what?”

You both know you heard him. It was impossible not to with the intense neediness dripping out of every syllable. His carnal need to know what you feel like, taste like. The way those thick, long fingers of his tensed on his knee.

A thousand emotions pass behind your eyes, reflected in his glasses. A handful of ways to handle this situation, but only one makes sense.

“Come over here. We can’t have you dying, now can we?”

There is nothing graceful about the collision of bodies that happens. Navy-trained strength meeting enthusiastic energy. He’s across the room before you can finish your sentence, the slight pause of uncertainty met with your bound into his arms. Warm lips finding each other, hesitant yet sure. The hands on your hips are familiar in a different circumstance.

The waves crashing down on Bob’s brain slow, and he’s instantly soothed as he enjoys the subtle tang to your taste. You’ve worn the same perfume for the last decade, yet this is the first time it’s driven him wild. Pulling back, he takes a deep breath to fill his lungs with the perfect scent. His fingers, fast as light when he works controls, are slow and controlled over the curve of your waist.

“I hate that Rooster touched you. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours?’

He leans forward, gaze level, breaths intermingling. “You’re mine.”

Eyes wide, glossy lip between your teeth…Bob hasn’t seen anything sexier in his life. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers scratching along his scalp as you fight for dominance in your kisses. He’s gaining confidence the longer you moan into his mouth, a sinful sound he wasn’t prepared to hear. Years of listening to you talk about dates and crushes, and now he’s experiencing it first hand.

You’re caught up in the way he’s trailing his large hands up and down your torso, tentatively brushing against the curve of your ass. Waiting for him to call the shots for what happens next. Frustrated he hasn’t already spread you out on the stupidly expensive cotton duvet he convinced you to buy.

“Robby?” He hums, lips preoccupied with your neck. “Not to be ungrateful, but I thought you were going to fuck me?”

The deep scarlet that spreads across your best friend’s cheeks is one for the record books. Jackpot.

He’s practically falling over himself, hands everywhere at once as he collects his thoughts. “You’re sure…you’re sure you want this?”

The seething jealousy that’s consumed him since Wednesday has dissipated, and the horny fog has lifted temporarily. All that’s left is ensuring you’re both on the same page. Once this happens, there’s no going back. As much as he’s looking forward to taking off that pretty dress, you need to be ready to make the same leap.

Swallowing a deep breath, drowning in those eager cerulean blues, you shift your thigh to press against the bulge in his jeans. A bulge all the girls in Lemoore talked about when they thought you weren’t listening. There’s a curiosity burning in you, a need to know if he’s just as sweet in bed as he is when he’s picking you up or helping with dinner. Things have always been platonic - they needed to be, you wouldn’t have survived a childhood crushing on the bespectacled sweetheart who grew up to be an incredible man.

You know the risks, but the rewards are greater. Life is too short to not experience fucking Robert Floyd.

A kiss to his lips. A wink. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You sound like children giggling on the playground as you run down the hall to your bedroom, trying not to trip on the hall runner as he presses you against the wall to pepper you in scorching kisses. Breathy laughs as you explore this new part to your dynamic. Overwhelming lust mixed with lifelong companionship.

Once you make it to the bedroom - that supima bedspread underneath you, his hips cradled against yours - the innocent giggles dissipate as you take in the man above you. No longer the pink-cheeked child, the gawky teenager, Robby is nothing but height and strength and…broad? When did he get so broad? Naturally so meek and unassuming, the pure size of him is unexpected. But pinning you to the bed with those veiny hands and strong thighs, a collision of attraction overwhelms you.

There’s nothing delicate about the way he grinds his hips into yours, whimpers leaving both your lips. Your panties are soaked, he’s stretching the front of his jeans. Desperation fills the space between you.

His lips wander from your jaw, your neck, the space behind your ear, all the way to your passion-swollen lips. His voice is unsure, but hopeful, as he whispers against them, “Can I go down on you?”

Your eyes bloom wide - not only because you’d like nothing more, but you’ve remembered something from years ago. Something at the time you’d tried to forget. A night out with the Lemoore crew at that shoddy bar, everyone drunk after being out at sea for weeks, and you sat near the back waiting for Bob to come back with drinks. A small group of female aviators sat at the next table over, having clocked the shy WSO on his way to the bar. One had giggled, her friends shooting her a questioning glance. You’ll never forget when she replied, “I’d heard the rumors and didn’t believe them, but can confirm that Bob Floyd eats pussy like a starving man. Best hour of my life.”

As soon as he sees your slightly too eager nod, he’s working his way down your body, appreciating the feel of your dress and soft skin. Breath held as he officially breaches out of friend territory and lifts the hem, treating himself to the satin he can’t wait to pull aside.

Lip worried between your teeth, a whimper is punched out of you when a hot mouth secures itself around your mound, thick tongue exploring the crevices of your covered folds. A finger slips itself along your entrance, bringing to attention the soaked material.

“Someone’s excited.” The lust-driven chuckle against your thigh has you shivering. “You want me to eat your sweet little pussy?”

He’s never used that voice on you, husky and mocking. You’re shaking with desire, for him to stop teasing and give you what you want. An hour ago he was just your friend, and now you’ve never felt so needy for a man’s touch. So far gone you don’t even notice the desperate nod you give him.

He presses another wet kiss to your clothed clit before wrapping his long fingers in the fabric. Prompting you to lift up slightly so he can have unimpeded access to this feast. Skimming his nose along your thighs, hot air directly on your slick cunt. The whimpers escaping you doing nothing but prolonging the teasing.

Bob can feel how you tremble, the way your fingers are smoothing over the bedspread in an effort to self-soothe. He’s satisfied that he’s gotten you as frustrated and ill-content as he’s felt for years. Needing something, not knowing if you’ll like it, but knowing that if you don’t have it you’ll never feel satisfied.

His fingers spread you out. Head dips. The lightest touch of his tongue to damp arousal.

Holy fuck. He does eat pussy like a starving man. Pushing his face in closer and closer, his tongue reaching for every inch of the promised land. His fingers wrapped around your thighs, pulling you in. Hot, wet muscle opening you up as he drools.

Eyes unfocused, you’re in a new dimension and yet he’s enjoying it more.

That deliciously fuzzy feeling starts to tingle in your stomach, pressure building between your thighs as your best friend helps himself. Blunt nails raking up and down your legs to ground you in the experience. The sharp edge of his metal frames occasionally snagging on the skin. They alone make you want to cry to the heavens. But it’s the way he’s sloppily forcing his tongue into your cunt, lewd noises ringing around the room, that has you clamping your lips shut to not wake all of San Diego.

He senses that you’re holding back, not giving him everything he wants. You’ve been best friends since day one, he knows when you not being authentic.

That delicious tongue withdraws from your thighs and you can feel his stare on you. Waiting patiently for you to make eye contact. The pussy drunk, yet concerned look he gives you as he nudges you. “It’s okay, it’s me. I’m never going to judge you.”

Blue eyes meet yours. The same blue eyes that have consistently seen you safely out the other side of any bad situation the two of you have faced. That always comes home from deployment so matter how much you worry. The same ones that you know will guide and protect you on this journey as well. He’s your best friend. No one else can keep you this safe.

After your nod, he dips his slick lips back to your core, his smile upon your skin. Quickly losing himself in your flavor as he nudges you back open. His own hips rocking against the mattress as you allow your bitten lips to part, moans and whimpers and sharp intakes of breath filling the air. Losing yourself in his over-and-above technique to bring you to the edge.

His own muted moans vibrate against your core. Dexterous tongue and calloused middle finger (followed quickly by another) sliding in and out with ease. It’s too much and not enough, overwhelming your senses and making your brain whirr. Skin slick with sweat as that fuzzy feeling in your stomach returns and your feet tingle. Your eyes gazing unfocused down at Robby, hopelessly turned on at his dedication to making you feel good.

“C’mon, be good for me.”

His muffled words stretch the string and bring you home, thighs clamping around his damp face as a scream escapes your throat. Fingers twisting in the bedspread. Back arching. The view has him slack jawed and starry eyed, fingers still pumping in and out to prolong your orgasm. A slight tilt of his lips into a smile at how content you are when he finally catches your gaze through labored breaths.

Your brain slowly comes back to you, thoughts racing through sludge. Eyes fixed on cerulean as a smile stretches your lips. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

He laughs, a surprised, carefree sound as he uses your thighs to help himself up the bed. Gives you a little wink as he grins, “It can get kind of boring on deployment.”

“Recon and intelligence protection missions are boring?”

“Yeah, when you’re not there to annoy me.” His dimples are out in full force, laughter twinkling out of every pore on his perfect face. You slug him a little, your orgasm still working its way through your body. The urge to roll over and sleep just as strong as the urge to shove him in your cunt through his jeans.

You’ve had a taste and you need more.

He’s already one step ahead of you, shrugging the soft flannel and faded tshirt from his body. Gently cranes you in his arms as he helps unzip and lift your dress above your head. The garbled choking sound and intake of breath when he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra makes you proud. You’ve always thought Bob was attractive in an understated, sweet way. To know he’s attracted to you makes any doubt about this situation indefinitely fade.

Sitting in front of him, not a scrap of fabric on you, you feel good. He’s the best guy you know, the one you have always sung his praises because there’s literally no one better. The only difference between a friendship and a relationship is sex. That’s all that’s been missing.

It’s time to take the plunge.

You swallow his lips with yours, fingers twisting in his sun-lightened hair. His arms wrapping around you, holding you secure to him. Both of you gasping at the feeling of your bare torsos touching. It’s electric. It’s satisfying. It’s grounding.

Hands quick to unzip his jeans, laughing as he tries to help only for you to bat him away. “You got to undress me, I want to undress you.”

The groan he emits reverberates. You’re so sexy and it’s driving him crazy. There was his fleeting crush in high school, but this…this is beyond his wildest dreams. Allowing your soft fingers to dip below the waist of his boxers, shimmying the denim and cotton down his legs. Your lips struck open in awe at the heavy, hard, thick appendage resting against his thigh.

“You tell me every secret you have, and yet you keep the python in your pants to yourself?” He laughs, a hand wrapping around the base as you flounder to mentally combine Robby, your meek best friend, with the red-tipped joyride protruding from his pelvis.

He helps himself to a condom from the box in the nightstand - the one you jokingly said you’d never use when he watched you unpack. You’re almost worried it’s going to be too small, but he glides it on with ease before lowering you both onto the bed, biceps straining as he adjusts. Bob can feel your slick center against the bottom of his dick and it’s taking everything in him to not make himself at home.

As you prepare yourself for what’s about to be a hell of a stretch, he kisses the top of your breasts, skimming his nose against your soft skin. Even in this moment his main priority is making you comfortable and feel safe. “We can go slow, it’s okay.”

But where Bob is safe and secure, you’re adventurous, curious. You want to know what he feels like now.

The wild fire of your eyes bores into his calm ocean blue. “Where’s the fun in that?”

A shift of hips and he’s slipping through, arousal and spit gently gliding the tip of him in. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling on the Navy-approved length at the nape of his neck. A sharp tug that prompts a yelp as he drives his hips forward, slipping inch after inch into you. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you struggle to adjust. Fuck, he’s so big.

He’s kissing your temple, whispering how good you’re being for him. I know it hurts, you’re doing so well, almost there, baby. His thumb sliding between your bodies to rub pointed circles on your clit. He’s barely started and you’re already leaving your body, watching yourself be stuffed to the brim.

The neatly trimmed hairs of his pelvis poke along your clit and you’re proud of yourself for taking all of him. Nudging Bob softly to move because you’re uncomfortably full. Back arching into his strong chest as he explores parts of you that you didn’t know existed.

In no time at all he’s thrusting with all his power, leaving you a moaning mess. Fingers clutching to any sweaty skin you can find, nails leaving their mark. He’s red-faced and huffing above you, eyes switching between your blissed out expression and the way your breasts sway with his heavy thrusts. This is heaven. This is everything. Why did he wait to say anything?

Suddenly you’re pawing at his chest, pushing him to roll over. “C’mon Floyd, let me rock your world now.”

He’s pretty sure you could blow him a kiss and rock his world, but he’s definitely not complaining about the view. The silhouette of you against the San Diego moon - big beaming smile and tight nipples. Wishes he had a camera to forever commemorate the first of many times you ask to ride him. A picture book of your perfect face all the way down to you split over his dick with different backgrounds.

From this angle it’s tight, but you’re not a quitter. Rocking your hips to loosen up, hands finding purchase on his chest. His big smile is back, eyes completely dilated while he can’t decide where to look. You’re seeing stars and he’s seeing diamonds.

Once rhythm comes to you, you’re bouncing, loving the way he fills you to the hilt each time. His encouraging smile behind golden rims. You’re with someone who knows the real you, who encourages you to be your best self. And with his strong, veiny hands wrapped around your waist, helping along your movements, you know he’s…it.

It’s hard to tell where your moans end and his start, both of you polluting the air with inhales and groans mixed with the occasional squelch of sex. Your skin is shimmering, thighs begging for reprieve. You can’t get enough of the way he perfectly fills you every time.

Sensing your exhaustion, he brings you closer, slotting his mouth over yours in a filthy, sloppy kiss. Starting to meet your thrusts as you inch closer and closer to your orgasm. Having to calm himself before he ruins your rhythm. The idea of you cumming on his cock has him dizzy. You rake your fingers through his hair one last time, eyes unable to meet as your lashes flutter, and he knows. You’re here, he’s gotten you to the edge.

That big hand on your lower back soothes as you clench for the final time, pulsing. You’ve officially left Earth, watching yourself convulse on top of Robby while he rocks himself up into you. “Good girl…yeah, that’s right…feels so good, huh?”

Forget the best sex of your life, this orgasm can never be topped.

You’re half-heartedly pressing kisses to his forehead as he begin the descent to his own orgasm. Feet flat to the mattresses as he cants his hips up, desperate to drive every inch into you. The fluttering of your cunt the most amazing thing he’s ever felt, catapulting him over the edge quicker than any partner he’s had before. Shoving his face into your neck, licking at your salty skin, he knows his release is inevitable.

“C’mon Robby, cum for me.”

All reason leaves him and he bites down, lips securing over the delicate slope of your neck. A while light flashes behind his eyes and he’s filling up the condom, squeezing out every ounce of release. He suckles the skin, soothing himself as his spent body blinks back to life. Smiles sheepishly when he meets your eyes, as you smile at him sweetly.

Words don’t exist as you hold each other under the covers, tracing skin and giggling when the other finds a ticklish spot. At some point he disposes of the condom, but you’re still not fully there. Everything is good and special and you want to live in this moment forever.

When Bob strolls into the Hard Deck Saturday night, one arm looped around your waist, everything was right in his world.

His colleagues and friends sat in the back near the pool table, sipping beers and winning a game against another squadron. The two of you stroll up, looking decidedly more friendly than they’ve ever seen. Especially when Bob won’t let go of your waist and you keep touching him.

You can’t help it. You’ve gotten a taste and now you’re insatiable.

The group takes in their WSO, standing a little taller than usual with his uncontrollable grin. And then they take in you, beaming, all smiles, looking right at home by Bob’s side in your tight jeans and cute little top. A cute little top that perfectly shows off the dark purpling mark mottling on your collar - teeth marks still visible in the right light.

While Robby confirms your drink order, there is stunned silence from the other half of the pool table. Mouths agape, a gleam of pride in Jake’s eye. Phoenix picks herself up first, eyes blinking rapidly at the sudden realization of last night’s events. Clocks that you went out with Rooster, yet went home with Floyd.

“So, uh, what happened there?” She gestures to the obvious love bite. One that definitely wasn’t there when the group saw you last.

You bite your lip and look at your lifelong best friend. The guy who showed you his love last night…and then several more times this morning. His crinkled eyes drift from yours to the spot where he bit down as he came for you for the first time.

Turning to look at his squadron, he plays it cool and shrugs, mumbling through his blush, “Can’t blame me for making sure no one else plays with my toys.”

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zorosdimples · 11 months ago

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꒰ FUSHIGURO TOJI X READER ꒱

cw: cheesy! age gap. slightly suggestive. brief sex toy mention. nicknames “kid” and “kiddo” used. reader and toji are neighbors and reader is shorter than toji. based on my earlier admission. wc: 782. notes: this was written so quickly and is cringe—please forgive me!

“Got another package of yours, kiddo.”

Toji stands outside of your apartment, a brown shipping box perched in his palms. You scowl, holding the door open with your hip before wordlessly turning around and leaving. He catches the door before it slams in his face, and—taking your silent cue—steps inside and kicks off his slides.

He follows you to your cramped kitchen, chuckling when you yank the box from his grasp and scurry off to put it in your bedroom. When you return, he has already made himself comfortable on your couch; spitefully, you don’t offer him a beverage (not that he minds). You stiffly settle on the armchair beside him.

“So,” Toji breaks the silence, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rises with the movement, a sliver of his waist on display, a thicket of jet hair barely visible. For a moment, your mind wanders—creeping along his happy trail, envisioning where it leads…

His gravelly, lazy voice interrupts your thoughts, and your focus snaps back to his face. “What’d you buy?”

“None of your business.” You pretend to pick at a cuticle. While you’re still upset with him, you aren’t playing coy; he doesn’t need to know what you ordered. It isn’t his business.

Toji rests one of his hands against his head, looking at you curiously. “What’s with the attitude?”

For the first time since he walked in, you look him in the eyes. His irises are lush and verdant—easy to get lost in. And they sparkle with mirth. Your frustration with him reaches a boiling point, but you do your best to bring it down to a simmer. “Why can’t you treat me like an adult? For fuck’s sake, I’m almost thirty.”

A smirk tucks itself in the corner of his lips like a secret. “I’ve got two decades on you, kid.”

“Okay. So by your logic, I should start calling you ‘old man’—is that right?”

He shrugs before spreading his legs wider and crossing his arms. “If you want to.”

“God you’re so…” you rub your temples and try to calm yourself with a deep breath. “You’re so indifferent.”

He scoffs. “Is that right?”

You nod. “Either that or you’re fucking clueless.”

“Clueless,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word on his tongue. It irks you that your words don’t stoke the embers of his anger.

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself. You brace your hands on your knees. “Still wanna know what I ordered, Toji?”

“I’m all ears, kiddo.”

“A vibrator.”

For a split second, you think he’s going to crack. But your confession simply wipes any and all playfulness from Toji’s expression. He stands up from the couch abruptly, brows knit, jade eyes sharp with an emotion you’re afraid to place.

“You really shouldn’t—” he swallows dryly when you approach him, blocking his exit.

“I shouldn’t what? Be an adult and buy what I want?”

He shakes his head, murmuring, “Shouldn’t tell me something like that.”

“Why?”

He's pinned beneath your earnest stare, a needle piercing each of his wings, holding him in place. Does he continue to struggle, to risk upsetting you, to risk harming himself? Or does he give in despite his reservations? A flash of pink darts between his lips as he wets them. “Because…”

“Because what?”

Too close, he thinks to himself, your body inches from his own. The way your chest heaves and your fingers fidget nervously at your sides—it’s too much, too close.

“Because I can’t keep acting like I’m not fucking attracted to you!” he snarls, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you have any idea how hard this has been on me? Pretending like I don’t live next door to the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and—”

A laugh bubbles in your throat. Once it floats past your lips, it pops—you can’t contain it. Your laughter rings through the dull walls of your apartment, and while Toji wants to be irritated, the sound is infectious; it makes his heart flutter like a damn schoolboy’s.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

You smile up at him as your hands (small, cold, and soft) find his (large, warm, and scarred). “Give in, Toji. It’s okay. You know I want you—I don’t think I can make my intentions any more obvious.”

He sighs deeply, but pulls you closer. “I’m old and I—”

Interrupting him, you tease, “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”

He stares at you hard for what feels like an eternity before leaning in, forehead brushing against yours. “Well,” he clears his throat, “this old man wants to kiss you. Can he?”

Despite yourself, your heart soars. “I thought he’d never ask.”

#i am cringe but i am free............................... *coughs up blood*#here u have the ramblings of an insane person... don’t mind me #toji x reader #༄ kae writes

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mrsvante · 15 days ago

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The Long Game VII

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: sugar daddy au, yandere, domestic bliss

summary: he’d prepared for this moment a thousand times, imagined every sound you’d make, every look you’d give. But nothing compared to the reality of you—standing in the space he’d shaped around your absence, breathing life into rooms that had felt cold without you. you had no idea. no idea what you’d done to him. no idea how far he’d go to keep you exactly where you were now.

warnings: domestic namjoon, there’s some fluff, breeding kink, oral f!recieving, possessive vibes on crack, namjoon is drunk off you, the life of luxury 😩

word count: 3,505

Namjoon could barely contain himself.

No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t containing himself.

His usual cool, collected demeanor had all but crumbled the second you stepped through the doors of his penthouse, your penthouse now, whether you realized it or not. He’d been practically vibrating since the moment you landed, eager anticipation simmering beneath every polite smile and courteous gesture.

Now, as he guided you through the space with your hand resting delicately in his, Namjoon felt like a boy showing off a science project he’d spent months perfecting. He watched you with hawk like intensity, hanging on every delighted sound that left your lips, cataloging every wide eyed glance and shy little smile as though they were treasures in and of themselves.

He was… ecstatic. And that wasn’t a word Namjoon often used for himself.

The penthouse had undergone a transformation in your absence, stripped of the sleek, cold minimalism that had once defined it. The walls were warmer now, soft grays and delicate earth tones replacing the harsh slate palette. The furniture had been swapped out for cozier, more inviting pieces, and tasteful personal touches were scattered throughout.

You couldn’t stop turning in slow, stunned circles as you took it all in.

“You remodeled… everything,” you whispered, breathless. “It feels so different.”

Namjoon’s lips curved into a soft smile, so unbearably tender it made his cheeks ache. He couldn’t help himself—he reached for you, brushing his fingers lightly along your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him.

“For you,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet devotion. “Only for you.”

He led you next to your new office. Custom built ins lined the walls, housing art supplies, books, your laptop setup—everything you could ever need. The oversized window overlooked the city, allowing natural light to pour in, and Namjoon made sure you noticed the little details: the plush rug beneath your chair, the coffee warmer on your desk, the miniature fridge stocked with your favorite drinks.

“Now you can work without distractions,” he said, pleased, watching your mouth part in disbelief.

Then came the closet. He’d knocked down walls for this, expanded what was once merely impressive into something borderline decadent. Your clothes had already been carefully unpacked, organized perfectly, and your bags, shoes, and jewelry were on display like pieces of art.

You laughed in shock. “You remodeled your closet?”

Namjoon only smirked, tugging you closer until your back hit his chest and his mouth pressed against your ear. “What’s mine is yours. Besides,” his hand slid down your waist, squeezing lightly, “you take up so much space in my life already. Might as well make room everywhere.”

The greenhouse stole your breath next. He’d designed it entirely for you—lush with tropical plants you’d brought back from Singapore, softly glowing grow lights overhead, humidity carefully regulated. It was warm and serene, a perfect little haven nestled right in the sky.

Namjoon watched you press your hands to the glass of the windows, your eyes glassy.

“You did all of this… for me?”

“Of course.” He said it simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. In his mind, it was. There had never been a version of this life where he wouldn’t make every inch of his home ready to receive you properly.

But the real jewel came last—the bedroom.

You gasped when you stepped inside. Gone was the stark, cool aesthetic from before. Now, it was intimate and warm. Soft, airy curtains framed the windows, plush rugs covered the hardwood floors, and the walls had been painted in a muted, romantic taupe.

The bed was massive. Dressed in seductive silk sheets, pillows upon pillows, and a comforter that looked impossibly inviting. There was a stunning vanity fully stocked with all of your makeup and skincare. On your side of the bed, Namjoon had even stocked your nightstand. Your favorite lip balm, your water carafe and glass, your favorite snacks tucked away in the drawers.

But what made you laugh softly, tears threatening to spring into your eyes, was the familiar sight of your giant shark plushie propped up between the bed and nightstand.

You turned, overwhelmed and radiant, throwing your arms around Namjoon.

“Joon,” you whispered, pressing kisses to his face, his jaw, his lips. “You are… so fucking good to me. This is everything. You’re everything.”

His eyes fluttered shut, basking in your affection, but beneath his soft smile, something deeper stirred. Because as much as he adored your gratitude—the kisses, the words, the way you clung to him —it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Not for a man like him.

What he really wanted… was you. In this bed. Wrapped up in his sheets. Marking this space as yours in the only way that mattered.

And so, Namjoon kissed you back.

Slowly at first. Almost achingly tender.

His lips tasted of restraint and simmering hunger, a fragile balance he knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain for long. He walked you backward with deliberate steps, the heat rolling off him in waves, until your knees bumped against the edge of the bed. You fell back easily when he guided you, trusting him, pliant beneath the weight of his stare.

His body pressed over yours, large hands spanning your sides as though they were meant to anchor you there, under him, with him. His mouth dragged lower, down your throat, lingering with greedy intent at your collarbones where his lips left slow, wet kisses. They felt like brands, like marks that silently screamed mine.

You giggled softly, breath hitching as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Greedy man,” you teased with a breathless laugh, your words threaded with fondness. “You already did all this for me and now you want more?”

Namjoon groaned, rolling his hips down against you, the thick press of his cock, still restrained by his sweats, grinding perfectly against your core. It pulled a soft gasp from your lips and immediately satisfied some deep, primal part of him.

“You know exactly what I want,” he rasped darkly, his voice already wrecked from need.

Clothes soon became meaningless. They were removed slowly, almost ceremoniously, his hands sliding across every inch of newly exposed skin like he couldn’t bear to leave any part of you untouched. Each patch of bare flesh was met with worship.

Kisses that lingered, touches that lingered longer.

He sucked marks onto your thighs, leaving evidence of his possession in tender bruises. He traced his tongue up your stomach, following the soft lines of your body with an almost devout care, and then buried his face between your breasts, inhaling like he could live off the scent of you alone.

It was intoxicating. You, laid out for him like this.

By the time he slid down between your legs, his control had frayed dangerously thin.

His tongue licked slow, calculated stripes over your pussy until you writhed for him, your moans bouncing off the walls and filling the newly christened bedroom. Namjoon hummed in satisfaction, fingers gripping your thighs tighter as he devoured you with slow, sinful expertise.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, voice muffled by your slick heat. “Let me taste home.”

You came fast and hard, body tightening beneath his mouth, and he didn’t stop until you were shuddering and tugging at his hair in desperation.

Only then did he rise, mouth glistening, eyes dark with hunger as he lined himself up and thrust deep in one long, claiming push.

You gasped, your legs instantly locking around his hips as your nails dug into his back.

Namjoon groaned harshly, pressing his forehead against yours, his hips barely moving yet as he savored the overwhelming tightness.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathed out, lips brushing against your temple. “You feel perfect… so fucking perfect for me. Always so warm, so tight. Like you were made for my cock.”

His thrusts began slowly, deep and rhythmic, dragging pleasure from both of you in slow, consuming waves. Your back arched off the mattress as breathy moans spilled from your lips, your arms curling around his broad shoulders like you needed to hold onto something, anything.

Namjoon couldn’t help but murmur into your skin, drunk off your body, drunk off you. His mouth dragged lazy kisses across your throat, lips swollen from how desperately he’d kissed you moments before.

“You’re my good girl,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Always so good for me.”

His hand slid down to cradle your thigh, holding you open as he rocked deeper into you, as if he could mold you to fit him even more perfectly.

“My perfect girl.” He kissed the shell of your ear, and the possessive tremble in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“Back where you belong,” he rasped, burying his face in the crook of your neck like he was trying to disappear inside you. “Back where I need you. Where you’re safe. Where you’re mine.”

His thrusts slowed, deepened—less frantic now, more deliberate. Like he wanted to feel every inch, like he wanted to memorize this. You. The soft, sinful way you wrapped around him.

“I missed this,” he breathed. “Missed us. Missed being inside you where I’m supposed to be. Like I’ve been walking around empty without you.”

“You were made for me,” he whispered. “Just for me.”

You whispered his name softly—Joon, Joon, Joon—like you couldn’t say anything else, like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

But softness never lasted long with Namjoon.

Not when you clenched around him so sweetly. Not when your thighs trembled, your mouth hung open in pleasure, your face flushed from his love.

His pace grew rougher, more urgent, and he sat back slightly to grab your hips, angling you just right so his cock slammed into the perfect spot with every desperate thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the bedroom, joined by your breathy cries and his low, guttural grunts.

That’s when the shift happened.

That’s when he fell into it, that dark, obsessive place he rarely let show in front of you.

“Fuck,” Namjoon growled, his voice thick, drunk on the way your body responded to his every move. His eyes flicked down to where your pussy was stretched around him, flushed with hunger, taking him so perfectly. “Look at this. Look how you take me. Like you were born for me.”

His pace faltered, grinding instead of thrusting as he leaned closer, lips grazing your jaw.

“Gonna fill you up,” he whispered, his voice a sharp edge wrapped in silk. “Gonna fuck my cum so deep inside you, baby. You’ll be dripping with me for days.”

You whimpered his name, shaky and overwhelmed, but Namjoon wasn’t listening. Not really. He was gone, swept up in the idea of you.

“Imagine it,” he murmured, licking into your mouth as he continued to grind deep. “My wife. My perfect little wife, belly round with my baby, stuck at home because you’re too fucked out and swollen to do anything but wait for me to come home and fill you again.”

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Joon—”

“Imagine walking around this penthouse pregnant,” he continued, nearly delirious now. “Our home. Our bed. Every room yours… except you can’t even bend down to pick something up without my help because you’re carrying so much of me inside you.”

Your breath hitched, face burning with arousal and embarrassment.

“You’re insane,” you gasped, but your hips rolled up to meet his desperately, chasing the drag and press of his cock.

Namjoon groaned deeply, eyes fluttering as he lost himself in the idea.

“Insane for you,” he corrected, his thrusts suddenly brutal again, snapping into you hard enough to make the headboard knock softly against the wall. “Fucking crazy for you. Want to keep you like that. Want to make you mine in every way there is. Want everyone to look at you and know who fucking owns you.”

You moaned loudly, clenching around him hard, and Namjoon cursed, losing what little control he had left.

“Gonna fill you up every night,” he growled, slamming in deeper, harder, his pace wild now. “Over and over until it takes. Until you’re knocked up and glowing and stuck right here with me.”

Your cries echoed around the bedroom, your body locking up tight as you came again, sobbing his name as your walls fluttered wildly around him.

Namjoon followed instantly, hips grinding down as he spilled inside you, a long, desperate moan falling from his lips as he emptied himself completely.

He stayed there, buried deep, panting against your shoulder, his arms tight around your body like he couldn’t bear to pull away.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely, pressing frantic kisses to your neck. “I need you.”

“You’re mine. Always mine.”

You whimpered softly, too wrecked to answer, but you pressed your lips against his jaw weakly and that was enough.

Eventually, Namjoon shifted, carefully easing out and gathering you into his arms as though you weighed nothing. He carried you to the bathroom, gently cleaned you up, and pressed soft kisses to your thighs and belly as you dozed off, too spent to protest.

When he tucked you back into bed, brushing your hair from your face and whispering quietly as you drifted to sleep.

“Sleep, princess. You’re home now,” he murmured, trailing his fingers along your arm.

—

The sun was still low in the sky when Namjoon stirred.

The penthouse was bathed in soft, early light, golden and warm as it filtered through the sheer curtains. The city beyond the windows was quiet, still asleep, but inside this bedroom, inside this bed, everything felt perfect.

You were curled against him, your face pressed into his bare chest, one leg tossed possessively over his waist. Your breathing was steady, lips parted slightly as you slept, blissfully unaware of the way Namjoon’s dark eyes traced every feature of your face like he was memorizing you.

Like he hadn’t spent the entire night tangled with you.

Like he didn’t already know every inch of your body and soul.

His fingers trailed softly down your spine, barely grazing, but the simple act made his cock twitch beneath the covers. Not even from lust—though that simmered quietly, as always—but from pure obsession.

You were here.

You were his.

Back in Seoul, in his bed, in his life.

Namjoon swallowed thickly, heart aching in a way that wasn’t gentle or romantic. It was primal. A dark, desperate need that twisted low in his gut and whispered that he would never, ever let you leave again.

Not now. Not after this.

He stayed like that for nearly an hour, just watching you sleep, before you finally stirred, groaning softly and stretching like a lazy cat. Your eyes fluttered open and met his gaze immediately.

“Why are you awake?” you asked, voice scratchy with sleep, lips curving slightly at the corners.

Namjoon smiled, warm and devastating, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured. “Not with you looking like that right next to me.”

You rolled your eyes but blushed anyway, hiding your face in his chest with a shy laugh.

“Gross,” you teased. “You’re gross in the mornings.”

“You love it,” he countered easily, his arms tightening around you. “You love me.”

You froze for a split second—then relaxed, heart skipping as your fingers trailed up his ribs.

“…Yeah. I do.”

Namjoon kissed your crown like he’d won something monumental. Like your sleepy little confession had satisfied something deep inside him that words couldn’t reach.

Breakfast was lazy. He ordered in, everything you liked, and insisted on feeding you bites straight from his chopsticks. He sat close, closer than necessary, his knee pressed against yours, his hand occasionally sneaking under the oversized shirt you wore, his shirt, to squeeze your bare thigh.

At some point, though, as you sipped your tea, you remembered. Your face warmed as you glanced over at him, watching as he polished off his own plate, annoyingly casual.

“…Joon?”

“Hm?” He glanced at you, licking a bit of sauce off his thumb, utterly at ease.

“Last night,” you began slowly, unsure how to phrase it without sounding too affected. “You said some stuff.”

His brows lifted faintly, clearly amused. “I said a lot of stuff, baby.”

You scowled playfully but your heart pounded. “You know what I mean.”

He stared at you for a beat. Then, slowly, a wicked grin spread across his face, so lazy and fond and dangerous it made your stomach flip.

“Oh,” he drawled, voice dropping slightly. “You mean when I told you I was going to make you my wife and pump you full of my babies?”

You choked on your tea, eyes wide. “Joon—!”

“What?” he asked innocently, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head, muscles flexing beneath his tshirt. “It’s true. That’s the plan. I want you barefoot, pregnant, and stuck at home so I can keep you all to myself.”

You stared at him, mouth opening and closing uselessly, and he just smiled like you were adorable for being so flustered.

“You’re serious,” you finally whispered, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Namjoon tilted his head, his grin softening into something more intense. “Of course I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re mine. And soon, you’ll be mine legally too. That ring is coming, sweetheart. Soon as you even hint that you’re ready…”

His eyes darkened, voice turning rougher.

“I’ll put a baby in you so fast you won’t even remember life before it.”

You sputtered, your cheeks on fire.

“Joon, my parents haven’t even met you yet!” you blurted. “I haven’t even met your parents—how can you talk about marriage and babies like that?”

Namjoon blinked once, very slowly. Then, his lips twitched like you’d just said something very stupid.

“…Is that it?” he asked, voice low and amused. “That’s what’s holding you back from our future?”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer before he pulled out his phone.

You gawked. “Namjoon. Joon. What are you doing—?”

He was already typing. Already calling.

Within seconds, he had the phone to his ear and his tone flipped immediately. Soft, polite, almost boyish in a way that made your head spin.

“Eomma,” he greeted warmly. “Good morning. No, everything’s fine. Actually—yes. I have someone I want you to meet. Your future daughter-in-law.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, your stomach flipping wildly as he casually, shamelessly said the words like it was the most natural thing in the world. You couldn’t hear his mother’s response, but Namjoon’s pleased hum and knowing grin told you everything.

“Mm, yes. Soon. I’ll set up a day and time. Appa too? Of course. I want them both to meet her properly.”

When he hung up, he was glowing. No, preening. He looked absolutely smug and satisfied as he turned back to you.

“There,” he said simply. “Handled.”

You could only gape. “Namjoon…”

“What?” he asked, eyes gleaming with mischief and affection. “You said that was the issue. So now it’s not.”

You hid your face in your hands, laughing in disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Namjoon reached forward and tugged your hands down gently, cupping your cheeks as he leaned in, his voice dropping low and dangerous.

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he corrected, kissing your lips softly.

You melted, just a little.

“…My parents…” you tried again weakly, but Namjoon didn’t let you finish.

“Tell me about them,” he said easily. “I need to know everything before I meet them.”

It rolled off his tongue so easily. As if he hadn’t done an entire background check on every single on of your living relatives. Immediate and distant family. He’d left no stone untouched when he was debating on making you an offer of being his sugar baby.

How drastically things have changed over the years.

You hesitated, and then started explaining that they knew about someone. You’d vaguely told them you were seeing someone exclusively, but you definitely hadn’t explained that he was your sugar daddy turned boyfriend turned obsessed husband to be.

Namjoon listened carefully, nodding along with a thoughtful hum.

“And they’re… traditional, you said?”

You nodded sheepishly. “Kind of. They’re not super strict but, y’know… they don’t like too much PDA. Especially when meeting someone for the first time.”

For a moment, Namjoon just stared at you. Then his lips curled in a way that made your stomach clench.

“No hands?” he asked slowly, clearly amused.

“No hands,” you confirmed firmly.

“No kisses?”

“Joon.”

“No fucking?” he added with a wicked grin.

You groaned, slapping his arm.

“They’re my parents, Namjoon. Behave.”

He laughed, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap again, his hands automatically sliding down to cup your ass possessively.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he promised smoothly. “But you know I’m going to be inside you as soon as they leave, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but your body betrayed you, heat flooding between your thighs at the thought. Namjoon kissed you again, slow and possessive, humming softly as he tasted your surrender.

“Soon, princess,” he whispered against your lips. “Soon you’ll be my wife. And then I won’t ever have to pretend to behave again.”

And the terrifying thing was… you weren’t sure you wanted him to.

six | masterlist | eight

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bitterbutblue · 8 months ago

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our times

turns out, you're the fortune i want to keep most ☆ multi x reader

~ this is a multi x reader!! hatssun was talking about writing angst and i really said omg my turn! sorry hatssun ur idea was so good and it works so well w yukong and feixiao... ill credit u so hard bro i swear. WVERYONE BE PREPARED FOR WHEN THINK FAST DROPS🙏🙏🙏

UMM ALSO THE FEIXIAO ONE IS SOLONG FOR NO REASON LOTS OF DIALOGUE SORRYYYYY

characters: feixiao, yukong, ruan mei

song: 小幸運 - Hebe Tian ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

i was too busy chasing shooting stars in the sky ☆ feixiao

The day Saran ran away, something in you ran with her. The day Saran ran away, you didn't know if you would ever see her face break into a smile again, or if you would see her hanging the next day. The trace of her slowly faded with time, but even when you finally had the guts to bolt for it she was still the only thing on your mind. That day, you didn't mind if you died running, because it would've been better than staying there but alive. You didn't mind if you died running, because you died with her on your mind.

God knows how many decades had passed since the Luofu took you in. You only count days in how much your heart ached for her. Eventually it dulls down, it goes from a sharp thud to a muted nudge every time you see a dash of silver hair in the crowd or a sharp but soft smile on Jing Yuan's lips. You've heard of how far she had gotten, and you wished it didn't hurt so much to hear about it. You forced yourself to forget about her, because you couldn't keep living every day haunted by her. You were finally able to live your days how you wanted to, even if it meant without her by your side.

"Yukong, can you run these by the general for me?"

You were absentmindedly sitting at your desk, filling in whatever forms the general had sent to you about all the legality things they had to sort out for the Wardance. You spin your pen, signing your name down and ticking the last of the boxes. You huffed at the lack of response from the woman who should be sitting across from you.

"Yukong?"

"She's not here."

You look up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, and the world decides to take a break for a moment. In that small fraction of a second you feel yourself going back in time for decades until you are standing face to face with the young foxian, bruised and battered with an undying flame in her eyes. She is now much taller, her face pale but not the sickly kind that she harboured before. Her eyebags faded, hair flowing as if it had been just washed- a sight you never saw before in those camps.

She looked healthy, she had everything she wanted.

So why did she look like she was about to break down in front of you?

It wasn't fair.

"Saran?"

She only nods, standing with her arms by her side like a fool who doesn't know how to speak. She clears her throat, moving to cross her arms so she looked less awkward standing in front of you.

She wears clean clothes, she smells of petals.

Her scent of blood long faded, but you feel the pain behind her stance.

"How have you been?" Is all she asks as she eyes your desk warily, as if not knowing how to approach the conversation.

"Well. You?"

"Good enough."

Your old banter had long faded now, your previous ability to make each other laugh despite knowing the imminent death that looms over you two every day.

"Neergul died."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

It's like talking to a wall, or to just a mirrored version of yourself with how either of you refuse to look at each other.

"I never knew if you died or not until I came here."

Your shaky voice finally cuts the tension that has been simmering for far too long. She swallows, looking up and you know she is holding back tears because she has only ever looked up when the night sky is open and she can see the stars that granted her hope.

"I found out you became general. I was happy for you."

She says nothing.

"Why didn't you reach out?"

The edge to your voice has her breath knocked out of her lungs for a second as she tries to formulate an answer. She tries to weave incoherent thoughts and jumbles of emotions into a sentence and it's much harder to be done than she realised.

"I couldn't."

Of course she couldn't. Why would she admit to you how much of a coward she was? Knowing she had abandoned you after kissing you goodnight that evening.

"Why?"

But you want answers. It's not every day your presumed dead lover comes back to see you after years and years of crying yourself to sleep and hoping that in another future you could be in her arms without having to fear for your life.

"I was scared."

The general cannot be scared, or show any signs of fear in any situation- especially emotional situations where they need to stay calm so that people can feel secure around her but right now it all falls apart.

"Of who?"

"You."

"Why?"

You really did not like to raise your voice but you couldn't help it- she infuriates you. From the moment she flooded your heart you realised why love and hate go hand in hand because you hate that you love her.

"Why now?"

"I don't know."

Is all she manages to stutter out after an incredulous minute of silence and you just sigh.

"Why didn't you come find me?"

Her question has you going speechless now.

You were a hypocrite.

"I don't know."

She just nods with an unreadable expression on her face.

"I don't regret what I did that night."

You squeeze your now-fisted hand tight, taking a deep breath in to try to not only steady your voice but calm your racing heart that threatens to beat so hard it shatters in your chest.

"But why? Why make me love you for decades if you never planned to return?"

"I wanted to return. I always did."

Her words come out much more rushed than she intended it to come out. You feel your world shatter in that moment as you speak your next words.

"You never moved on?"

She steps closer.

"I dreamt about you every night. Under the sea of the shooting stars."

You shake your head, quickly wiping away at your own tears and she has to take a sharp breath in so her tears don't fall.

"Don't say that." You whisper "We can't. Please."

She looks at you, more intensely than ever as her voice quivers.

"Why?"

You shake your head.

"It'll only hold us back."

You still adorn matching scars from the torture you both had gone through in those camps. She is the scar on your heart, and you are the scar on hers.

"We can't." Is all you say.

She turns around and you want to pull her into your arms, you want her to be able to look at you but from that moment on, the look on her face as you ended what it was and what it could’ve been would be the face you see every night you close your eyes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

somewhere in the sky i could not see, was you ☆ yukong

The evening Caiyi died in her arms, Yukong vowed to never see the skies again. That was the same evening you went missing, the same evening she breaks down because how can she lose two of what she loved most in her life within the blink of an eye? The reason for her to wake up every morning, the reason she smiled even through the roughest of the days- now faded into nothing but memory and a distant bitter taste in her mouth.

You were not presumed dead, only missing. The false sense of hope had Yukong staying at her desk for hours every day, going through files and files, records upon records to try and maybe find some trace of you somewhere but after years of searching she finally gave up. She had to care for Qingni for Caiyi, she had to keep loving you because if she doesn't then she feels like she's lost herself.

It was the day Qingni flew to the skies when she finally looked up once more. She looks to the planes to see her daughter flying the same path that doomed her from wanting to live but the sky was the reason she had the two people who made life worth living. It was that day a plane crashed and Yukong felt the familiar, sickening feeling from decades ago as she runs to the sight. She's panicked, flustered, heart racing and feeling like throwing up as she pushes past crowds amongst crowds-

She doesn't know if she should scream or sigh in relief when they pull the lifeless-looking figure out of the starskiff. The model was old, the same she used in the war where she lost....

You. The figure they pulled out was you and she feels like she's going to be sick. She runs up to them, asking if you're okay and the medics are telling her to back off but she needs to know. She puts her head down, ear against your chest and almost sobs when she hears your heart thud weakly. It's so soft she really could've missed it but she hears it.

"Oh baby..."

She whispers as she cradles your head on her lap.

She sits by your side in the hospital until you wake up. She doesn't move, doesn't eat or drink or anything unless Qingni drags her to the bathroom or to the cafeteria. She holds your hand weakly, squeezing it every once in a while to see if you'd respond.

A cough jolts her awake and she quickly scans the dark, dimly lit room to find you- blinking weakly as you scan the room wearily.

"Oh, oh my god."

She quickly gets off her chair, rushing by your side.

"Are you okay? How are you feeling? Nurse-"

"Yukong."

She never thought she'd hear her name fall from your lips, to hear her name mumbled out so softly and hoarsely again.

"I'm here, I'm right here."

You don't say anything as you close your eyes, taking in a deep but pained breath as you close your eyes. She can feel her hands go cold, trembling violently as she tries to calm herself down. Her fingertips feel like they've been dipped in ice water and her throat feels like its closing up violently.

"You're here."

Yukong couldn't help the sob that escapes her lips at your words.

"Yes, yes baby. I'm right here."

The tears are already falling before she can even bother trying to control them, and she can already feel herself slipping away when you smile softly at her because she had always been a fool for you. She put the whole world down for you and she would lift it up for you if you needed it to be lifted again.

"I- I came back."

"You did, you did baby, you're back." She whispers, finally moving to take your hand in hers. You feel so much smaller, your hand much rougher than it used to be and when she finally takes in how scarred you are she feels like breaking down.

"Wanted to see you..." you whisper weakly, voice shaking as you look directly into her eyes.

Your eyes were nothing like the eyes she used to look at every night before she drifted off to sleep. Now they were hollow, every trace of who you once were has faded into the past that only resides through her dreams.

You were back, but you'd never really be back.

She just squeezes your hand gently as she tells herself it's okay, telling herself that you're physically here and you were somehow still alive and that's all she's been praying for since the day you fell.

So why does it hurt so much?

If all she's ever wanted was to have you back in her arms, why does it hurt so much to have you back now? Looking at her with a smile that no longer meets your eyes and a sense of coldness washing over her like a suffocating blanket every time she sees you.

She still loves you.

She still loves you and it hurts that her lover has died, reincarnated into a broken version of who she once loved. But she doesn't care. She will learn to live with the cold if it means being able to hold you once more. She would spend as long as she needs, puzzling every piece of you back together until you are able to smile at her without the history of all that happened haunting your every waking move.

She vowed, from that moment on, she'd start looking at the sky again because the sky brought you back. Every evening she stares up at the moon, watching it dim the lights to another day, and whisper her gratefulness to have her lover back. Every evening, she brings you out to look at the moon, the same moon you looked at during the two decades apart where the only thing you had together was the moon draped in the sky that she was too scared to look at.

"I love you."

You just lean your head against her chest.

You just listen to her heartbeat, and with each thud the cracks in your body begin to renew themselves- you would never be who you were, but you would always love her.

"I love you too."

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every scene was you ☆ ruan mei

The day she left, she vanished. No note, no text, nothing. Ruan Mei had become nothing but a shadow on earth when she decided to leave your house and you questioned if it was even worth searching for her at that point.

She had always been obsessed with aeonhood, aeons, power- whatever. You knew she was. Yet you still loved her for it, and she always promised you that one day you two would be able to love each other for eternity, for as long as you wanted to and until time itself faded into nothing but what was a mere idea of the past. She held you close that evening when she promised you, your head resting on her chest as she wrapped her arms around you.

A week later, she vanishes.

Lab empty, notes packed away, it was like as if your house had gone back in time to before you met her with how empty it all was. You called her number, texted her phone, contacted everyone she knew which was not a lot but you still tried because you loved her.

The day she revealed herself as the 81st member of the genius society, you felt your entire being shatter into pieces of who it once was. That was why she left you. Ultimately, Ruan Mei was selfish, and she had always been a selfish person.

You were foolish for loving her.

But you couldn't stop.

By the time you finally encountered her again, your history had become just a speck of dust in her mind but it was still your reason for hurt. It was still the reason why getting out of bed was a bit harder and why looking in the mirror hurt just a bit more than it should.

"Oh, it's you."

Her monotonous voice has you wanting to squeeze her throat, strangle her until she can't speak but you don't move. You stare at her, her lack of reaction, her poker face and you just swallow.

"How are you?"

That was the only sentence you could manage out and if you looked closely enough, you could see her eye twitch slightly as her throat tightens- her composure begins breaking at the sound of your voice.

"Well." She nods. She sounds too composed to you despite all the pain she is desperately trying to hide. She hates you for making her feel this way. She hates how weak she feels when you make that face at her, when your eyes widen and your mouth tightens into a line, body tense and breathing shallow. "You?"

She notices how your body tenses even more at that question, how your eyebrows begin to furrow as your face grows pink from anger.

"Not very good."

"Oh."

Her response had you fuming even more. How she was so careless and thoughtless towards you and how you felt drove you off the walls. She doesn't give a shit about you, why would she even ask?

Because you don't see the guilt that eats away at her heart every night as she stares at the photo of you that she has on her bedside table.

"Congratulations. You did it. Genius society."

It came out bitter and harsh, and Ruan Mei doesn't flinch but she feels this twist in her gut that's too unfamiliar and too painful for her to fully register. She doesn't understand this feeling. She wants to, because she wants to know how to stop it.

"Thank you."

You scoff at her response, physically unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you stepped closer to her, jabbing a finger into her chest.

"You're a fucking bitch."

She hates how her heart leapt at the feeling of your touch, she hates how your words actually manage to hurt her when it really shouldn't be affecting her at all. She's been called so much worse, so why does this, coming from you, hurt so much?

"Is this because I left?"

How can she be so dense?

"You left without saying a word! You just disappeared off the face of the earth, I don't hear from you saying where you are. I don't know what happened, I thought I did something wrong, but no- I remember who you are. A narcissistic bitch who only cares about herself."

The last part hurt more than it should've.

"I don't only care about myself."

You can't help but falter at how soft her voice suddenly goes as she looks down, not making eye contact as she shifts her bodyweight from foot to foot.

"I really cared for you."

Those words shouldn't affect you. You should've moved on from what happened almost twenty years ago now but you can't. You just stare at her and you hate how you feel tears start to form in your eyes as you blink violently, trying to hold it back.

"Don't say that to me."

She goes silent.

"I hate you."

She looks down and you don't see the tears that well up in her eyes.

"I really hope you succeed. I hope you get everything you've ever wanted."

She doesn't even get to see your face for the last time, because by the time she finally gets the courage to look up you were already gone. Your last words to her haunt her every time she begins her studies, or every time she tries to focus on figuring out creating a new life species. She knows you didn't mean it, yet she can't help but want you to notice her just one last time.

Maybe this time, she could fulfil her long broken promise to you.

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@44rtem idk ifthis is the ruan mei content u wanted... but here u go <3

#hsr #honkai star rail #feixiao #hsr feixiao #yukong #hsr yukong #ruan mei #hsr ruan mei #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #feixiao x reader #yukong x reader #ruan mei x reader #angsty angst time #honkai #honkai sr

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skyahri · 9 months ago

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Remember Part Four |SatoSugu X Reader| HC Series

Part Three Masterlist Ko-fi

A/N: Y'all, I'm so sorry it's so late. My mind has been buzzing in a different direction.

- - - - -

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Satoru..."

He'd been begging to join you on your unofficial outing for the better part of an hour. He'd been following you around, making empty promises to behave and offering you random things in return if you'd just allow him to accompany you. But you knew better, and after nearly thirteen years of knowing the man, it was safe to assume he'd only cause a headache.

"I'm serious. Let me go with you. You don't have to do everything by yourself, you know."

"Satoru..."

Your patience is wearing thin at this point. There's a silent warning that follows the hiss of his name, but he ignores it all the same.

"Just let us in. Let us help."

"You don't know what you're asking."

"I know it has something to do with Suguru."

You froze, staring blankly in front of you for only a moment before turning around to face him. His expression was hard, something that you've seen many times over the years, but never one you'd expect from pre-tragedy Gojo- someone still high on the spoils of his upbringing and blind to the heartache of the real world.

He'd said it with all the confidence in the world, like it was a fact and not some half-assed conclusion he (and presumably Geto, too) had come to. Your lack of response and obvious shock must have been all the confirmation he needed- to say everything that's been on his mind since that encounter in the bathroom two weeks ago. To hell with Suguru's endless warnings about coming on too strong. He was tired of waiting for you to come around.

"You're struggling..." his voice was uncharacteristically soft, like he was worried he'd spook you, "You don't sleep. You skip meals. You disappear without so much as a goodbye. We know you're doing all of this for the greater good, or whatever, but it's hard watching you kill yourself in the process. I just want to take some of the weight off of you, but you won't let me."

You can only stare up at him. He'd tipped his glasses down to the tip of his nose, allowing you to look into his pretty blue eyes. (That asshole knows your weaknesses). It's easy to get a read on him, the seriousness of his words reflecting perfectly on his face. But even if he does mean it, you can't bring yourself to drag him into your never-ending pit of hopelessness.

"I appreciate it, Satoru, but I can't take that kind of risk. This could very well be my only shot and I can't risk losing him just because I can't handle a little pressure-"

"It's not a little pressure and we both know it."

"You just don't understand-"

"Then make me understand!"

"He leaves, Satoru!"

Maybe he's more in tune with your brain than you are, or maybe he just knows all the right buttons to push, because the stress simmering in your mind seems to bubble over in that moment. You inhale sharply and let it all out.

"Things happen, terrible things, and it changes him, and he just... leaves. I can't tell you because I can't risk fucking up our only chance to save him. I just-" a heavy sob breaks through your sentence, but it doesn't deter you, "I love you and you love me, but we love him. We need him, Satoru, and he isn't around. We're not the same. We're sad and empty and it's lonely."

It spills out like word vomit. You can't control what you're saying and you can barely process the actual syllables, but you don't stop.

"I can't spend another decade wearing his shirts that you've spritzed with his cologne and wishing he were there. I can't spend another Sunday looking at the extra chair we keep at the dining table just in case he comes back. I avoid your nightstand because I know you keep a ring in there for him. You and I still text in the group chat even though he's been inactive since that night!"

Satoru is quiet for once in his life. He's been completely stunned into silence, not daring to interrupt your ranting. Your eerily calm pleading turned into shouting at some point and he's grateful for the privacy of an empty school on a particularly busy day.

He hates the tears in your eyes, even more so when they start to drip down your flushed cheeks. He wishes that he had better listened to all of Suguru's annoying lectures about sympathy and empathy (or whatever it's called) because he's grossly ill-prepared for this conversation.

He settles on pulling you into a hug, because while words aren't his strong suit, actions certainly are. He lets you cry into his chest without complaint. You grip the fabric of his school-issued white button-up and let go of all the pent-up grief from the past twelve years.

"So,"

He waits for you to become slightly more composed.

"What are we gonna do about it?"

You chuckle at how unapologetically comfortable he is with himself. You don't remove yourself from his embrace, choosing instead to hide the incoming tension.

"We stop him."

"From?"

"A year and a half from now, Suguru goes on a solo mission to a small village, where he will kill a hundred and twelve villagers. He takes over a cult, whose new goal is to kill all non-sorcerers in an attempt to end curses forever."

Satoru swallow hard. Honestly, what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"... seriously?"

Well, apparently not that.

You push off of him and punch him square in the chest. It's playful, kind of, lightening the atmosphere a bit.

"Okay, okay. I just mean, like, if Suguru were to switch sides, that's definitely the prerogative he'd take. So, what now?"

- - - - -

You sat across from him on the city bus to your destination, an envelope in his hands.

"This is it?"

There are three newspaper clippings inside. Obituaries, spaced years apart, and non-specific. Names, dates, and kind words, but nothing more.

"Yeah... that's it."

Satoru slumps back in his seat, his blue and white kimono fanning out across the seat. He sighs and slides further down, pouting like a child who didn't get his way.

"Why not wait until we have more information, then? Seems like a waste to me."

"They host a harvest festival twice a year to bring in money, but other than that, it's pretty closed off. This is the only time I can gather information without raising suspicion."

"What are we looking for?"

"Suguru spares two little girls. I only met them once and I didn't have the opportunity to ever ask him about it, so my knowledge is limited. I know they're sorcerers and that they adored Suguru, but nothing else. I was hoping to check out their home situation, if possible. The request the elders send in is very... hostile to say the least, so I was wondering if there was some build-up to the event."

"You think maybe they're being mistreated? Suguru would definitely snap over something like that."

"I think that something happened right around the time the girls would've acquired their cursed techniques. Villages like this tend to be irrationally superstitious. Three unexplained deaths and two girls who can see monsters probably won't go over very well."

Satoru let his head fall onto the window with a loud thunk. His brain was starting to hurt. Is this really what you're up to when you sneak off? Coming up with an elaborate hypothesis based on nothing but (only possibly relevent) future knowledge and guesswork? He'd only been on the case for two hours and he was already drained.

"So what are we gonna do?"

"Depends. I brought some talismans to hide around the area at the very least. If we see anything concrete, we'll return to the school and submit an official request to Yaga."

"I don't understand why we're sneaking around. Isn't future vision a good enough reason to investigate?"

"I'd like to keep this whole thing away from the elders if possible. Yaga and I have an understanding of sorts, but the geezers aren't as amicable."

You knew Satoru could at least understand that much. While he doesn't have the extensive experience you have with them yet, he's still vividly aware of just how scrutinizing they can be.

You can see the restlessness settle onto his face. He hates the back road way of things, preferring to charge in head first and think about consequences later- a big reason (among many) that you didn't initially plan to key him into any of this.

"We can't just, I don't know, ask Suguru to chill out or something?"

You lean over him and flick his forehead. He flinches back and starts to complain, but is cut off by the screeching of the bus's brakes.

The two of you exit the vehicle and make your way down the dirt path that leads to the village. You expected to feel something, anything really, but even once you're past the torii there's nothing. No cursed energy, residuals, or any sign of abnormality.

Satoru must not see anything either, because his brows are pulled together and there's a slight frown on his face.

Even without seeing anything off about the place, it's still weird. The only time you've ever been here before was directly after the massacre. Now, not only are all of the villagers alive, but the whole area is bustling with tourists.

You only have a moment to glance over the sea of people before Satoru is pulling you over towards the food stands. He heads straight for the Takoyaki stand and stuffs a handful of yen into the vendor's hand. He practically shoves one of the trays in your face and takes one for himself before pulling you off again.

"Satoru, stop! What are you doing? We aren't here to dick around!"

Two minutes. It's only been two minutes and yet he's already lost sight of the goalpost.

He doesn't show any signs that he's heard you, instead opting to maneuver through people until you're parked next to a giant oak tree on a small hill. He drops the wrist he had taken and turns around. He's wearing that shit-eating grin, the one that clearly says he's up to no good and doesn't feel all that sorry about it.

"We can do both. Enjoy the sights, eat some food, grab some fresh produce, and gather information. Consider it a win-win situation."

"This is exactly why I didn't want you to come. You never take anything seriously."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing two things at once, princess. Besides-"

He grabs your tray and sets both down on the ground. He turns you around rather aggressively and pushes on your shoulders until you're both sat on the grass, his long legs awkwardlybent on either side of you. He leans forward so his head is over your shoulder and his hands slide down to rest on your elbows.

"Look."

You're rolling your eyes at his not-so-subtle flirting, about to lecture him, but then you see it- two little girls, a blonde and a brunette.

They're with two people who you can only assume are their parents. They seem fine. Happy. Healthy. Smiles on their face, sweet pastries in their hands, and powdered sugar on their cheeks.

You glance around from your elevated space and notice that everyone you can confidently assume belongs to this village looks fine. Vendors are laughing with their customers and farmers are helping kids pick berries off the remaining bushes.

"I don't understand..."

"It's just too early to intervene. We'll come back in the summer and go from there, okay?"

You relax your body and lean back into him.

"Yeah, okay."

"Good. Now,

He hands you the tray kindly this time and leans back just enough so he can enjoy his own while still invading your personal space.

"How about we eat our Takoyaki, browse around a bit, hang up some talismans, and then head back home? Suguru should be back tonight."

He'd successfully worn you down. You couldn't argue with him even if you wanted to. He'd gone with you to the (apparently useless) event, found exactly what you were looking for, and solidified that nothing could be done quite yet.

So what else is there to do besides having to his demands?

"... alright."

Nothing.

He smiled at you.

"Good girl."

Taglist: @wannapizzamymindposts @sadunicorns11 @reiluvr

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halfadeckofcards · 1 year ago

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Needles and Pins

Trouble saunters up to your workplace in a gas station in the middle of Nowhere Special, Southern U.S.A. Night after night, it comes armed with a charming smile and bared teeth. And despite knowing full well it's a bad idea, you just can't keep yourself from being lured in.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom(s): Near Dark 1987, Abigail 2024 Pairing: Severen x AFAB!Reader x Frank/Adam Barrett Word count: 9.8K Content warnings: Canon divergence, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, dubcon, vampires, alcohol consumption, manipulation, hypnotism, physical assault, biting, blood drinking, making out, brief gun violence, reader makes some dumb decisions because of hypnotism and/or blood loss, threesome, grinding, blood kink, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, handjobs, implied reader death, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 Link: Here

Author's Note: Ohhhh baby this idea's been blooming since I saw a gifset comparing Near Dark's Severen and Abigail's Frank. They're so alike but so different it's insane, and the idea of getting tag-teamed by them was too fucking good to pass up. Plus it's Multi-May, an event run by my lovely friend @bisexual-horror-fan, so I figured - why not? Hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

It didn’t occur to you that the harbinger of your little town’s demise would be an old RV that was one pothole away from shuddering itself to pieces. You’d seen plenty of them over the years. Most folks who weren’t local were just passing through on their way elsewhere – stopping for the night to stretch their legs, to sleep, to grab gas or a drink or a pack of cigarettes, whatever. It’s just how it was living in a snoozy little town not far from a major highway. Plenty of people stopped for a while, but few ever lingered. So it was strange when they did. It made you suspicious.

But on the surface, there’d been nothing to suspect.

You’d been at the gas station counter just past midnight, scrolling through your phone, when they’d pulled up in a dirty RV that had to be decades old. A family of five. Had come from some other part of the South, judging by their accents. Three of them had come inside – an older man, a woman who seemed to be his partner despite being about twenty years younger, and a young boy you assumed was their son. The man had been the one to speak to you. He was perfectly polite, friendly, charming even. He’d introduced himself as Jesse. He and his family were roadtripping across the U.S. and had stopped to get gas, stretch their legs, and spend a couple days not cramped inside an RV.

You’d nodded politely as he’d spoken. Had rung up the gas and a couple magazines the kid had grabbed – none of the brightly colored kiddie ones. You hadn’t commented on it, kept your face as pleasantly friendly and neutral as possible. When Jesse has asked if there was a motel in this town, you’d given him directions. They’d paid in cash and left. And you hadn’t thought much of it, because it was the kind of story you’d heard about a hundred times. They’d stay for a couple days, realize there was fuckall to do here outside of sitting in a bar or sitting in a church or going to the grocery store, and they’d leave.

So what if their stares, hard and intense and glimmering with an unfathomable something, piercing like they could see through your skin to the veins and muscle and bone beneath, had lingered in your mind for the rest of your shift? So what if the kid glared at you with a simmering hostility and a calculatedness that felt distinctly wrong? So what if something in the back of your mind told you something wasn’t right about them?

You’d met plenty of folks passing by in this job. You’d met plenty of the friendly kind, and a few of the shadier kind. And you’d made a habit of listening to your gut when something felt off. Someone like you working largely alone in the dead of night couldn’t exactly take chances. So you paid attention to that prickle on the back of your neck, that curling unease in your stomach.

But the kid…. they were a family with a little boy. You’d brushed the unease off and gone back to scrolling through your phone to pass the time.

Then they’d come back around the next night, again past midnight. This time it was the kid and the two who’d stayed outside – a blond haired girl and a man wearing sunglasses, a leather jacket, and the kind of grin that set you on edge as soon as you saw it.

“Hey there.” You said the words with calm friendliness. “Can I help y’all?”

“I’m sure you can.” The man swaggered up to the counter with the confidence of someone who owned the place. You resisted the urge to cringe away.

You weren’t exactly the type to scare easy. What was wrong with you?

The girl and the kid were wandering, eyeballing shelves of candy and snacks without touching anything. They were siblings, maybe. Both blond like the woman from yesterday. Not like Sunglasses. He looked closer in age to –

Your attention snapped back to him as he stopped in front of you and propped an elbow against the counter. “What kind of ah…. fun do y’all get up to here? Got any bars, clubs…” His gaze flitted up and down your body. “….Strip clubs? Or is this more of a ‘grannies at town hall’ kinda place?”

You schooled your features back to neutrality despite the rising discomfort in your chest. “No clubs, adult or otherwise. Sorry.” You weren’t really. “There is a bar, though. It’s just down the road from the motel, actually. Surprised you didn’t see it earlier.”

“Well, yknow how it is. Kiddie-winkies keepin us busy n all that.” Sunglasses gave a vague wave toward said kids. The boy shot him a look of cold fury, while the girl seemed engrossed in reading the label on a packet of Nerds.

You gave him an obligatory nod. “Sure.”

The man studied you for a moment. After a beat of uncomfortable silence, he tipped his head and pulled off the sunglasses, then studied you again. His eyes were blue.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to show me round town, would ya?”

You blinked at the whiplash of this family’s oddness and Sunglasses now apparently coming onto you. Because that’s only what he could be doing. Ladies-man type. Alright. Sure. Not the first time it had happened.

“I don’t get off till seven a.m.,” you said apologetically. You’ll probably be gone by then, and I’ll be heading home to pass the fuck out, you didn’t say.

“Aw. Shame.” He tilted his head, eyed you up and down again. Like you were a strange little puzzle to figure out. Or a particularly interesting piece of meat. His smile turned cheeky and, if you were being honest, just a little bit strangely charming. “Don’t suppose I can convince you to skip the rest of your shift?”

Well. The idea was certainly tempting. “Not if I wanna pay the bills,” you answered instead.

He nodded and made a little hum. “Right. No mercy for the lil guy, huh? Well.” He straightened, flicking his sunglasses back on. The grin was sharp and feral again, and it poked at some ancient prey animal instinct far in the back of your brain. “Thanks for the directions, sugar. See ya round.”

And then they were gone.

You really hoped the kids hadn’t pocketed anything while you were distracted.

They were still in town days later, long after you’d expected them to leave. You only ever saw them at night, and even then, it was glimpses. Maybe that should’ve been strange to you, but you were something of a nocturnal creature yourself. Sleep all day, wake in the afternoon, work the night shift, come back home as the sun was rising and pass out soon after. Maybe they worked the night shift too, whatever it is they did. Though that didn’t explain the kids’ sleep schedule. It occurred to you that they should’ve been in school but hey, maybe they were homeschooled. It wasn’t your business. Maybe it should’ve set off alarm bells, but you knew better than to stick your nose where it didn’t belong.

But apparently Sunglasses had never learned that.

You’d been intending to grab some groceries and take them back home before your shift, but as soon as you stepped up the curb to head into the Harris Teeter, someone called your name and on instinct you turned around. And were met with a familiar face.

“Fancy meeting you here!” Sunglasses sidled up to you but notably didn’t make any physical contact. Points for that, you supposed.

“Well,” you said dryly, “I do live here.” You weren’t on the clock and didn’t have to have your customer service face on. You were free to say what you like, leave any time you like.

“Really? Thought you mighta been stuck haunting that place.”

“Stuck haunting a twenty-year-old gas station in this town? No fucking thanks. I’d rather drink myself to death,” you scoffed.

A delighted look sprang across Sunglasses’s face. “Sounds like a plan to me! How bout it? I’ll buy you a drink.”

Whoa whoa whoa, wait. You mentally backpeddled. “No – that’s not what – I have stuff I need to do before I clock in–” You weren’t exactly eager to get to work early, but neither were you eager to let a strange man buy you a drink.

“Aw, c’mon now.” He took off those sunglasses and met your gaze. “Just one drink. It’ll be quick.”

….He was pretty good-looking. He was the posterboy of tall dark and handsome, with the pale blue eyes, mussed black hair, and jawline. The leather and chunky rings gave a rougher edge to that prettiness. And there was something else about him – an erraticness, an unpredictableness, that was as enticing as it was unnerving. And really, how many other guys had tried to come onto you before, invasive and unappealing? How many of them had actually been truly tempting? Exactly none of them. And now that a guy like this, strange as he was, showed up and offered you a drink, were you really about to say no, even when you wanted to say yes, deep down? Were you really about to shoot down the only decent chance you’d gotten in this middle of nowhere Southern hell?

“Alright.” It just slipped out. It slipped out so easily it startled you.

Why would you say yes like that?

“Alright!” The man threw an arm around you and tugged you away from the grocery store parking lot – and towards the bar on the other side of the road. The bar you’d pointed out to him just days before.

Your head whirled. What the fuck? Why did you say yes? What had possibly compelled you to say yes to this stranger?

“I don’t. I don’t even know your name,” you stuttered.

His grin turned cheeky as he glanced down at you. “Severen. Feel free to wear it out much as you like.”

It was an astronomically bad idea to get involved with a total stranger. A total stranger whose smile gave you bad vibes. A total stranger who’d probably be leaving within a couple days. A total stranger who’d been so very eager to have your attention. There were red flags. He probably wasn’t involved in some drug or sex trafficking scheme, but you still didn’t know a damn thing about him. Severen. You wondered if that was the name he’d been given, or if it was something he’d chosen himself for the punk-cowboy thing he had going on.

And yet, despite your reservations, here you were. You weren’t usually so swayed by a pretty face, but something about those blue eyes had compelled you to say yes. And against all odds..... you were enjoying yourself.

Severen was engaging, to say the least. Intense. Energetic. Constantly in motion, even when he was sitting – moving his arms and hands animatedly as he spoke, bouncing his leg, fiddling with his sunglasses or his un-drunk glass of alcohol.

The longer you sat there and listened to him – the more you stared at him – the more you found yourself loosening your grip on caution. The more your reservations wilted away. You couldn’t even blame your drink, since there was no alcohol in it. He was just…. kind of fascinating. And energetic. He made you laugh. And despite your earlier misgivings, he was kind of sweet. He told you about his family. Apparently Jesse and Diamondback, the blond woman, had found him at a low point in his life and taken him in, provided him with food and shelter and company he hadn’t had in a long time. And they’d done the same with the two kids, Mae and Homer. They were a patched-up family who stuck together and took care of each other when no one else did. It was sweet. It brushed against something lonely and untouched in your heart. To have that kind of family, that kind of reliability…. you shoved down the pang of sheer want it stirred up.

You could not start wanting and getting attached like that. Not when they were just passing through.

Still. You couldn’t stop meeting his gaze. You quickly stopped minding how often his arm brushed against yours. And you very quickly started to idly wonder if there was room for a sixth in that beat up RV.

When your phone alarm pinged at 10:30 p.m., you didn’t want to leave the comfort of the bar and Severen’s scorching attention. You could hear the reluctance in your own voice as you said, “I should head to work.” But God, you didn’t want to. You almost hoped he’d ask you to skip out on your shift, like he had last time. You weren’t sure you’d be able to say no.

But instead he just fixed you with a smirk and said, “Prolly.” He waved you off as you reached for your wallet. “Don’t worry bout it, sugar. Drink’s on me.”

You hesitated. “Well. Thanks. This was actually really nice.” Please give me a reason to stay.

“Course.” His gaze flicked away from yours, down your figure, sizing you up again. Did he see anything different from the first time he’d done that? Did you…. feel something different from the first time?

You forced yourself to say, “See you round.”

“I sure will.”

You left the bar in a haze, as if slipping out of a dream. By the time you were clocking into your shift, reality had fully settled back in and left your body oddly heavy, limbs buzzing with the faint sensation of pins and needles. Doubt had come back in full force. About a dozen questions whirled around your mind all night. What the fuck had you been thinking? Why did you say yes to him? Why did you so desperately want to head back to the bar and find him again?

You kept a wary eye on the door for the entire night. But there wasn’t a single damn sign of life, even if you felt like something was watching you from beyond the bleached lights of the gas station. You were almost relieved as the sun peeked up from the horizon at the end of your shift. As if it would protect you.

As if it would shield you from whatever went bump in the night.

You kept running into Severen. You kept making bad decisions. He would take you to the bar or walk to work with you or come to the gas station and hang around like it wasn’t a public establishment you were supposed to be running. Every time you wanted to tell him to fuck off, every time you wanted to ask why he was still here and why he was stalking you, he’d make eye contact and the words would die on your tongue. He’d draw you in. He’d say something that made you smile or laugh or, God forbid, that made your face warm and your breath come a little too quick. Things were moving far too fast far too soon, and you knew it. Whenever he wasn’t around, you snapped back to reality and promised yourself that he wouldn’t reel you in again. You had to cut him off. Whoever he was, he was trouble. You could sense it. But then he’d pop up again and your resolve would instantly burn away – you’d forget why you wanted him to stop in the first place. He was hypnotizing.

Even now, eight days after they’d first come to town, you just couldn’t bring yourself to care that Severen was perched on the gas station counter, teasing you and making you giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush and completely distracting you from what you should be doing. Which was acting professional while there was a customer. Which you most certainly were not doing. He was making you fucking stupid, and you couldn’t care less.

The customer kept eyeballing you from out the side of his glasses. Embarrassment burned in your stomach. But you just couldn’t drag your attention away from Severen for more than a few seconds.

“Anyways, like I was sayin – Diamondback took one look at this sucker and just bout knocked his block clean off.” He whistled and you jumped when he snapped an arm out, as if punching an invisible attacker. He laughed at your reaction. “Knew from then on never to mess with that bitch.”

“She sounds pretty badass,” you admitted. You wondered what she’d think of you. After the initial meeting with Jesse, you’d spotted her wandering around the town at night, sometimes laughing and with her arm around a young blushing guy who’d moved to town a couple years ago. You wondered about that. Didn’t ask.

“Yeah, she ain’t half bad. Ole snake’s got one helluva bite, that’s for damn sure.” Severen paused, as if considering, then leaned over with a mischievous look. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “I been told I got a good bite too.”

Oh you could not be thinking about that at the cash register. You ducked your head and furiously looked for something to do with your hands. Severen’s self-satisfied laugh – it was more of a giggle, really – just made your face warm more.

A magazine smacked down against the counter. You snapped your head up. The customer was staring at you with an unamused expression. The slicked-back hair and chain necklace and obvious impatience all just screamed douchebag, as if the words from his mouth didn’t say it loud enough. “If you lovebirds are done – can I check out?” Oh, and a Yank to boot. New York or New Jersey, if the accent was anything to go by.

“Sure thing,” you said with forced niceness.

“These too.” He tossed down a packet of spearmint gum and a bottle of iron pills. You nodded and rung them up.

You didn’t have to look at Severen to know he was sizing the customer up; the dirty look the customer was giving him in return was indication enough. You grit your teeth. Please don’t say anything. Please don’t start a fight. Please don’t –

“Got a problem?” Severen asked. The cheerfulness in his voice felt like the warning rattle of a snake. You sucked a breath in from between your teeth.

“Yeah, actually. Think you can fuckin move?”

For a second, you were certain Severen was going to just tackle him and start a fight then and there. But instead he hopped down from the counter and clapped a hand onto the man’s shoulder. That grin was still fixed on his face, but it was thin and sharp like a razor. “First come first served, Yankee.”

Something like disdain or anger flickered across the customer’s face, but you jumped in before he could say anything. “That’ll be twenty-four dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

The customer’s gaze bounced between you two, something unreadable in his shockingly blue eyes. He gave an annoyed huff, shoved Severen’s hand off, and rifled around his jacket pocket for a wallet. He tossed a twenty and a five down. “Keep the change.”

“Alright. Would you like a receipt?”

“No.”

You shoved the items in a shitty plastic bag and thrust it over the counter to him, accompanying the motion with a blithe smile. “Here you go. Have a nice night.”

“Uh-huh.” He paused before heading out, giving you a weird raised-eyebrow look. “Don’t let the fuckin bed bugs bite.” He said it obnoxiously, knowingly, like it should mean something. Your face heated as you recalled what Severen had whispered in your ear. Fucking asshole.

You waited till he was out of sight to turn your disapproving frown to Severen. The urge to melt and let it go was near overwhelming, but you shoved it aside. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Yankees ain’t got manners, that’s what.” Severen said it dismissively, tossing his head like a dog shaking off flies. Then he sprung over the counter and landed with a jostle of leather and buckles and spurs, and he popped up to full height with an expression that promised nothing good. The same expression he’d been wearing when he first set foot here. You startled back. He followed you.

“Since when do you care about that sort of thing?” Something rung in warning at the back of your mind, even as that fuzzy contentedness that came whenever you looked at Severen tried to smother it. Something was off.

“Aw, don’t be like that. Lookit me.”

Rough fingers curled around your jaw and tilted your head up. As soon as you made eye contact, the warning in your head went silent. The tension in your jaw and your brow and your body unspooled. You went limp, letting Severen herd you against the back wall and cage you in with his arms and his body. His head blocked the sterile glow of the neon lights, casting you in shadow. His breath settled against your lips.

“Now, aren’t you a pretty lil thing?” he murmured, all soft honeyed tones and Southern charm. You would’ve liked to have thought you were immune to that sort of thing, being in this business and all, but your heart hammered so loud in your ears and your throat that you couldn’t think straight. “Thought that since I first saw you. Thought to myself, ‘oh, well I could just eat this lil sweetheart up.’ Wouldn’t I be a lucky man?”

He laid a hand on your chest, just below your throat, fingers curling against your pulse as his thumb caressed your skin. The edge of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. “You scared? Excited?”

Your tongue felt heavy. Everything did, heavy and weightless at the same time. “Yeah,” was all you could get out.

“You weak in the knees for me? Lil heart aflutterin?” The hand at your neck had climbed to join the one at your jaw. He cradled you like something delicate. “You sweet on me?”

You managed a weak laugh. “Y-yeah.” That was one way of putting it. One way to describe whatever the fuck was going on with your body.

He smiled. Brushed his nose against yours. “Good. That’s good.”

“Severen.... please.....” You weren’t quite sure what you were pleading for. What, exactly, you wanted him to do. “Please.”

“Don’t you worry sugar. Imma make you feel real good.”

Lips pressed to yours. Slightly chapped and cool, but firm and relentless, a sweet moving pressure that had your head spinning even more than it already was. His body pinned you to the wall and his fingers tilted your head to the side, moving you how he pleased. He pressed his tongue into your mouth sooner than you would’ve expected. A helpless noise came from your throat. Heat shuddered down your spine. He kissed you deeply, languorously, as if he had an eternity to explore you.

A thought bubbled up from the back of your mind – what if a customer walked in on you? But then Severen was slotting a thigh between your legs and biting at your lower lip and you stopped thinking much at all. Your hands slid under his jacket, racking up his shirt and dipping along the curve of his spine as you explored smooth, cool skin. Or maybe you were just burning so hot that he felt cold in comparison.

You whined when he pulled away, only to sigh in relief when his mouth latched onto your neck. Wet, open-mouthed kisses and scraping teeth and one hand cradling your cheek as you tilted your head away and gave him better access. Fucking Christ he needed to stop being a tease. You squirmed and dragged his hips closer, sliding yourself on his thigh and biting back a sound of pleasure at the friction. One of his hands dropped down to brace your hip. He huffed a laugh against your skin.

“God, please Severen,” you breathed.

He hummed and pressed a kiss to your pulse. His fingers dug into your skin.

And then he bit you.

Not a playful nip. Not a hickey. A full-power clamp of jaws like a dog or an alligator biting down on its prey. Teeth tore through your skin, punctured clean through like you were butter left out in the sun. It knocked the breath right out of you. Pain exploded through your veins. Your body thrashed of its own accord. Your mind screamed awake.

A gunshot rang out. Severen yanked away from you, teeth ripping back out your neck. A cry of pain unlodged from your throat and you stumbled away, sliding down against the wall. Severen swung around and snapped bloody teeth at something beyond your line of sight. “What the FUCK–” Another gunshot. Severen yowled and his body jerked and buckled. He collapsed to the floor. You scrambled away from his body as his words ricocheted in your own mind. What the FUCK....?? Your breath sawed in and out from your chest far too quickly. Your head buzzed.

What the fuck had just happened?

There was the crunching of broken glass – when had one of the window panes been broken? – and a head peeked over the counter. Slicked back hair and glasses and ice blue eyes.

The customer from earlier.

You stared at him with what was probably a panicked, bug-eyed look. He stared back at you. Then his gaze drifted slightly to your left and his eyes darkened. “You’re uh. You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah.” Your voice came out raw. “He bit me.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a bite.”

“Yeah.” Was this really the time or place for this conversation?

You weren’t sure if you’d said that last part out loud, because the man grimaced and leaned over the counter, offering you a hand. You took it and tried not to think about the fact that yours was shaking. He yanked you up with ease then helped you clamber over the counter. There was a pistol in his other hand.

Your head swam.

“We should, uh, get you out of here.” The man shoved the gun into his waistband and glanced around. A hand snaked around your upper arm. Normally you would’ve pulled away, but you weren’t exactly confident in your ability to stay upright. Not when you were shaking and fucking bleeding from your neck as if you’d been bitten by a vam–

“Holy shit.”

The man gave you a look that was halfway between annoyed and alarmed. “What?”

“Did I just get bitten by a vampire?” you blurted. He grimaced again. You realized how that sounded. “No, I’m not – shut the fuck up, don’t look at me like that–”

“Oh come on–” For a guy who’d gone out of his way to save you and shoot the maybe-vampire-maybe-crazy-guy who’d fucking bitten you, he seemed pretty fucking fed up. “Here.” He grabbed a bottle of orange juice from one of the drink shelves and shoved it into your hands. “Drink the fuck up. We’re leaving.”

“We can’t leave the scene of a crime. There’s a fucking dead guy!”

“Yeah, unless he’s a fucking vampire, in which case I don’t think a bullet’s gonna do much to stop him.” He practically dragged you out of the gas station with him. You couldn’t exactly argue with his logic, even if the world was tilting around you and you were lightheaded and your thoughts wouldn’t stop sloshing around like soup inside your skull.

God, how the fuck was this even happening?

“Got somewhere we can hole up?” the man asked.

You almost blurted, Who’s we? Trusting a stranger was what had gotten you into this mess. Then again, he’d gone out of his way to save you. And even if a bullet didn’t do much to stop a vampire, you had to admit you felt marginally safer with a human shield. As awful as that thought was.

“Um.” You tried to collect your scattered brain. Took a gulp of orange juice and cringed at the bitter taste. “There’s a church that isn’t too far from here.”

“That’s not–” The man cut himself off.

You glared at him. “What?”

He gave you another annoyed look. You again debated yanking your arm away from him and walking yourself. Instead you took another sip of orange juice. You probably weren’t putting enough pressure on your neck.

“That shit probably doesn’t work. Hallowed ground and crosses and all that religious BS.”

“What? Why?” You frowned. “Don’t tell me your name is Van Helsing.”

He scoffed. “It’s Frank. And your little vampire buddy didn’t need to be welcomed into that shithole to get to you, so that’s probably a myth. And who the hell knows what else is a myth too, right? We could be wasting our fuckin time in a church.”

You strained to remember whether or not there had been a welcome sign on the door of the gas station. Working there for so long had made you blind to the details of the place. You tried twisting around to catch a glance of the gas station receding behind you, but Frank was pulling you along too quickly and had you in an iron grip. Shit, maybe he was right.

Another thought hit you. “Oh fuck,” you said aloud.

“What now–?”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” you snapped. “Severen, the fucking vampire, came here with four other people he calls family. I only ever see them around at night. They’re probably fucking vampires too.” A whole pack of vampires. Right under your goddamn nose. Then again, how were you supposed to expect something that wasn’t even supposed to exist?

“Oh, well that’s just peachy.”

You were walking down a cluster of buildings now, passing by the grocery store and the bar. Warm hazy lights cast an orange glow on everything and reflected off Frank’s glasses, obscuring your view of his eyes. His mouth was set in a flat, grim line. You couldn’t get a goddamn read on him, or why he was here, or why he was helping you. You didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but after Severen, your guard was firmly up.

But….

You sighed. “We can hide at my place. I never took Severen there.” Of course, there was always the possibility that he’d followed you at some point. But then why wouldn’t he have attacked you there rather than in public? You twisted around, trying to get a look behind you again. You didn’t see any angry leather-clad blood-stained guys tailing you. You didn’t see any bats. Did vampires even turn into bats? Fuck, who knew? At least at your place, you’d have kitchen knives. And garlic, if that worked. Did you have anything that could be used as stakes? Did that even work? You’d heard decapitation was a sure way to kill anything, but you doubted you had the physical strength or mental fortitude to cut through someone’s spine, even if the bastard had tried to kill you.

Ultimately, you did end up going to your place. Your hands were shaking hard enough that you had trouble getting your keys into the door, and Frank glancing out into the open empty night didn’t do anything to ease your nerves. Especially not when his hand was resting on the grip of his pistol. It just made you want to start scanning the tiny neighborhood too. But once the door was unlocked, Frank ushered you in, slipping in right behind you before you slammed the door shut and locked it again. And hooked up the extra chain lock too. Not that it would protect you from vampire super strength. You assumed that one was real.

You flicked on the lights, but Frank immediately shut them back off. Only half a protest escaped your lips before he interrupted. “Nope. As far as anybody else is concerned, no one’s home.”

“Fine. Just give me a second.” You flicked the lights back on long enough to check the analogue clock hanging in the living room. “It’s just past three-thirty. We still have a few hours before sunrise. We can stay here until it’s light out, assuming that one’s real.” You hadn’t seen Severen or any of his pack out in the daylight. You were pretty sure that one was real, but now Frank had you second-guessing every bit of vampire fiction you’d ever seen.

But Frank just said, “Yeah. I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You nodded dumbly. Stared at the faint outline of his face in the darkness. Christ on a stick. You were stuck with this guy until then. Another stranger. A stranger with a gun, no less.

Fuck.

“Alright. You close the blinds. I’ll do something about this.” You gestured to your neck. It had stopped bleeding, but you were damp and sticky with your own blood. “We can, I dunno, rub garlic around the door and windows afterwards?”

“You really think garlic’s gonna work?” Frank said doubtfully.

“I don’t fucking know!! You figure something out, Mister fucking Van Helsing! I’m gonna go deal with the fucking bite on my fucking neck.” You beelined for your bedroom and left him to his own devices. Hopefully he’d trip over something in the living room, the fucking douchebag.

You grabbed a change of clothes then stepped into the bathroom. There were no windows in the closet-sized space, so you closed the door, locked it, and flicked the light on. Through your squinting at the sudden brightness, you caught a glimpse of your reflection.

Jesus Christ, you looked like a walking corpse.

Okay. That was fine. That was expected. Whatever.

You stripped and dumped your bloodied clothes onto the floor. Jumping in the shower probably wasn’t the best move when you had a possible vampire thirsting after you and a stranger with a gun in your house, so you went with a dampened towel instead. When you’d cleaned up most of the blood, you dropped the towel onto the pile of your soiled clothes. You tried not to wince at the idea of throwing them away. The shirt and towel probably weren’t salvageable.

Not that that mattered right now. You were busy examining the bite mark on your neck. Miraculously, it had stopped bleeding on its own, though blood welled if you poked it too roughly. It had hurt at first. Now it was just weirdly, worryingly numb. The teeth marks were deep and torn, hadn’t pierced through cleanly and had probably been jostled as you’d struggled against Severen. But it was definitely a bite mark. And it definitely wasn’t a normal human one. The thought made you a little woozy, to be honest. You crouched down, and the rush of blood being forced back up made your head spin.

This couldn’t be real. This could not be real, and it could not be happening to you right now specifically. This was fucking insane.

You reached for the small medical kit under the sink. How the fuck any of this worked, you couldn’t be sure, but cleaning the bite mark and slapping a plaster on it couldn’t make things any worse.

Vampires bit humans to turn them into vampires. But they usually had to feed the human their own vampire blood to actually turn them. That’s how it went in Interview with a Vampire and Dracula, right? And that hadn’t happened to you. So you were good. Right? Probably? The feeding blood thing was something vampire fiction generally agreed upon. That was probably real.

But wait, Dracula was actually able to go into the sun in the original book. It only weakened him. Shit, what if the bursting into flames in daylight thing was made up? Your heart dropped at the thought. Although, no, you hadn’t seen Severen or the rest of his pack during daylight hours. And an RV could be a pretty good place for vampires to hide if they blocked out all the windows. Okay then, that one seemed like a safe bet. You weren’t so sure about garlic. That one sounded pretty silly. And as much as you hated to admit it, Frank was probably right about vampires not needing to be invited in. So you couldn’t count on that to protect you. And what about religious iconography? You weren’t sure you had anything in your house for that anyway. Fucking hell. You’d been thrust into a world you didn’t understand and didn’t know the rules to. And you had to keep yourself alive because of it. Well, yourself and Frank.

Even if the garlic seemed silly, it couldn’t hurt either. And surely you had something around the house that could be used as a stake. Unless it had to be wood.... did it have to be a particular kind of wood....?

“Fuck,” you muttered to your reflection. Maybe Frank would have some ideas.

You finished cleaning up and getting dressed, and then you headed back out. “You see anything weird?” you asked as you opened the bedroom door. And stopped. Squinted in the darkness.

The living room was empty.

“....Frank?” Your heartbeat thumped in your ears as you peered into the kitchen. He wasn’t there. “Frank? Are you–”

Something grabbed you from behind. A hand muffled your shriek before it could leave your throat. You thrashed and kicked and bucked like an animal as you were dragged. Your elbow jammed against something solid. A grunt of pain hit your ear.

Then you were tossed onto the bed. The mattress softened the harshness of the fall, and you jerked upright immediately. You scrabbled for a weapon as a figure filled your doorway. Tall wiry gleaming glasses outline of a jacket –

“Sev–”

He pounced onto you and you shrieked again. Clawed and writhed and–

It wasn’t Severen. It was Frank. With a mouthful of sharp teeth baring down at you. Oh fuck.

“Now what are the chances of that, huh?” he sneered. “Getting attacked by two different vampires in one day? Talk about bad luck.”

“GET OFF!” You renewed your struggles, but that brief moment of shock had given Frank all the time he’d needed. He had you caged against the bed, grabbing your arms and pinning you down with his bodyweight. “No!!”

“Fraid this just isn’t your day.” He said it so cruelly, so carelessly, like you were little more than a beetle under his shoe. Tears pricked your eyes. God, you were so fucking stupid, you’d fallen for the same fucking shit again.... “Tears? Really? Now? We’re just getting to the good part.”

“Fuck you,” you gritted out.

He laughed softly. You jerked under him again, but he remained immovable. “Maybe in another life. Now. Hold still.”

He leaned in, teeth bared and breath puffing against the other side of your neck. “NO!” you screamed. You threw every ounce of energy in your body into heaving against him. One of your knees hit his gut. The air rushed out of him and he doubled over. You yanked a hand out of his grip and blindly grabbed something from the bedside table and smashed it against his head. He toppled to the side. You shoved him off and bolted.

You didn’t even make it to the bedroom door. A hand was on your arm and you were spinning and then you were on the mattress again, this time with Frank shoved up behind you and pinning you to the bed, your back to his front and your face pressed against the sheets. You hollered, half-muffled. He wrestled with your flailing arms.

“Not so fucking fast, bitch,” he spat in your ear. “I haven’t eaten in weeks. I’ve been buying my time on fucking gas station iron pills, but now that I’ve got live, squirming prey? You’re not getting away from me that easy.”

You snarled some combination of words at him. You weren’t even sure what. But you writhed and jerked and flailed and didn’t let up for one second, even as he pressed against you and swore at you.

“Yknow,” a familiar voice drawled, “it’d be easier if you hypnotized em. Right?”

You both froze. You turned your face to stare at the bedroom entrance.

Alive and well, leaning against the doorjamb with one leg crossed in front of the other, mouth and shirt smeared with blood that looked black in the darkness – Severen. Sunglasses and all. Very much not looking like a man who’d been recently shot.

Your heart plummeted. Despair like nothing you’d ever experienced washed through your body, cold and stinging like alcohol.

“The fuck you mean ‘hypnotized’?” Frank said. He didn’t sound smug anymore. Just pissed.

A disbelieving laugh burst out from Severen. “You don’t know about that? Ohhh I get it now!! Well I’ll be damned!!” He took a step forward, practically sauntered. “You’re a newbie, aren’t ya? You ain’t figured out all the perks yet! Yknow what else you ain’t figured out yet, newbie?” Another step forward. A sliver of light from the bathroom – you’d forgotten to turn the light off you’d just closed the door you’d been in such a rush – hit his sunglasses and illuminated the edge of a smile and blood-splattered skin. His voice turned sharp and low like you hadn’t heard before. “You don’t steal another vamp’s prey.”

Frank flinched behind you. You saw Severen move, but it took another second to figure out what else you were seeing. A pistol, gleaming and old-fashioned, aimed at Frank. It might’ve brought you relief in any other circumstance, but here, now, aimed at a vampire....?

“This might not kill you, but I can assure you, it hurts like a bitch.” Severen flashed his teeth at the both of you. “So how bout this, son? I’ll be the bigger man and let you go, and you fuck off into the night and never cross my way again. But first, and here’s the fun part – we share this lovely lil sweetheart here between the two of us. And if you say no, well,” he laughed cheerfully, “I’ll shoot ya and drink up by myself, and then I’ll make you regret stumblin into an elder.”

You couldn’t breathe. Two options. Neither of which ended with you still having a pulse.

“So!” Severen wiggled his free hand through the air. “What’ll it be?”

The following pause was heavy and lasted far too long. Please say no. Please refuse him. Please fight him or try to disarm him or fuck up and give me a chance to escape, please, God, please....

Frank sighed through his nose. “You know what? Fine. Fine! Whatever. As long as I get something out of this clusterfuck.”

The words triggered something in your brain, that primal drive to survive. You yelled and thrashed, hoping to catch him off guard and fling him off. He just hissed and squeezed your arms till your bones felt like they were about to snap. You cried out in pain. Tears blurred your vision.

“You wanna help me out here or what?” Frank asked Severen.

“Sure thing, partner!” The words dripped with saccharine venom. He neared the bed and reached up to his sunglasses. Hypnotism. Cold fear doused you.

“NnnNOOdon’tyoufuckindare!” You squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head away. Severen’s laugh twisted your insides unpleasantly.

“Aw now don’t be like that!” You heard shifting fabric, the creak of leather and jingle of a dozen pins and badges. Fingers forced their way under your chin and tugged at you, trying to coax you towards him as rings dug into your cheek. You struggled to resist. Clamped your jaws together and strained your neck muscles so hard it felt like something was about to pop. “I said, don’t be like that.” Nails dug into the skin at the back of your neck, piercing and hurting and lancing pain through your nerves. It shocked you into relenting, and Severen twisted your head towards him with a noise of approval. You screwed your eyes shut tighter. He tsked at you. “C’mon now, open up for Sev.”

“Here, let me,” Frank said from behind you. He yanked you away from the bed and clasped your upper arms in a near bone-breaking grip. You had no time to recover before he bit you and agony ripped through your neck and shoulder. On instinct your body arced, strained, tried to pull away from the pain as your eyes snapped open of their own accord. And then there were fingers around your chin, roughly yanking you down, forcing you to meet eyes the color of the afternoon sky –

“Relax, sweetheart. The three of us’re gonna have some real fun tonight.”

The effect was instantaneous. Something fuzzy and hazy wrapped around your thoughts. Even as you struggled, your body loosened, and your thrashing weakened to a soft writhe. You bit down on your own tongue till blood filled your mouth. Focused on the pain, the hurt, the agony radiating from your tongue and your jaw and your neck and your arms, and refused to let yourself get swept up in the stupor. You were not doing this, you were not letting this happen, you were not going down without a fight. If they wanted you, they’d have to fight tooth and fucking nail, you swore it to any God that was fucking watching.

“Jesse likes to go on about how this sorta thing is really more the power of suggestion than actual hypnotism. Accordin to him, hypnotism ain’t even real.” Severen said it casually, as if commenting on the color of the walls or the softness of the pillows, even as the dog-like tilt of his head revealed the predator in human skin. “Which is real funny comin from the walkin talkin livin dead. But point is, lil sweetheart’s still gonna be struggling if you don’t do it right. Get off newbie.”

Frank unlatched from your neck. You whimpered in pain, tried to pull away, but your body responded only weakly.

“What?” He sounded almost as bleary as you felt.

Severen cackled. “Don’t know how to make it feel good yet either, huh? Whoever vamp daddy is did a piss poor job at teachin you the ropes. Scoot over. Let a professional handle it.” He cupped your neck and ripped off the plaster you’d placed over his bitemark.

A bitemark on each side, you thought through the fuzz. Now you were all evened out.

Teeth pierced through your flesh for a third time that night. It hurt. It hurt. You tried to put up a struggle despite the weight of your limbs and the lightness of your head. Pleading words and cries fell from your mouth. They went unheeded. Severen sucked at your skin and lapped up your blood – yes, this was really happening, this was what they were going to do to you – and your head swam. Your shoved at him weakly, but you might as well have been shoving at a brick wall.

This was it. End of the line. A lamb to the slaughter. Bottom of the food chain.

Your thoughts and emotions tangled together, fueled by the rush of pain and adrenaline and blood loss. Something crept through your veins. A chill spreading outwards under your skin. Death. This is what it felt like to die, you were sure of it, and all you could do was wait for it to overtake you.

.....Except.

It wasn’t. It didn’t. It was something else. Something started to replace the pain and the despair, something that was warm and liquid and buzzing. It filled your senses and glowed in your chest and trickled further down, dangerously down.

It felt.... good.

Awareness flooded your senses, hyperawareness of every little detail and sensation. The light spilling from the bathroom, casting the scene in lurid suggestive shadows and slivers of amber. Severen’s teeth buried in your neck, his lips closed around your skin as if working a permanent hickey into your throat. How he cradled your head so sweetly and dragged a hand down your side. Frank’s breath on your ear and your cheek and your neck, the proximity of his lips. Both of them solid and pressed against the length of your body, immovable and caging you in and supporting your body weight as your legs buckled beneath you.

How could you have been afraid? How could you have run and cried and screamed when it felt like this? You shifted against them, searched desperately and half-mindedly for some sort of movement. You might have whimpered. Or moaned. You weren’t entirely sure.

Severen unlatched from your neck but didn’t go far. You could feel him smiling against you. “Didn’t I tell you it’d feel good? All that struggling for nothin.” You mm-hmmed as enthusiastically as you could, despite the intoxicating headiness unfolding in your body and making you dizzy.

Frank’s exhale brushed against your ear. You shuddered. “How the hell did you do that?” he murmured. Some distant part of you wondered the same.

“Ain’t rocket science.” Severen licked at the gouges of your bitemarks. Sparks of pleasure flew under your skin.

At some point you’d started squirming. You wanted that feeling, that friction from when Severen had pushed his thigh between your legs at the gas station and you’d ground against him. That felt like a lifetime ago. Like a dream. You wanted it back. You wriggled your hips and got a response from the both of them. Frank made a low choked noise in the back of his throat and one of his hands flew to your side, nails digging through the fabric of your shirt. Severen sucked in a breath and tipped his head back. His throat worked enticingly as he ground back against you. Oh fuck that felt good. You gasped and grabbed Severen’s shoulders to steady yourself. And tried desperately not to sound like a dog in heat as you writhed against them.

You were too warm, burning up. Aching and struggling to breathe. Hands slid along what parts of your body they could reach, mouths and tongues and teeth pressed against your neck.

The thought of being consumed no longer seemed so terrifying. The mental image of them tearing into you, bloodying and messing themselves with you, teeth gnashing and throats working and tongues exploring your veins and arteries and snapping them like rubber bands was so visceral, it made you clench around nothing.

Eat me alive eat me alive please God devour me.

Between one moment and the next, you’d been dragged to the bed. Frank was behind you still, holding your back to his chest. He grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him, and when you rocked against the hardness pressed to your ass, you were rewarded with a stuttered groan. You couldn’t even remember why you’d been annoyed at him. He was making such delicious little noises because of you, was grinding against you with the desperation of a man who hadn’t been touched by anyone else in years. How long would it take him to cum in his jeans just from this?

Your attention was abruptly, fully drawn away when Severen dropped to his knees in front of you. Enough light bled out from the bathroom to let you see the fresh blood smeared across his face, overlapping the dried splatter from before. His eyes glinted in the dimness. He looked like a predator. He was a predator. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid, not when he was pushing your thighs apart and running his fingers up to the hem of your jeans. He thumbed the button. At this angle, the way he looked up at you through dark eyelashes was absolutely obscene.

“How bout this? He drinks you, and I eat you. Sound fair?”

Lust hit you like a physical force.

Frank dropped his head down to your shoulder and licked at the bloody bite mark he’d made. “Yeah, alright. Sounds fair.”

You had enough time to catch a flash of teeth from Severen before he was undoing your jeans and dragging them off you and taking your underwear with them. It took a tangle of limbs and wandering hands to maneuver your body, but then you were bare and exposed and you suddenly realized how wet you were. How wet you’d been the entire time they’d been manhandling you. Heat flared in your cheeks and deeper in your guts.

“Well, lookit this,” Severen purred. “All this for lil ole me?”

“You?” Frank muttered against your skin.

“Was my idea.” And then his mouth was on your exposed cunt and Frank was sinking his teeth into you and it was so much, it was too much, it was near overwhelming. Pleasure shot through you so intense it made your body jolt from the force of it. Your heart pounded in your throat where Frank’s mouth met your skin. He kept grinding against your ass as he drank. He pushed your shirt up and explored the expanse of your body, every dip and fold, teasing and testing every inch of sensitive flesh. All while Severen’s tongue lavished your clit, warm and wet and fucking relentless. He drank up your arousal like that alone would sustain him. His tongue swept tight little circles over your clit and then dipped down between your folds, back up to your clit, and he did it again and again until your thighs were shaking and you were twisting your fingers into his hair. The hot pressure of his tongue and his fingers digging into your thighs and Frank clutching you and sucking on your neck was all too intense. You shuddered and jerked and panted from the pleasure. You were burning, coiling tight, about to shake apart from it all. You had no idea what you were or weren’t saying.

Fuckfuckfuck, it needed to stop but you didn’t want it to, please don’t stop fuck oh God please –

Frank pulled his teeth from your neck to press sloppy open-mouthed kisses to your skin, smearing the blood already drenching you. His lips were slick, the prick of teeth a promise. “Fuck, you taste good,” he slurred, words barely more than a growl. He rolled one of your nipples between his fingers. It was all you could do not to cry out.

And then you did cry out as Severen’s teeth pierced your inner thigh. Fresh blood joined the slick mess between your legs. You rolled your hips forward against the fingers Severen had shoved into your cunt and the thumb he’d pressed firmly to your clit, and then you continued the motion backwards to grind against Frank’s still-clothed bulge. It hit you so perfectly you wanted to cry, and maybe you did. It was impossible to tell with the onslaught of sensation. Half-blind, you grabbed Frank by the hair and yanked him up. His protest was cut off when you slammed your lips against his and swallowed the noise. He opened to you with a broken moan. You ran your tongue along his teeth. The coppery tang of blood made your insides curl with disgust just as much as it had you riding Severen’s fingers. You pricked yourself on Frank’s teeth. Sharp pain, the taste of blood, and then he was grabbing the back of your neck and devouring you, teeth and tongue and frenzied need, kissing you like it was his salvation and your demise. It probably was. And God, you wanted nothing more.

A new hand at your neck urged you away from Frank. You turned your head. Severen was leaning up, eyes-half lidded. “Oh, you sure fuckin do. Blood and pussy taste like heaven.” He pulled you in and you kissed him too, tasted your blood and arousal and you moaned into him. Frank nipped at your neck, dragged his hips against yours. Severen’s fingers were still curled inside you.

You were going to explode. You were going to die. You were going to irreversibly shatter apart and it was going to be messy and it was going to feel so fucking good that you wouldn’t even mind.

The sound of a belt and a zipper shot through you like lightning. You were pulled up onto your knees and they both came up with you, Severen in front and Frank behind, pressed against your bloody and sweaty and spit-soaked body. Frank shifted behind you and his tip pressed against your aching cunt. Between Severen fingering you open and the fluids coating your thighs, he was able to slide in with ease. You choked on the feeling, the relief from the emptiness and the fullness of him inside you. An experimental thrust had you doubling over against Severen, which just made his thumb rub harder against your clit. The next thrust hit you even deeper.

You felt sick. Sick with desire, in pain from arousal.

You only belatedly realized you’d reached for Severen’s belt, shaking hands pawing at the clunky metal buckle. He laughed at you but helped anyway. When you curled your blood-slickened fingers around him, his eyes practically rolled into the back of his head and his jaw went slack. He thrust into your hand with barely-restrained desperation. The dual motions were uneven, jolting and frenzied, but then you slid into a rhythm and the three of you writhed in tune. Moans and huffs, cries of pleasure from you and a tear-dampened face. You jerked Severen off as he punished your clit, as Frank fucked into you, as you lost what was left of your mind. You kissed them and they switched between kissing and biting and sucking and licking you. There was so much blood. All of it yours. You couldn’t care.

You seized in pleasure when they bit you at once, teeth buried in either side of your neck, four hands playing you like a finely tuned instrument. Sobs wracked your throat from how good it was. They used your body like a doll, kept moving until their own release was spilling into your hand and filling you up. Kept moving after that, chasing every wretched bit of pleasure in your bodies until the pain had returned and you could no longer tell it apart from the pleasure.

When they finally blessed you with mercy and released you, your body fell limply to the bed. Your limbs were dead, useless, body entirely wrung out. Your head swam and muffled ringing filled your ears. Colored dots danced along the ceiling, nearly obscuring the two bloodied faces peering down at you.

“Thanks for the fun times, sugar.” The words were muffled, as if coming from underwater. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Couldn’t make yourself get up, move, do anything. Why was that bad....? You were so tired. Too hot and too cold and impossibly tired. The bed was heaven underneath you.

The faces were saying something, but you couldn’t hear them. Didn’t want to.

You let your eyelids slide shut.

The darkness was a blessing.

#ace writes #severen x reader #severen near dark x reader #frank abigail x reader #adam barrett x reader #severen near dark #frank abigail #adam barrett #notsft #this is such a pain in the ass to tag lmfao

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