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boolger · 24 days

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I’m dangerous ☆ chapter 3 ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. MDNI

[Chapter 1] ☆[chapter 2] ☆ [chapter 3] ☆ [chapter 4] ☆ [chapter 5] ☆[chapter 6] ☆[chapter 7]

☆ fem!reader x Kate Laswell ☆ explicit. MDNI. ☆ 3/10 ☆ 2,204 words

☆ Summary: You were a hacker and had been a thorn in the side of the 141 gang for a while, in particular as you tried to find out who the famous leader, Watcher, was. But they refuse to be blackmailed and won’t pay you.

So, to prove that you weren’t just bluffing, but were a serious threat to them, you kidnapped a random woman that you saw coming out from one of their meetings, figuring she was a secretary or girlfriend or something.

Oh, how wrong you were.

☆ Tags: au mob, gang, kidnapping, blackmailing, dub-con, angst, smut, death, grief/mourning, hacking, non-con drug use, bondage, spanking, kissing, rough sex, inaccurate portrayal of mob, more will be added.

That night you laid in your bed, looking up at the ceiling. Why exactly had you told her about Alice? She could use it against you if they ever caught you again… then again, did it matter? They couldn’t hurt Alice anyway. Only you. Ever since Alice died, life had kind of sucked ass anyways. Hadn’t Alice told you to figure out something that would make you happy, before you died, you might just have stayed locked up in the house the rest of your life.

Her hand had been cold those last hours before she died, even as you held it without a break. When she had stopped talking, so had you and you had just sat in silence, watching each other for those last hours. Both of you knew this would be the last time you would see each other.

You barely wanted to blink, afraid to lose a moment with her that you could never get back.

It almost seemed like she went to sleep. Her pulse got slower, her eyes closed. When you whispered “I love you,” she used her last energy to smile.

You closed your own eyes and let childhood memories pull you into sleep after a while.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You woke up the next morning and after a short shower, you put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, too tired to care about your looks - earning a raised eyebrow from Kate when she saw you. You raised your own eyebrow, almost as if to dare her to say something.

After letting Kate free to go to the bathroom, you changed your piercings, before chaining her up again.

“It’s highly unnecessary, you know,” She pointed out as you put the key in your pocket, “I won’t run away.”

“Don’t trust you on that,” you answered grumpily. You hadn’t slept that well, too worried about the whole situation and the memories of Alice keeping you awake.

Kate huffed, “I’m not driving that piece of shit you call a car. And I’m not feeling like walking.”

You wanted to point out that she could just call a cab. Then again, you had her bag.

“Oh, wow, sucks then,” you muttered as you turned your electric kettle on, waiting for your water to boil so you could get some tea, “You’re stuck with me then.”

“So, listen Fae, if you –”

“Fae?” you looked over at her, confused.

“Yes. Fae,” she had the nerve to look a little annoyed with you asking about it, “I’m calling you that since I don't know your name.”

You huffed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you rather I called you hound?”

“... No.” you admitted, “ Just. Don’t call me anything. My name doesn’t matter.”

“Well, I think –”

“Drop it or you're not getting coffee.” You threatened and that finally shut her up.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Eating breakfast was a silent affair for a while, the toasted pieces of bread making the most noise whenever one of you took a bite.

So, you zoned out, wondering what you should do whenever you dropped her off. Should you lay low for a while? You couldn’t do that at home though and what if they followed you? A small sound distracted you and you looked outside - but nothing was there. The paranoia was creeping up on you, you figured. This entire thing was getting worse and worse. Maybe you should move the two of you - but you weren’t really sure of where to go and –

“So, what are you going to do?” Kate asked before taking a sip of her coffee, blue eyes watching you. She really wanted to know everything didn’t she? Maybe because she was a virgo. Not that you really believed in astrology, but Alice had loved it. Constantly told you about how people's behaviour was due to those stars. You didn’t feel like any stars had an effect on you - unless the stars took time out of their book to make you mourn your sister and spiral when you needed money, to the point of kidnapping a mob member.

“I’m not telling you,” You answered, a frown on your face, “I’m not that stupid.”

“Never implied that you were stupid,” Kate answered with a gentle smile, “I was just curious.”

“Well, I’m not telling you.”

“Fair enough,” she answered, “I mean, I guess I know that you’re going to pay off the medical bills after your sister.”

You hand tightened around your cup of tea, as she mentioned your sister again. The only relief was that you hadn’t told her Alice’s name. Anger of her being mentioned still crawled along your ribs, threatening to fill your lungs and spill over in screams.

“I told you not to fuckin’ ask about her, you muppet,” you snapped, “My god, why do you have to–”

The arm appeared out of nowhere, curling around your neck and pulling you backwards and off your chair, as a scared scream left you. Your airways was almost cut off, making you claw desperately at the strong arm keeping you up, a whimper leaving you – while Kate looked at you emotionless.

You watched her turn around on her chair and look towards the front door, where John fucking Price walked in, some of his minions following him, only adding to the fuel of your panic. You managed to look up and holy fuck, the face that looked down at you were covered by a fucking skull mask. You had seen him before, of course. There were so many pictures of him following different people along, like a scary shadow, like a grim reaper, ready to kill on command. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, if you weren’t wrong. Fitting nickname.

One your hands left his thick arm as you twisted in his grip, blindly searching for the butter knife. You just managed to get your fingers around the handle when it was pulled from your hand again - by one grinning Scot, John ‘Soap’ MacTavish.

“Nu-uh, lass, that's nae a good idea,” he said, throwing the knife onto the kitchen counter again.

More people entered your house, all of them taking one look at you, then looking back at Kate.

“Took you long enough,” Kate commented, not exactly sounding as sweet as before.

“Sorry, bosslady,” Price grunted, “Wasn’t really plannin’ on playing find and rescue, was I?”

You felt black spots begin to appear in your sight, as the air you could get into your lungs were restricted - you tried stomping on Ghost’s foot, but you weren’t wearing any shoes - and he was wearing military looking boots, so all it earned you was an annoyed huff.

Kate was given back her phone by Price.

“Wan’t me to kill her, Laswell?” Ghost asked calmly, as if he was asking what kind of tea she wanted and you let out a whimper.

“Nononono, please don-” the grip tightened around your neck, cutting off your air completely.

Kate looked over at you, almost looking like she considered it for a moment. She looked… different from how she had earlier, her face somehow colder than before.

More… Dangerous.

Was this it? Would you die like this, in the hands - or well, technically arm - of an actual monster who you knew had killed several? Would he choke you to death - or just take pity on you and break your neck?

“No,” Kate finally just said all calmly, “Choke her out though, we need information from her.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.

“You don’t seem hurt,” Price commented to Kate, as you saw people spread through your house, beginning to go through your things.

“Fae isn’t a good kidnapper,” she just answered with a shrug and Price laughed. If you weren't going to die from asphyxiation, you might just die from pure embarrassment.

You felt the spots in front of your eyes multiplying as you desperately clawed at Ghost’s arm.

“Calm down, lil’ bird,” he whispered darkly, “just let it happen, yea?”

Your feet felt heavy.

“Nae anythin’ lil’ bout that fat arse,” Soap mused next to you, “proper beauty.”

Hadn’t you been busy passing out from choking, you might have tried to hit him for that comment, mobster or not, but you felt weaker and weaker.

Your head felt heavy now. So did your arms. Even though she had told him not to kill you, you felt like you were going to die. Especially as you watched one of the men pulling down a picture of you and Alice, looking at it. You wanted to hit him too.

Wait… had Price called Kate for bosslady?

You passed out before you could think about it anymore.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The first thing you registered was pain. Inside and around your neck, pain pulsed through it with every breath you took.

Probably came from being choked out, you figured.

Your forehead was resting on wood, your body bent forward. You were sitting on a chair and as you tiredly blinked, you realised you were cuffed behind your back too. The floor beneath your bare feet was cold, sending shivers of it up your soft legs.

What the fuck happened?

There was a strong smell of cigars, the scent making you groan a little. You managed to sit up, blinking shortly…

And staring directly at one certain John Price who sat opposite the table you had just been resting against, leant back a little and smoked said cigar. A pleased, almost amused smile on his face.

You blinked - then you noticed a shadow behind him in an otherwise dark room. Ghost stared right back at you.

This was all just splendid.

“How are you feeling, love?” John Price asked and you looked back at him, but it was as if you were unable to even open your mouth. Instead, you looked down at the table, watching the dried up bloodstains that had been attempted to be cleaned off.

Were they going to kill you? Kate had mentioned getting information from you -… Kate Laswell. Apparently the dangerous Watcher. She hadn’t seemed scary in the maybe less than 24 hours that you had held her captive. But still.

Then John Price said out your full name.

You froze. He knew your full fucking name. It shouldn’t surprise you, they broke into your house but still. You had tried to stay anonymous from them for so long. Then you looked up at him once more and he was smiling again, still seeming amused.

“Do you prefer Faes and Hounds?” Ghost asked from the darkness, making Price laugh, smoke leaving his mouth.

“You got us well there, sweetheart,” Price mused, taking another drag of his cigar, carefully watching you, “we really thought you were a proper group. Not just some lonely loser who knows how to hack and hide their IP address.”

“Fuck you.” The moment the two words left your mouth, you regretted them. They weren’t really something you should tell a mob member, were they? Though, John Price just chuckled.

“Oh, so she does talk, hm?”

Once again, you refused to answer.

“You know, Laswell called you Fae. Rests easier on your tongue, doesn’t it?”

You should have called your fake hacker group something cooler.

Your throat fucking hurt, your back was sore and you wanted to sleep. Not whatever the fuck they wanted to.

“Listen,” you said, voice a little raspy, “I don’t have any information, I didn’t hurt you or her, I -“

“Oh?” The sarcasm in his voice was clear as he cut you off, “don’t have any information? Then, it wasn’t you who was a thorn in our side for the last coupl’a weeks? Threatenin’ us constantly? Demanding 60 thousand pounds. That’s a lot of money, lass.”

You just stared at him silently. Your bare toes curled beneath the table, the urge to cry or hide was growing.

“Why don’t you tell me how you found your way into our electronics, hm?” He coached, “those aren’t just something you accidentally get access too.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied on reflex.

“Hm, sure, apologies. How did you and that little group of yours get access?”

“Real’ odd how your supposed little hacker group has stopped replying after we took you, innit?” Price asked, then pulling a fucking knife from his belt. You stared at the knife, watched how he used it to clean out dirt from beneath his fingers. It was a fucking massive thing, clean as a mirror, but he moved it with such ease and experience that you knew he could make it hurt if he decided to attack you.

“Could be a coincidence, isn’t that right, Fae?” Ghost sarcastically asked. This time you didn’t even bother to look at him.

“So, what was your plan? Take the money and run away?” Price asked, now looking at you again. You just nodded.

“Huh. I was pretty sure Laswell mentioned something ‘bout some medical bills.”

You felt numb. You shouldn’t have told her about it. This was proof it was a bad idea. What a shitty kidnapper you were.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, your voice a little raspy.

Price took a deep drag of the cigar. Held in the smoke for just a second before blowing it out again, watching you intensely. “So you say. Still, you decided that bothering a gang and kidnapping a member was worth it.”

“Seems a bit much for something that doesn’t matter.” Ghost added in.

“I didn’t know Kate was the leader.” You just admitted. Might as well be honest about that part, hoping that Price would confirm that Kate indeed was this Watcher.

Price watched you with a neutral face for a moment before breaking into a grin.

“Here I thought you weren’t a smart bird - but you still managed to find out that she was, hm?”

You couldn’t help your own small smile, that probably was more of a movement at the edges of your mouth.

“Well, you just confirmed it.”

There was silence in the room for a moment.

Then Ghost laughed.

“She got you there, old man.”

“Shut it,” Price grumbled, not looking too proud, “I see why she likes you though.”

You did your best to keep your face neutral. This was a messy, shitty situation and you didn’t feel in control at all. It was truly easier when you were behind a screen. Then you could control everything, hack your way into the things you couldn’t. You could just close the fucking laptop.

The knife was slammed down into the table, sinking smoothly into the wood.

“I still want to kill you,” Price casually said, while calmly watching his cigar now, before looking over at you, “promised to be nice though. Figured she maybe wants to do it yourself. She doesn’t kill a lot of people herself anymore, you know.”

You felt like you were going to throw up.

“I’m being a bad host though, hm?” He casually continued as if he hadn’t just more or less confirmed that you were going to die, “are you thirsty? Might be good for that neck of yours, being choked is never fun.”

You hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Ghost moved then, making you freeze, yet he merely put a bottle of water in front of you, before moving behind you and a moment later your hands were free.

Said hands were shaking as they took the water bottle but you pretended they weren’t, instead drinking some of the oddly cold water. Price just smiled.

“You know,” he then continued, “maybe losing a finger or two would jog your memory about how you got access to our devices.”

You almost felt like throwing up the water that you had drunk. It had an odd aftertaste anyways. You wanted to throw up a lot.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, past caring about how it made you seem weak to beg.

“No? It would make it harder for you to bother us again though.”

“I - listen I don’t know anything -“

“Bullshit,” Ghost said and then his gloved hand was on the back of your neck, in a grip that made you whimper, “nobody is going to help or save you, Fae. So I suggest telling the fucking truth.”

You knew that he was right. After Alice’s death, you had mostly been alone. The sad truth was that it would be quite a while before someone realised you had gone missing - it wouldn’t matter whether it was because a mob had kidnapped you or if you were just dead on the kitchen floor from a random stroke or from choking on a grape.

With a strong yank, Price pulled the knife from the wooden table again.

Then it was pointed towards you. You were stuck in between two different kinds of monsters, like some odd nightmare.

“So, did you send all the information to anyone?” Price’s voice had gone lower, eyes colder as he stared at you, the knife still pointed towards you.

“No, sir,” you whispered, “swear I didn’t.”

“No? Why should I believe you though?” He asked, “Kate might find you interesting due to your little kidnapping success with her - but be warned, Fae-“ he leant forward a little, “I won’t fucking hesitate to hurt you.”

You couldn’t answer, your tongue feeling numb. So you just nodded, feeling woozy from that mere movement.

“The drugs are setting in,” Price then declared as if he said it was going to rain.

Drugs? Your eyes flickered to the almost empty water bottle. Fuck. How stupid could you fucking be?

You felt yourself droop forwards a bit, a small sound leaving you. Ghost grabbed your arms, pulling you to your feet - and you barely got up before he almost squatted in front of you, hoisted you over his shoulder and rose up again.

The added height and feeling of his strong shoulder digging into your stomach made you whimper.

“C’mon then, let’s drop her off before we go talk to the others,” Price said, opening the door, but you felt your sight getting more and more blurry.

A part of you wanted to throw up over Ghost’s back and ass, just to be a nuisance, but you passed out before you managed to.

#fanfiction #my writing #cod fanfic #boolger #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #ao3 fanfic #call of duty kate laswell #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader

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korpuskat · 3 months

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hello! ^^

I recently finished your rftw series with michael! the story is so good (/gen) and I’m so excited to see what the last part of cadence has in store! if you don’t mind me asking, are there any hope for it to be released? @-@

Cadence has been a thorn in my side ever since I started writing it. It's painfully close to being done, but I can never coax it into wrapping up. On the chance I never do finish it, here's my WIP (remember this is in context of Cadence's 15K part 1 before anyone comes at me for characterizaton lol):

(NSFW, vaginal sex, somnophilia, choking)

Cold. That’s the first thing you notice. Cold- and droning like white noise. Warmth still clings to your chest, but a chill creeps over-- Your eyes snap open, arms shooting out, searching the dark because fingers touched your side. What you find, of course, is broad shoulders and wobbly latex. Michael. But what you find is also wet.

You recoil first- hands disengaging as he continues what he’s doing: flipping the blankets over, which you must’ve crawled under in your sleep, and pulling harshly at your pants. A seam pops- and you mumble in frustration, undoing the buttons with half-asleep hands. As soon as it’s open, he rips them down your legs. You hiss, the fabric stinging like carpet burn down your thighs. He’s keyed up, too excited from a fresh kill to even care- your underwear is shredded before you can even lift your hips to pull it off.

Fuck, it’s going to be one of those nights.

One massive hand keeps you still, holds you hips in place while the other unzips his coveralls with a zzzzt. Electricity sparks in your belly; he’s going to fuck you. The thought of his cock alone makes your thighs press together, the sweet promise of release so tempting after the last two days. His knees press into the mattress, your whole body shifting as it dips under his weight- and he doesn’t even wait for you to get resettled. The hot head of his cock rubs blindly between your legs; you don’t bother concealing your gasp as he brushes your clit.

In the darkness, it’s only you and him. Time and space fall away, nothing left in existence but his body moving against yours, the raw physical sensation of heat and pressure and each of his exhales echoing in the mask. Your fingers grab at his shoulders, just for an anchor, twist into the coveralls- and it’s wet. You shudder, imagine how he must look, coated head to toe in viscera, tracked blood straight to your suite and-

You don’t smell iron.

His clothes are wet, but they are also cold. The mask is just visible with the low moonlight that sneaks in through the curtains- and it’s clean. Cleaner than you remember ever seeing it, almost starkly white. One flop of synthetic hair hangs darkly, solidly, over his latex forehead. You trace your fingers up over the slightly melted edge, over rubbery ears.

Michael forces himself inside you with one stroke; your cunt burns with the stretch, all limbs closing around him in desperation to keep him still. Tears spring to your eyes once more, teeth scraping open your bitten lip- and all you can do is tell yourself to breathe, to focus on the coming pleasure, because it will, it always does, no matter how cruel Michael chooses to be.

So your snap your thighs closed around his waist, locking him deep inside while you clench and shiver in pain and shock and the first trembling whispers of good because fuck, he’s so big. Your walls flutter around him, body struggling to stretch to accommodate him. Warmth replaces the cool, radiates out from between your legs and- and something isn’t right.

Michael should be drawing back, forcing your legs apart and pounding away until the fuel of his bloodlust has burned off, more animal than man- but he’s not. Rain water drips onto your chest, runs off the shape of his false face, the heavy noise of his breathing masked by the soft rumble of rain and thunder. Bent over you, he’s not quite on you like he normally is- no, he’s leaned away, enough for you to stare into the pitch black holes where his eyes should be. There’s no light to see the gray or white beneath, but they must be fixated on you.

“Michael?” You murmur, too sleepy to mask the concern there. He doesn’t even tip his head. It’s not panic, not yet- if he thought he was in danger he wouldn’t be still like this, if it was some new type of sadism, there’d still be an air of it on him. This is… something new, something you haven’t yet been able to pick up the little signs of.

Your hands unwind from his soaked coveralls, the joints creaking from the effort. The fabric is rough and even more abrasive still soaked with water, but you stroke his arms as best you can and seek out his face in the darkness. Without any reaction you skate higher, one hand dancing up his chest, just past the drooping collar, to the thin strip of skin visible between the rough cotton and smooth latex.

“Michael…?” His name hangs on your lips- and he answers with his hips.

The animal drive has disappeared entirely. It’s a smooth roll, shallow- cautious. Where you had expected force and pain is softness; you gasp, part shock and part pleasure- and Michael must take it as a good sign. He keeps this strange pace and you dig your fingers into the shoulders of his suit, squeezing more rainwater out with each thrust. Your body isn’t sure what to do- so used to producing quick, efficient lubrication, you’re nearly gushing for him now. This sort of kindness from Michael is foreign, saved for when he’s injured or sick or- or particularly cruel. But this isn’t that- it’s new.

You can’t even begin to understand his motives- why he needs this- but you can still give it to him. When you wrap your arms behind his neck and pull him closer, he only resists for a moment. Closer- closer until you can hear his soft pants from behind the mask, feel the heat of his breath with each puff through the nose holes.

When he shifts his weight, he slides deeper- stroking so gently along places that have only known his brutal paces. You gasp, pull his hips closer with your legs- and the tilt of his head towards your mouth is not at all lost on you. Without prompting, he expands upon the motion: sliding nearly all the way back out until you’re whimpering, aching for his return- and pushing in so slow, finding his way so deep within you until tears gather at your eyes.

”Michael,” It’s a prayer, an acknowledgement, a thank you-

His breath catches; if your hands were not on him you wouldn’t have even felt it. He keeps pace, betrays no other hints of his reaction- fucks you deep and slow, rolls his hips with each thrust, grinds against your clit so sweetly- but you felt it, that sharp little inhale.

With his head tipped towards you, it’s hardly a stretch to reach the latex. Cool and as clean as you’ve ever known- you kiss blindly in the dark. It’s too smooth to be the lips, slightly puckered with melting- must be his cheek. It isn’t for long, because Michael turns, meets you halfway. The rubber lips taste like rain water, not at all like the cruel mouth that lies just beyond- the taste of blood on his tongue as sweet as vanilla frosting. You kiss him and all the while tension settles between his shoulders, radiates down his arms.

”Michael,” You repeat, this time with purpose, you scrape your nails against the harsh cotton of his coveralls to emphasize it. This time, it’s his hips- a thrust just too harsh to be completely controlled. It’s a spark to kindling; the kind of treatment your body’s been waiting for- and the “Yes!” that follows is not intentional at all.

And still- in the darkness you feel his resolve, the decision he’s made- whatever game he’s playing. He doesn’t give in, as much as his fingers are threatening to tear the sheets, he slows- keeps his pace even.

There is one thing, however, you’re sure he can’t resist. Delicately- as much as you can be while being fucked- you wrap one hand around his left wrist. He doesn’t react at all, hardly seems to notice- except with you tug at it, urge it away from its death grip on the sheets. This he tips his head at. “Michael,” You whine, tug again for emphasis. The mask tips the other way, his pace slowing with curiosity. He gives in, shifts his weight to his other arm, lets you move his hand-

The seams pop to the left of your head, his grasp shearing through them as you guide his three-fingered hand to your throat. The weight of it alone has your pussy tingling, every nerve woken, waiting for him to deliver. You think, perhaps, you might be crazy to taunt him like this, to get this wet at the thought of him choking you.

It’s not a thought for long.

The muscles in his palm twitch once before he adjusts the grip. His hand rises up, forces you head backwards and squeezes. Not a single moan escapes his grasp, but he must know- because the mask tips again, the empty back eyeholes boring straight into you, watching every reaction. And like that, his interest in being soft has evaporated.

He fucks you- the same fervor you’d expected after a hunt finally manifesting with each thrust, his cock ricocheting inside you, gives no room for hesitation. It doesn’t matter- darkness is buzzing at the corners of your vision, eyes growing heavy and tired, barely able to keep awake if it weren’t for the force of Michael’s hips. You’re fading, head lolling with each impact-

Michael’s grip loosens. Air floods your burning lungs- and you’d been so oxygen deprived you didn’t know how close you were. He doesn’t even let you moan; his hand closes around you again before any noise slips out. Your throat vibrates under his palm and you wonder if he knows you’re screaming his name as you tip over. With no air every feeling is amplified, your adrenaline-fried brain bringing every stimulus up and up until it’s unbearable.

Clamping down on him as hard as you can doesn’t deter him at all; he fucks you without pause even as your mind frays. Heat pulses out from your pussy, radiates down your legs, up into your chest- and you arch your back up, press more of your skin to the cold cloth of his suit. Your nails rip at the sheets, at his back, at anything you can reach- you don’t even realize you’d been digging your knees into his sides until he grabs one and forces your legs apart, all his weight held on your femur.

#kat answers #michael myers #michael myers x reader #rftw #rest for the wicked #reading abt my love of describing the mask's white face and black eye holes.......#i really do have a type dont i LOL

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sunflowersandsapphires · 11 months

Text

Northern Attitude

Summary: Frank Castle x fem!OC (meant to be interpreted as Frank Castle x Reader). As Frank realizes that he and Wren are growing closer, he lashes out in fear. Hurt/comfort ensues.

Content Warnings: she/her pronouns used for Wren, misogynistic language, swearing

WC: 2.3k

Note from the author: This is my first ever fic so please let me know if you like it! Lore for the universe that this story takes place in can be found here!

“If the sun don't rise 'til the summertime, forgive my northern attitude. Oh, I was raised on little light”

—Northern Attitude by Noah Kahan (it’s a great song! Check it out.)

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have pushed him so far when he was already in a bad mood. Though, to be fair, she just wanted to help.

“Frank, please…” She tried again, her resolve standing strong despite his complaints.

“No, Wren. It’s getting cold. We can’t be stopping for every little thing.” He pushed ahead, not looking at her.

“Little thing? Frank, you got stabbed—“

“‘Stabbed’ fuck’s sake. He barely touched me. Besides, bleedin’ comes with the territory.”

“Gods above,” she rolled her eyes. “Please, just stop for a moment so I can take a look? If it gets infected—“

“‘m fine Wren,” he grumbled. “Drop it.”

“It won’t take long. Just a few minutes to clean and rewrap it!” She offered, hopefully.

“No.”

“But—“

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, WREN. NO!” Frank roared, spinning to face her. Wren stepped back slightly as he continued. “You think that because you’re here now, stuck to me like a thorn in my side, I need your help every time some bastard nicks me? I was damned alright on my own. Stop fuckin’ pesterin’ me about it and start walking.”

Frank spun back to the trail, stomping away, boots crunching on the partially frozen soil.

Wren pressed her lips together, guilt welling up in her throat. She shifted her pack to the other shoulder and started after him, keeping farther behind than before.

———————————————————————————————————

After a few hours of walking in tense silence, the pair finally stopped at an inn. While she was quite ready for a meal and a break from trekking through dense forest, she’d been dreading this conversation for miles.

“Frank,” she started hesitantly, “did you, um, want two rooms tonight or..?”

“Why would we waste coins on an extra room? We ain’t exactly swimming in riches these days.” He snapped at her, walking inside.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” she murmured, trailing behind.

The pub was crowded, but it was warmer than outside. Wren let out a breath of relief, pulling the hood of her cloak away from her face. Frank, ever the menace, left his black hood on, shoving through patrons to get to the bar.

“What can I get ya?” The barkeep trained her eyes on Frank.

“Beer.” He grunted, pushing a few coins towards her.

“And a room, if you have one.” Wren added, walking up next to him, adding another handful of coins.

“You got it.” The barkeep smiled, passing Frank a foaming pint and Wren a brass key. “Upstairs, 3rd door on the left, love.”

Wren thanked her softly and headed off to the stairs.

Frank set to work draining the glass in front of him. Sighing, he dragged a hand down his face. Fuck, he was tired. The wound in his side ached like hell, and his argument with Wren had set him on edge. It had been years since he’d had someone else to worry about, to care for, to let care for him—it was difficult letting that happen again after…everything. If he could muster up the courage to let his guard down, he wouldn’t mind her help stitching him up. She was always so gentle about it, and the way the warmth from her delicate touch would linger on his skin—

Frank’s dangerous train of thought was interrupted by uproarious laughter from a group of drunk patrons to his left.

He gave a low snarl and took a swig of his beer. He was simply escorting Wren. They had been headed the same way and it didn’t make sense to pay more to travel alone. He’d wanted to make it clear that their companionship was a matter of convenience but, somewhere in the fog of shared beds and soft reassurances, the lines had been crossed. He didn’t need her. Well, he didn’t use to. The urge to just break down and give in to her sweetness got stronger by the day. And it scared the shit out of him.

It was clear that he needed to distance himself from her somehow, or he’d be sucked into her trap. Sighing roughly, he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Someone in front of him cleared their throat.

The barkeep passed him a fresh beer and a bowl of stew. He looked up, curiously. The bartender smiled, “On the house. Somethin’ tells me yer girl would have my head if I gave ya nothin’ but one crap beer on a night like this.”

Frank forced a chuckle, trying not to let the comment add to his existing emotional turmoil. “Thanks.”

———————————————————————————————————

As he finished his meal, savoring its lasting warmth, he felt a presence over his shoulder. “How was it?” Wren murmured as she took a seat next to him.

“A’right.” Gulping down the last of his beer, he wiped a hand over his mouth and stood from his chair from his chair. “I’m gonna head up. Don’t be long.” And with that, Frank was gone.

Wren sighed, giving a small wave to the bartender and tossing more coins to her. Once provided with her own bowl of stew, she ate quickly and headed up to the room to face Frank for, what she hoped, would be the last time before a good night’s rest.

When she opened the door, the light was dim, but she could make out Frank’s form on the floor next to the bed.

“Did the mattress offend you?” She prompted him.

“We ain’t sharin’ tonight.” He grumbled, clearly nearing sleep already. “Take the bed. I’m fine down here.”

Not wanting to set him off again, she simply murmured “Alright…” and set to work dressing for bed.

She worried her bottom lip as she settled under the covers, running through the past few days in her head, racking her brain for the cause of his outburst today. Blinking back tears, his words echoed in her head.

“Stuck to me like a thorn in my side…fuckin’ pesterin’ me” was she being so bothersome? She’d been more open about her concern recently, but he had too. Hadn’t he? It was clear he wanted to seem like she meant nothing to him most days, but that couldn’t be entirely true. After all, his current stab wound had been obtained while wailing on a group of drunk thugs for calling her his “outspoken, unsightly whore”.

The longer she thought about it…maybe that wasn’t a defense of her at all. Maybe she’d let her judgment of his actions become clouded by her own desire—to love and be loved. Maybe Frank had been defending his own honor, angry that he’d been so publicly associated with her.

The tears were falling freely now, all of her resolve being poured into keeping quiet and letting him rest. Since when had she given this much of a shit about his feelings towards her? He had always made it clear, this was temporary. But the close contact and lingering stares had sparked hope in her naive little heart.

She thought back to the first time they met. The argument they’d had over their combined fate.

“Even if I believed in destiny, you sure as shit ain’t mine, kid. Get on your way.” Maybe she should take his former advice.

Frank shifted on the ground, startling her slightly. She took a deep breath, deciding to speak with him in the morning. If Frank truly didn’t want to travel with her anymore, she wouldn’t be the person forcing him to. With another breath, she closed her eyes and slowly settled into a restless sleep.

———————————————————————————————————

Frank gritted his teeth, shifting on the ground as silently as he could. Cursing his decision to ice Wren out, he let out a shaky breath. Predictably, the wound in his side did not feel better after sleeping a number of hours on the floor. He supposed that there was no one to blame but himself.

His entire body ached, and hearing her cry herself to sleep had been another kind of agony. It took every ounce of his strength to not jump up to comfort her. He never intended to be this much of an asshole, but he couldn’t risk subjecting Wren to his family’s fate. Damn him for getting attached before pulling away, which no doubt meant it was harder on them both now.

A small sound pulled him from his self-deprecating thoughts, a whimper. Wren was crying out for help in her sleep; her brain creating nightmares, no doubt because of the emotional toll the day had taken on her—that his words had taken on her.

Another small cry, followed by rustling of sheets. “Please…no…please don’t.”

“‘S ok Wren. You’re just dreamin’” He called to her, turning over and kneeling by the bed. His hands hovered over her hunched form, as if his body still wasn’t willing to break the barrier he’d worked hard to place between them that day.

Wren choked on a nightmare-induced sob, “help…anyone please!”

“You’re killin’ me, kid.” Frank set his jaw, running through his options. Letting her in would get her hurt, he reminded himself, he couldn’t do that to her. Frank started withdrawing from the bed, pushing down his guilt. He started to lay down, and then—

“Frank!! Frank please,” Wren bawled “please help. Don’t let them…”

“Aw hell.” Distance be damned, his girl needed him. Carefully, he sat next to Wren on the bed, stroking her arm gently. “I’m right here, sweetheart.” After another pained cry from Wren, Frank began to gather her into his arms. “They can’t hurt ya. I’m right here.”

She woke with a start, flailing slightly before realizing where she was. “Frank?” Her voice broke as she said his name.

“Yah, sweetheart.” He pulled her into his chest, tenderly. “I gotcha.”

Tears started trailing down Wren’s cheeks. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, she choked in a breath. They sat there for a few moments, small sobs falling from Wren's mouth punctuating the silence. Eventually, she spoke. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Hey,” Frank wiped her tears with his thumb, “I was already up. Floor’s uncomfortable as shit.” He cracked a small smile, but Wren’s face crumpled. She pushed back from him and off of his lap.

“I didn’t mean to bother you again. I’m ok. I’ll be fine.” She blinked back more tears. “We can part ways in the morning. You won’t be…won’t be stuck with me anymore.” The last sentence broke off in a strangled sob and Wren turned away from him slightly.

“Oh Wren,” Frank murmured, furious at himself, “What I said earlier, I was angry and scared. You’re not a bother.”

Wren looked at him through tears, “I’m not?”

“No, lovely. I’m just an asshole. C’mere.” Frank opened his arms for her and gestured for her to come back.

Wren returned to her place against his chest, tucking her face into his neck. “You’re not an asshole,” she sniffled. “I just—got confused.”

Frank sighed, brushing some hair off of her cheek. “I know, sweetheart. That’s my fault too.”

“That, we can agree on.” Wren murmured against his neck, playing with a loose thread on his shirt.

Frank snorted. “Oh yah?” He stroked Wren’s back gently. “I’m sorry, lovely. I do care about you. I always will. But…” Frank took a shuddering breath. “If you get close to me, you’ll get hurt. It’s not avoidable. This world is too cruel to let us slip by unscathed. And I won’t let you get hurt, Wren, I can’t.”

“I know the risks, Frank. I’m not a safe choice of companion either.” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but the look in her eyes was fierce as she held his gaze. “But I still want to be close to you. Are you willing to let me try?”

Frank set his jaw. “Shit sweetheart, I want to tell ya no, but when you look at me with that face...” He exhaled roughly, pursing his lips.

“We might get hurt,” Wren continued, holding his waist with one hand to pull them impossibly closer. “But is being bitter and alone really worth it to you, Frank?”

Frank let his head fall against hers, foreheads touching. His eyes fell closed as her free hand came up to gently knead at the nape of his neck.

“Hey,” She whispered. “Look at me for one more moment.”

Frank opened his eyes. She cupped his cheek, stroking it gently with her thumb. “I’m not helpless, you know. You’ve seen me in a fight. Traveling with you is the best thing that’s happened to me in years. I’m not willing to just give up on that if you want me here.”

“I want you here.” Frank affirmed. “I do, Wren. I don’t deserve it, I never will. But if you’re willing to deal with my grumpy ass, I’ll let ya.”

“One of these days, I’ll get you to believe you deserve good things, old man.”

“Keep dreamin’, kid”

Wren let out a shaky laugh, face falling back into the curve of his neck. Frank pressed his lips firmly to her forehead, then softly to the bridge of her nose. Wren scrunched her nose in response and smiled.

“I’m sorry about today, sweetheart. I got in my head and took it out on you. Let me make it up to ya?” Frank bumped their noses together.

“You better.” Wren gave him an overdramatic glare which made him grin.

He kissed her forehead again. “I will. But first, I am so not sleeping on that shit floor after this.” He laid them both down on the bed. Wren shifted slightly so she was wrapped around him like an octopus.

Burying her head in his chest, she mumbled, “You’d have to escape me first.”

Frank chuckled. “You’ve bested me. Guess we can share.”

Wren nuzzled into him happily. “Guess we can.”

“Sleep well, sweetheart. I gotcha now.”

#my writing #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle x oc #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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glenrocklibraryteens · 5 months

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Fake Relationship:

The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

Olive kisses Dr. Carlsen, a hotshot professor known for being a jerk. They come to an agreement and both use each other. They begin fake dating, but soon it becomes real. I LOVED this book. Olive was super funny, clumsy, and low-key relatable. I liked Dr. Carlsen too. The reader gets to see his POV and wow plot twist (even if it was a bit expected). Olive and Dr. Carlsen are meant to be!

The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas

Catalina needs a date to her sister’s wedding especially since she lied about having a boyfriend. Her ex-boyfriend and his fiancee both want to meet this made up boyfriend. Catalina’s colleague Aaron offers to help her even though Calatina hates him. Aaron ends up being the best option and acts as her boyfriend to the wedding. This is a cute book! The characters are perfect for each other as well. I loved the storyline in general, and enjoyed reading this book.

The Cheat Sheet by Sarah Adams

Bree and Nathan are best friends. Nathan is a famous quarterback and Bree is a dance instructor. They’re in love with each other, but the other doesn’t know and thinks the other thinks their just friends are like siblings. Bree gets drunk one night changing everything. This is a favorite book of mine. I love Bree and Nathan. I love how Nathan is always there for Bree and supports her. Bree’s drunk actions were so funny and was one of my favorite scenes along side Nathan and his teammates making a cheat sheet for dating. This is such a good book, super light-hearted, but entertaining.

The Upside of Falling by Alex Light

Becca’s former best friend “teases” her about not having a boyfriend, so she lies on the spot and says she’s seeing someone. Brett is the perfect, popular, sport playing student. So when Brett overhears Becca’s lie, he jumps at the opportunity and pretends to be her boyfriend. This fake relationship leads to more! This is a stereotypical predictable high school romance. It’s a cute read, but if you’re looking for something super complex and sophisticated this is not the book for you.

To Love Jason Thorn by Ella Maise

Olive has been in love with her brother’s best friend, Jason, since she was a little kid. After a misunderstanding, Olive begins to “dislike” Jason. Jason moves away to live with his father and then becomes a famous actor. Olive writes a famous book based on Jason. Olive’s book is being made into a movie, and there she meets Jason again. Jason gets into a scandal which causes Olive and him to enter a fake marriage, and from there sparks fly. I love this book. Jason is so sweet to Olive, and treats her so well. The misunderstandings get cleared up, luckily. Olive finally gets her happily ever after with Jason like she’s wanted since a child. Jason and Olive are so adorable together and I loved reading about them.

The Wall of Winnipeg and Me by Mariana Zapata

Vanessa worked for Aiden Graves for years. She quits her job working for him but he shows up at her door asking her to come back. Not just to come back, but to marry him for citizenship/green card reasons. I liked this book. It was a slow burn which was nice because things weren’t happening one after another unrealistically. Some parts were a bit corny/cringy, but I really liked Vanessa and Aiden together.

The Deal by Elle Kennedy

Garrett needs tutoring if he doesn’t want to be benched in hockey, and in return he promises to help Hannah with her love life. Garrett is Briar U’s golden boy, and he promises to help Hannah get her crush’s attention. Hate to friends to partners. This has the faking dating trope too. This is one of my favorite books. Hannah and Garrett are made for each other, and I found myself rooting for them. The plot isn’t all smooth sailing, so you see them fight for each other and fight against the odds.

Waiting to Score by Elouise Tynan

Monty kisses West to save herself from her obsessive ex-boyfriend. West is unable to forget their kiss, and decides to help Monty out with her ex by pretending to date. West and Monty are likable characters, but Monty’s ex is very hateable. He does some bad questionable things, and is very obsessive. As the reader, I hate Monty’s ex-boyfriend.

The Dating plan by Sara Desai

Daisy asks her childhood crush, Liam, to be her fake fiance. She’s not interested in love and marriage. She’s focused on her planned future. Liam needs to be married in order to obtain his inheritance, so Daisy and him enter a marriage of convenience. This gets Daisy’s family off her back about marriage and fills the marriage clause allowing Liam to access his inheritance. Daisy and Liam are a cute couple who have to overcome misunderstandings from the past. At first, Liam seems like a bit of a jerk for his past actions but you find out he has reasons for his actions. Liam’s character grew on me, and I ended up loving him like I do Daisy.

The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren

When Olive’s sister and her sister’s husband get food poisoning, Olive takes all expenses paid honeymoon. Ethan, Olive’s sworn enemy, the only other person without food poisoning wants to trip too. They put aside their hatred and go together pretending to be newlyweds after bumping into Olive’s future boss. This book was super funny which made it extra enjoyable to read. I was laughing throughout reading the book.

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uzumaki-rebellion · 3 years

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“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 3, Chp. 9″

youtube

"Black Butterfly, sail across the waters Tell your sons and daughters what the struggle brings Black Butterfly, set the skies on fire Rise up even higher So the ageless winds of time can catch your wings"

Deniece Williams – "Black Butterfly"

Disa spotted Pamela in the middle of the floor.

The moment the beat hit her ears, Pamela threw her head back and tossed her ass in a circle letting Disa know it was good to go.

The beginning was always the difficult part of her sets when she was trying to create a montage of feelings through sound. There were peaks and valleys she had to hit in order to hold the audience hostage. She almost lost it halfway through Zana High Life when the host shouted out DJ Geechee Dan standing on the side of the stage. Disa had been trying to find him up in the VIP section and he was right there, less than twenty feet from her watching her cut up a live mix.

It was Erik that saved her from bumbling her set as she focused on him moving instead of Geechie Dan being so near her. He came out of nowhere and she had no idea he could dance so well. The boy showed out and Pamela tried to keep up. It brought a smile to her lips to see him grab her homegirl and dance Pamela around. No one had ever been able to hang with her, and Erik pushed the woman to go all out.

Disa reeled everyone back in when she let Erik's voice quote "Beloved" over the music. He matched the tone of the syncopated beats. It sounded romantic. Dreamy. She took a respite and let the mix play as she watched him dance. So fluid. Like water. She knew he practiced capoeira and decided to go off script and freestyle her set. Dragging down some berimabau sounds, she cued up a Brazilian jam and dropped it on top of her own drumming in time to the stringed instrument. It struck like a thunderbolt on Erik and it shocked her to see him backflip and hold his body in a handstand as his legs moved in slow motion before he crouched on the floor low and swayed to the ancient sounds.

The boy was bad.

Loose hips and expressive arm movement fooled everyone into thinking he was just jamming instead of showing off a martial art. Disa was in awe and almost missed her next transition cue because she was so mesmerized by him. How could that brainy, standoffish, and arrogant man-child turn into a snake-hipped God of the dance?

Pamela jumped back on him and Disa played with them both by skipping her planned closing and taking the two of them to the Black Queer spaces she roamed with Pamela and friends. Punching up the voice of the icon Selvin Mizrahi, aka MC Debra, Disa brought in ballroom beats.

"That shouldn't have been the question," echoed about the space and Pamela stopped dancing with Erik and pointed a finger at Disa.

"Don't play with me, bitch!" Pamela shouted before she dropped to the floor and duck walked like the diva she was. This attracted their other homegirl Tatum who dipped several times making Yamilet stand aside with weak knees. Pamela played with Tatum in a simulated ballroom battle over Erik's attention until Tatum pushed Pamela aside and twirled around the youngster capturing his attention. The audience roared when Erik dropped into his own duck walk challenging Tatum. Erik's friends howled and the entire venue lost it when he dipped three times in front of Tatum making her storm off in a pretend huff as he duck walked after her before spinning on his back and shoulders. He grabbed Tatum's hand and ground on her ass with the closing notes of Disa's set. Loud whistles and claps erupted, and she waved to the crowd before the lights switched over to the next DJ who looked frightened at the prospect of following up after her.

Tatum rushed over to her swiping back long strands of crimped and twisty hair.

"Girl, your lil man was out here giving what he was supposed to give! Is he…?"

"Erik? No, I don't believe so."

"He was putting that thang on me like he wanted a piece of the good, Sis. He grab on me again like that and I'll let him get a taste."

Tatum's dark brown eyes were glossy from drinking and she followed Disa as she carried her crate of vinyl to the green room.

"He's not the type to turn mean if he knows….y'now…" Tatum said.

"He's very open. I don't think he'd trip to know you're Trans."

"Good. Cuz he could get it from any of these women out here. Did you see him move? I know Pamela is butt hurt that she was not the center of the dance universe tonight."

Tatum watched her tuck her crate under a covered table and push them far back with her jacket on top of it with her computer bag.

"I liked how you closed out your set."

"People liked it, yeah?"

"Yeah, but I worry cuz you know how these niggas be wildin' if you bring in the Fam in hetero spaces. Everybody turns into homophobe and kills the vibe for everybody."

Disa's cell buzzed. She pulled it from her back pocket.

"Yamilet and them. She's out by the car now."

Disa dragged her crate back out and Tatum carried her computer bag for her. They headed outside to the parking lot. Yamilet was there with Pamela, and Essie. She opened her trunk and Disa dumped her stuff. The women gave her joyous hugs and high fives before they traipsed back in to catch the other DJs.

Erik ran up to her breathless.

"Hey! I thought you were leaving!"

Disa patted his arm.

"No, just putting my gear away. Erik, these are my friends…"

She introduced everyone, and Erik shook their hands. Tatum and Pamela gave him big hugs and Yamilet snapped her fingers at him.

"Geechie… Hey! Geechie Dan, hold up!" Erik shouted.

Disa's heart dropped in her belly. Erik shook her idol's hand and brought him over to Disa.

"This is Disa Abdullah-Woods, your biggest fan," Erik said.

"My dear, sweet, woman, you are a master class of gifts. That set was-"

Geechie Dan kissed his fingers to end his praise.

Disa held out a trembling hand to him.

"No, that's not gonna do, Buttafly. Bring it in," he said opening his arms wide.

Disa burst into tears.

"Hey, I'm nobody to cry over," he whispered.

Geechie Dan gave Disa a big hug, and she stood there like a blubbering baby. The years that she spent practicing what she would say to the man if she ever met him in person went straight out the window. She used to laugh at people who became overly emotional meeting celebrities, but now she totally understood the overwhelming feeling that surged through her.

She wiped her eyes and Erik rubbed her back with gentle circles.

"I've been a fan since I was a little kid," she stammered out.

"Erik here told me. I told him how much I enjoyed his dancing and he just went in about you."

A crowd surrounded Geechie Dan, but he ignored them, his twinkling eyes on her.

"It has been a long time since I've seen a DJ create a set with so much intention behind it. You have something special in you, young lady. Never lose that gift."

Disa's mouth seemed to lose all ability to work. All the things she wanted to say stalled in her throat. He was there in the flesh. Standing in front of her.

"Disa has a radio show you should go on," Erik suggested.

"Oh yeah? Give me your number. I'll call you up and we can chop it up."

Geechie Dan pulled out his cell and Disa gave him her number, her voice a soft shell of its usual assertive tone.

"When I get some free time, I'll hit you up. Excuse me, they want me back up on stage. Amazing set, Disa. Keep spinning!"

The man shook her hand with both of his and his entourage and promoters swept him away.

"She's still in shock," Yamilet said waving her hand in Disa's face.

Erik's bright smile attracted her attention. Had he not spoken to the man, Disa may very well have missed her opportunity to meet him, let alone remember to ask the man for a radio interview. Her mind floated with the surreal nature of the experience. Her cell buzzed.

Here's my number. I'll be in New York in a few weeks, would be open to an in-person radio interview.

Geechee Dan's personal cell number. She had it. In her palm.

Disa reached out and grabbed Erik's shoulders. She planted a big fat kiss on his lips.

"Damn, what was that for?" he said.

"Being here," she said.

He wiped his lips and smiled.

"Erik…"

Chloe slinked up and slipped her arm in Erik's, tugging him towards the dance floor. Disa watched him enter the thick crowd of swaying bodies to dance once more.

###

Her night was a dreamy success.

Disa stayed in a popular hotel with her friends, and they hung out in the bar. Erik strolled into the lobby with his friends. In a tipsy stupor, Disa walked over to him with a fresh drink in her hand. "Didn't know you were staying here too," she said.

He took the drink from her and sipped it down.

"Hey… you can't drink this here out in the open, you're underage!"

She snatched it away from his lips.

"Nah, it's after midnight… I'm twenty-one now," he said.

"Oh, shit. It's your birthday? Today?"

"Yep."

"Happy Birthday, Erik!"

She hugged him tight and gave him the glass of liquor.

"Enjoy," she said.

"What room are we in?" Jace asked.

Erik's dorm companion looked sleepy along with two other guys.

"301," Erik said handing Jace a key card.

Disa's friends called for her to return to the bar counter.

"Come celebrate with us," she said pointing to her group.

"I'm beat, to be honest. Thanks for asking me though."

"If you change your mind, we'll be down here."

"Good to know."

"Thanks for everything, Erik. Tonight was really special and meant a lot to me. Especially with you hooking me up with Geechie Dan."

"Glad to make your dream come true."

His eyes penetrated hers.

"Okay grown-ass man, go to bed," she said pushing on his arm playfully.

"You're drunk," he teased.

"A happy one at that," she said stumbling off to join her girls.

Three more drinks later, after a heated discussion with a group of men who hovered around them trying to interject their unwanted opinions about dating, Disa leaned over the bar counter and asked for a special birthday cocktail for Erik. She went to the lobby restroom, collected the drink afterward, and excused herself from her friends. She took the elevator to the third floor and found Erik's room. The fruity exotic drink had a lot of strong liquor in it. Knocking on the door, she waited for someone to answer. She could hear a tv on and talking going on inside.

Kelvin, a cute nerdy string bean answered the door.

"Is Erik up?" she asked.

Kelvin's eyes nearly popped out looking at her.

"You were so good," he yelped.

"Thank you… um… Erik?"

"He's not here."

"Not here? Did he go out?"

"No, he's in that room," Kelvin said pointing across the hall to room 302.

"Thanks," she said.

Kelvin closed the door and Disa did a one-eighty and rapped her knuckles on the new door. She toyed with the blue umbrella and pineapple garnish on his drink. Erik answered. Shirtless and wearing tight gray boxers.

"Hey," she said.

"Um… Hi. 'sup?"

"Birthday drink. A proper one."

She thrust it out to him and tried to brush past him, but he held an arm up in the door jamb blocking her. Her brain failed to register that he didn't want her inside, and she bumped against him, her breasts touching his chest.

"I can't come in?"

"I have someone here," he said.

Her eyes cut behind him. Chloe was draped in nothing but a sheet, the tops of her breasts threatening to spill over her arm that clutched the covers.

"Oh, snap. I'm sorry. I thought you were staying with the guys over there. Didn't realize you had your own room. Here, enjoy the drink," she said.

Erik took the bulbous glass, and his expression was full of embarrassment. He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. Disa stepped back from him and fumbled with her hands.

"Handle your business. It's time for me to get to bed myself… get some sleep. Have fun!"

She tried to sound jovial, but something in the back of her throat made her voice accusatory. As if she caught him doing something behind her back. For months she thought of Erik as her little pet. He was her loyal puppy, and she had to admit she enjoyed all the fawning he did over her. But he was also a young man with needs. She tried not to look at the package that was hanging in his underwear. The outline of it was showing off. God forbid if he was a grower too.

"Me and Chloe kinda got this thing going on now…"

"New girlfriend and good birthday sex is a blessing. Night Erik."

She turned to leave and pivoted back to him.

"Can I put on a birthday dinner for you and your family? I know you're planning on eating at Toulouse, but I would love to host your birthday party at my place."

"That's too much Disa. I have a lot of people coming in from all over."

"How many?"

"Fifteen—"

"Pfft, boy, you've been to my dinner parties, you know how I get down. Fifteen is nothing for me."

"The cost alone will be crazy—"

"Let me handle that. You deserve a special day. You made my night amazing, let me show my appreciation. What would you like to eat?"

Erik's eyes grew thoughtful, they dropped to look at his drink.

"I love your Confit de Canard,"

"Aw, I see. I finally got you to give in to duck meat."

"It's gonna be hella expensive."

"Don't worry about it. Let's say six sharp on Saturday, three courses and Turkish coffee with a birthday cake."

His eyes lit up.

"I'll let my people know."

"Tell them to dress up. I'll plan a splendid evening with games afterward."

Erik grabbed her hand and pulled her in close.

"Thank you," he said.

"Better get back to Chloe. Don't want her chewing my head off for keeping all of this out of the bed."

She smirked at him and wandered down the hall.

###

Chloe had a frown n her face when Erik walked back into the hotel room.

"What did she want?"

"Birthday gift," he said holding up the fancy drink.

He sipped it, and the liquor was too strong for his tastes. It would knock him out before he had a chance to smash Chloe. He put the glass on the nightstand and pulled off his boxers. His dick was already at half-mast.

"Why is your dick like that already?"

Chloe sat up, and the frown on her face deepened.

"Looking at you gets me excited," he countered.

Hopping into the bed, he pulled back the sheets and swiped her nipples with his tongue.

"You're attracted to her."

"Disa? That's my homegirl—"

"Everyone knows you have a crush on her. You turn into a puddle whenever she's around."

Chloe folded her arms over her breasts blocking his access.

"If your dick is getting hard for her, maybe you should get some birthday sex from her instead!"

"Chloe. Stop trippin'. I'm giving this dick to you."

He rubbed the hardening length against her thigh. She slapped it.

"Wanna play rough?" he said.

"Was your dick hard for that Trans chick too?"

"What?"

"Disa's friend. The one with the long fluffy hair. You didn't know?"

"No. She fine as fuck though."

"You'd fuck a Trans woman?"

There was disgust on her face.

Erik sat up. He'd been around Trans women and Trans men all his life, especially in Brazil. He had a Trans play uncle in Sao Paulo who used to babysit him and his play cousin Marisol.

"A woman is a woman. She got titties I can play with and a hole I can fuck, I don't see a problem—"

"Ohmigod! You really would fuck her."

"That ass was amazing."

"I can't believe you're serious!"

"Are you a queerphobe? Cuz if you are, that's not gonna work for me."

"No… I just… I can't picture you being like that."

"Like what?"

"Accepting. You're like a man's man—"

"A Transphobe? I wasn't raised like that. My mother would never let me treat people like shit who didn't deserve it."

Chloe stared down at her hands.

"I'm glad to hear that, actually."

"Yeah? Why?"

Her eyes welled up.

"My sister… she's transitioning… he's becoming my brother and I worry about him going up against guys like you."

"Guys like me?"

"Y'know overly masculine. He's coming to visit me in a few weeks and I wanted you to meet him since he's interested in capoeira."

Her eyes met his.

"I didn't mean to be accusatory about Disa's friend. She's beautiful. Prettier than me."

"You're the prettiest woman in this room right now."

She slapped his hand and smiled.

"But you do like Disa. Right?"

"She's my friend. I had a big crush on her when I first arrived on campus, but now… she's like a mentor… a big sister. We're close and she teaches all kinds of cool stuff. I probably do act all goofy when I'm around her—"

"It's cute… really. I just… let's forget about it."

He kissed her. With guilt. Disa meant more to him than just a big sister or a mentor. She was the ultimate woman. But she would never see him as a man.

Chloe wrapped her lips around his dick and rolled a condom on his shaft after she plumped him up to complete hardness. She presented her backside to him and he sank into her walls and pumped, enjoying her soft sighs and cries of passion. He took off the condom much later as she allowed him to fuck her raw in the ass and dump a hot load in her anal walls. She kept his mind off of Disa and those lush breasts that truly made his dick thicken and visibly tell Chloe the truth. Disa was his dream girl. Everyone could see it.

###

The large package arrived at Disa's house the day before Erik's birthday party. She called him on his phone to tell them that a big box with a D.C. return address and B. Dunduza written in black block letters was sitting in her living room.

He drove over to her house, and Disa watched him tear it open. There was a note on top of the bubble wrap.

"Kept these in storage for you. We wanted to wait until you turned twenty-one to have them. Cherish them as we cherish you."

Uncle Bakari and Auntie Shavonne both signed it.

Erik removed the layer of bubble wrap and his heart nearly stopped.

He fingered the old dark brown leather, and a breath shuddered out of him.

"Erik? You alright?" Disa asked.

She put a hand on his shoulder as he lifted the leather-bound journal from the box.

"These are my father's journals," he whispered.

Opening the first journal, he recognized the careful Wakandan script written by his father's powerful hand. They taped a small piece of bubble wrap on the page. Erik unraveled it and gasped before falling on his backside.

"What is it?" Disa asked, rising concern coloring her voice

Opening his fingers, Erik stared at the wondrous gift.

His Baba's ring. Attached to the chain his mother bought for him as an anniversary gift. The chain his father wore the night he was killed by King T'Chaka.

His family birthright.

Now his.

Chapter 10 HERE

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes

@soufcakmistress

@cherrystainedlipsbaby

@tclaybon

@thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel

@bartierbakarimobisson

@cpwtwot

@shookmcgookqueen

@yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78

@the-illlest

@terrablaze514

@l-auteuse

@amirra88

@jimizwidow

@janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy

@sweetestdream92

@purple-apricots

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@hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade

@bugngiz

@stariamrry

@honeytoffee

@meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees

@eye-raq

@writerbee-ffs

@chocolatedream30

@childishgambinaa

@mygirlrenee

@thewaysheis—awkward

@tchallasbabymama

@lahuttor

@goodieyaya

@post-woke

@soufcakmistress

@yomiloo

@goddessofthundathighs

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@retroxvailles

@cydneyrenee4

@nizzle-mo

@cecereads209

@childishgambinaax

#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First #Volume 3 #Killmonger Fanfiction #Killmonger Fanfic #Black Panther Fanfiction #Uzumaki Rebellion #N'Jobu

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Note

hello, Raven-san! how are you today? may i please request headcanons of Floyd, Idia, Lilia, and Cater dating an f!MC who is a famous singer and she invites them to her concert and says that its dedicated to them? thank you very much, Raven-san! o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

“Playing music is a past time of mine. I dabble a bit here and there with any instrument that catches my fancy. Lately, I have been gravitating towards the bagpipes though when I perform with the Light Music Club, I usually man vocals. Kufufu. Sometimes I find myself in hot water for ad libbing the lyrics, but it is all in good fun.”

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Lilia’s absolutely flattered that you’d honor him with a concert in his name! He’s well respected (and also well feared) in the Valley of Thorns, but he’s never had a whole musical performance dedicated to him!

He shows up to your concert decked out in your merch--shirt, pants, jacket, hat, shoes, and even a face mask! Lilia even brings a homemade sign for him to brandish from his seat! Your name is on it in large, glittery letters, so you’ll be able to spot Lilia from even on stage!

He pops into your dressing room to personally wish you good luck before you head onto the stage! Your boyfriend always seems to have a funny story to get you laughing and to ease your nerves.

Lilia has been an avid fan of your music even before you started dating, so he knows all your songs by heart and sings or hums along with you! It surprises him when you start deviating from your usual lyrics--but he realizes that you’re ad libbing like he does for the Light Music Club as a nod to the performance being for him!

The final song devolves into screamo, which delights Lilia to no end. He’s right there screaming along with you and head banging from his seat! It may not be the most conventional of your concerts, but there’s plenty of shared soul behind it!

Apparently, dedicating musical performances to others is considered an intimate gesture in merfolk culture. Floyd usually has to share the concerts dedicated to him with his twin--but yay! He finally gets one all for himself, and from his S/O too!

To your shock, Floyd declares that he doesn’t want to just watch the performance, he wants to be in it with you! After some back-and-forth and a distressed call from your manager, you cobble together an agreement to allow Floyd on stage (just this once).

He has a grand old time going through the various costumes and accessories scattered in your dressing room and trying them on. Ultimately, he decides that it’s best to just be himself--because that’s what you like best, right? Just Floyd being Floyd!

Your audience is confused to see an unfamiliar face join you on stage. You even tense up a little, unsure of how Floyd will even integrate with your routine--but there’s no time to dawdle, Floyd already has you by the hands and is pulling you into a dance! You follow his footing, and he joins you in song. At one point, Floyd picks you up in his arms and gives you a twirl, causing your voice to pitch up in surprise.

At the end of the performance, he takes the microphone and announces that he wants to also dedicate the concert to you. You start to protest (he can’t just hijack the concert like that!), but Floyd only laughs and silences you with a kiss, right in full view of the audience.

It took Idia weeks to muster the courage to attend your concert. He would normally hole up in his room and stream the live performance, but he knew just how much it would mean to you if your boyfriend came to watch you in person.

To show his support, he brings along two light sticks in your image color to wave around during your performance. Idia has a hard time speaking up in public, so he hopes that you can find his lights instead of his voice in the audience!

He doesn’t like sticking out too much, so he dresses in a low-key, dark outfit, the hood pulled up (though his flaming blue hair still peeks out). But... keeping a low profile goes thrown out the window when you announce his name on stage, reminding the audience who the performance is dedicated to.

Idia knows that no one around him will know who he is, but he’s embarrassed all the same. He sinks into his chair and pulls his hood down in a vain attempt to conceal his burning face and flaring hair.

As the music drums up and the performance begins, he shyly peeks out from behind his hood and catches a glimpse of you beaming, dancing, and singing your heart out. Though his heart is thumping and his skin is on fire, a small smile finds its way onto his face and an anxious (but pleased) laugh escapes him.

You and Cater have been known as a celebrity power couple ever since you got together. You often show up on one another’s MagiCam accounts, whether to cross promote or to just do cute couple things together, and it’s no different when it comes to preparing for a concert.

During the trip to the concert venue, Cater chats excitedly with his followers about much he’s been anticipating this performance. Yes, he makes sure to wear a piece of your merch.

He’s also keeping in touch with you via text message in the moments leading up to the show. Cater sends lots of words of encouragement and cute emojis to stave off your stage fright!

As Cater watches your heartfelt performance, the doubtful side of him wonders if he even deserves to be with someone as talented as you are. There you are, shining like the sun on stage--and here he is, shrouded in the dark wings of the audience, hiding away his gloom as always.

But... hearing your angelic voice, and seeing that radiant smile upon your face--directed right at him--reassures Cater that yes, you are meant to be. He puts on a smile of his own and brings out his phone, snapping a selfie and sending it into the orbit of the internet. Having tons of fun at my S/O’s concert~ It’s so cool that they dedicated it to me! I’m lucky to have them, lol #concert #couplegoals #truelove

#twst #twst x reader #Lilia Vanrouge #Floyd Leech #Floyd Leech x Reader #Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #Idia Shroud #Idia Shroud x Reader #Cater Diamond #Cater Diamond x Reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #Reader #self insert #curiouser and curiouser #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland requests #twisted wonderland scenarios

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wasabito · 4 years

Text

had so much fun writing for my baby boy tendou, so here’s my entry for the hqhq sfw server collab! be sure to check out the rest on the masterlist found here! enjoy ✨

words: 3.0k

prompt: “you woke me up at 3am for this?”

synopsis: your neighbor is ridiculous, kind of annoying and little bit on the weird side, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

You had to be the biggest idiot on the planet—an obvious exaggeration, yes, but you were still inclined to believe it was true.

How else could you explain the feeling of being so utterly fed up with one’s actions like this? Were there enough words in the dictionary to describe just how exhausted you were by your own antics, more specifically, your forgetfulness since that’s what had landed you in a world of pain and embarrassment?

The answer was no.

You sat with your back pressed against your front door, head in your hands and chin tucked between your raised knees and chest. At your side was your wallet along with stacks of newspapers, coupons and whatever else had been stuffed in your mailbox, bills probably. Advertisements too. Honestly, it was hard to be happy about a new restaurant opening up down the block when you were currently stuck—locked out of your apartment to be precise.

The landlord of your cheap little complex wasn’t expected to be back for another hour according to the sign posted outside of his office. So until then, you’d remain posted up by your doorstep like some loiterer.

You shifted in place and blew a puff of air from your lips, feeling little pinpricks in your legs. For the fifth time in the last forty-five minutes you felt like kicking yourself, hard.

The sun hung low, nearly touching the distant horizon signifying the end of another day. Even the sky was painted a warm umber, casting dim shadows.

“Locked out, huh?” came a snide, but accented voice.

It took you way longer than necessary to realize that suddenly you weren’t the only person on this floor. God, where was your head at?

A pair of forest green crocs stood before you, complete with a few odd charms and trinkets. A cartoon volleyball, pinned next to a smiley face, a donut and a gaudy “i heart paris” chain dangling from the ankle strap. A person’s shoes could say a lot about who they were...your mother thought so, at least.

Resisting the urge to projectile vomit all over this stranger’s rather questionable taste in footwear, your wary gaze panned upward, glossing over white tube socks and a pair of the longest legs you’ve ever seen on a person—yet another exaggeration. You came face to face with a crooked smile. Curious ruby eyes returned your stare with almost the same amount of scrutiny.

Who the hell was this guy?

Mystery-man easily towered over you, and not only because you were hunched over and sitting. He was tall as hell, all lanky build, gangly arms and legs disguising lithe muscle and a surprisingly sturdy frame. He looked like the i-run-every-morning type; semi-athletic at the very least. His buzzed hair was the color of cinnamon, no that wasn’t right, paprika maybe? Either way, it contrasted sharply with the paleness of his skin, so much so that you could see the faint blue of the veins in his arms.

“Yoohooo, anybody hooome?” He tilted his head at you.

“Huh? Oh uh, yeah, I’m locked out. I forgot my key inside and Mr. Laurent won’t be back until later.”

“Hmm. That sucks...”

“...Um… do I… do I know you or something? You look a little familiar.”

He pinned you with a funny look, before pulling out a set of keys from the back pocket of his shorts.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t~ I mean we are neighbors, after all.” Laughing as if he’d made some sort of joke, he entered his apartment with a twirl and a dramatic wave of his arms.

You stared at his door for a solid minute, only to finally succumb to your urges and facepalm at your own idiocy. Of course he looked familiar, how could he not when he literally lived four feet away.

With a sigh of resignation, you braced yourself for another hour spent sitting outside your front door. It wasn’t like there was any other place you could go or anyone you could call. The battery icon on your phone blinked red, warning that it was soon to run out of juice. Guess that meant no Among Us or Subway Surfer for you.

Five minutes later, the door next to you opened. It was Mystery-man again, but this time, he sat in front of his door, just like you were. And he did so with a bag of pretzels and a jar of nutella in hand.

“Must be bored out here by yourself.” He crunched on a pretzel before offering you the bag to take some. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya company.”

You weren’t sure why, but there was something about this guy that intrigued you. You half-wondered if it was the funny little curl of his smile, or the wideness of his eyes that made it seem like he was looking at all of you, all at once.

"You must be pretty bored...uh,"

"Satori Tendou, but most people call me Tendou. Miracle boy works just fine too."

"Right... Tendou, as I was saying, you must be incredibly bored to come sit out here with me. You sure you don't have anything important to do?"

Tendou's grinned widened. "Positive! And it costs me nothing to be neighborly, so don't even sweat it."

That was...nice of him?

If sitting outside with you was the way he wanted to spend his late Tuesday afternoon who were you to deny him? And truthfully, you didn't mind the company, at least not really. Provided this guy wasn't some creepy-stalker-weirdo, you were sure there wasn't any harm in getting to know the person who lived one door over.

"So, Tendou, how long have you lived in the area? You don't really look like you're from around here...I could be wrong."

Tendou raised a thin brow at you. "Weeeell, if you're asking about how long I've lived next door, it would be about three maybe four months give or take, but if you're asking how long I've lived in Paris, it would be a year next month. Speaking of, I think Semisemi has a birthday coming up..."

You watched as he pulled out his cell phone and tapped away at the illuminated glass screen. You couldn't help but notice the goofy little anime stickers on his phone case. One in particular caught your attention.

“Is that...Kirara? From Inuyasha??”

“Oho! So, you recognize this?”

Backtracking, you mumble out, “Ah, well…only a little.” Though your face was turned away, the tiny smile on your lips was not hidden from Tendou and he thought you were pretty cute.

Funnily enough, what you had expected to be a rather unnerving and possibly creepy exchange turned out to be anything but. Tendou was incredibly fun to talk to—a bit teasing and a little overwhelming with his superfluous hand movements and gestures. But he was funny and a lot kinder that you would’ve given him credit for.

You learned that he was originally from Japan; it explained his accented French. He had come to Paris right out of high school to study culinary arts in one of the most renowned countries for it. Now he worked as a chocolatier, under the tutelage of a master patisserie in the city, an older man who was both a creative genius and a thorn in Tendou’s side. Tendou spoke of his teacher with equal parts awe and annoyance.

And he got to know you too. How you’d found yourself in Paris, thousands of miles away from home in an effort to rediscover yourself in the city full of rich history and culture.

You didn’t have many friends here, and it truly was a pleasure to make his acquaintance.

Soon, you both heard the telltale sound of jangling keys as your landlord rounded the corner with his clipboard in hand. Once you were able to get your door open, you waved a goodbye to Tendou.

“Thanks for keeping me company, you really didn’t have to.”

“No biggie, it was fun!” He threw a mischievous little grin and a peace-sign over his shoulder and reentered his apartment.

You found yourself wanting to cross paths with him again, and hopefully in better circumstances. But you hadn't known your wishful thinking was soon to manifest as you ambled through grocery store aisles a week later, eyeing down any items with pictures on it.

“Why in the hell is this toilet paper so expensive.” You mumbled.

“So, you complain about the price of toilet paper, but wear sneakers that cost two-thirds our rent.” That voice sounded familiar, and after hearing it for about an hour just days ago, you were a bit surprised you could recognize it so quickly.

Stunned, you looked up to find Satori Tendou, your quirky neighbor with an arm full of pita chips, a milk carton, and baby carrots.

“I never said I made the best choices.” You found yourself smiling despite the previous crease in your brow. “...Dude, get a cart before you drop everything.”

Instead of getting his own, he simply dumped what he had into your cart with a teasing grin. You couldn’t argue with his logic there. Tendou sidled up against you, once again towering over you with a kind of ease that should be criminal. “Need help reading something?”

You wanted to say no. You almost said no. But swallowing your pride, you gave a weak nod. “Yeah, this word right here.” Pointing to the unfamiliar script printed on the label. “What the heck is this?”

“Weeeeell, looks like that brand is scented, ya know, for when ya—”

“Don’t bother finishing that sentence...please.”

You quickly grab what you need and continue on down the aisle with Tendou following closely behind.

Just like when you’d first met him, he made conversation the entire way. By the time you both made it to the cash registers, you’d argued at least three times over french pronunciations and whether cashews were the cousin of peanuts.

And just as last time, he left you with a grin and a peace-sign while you stared after his retreating back, paid groceries in hand.

After an entire day spent baking, you found yourself on Tendou’s doorstep with a tupperware full of baked goodies later the next evening. You had been meaning to thank him for being such a good neighbor to you. It was certainly unexpected, but a welcome gesture nonetheless.

You only had to knock twice before the door was wrenched open and you were greeted with the set of...vanilla? Some pop song played in the background while your neighbor looked at you curiously.

"H-Hey Tendou, I um...I baked you these." You held out the plastic container, hoping he'd simply take it from you without question and you could return to your apartment without somehow embarrassing yourself. "There's a little bit of everything in there, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, macadamia nut—wait you aren't allergic to anything, right?"

"Nooope! Not a thing, thanks neighbor!"

"It was no problem, especially since you've helped me, not once but twice now."

Frowning, you couldn't help but be a little upset with yourself. You'd come to France to prove that you could, in fact, live a normal life outside of your family’s jurisdiction but day by day you were proving to need them more and more.

It was disappointing, to say the least.

"Hmm, what’s with the constipated look on your face. Did the toilet paper not help?” Tendou tilted his head at you with a teasing grin, lips curled at the edges, taunting. You blinked up at him, surprised, and if you were honest, a little annoyed too.

"Hah?!"

"Just thought it was worth a mention, nighty-night~!"

Tendou proceeded to shut the door on you; one hand rested on the frame and the other held on to the cookies. You quickly took a step back lest he chop your entire arm off, ready to trudge off in the direction of your own home but not before sticking your tongue out at him.

Stupid Tendou, always saying stupid shit.

You were on the couch, half asleep when it dawned on you that it had been his own twisted, “Tendou” way of cheering you up.

The rest of the month passed just like that. Occasionally, you would bump into Tendou at the grocery store, or the leasing office, or even the laundromat. And every single time, he’d either make you laugh until your sides hurt or annoyed enough to want to give him a friendly punch. At one point, you two had even exchanged phone numbers, because according to Tendou “it was ridiculous not to have your friends on speedial” which only led to hours spent on Facetime or playing iMessage games.

You knew exchanging numbers would come back to bite you in the ass, it was only a matter of when.

It was clear you weren’t going to any sleep tonight, that was for sure. The incessant buzzing of your cell phone every five minutes was an enemy to your circadian rhythm. You could name on one hand those in your contacts with enough sense to know that you lived in a completely different time zone from them now.

Somehow your neighbor was the very last person you suspected, but it was his contact photo that stared back at you, goofy looking grin and all. You squinted against the brightness of your screen in your otherwise dark bedroom.

you up?

come quick

gotta show ya somethin

come oooon

you're awake, i know you are

It took you less than a minute to shuffle on a pair of slippers, grab your keys (you weren't going to forget them this time) and slip out of your apartment.

You hadn't even knocked twice before the door was pulled open. Tendou looked a mess, more so than usual. Unidentified stains littered the apron looped around his thin waist, streaks of what you hoped were just flour and granulated sugar were all over his hands. You almost wanted to ask if he was baking or dealing dope.

“You woke me up at three in the morning...for this?”

“Yuuup!”

"When I said you could call me at any time, I really didn’t mean any time.” You scratch your side, a contemplative look on your face at the sight of Tendou in what you would assume to be his pajamas. An old volleyball hoodie with the words "Shirazorizawa" printed across the front, and old sweats the were so obviously cut with scissors at the knee.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled a curt, “Alright, move aside.”

Tendou ushered you over to his kitchen where several of his cooking supplies laid on the island, along with a tray of some chocolate dessert spread.

“It’s all still in the testing phase, but I think I’m onto something here.”

He was definitely giving off “mad scientist” vibes. You tried not to snort.

Holding a small chocolate cake in his hand, he smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Open wide."

You obeyed, far too tired to argue, and let him pop the treat into your mouth. Tendou watched as you chewed, as if it were the most interesting thing ever. His wide gaze carefully took in every shift in your expression.

"So? Whaddya think?"

"I...," You chewed a bit more. "...It's delicious! Is that—"

"—Pistachio, why yes it is!"

Tendou was practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. "It takes the entire thing to a whole new level."

You had to agree with him there. This was probably the best chocolate madeleine you'd ever tasted. "Great work, miracle boy. Will you be introducing this new recipe to Claude?"

Mentioning his teacher seemed to sober him up a bit. "Ehh, maybe? The old man's a bit of traditionalist, so I'll just have to figure out a way to get him to approve."

"Maybe try calling him at three in the morning?"

Tendou stuck his tongue out at you before popping a dessert in his mouth. The pure delight on his face was so contagious, you found yourself smiling just the same. You couldn’t help but admire his passion.

“Hey, Tendou… do you like your job?”

He blinked at you, chewing coming to a slow halt. “Well of course! The pay isn’t the best just yet, but it’s a labor of love. I’m willing to put my all into it at least.”

“Huh… that’s pretty cool.” You wiped your fingers on a nearby rag. “I hope to feel the same one day… if I can figure out what I wanna do.”

“Why not bake? You’re pretty good at it.”

“Oh am I? Last week you said my baking needed some work.”

“Well, duh, but my standards when it comes to confectionaries are impossibly high. Even so, I think you’d be successful as a baker. What’s stopping you from pursuing your labor of love?”

And that was the thing with Tendou. He talked a lot, teased even more, but it was never idle ramblings. Somehow, he always seemed to hit right at the heart of the issue with almost painfully uncomfortable accuracy.

“I don’t really know so…” You looked away, trailing off.

“Either way,” he said and placed a finger under your chin, raising your head until you were looking him in the eye. “I’m rooting for you.”

For a moment, you simply stared, awestruck. It was the first time in a long while someone was actually putting their faith in you, believing in you. He had come blazing into your life unabashed with his easy grins and gaze alight with mischief. His encouraging words, sincerity, sensitivity. Tendou was really incredible.

“Tendou…” You took his hand in yours, squeezing it. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Of course, what are neighbors for.”

BONUS:

Three months later you sat curled up next to Tendou on his sofa, his entire apartment smelled of chocolate cocoa with hints of cinnamon.

Before you was an application. Culinary school.

“You really think I can do this?”

Tendou placed his head on your shoulder with a tiny smirk. “One hundred and twenty percent!”

You pondered for a moment, then decided that if he thought you were up for the challenge then you’d believe him.

“For the record, you probably aren’t supposed to recommend your girlfriend for an interview. You know, conflict of interest and all.”

Tendou laughed and pulled you closer. “Trust me, we’ll be fine, so don’t worry your pretty little head, ‘kay?”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori #satori tendou #satori tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #sabi.writes

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hyuneytoast · 3 years

Text

Hearts of Roses || Scene 2

⇢𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 》 “Don’t forget about the thorns.”

In which you stumble upon Wonderland and the Prince of Hearts. How you end up in Wonderland is something explained as complete nonsense, but also quite simple; Just a key and a door. What if it’s not easy to return from Wonderland, though? A locked door and a lost key; now surely that’s not so bad if it weren’t for the Queen of Hearts’ threatening intentions.

⇢𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓼 》 Prince of Hearts!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader, Fantasy AU, Alice in Wonderland AU, Stranger to Lovers, Fluff, Slight Angst

⇢𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 》 Explicit language

⇢𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 》(Let me know if you want to be added!)

@danyxthirstae01 @sailorhyunjinz @rapilne @peachy-maia @hyunj1nn133

𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 || 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 || 𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽

II.

You stumble pass the door, feet being met with, in a way, familiar grounds. Once again, towering mushrooms and a dense forest greet you. The sunlight filters through the canopy and casts itself messily around. You let your skin soak the soft warmth as you stand there for a good solitary minute. Were you really returning? Should you continue to be here? You have no clue, but you can confirm that Wonderland and the people you’ve met have never once left your mind. A good excuse for your terrible lack of sleep last night too. It’d be a shame too if you weren’t to show up when Hyunjin asked you to with evident hope, right?

“Returning, I see? Seems like Wonderland has turned you into a madly, vulnerable fool now,” An unforgettable voice laughs in amusement. Your eyes scan each branch in search of the cat-like acquaintance.

“I’m not always in a tree, you know. I’m over here~”

In front, a grinning figure slowly appears in front of you, now sitting upon the grass. And hell, even considering the magical hole you dug yourself into, you doubt you’d ever get used to his “tricks.”

“Hello again, Minho.”

“I’ve been expecting you in the back of my head.”

“You’d know I come back?”

“Of course! I was watching your goodbyes last night ’til I spent this morning in dread, listening to two idiots speak about you.” Minho crosses his arms against the back of his head while falling slowly aback, laying in the green.

“Who?”

“That’s not important; your life does not depend on knowing so therefore I have no need to tell. But I do must say, one of those idiots are waiting for you. Ah yes, our dear prince is disgustingly waiting for you with heartening patience,” He frowns with closed eyes, faking a gag.

“O-oh. Well—”

“If you desire to be pathetic like him, I suggest you begin wandering off at this very second in the opposite way.”

The cat boy and his irritating habits of interrupting and insisting you to leave makes you let out a low, hopeless sigh. “Now? I still don’t know my way around or where exactly to go. I don’t think wandering around aimlessly is… the wisest decision either.”

“Now surely you didn’t fully think that thought yesterday, did you? If I remember clearly, you left with a smile. Besides, reasons like that, Y/N, make everything more fun! Surprises here and surprises there!” Minho cackles before is resting figure vanishes out of sight.

You frantically look around, but all fails when you find yourself permanently alone once again. “Whatever,” You grumble.

And just like that, your feet move aimlessly in an unknown direction, the opposite of where you went with the dark rabbit, Changbin, yesterday. Wandering and wandering, and deeper in the forest you go; no sense of direction but surely a sight of wonders. Once you get a taste of something, you go back for more. That is very much like your current situation. Not like you actually have a choice though since you have no clue of how to get back on your own.

Tickling below your knees, the breeze creates a rhythm having the tall grass swaying back and forth and your hair gently dancing along too. Incredibly huge butterflies prance along, wings glistening like the day’s sky. You admire the mushrooms from enormous to tiny. Perhaps you poke some of their squishy caps too, smiling to yourself at the fun feeling and aspect. Is it wrong to say that in an unknown somewhere full of mysterious madness, your soul still manages to be put at ease? Maybe it’s the magical atmosphere, or the forest’s serenity that you could never experience in the city. Perhaps it’s both that isn’t so wrong either. An escape from a harsh world; such an opportunity practically pleads you to blissfully wander day by day.

Against the lush green and patches of dirt, a trail of bright red splatters and puddles trail ahead to the left. Appearing to be too colorfully reflective to be considered blood, thoughts immediately recall last night’s encounter with the prince. Red paint! Your feet reroute you along the crimson trail. Curiosity taking over each inch, not to mention, the doubts of possible dangers awaiting at the end. You hear a cheery hum as you walk around a huge bush of roses; similar to last night’s but wilder, more lush. Your eyes meet with a familiar individual that just may have made your heart skip a beat without a warning.

“Y-Y/N?” Hyunjin marvels, mentally sighing in joyous relief.

“Hi, Hyunjin.” If Minho were here, he’d certainly wouldn’t hesitate to mock, or maybe even smack, the grin upon your face.

“Oh how brightly I am shocked to see you have returned very much sooner before my eyes than I have expected,” The boy rambles with a smile he can’t hold back, fumbling to settle the red-dipped paintbrush and palette on top a giant, flat stone.

“Yes, it seems that yesterday was more than enough to convince me,” You respond rather sheepishly.

“Quite happy to hear that as much as I now know I can keep my promise. Now, um, kindly, asking, may I?” Despite the nervousness mixed in with his soft tone, Hyunjin eagerly holds his hand out (which you notice is decked with a few silver rings), but still patiently waiting for a response.

You nod, placing your hand in his large one, cold skin sheltering yours. He gently tugs you around the stone and tall rose bush, revealing a part of the forest containing the most mushrooms you have seen so far.

“What about your paint?”

“That, my dear, can surely wait longer than all of us in Wonderland combined. Besides, you mean far more than all my replaceable paint.” He flashes you a smile while giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Now when was the last time you felt like… this? Felt like whatever this is that you’re feeling. Your words stuck in your throat and all confidence shying away; A desire to bury your heated face in the comfort of your blankets along with tying your hand with Hyunjin’s, never wanting to let go of such simple yet heart bursting touch. Oh god, Y/N, calm down—

“Y/N?! And our dear prince, Hyunjin? Why, what ever are you doing here?”

The two of you snap your gazes to the ringing voice on your right, a red-haired male standing under tall mushrooms with a covered basket in hand. He cocks his head to the side, giving off a few rushed blinks.

“Bang Chan, lovely you meet you once again.”

“Likewise, Y/N!” He flashes you a grin and a small wave.

“Ah, my dear friend! You have caught us as I was making my way to reveal Y/N the garden!”

“The garden? Oh, the garden! Yes! What a sight to behold once you get there, like a rainbow palace that makes me promise you won’t regret the adventure!” Chan gives a small clap before waving his basket. “Not a similar treat, but I was on my way to deliver a few things to Felix.”

“Felix?” You question the slightly familiar name, but you can’t recall encountering him yesterday’s tea party.

“Yes, Felix!” Chan chimes as if he was just asked one of the most precious questions. “He’s one of the most beloved bakers in Wonderland, role done at the castle’s kitchen. A dear friend to many as well, hard not to be friends with him if I must say.”

“Yes, yes, but let’s not forget about me,” slightly whines Hyunjin. “And correction, hard for you to not be friends with everyone. We’ll visit Felix and I’ll make sure you meet him, Y/N. But that shall be for another day when the sun hangs as now, we mustn’t waste any more time. Farewell, Chan!” Still holding your hand, he tugs you forward to where you previously left off.

“I’ll be sure to see you again, Chan!” You glance over your shoulder, giving him a bright face.

“Farewell!”

Small conversations fill up the time that’s basking under the tattered sunlight, feet now walking on a stone trail where the forest seems to set clear into a field. Who knew venturing to a garden could grant so much little details about a person? The two of you would exchange questions that were yearning to be answered. He’d ask you about the different opportunities in your world to your favorite things, like flowers and colors. You’d ask the same, along with your curiosities of his royal heir. Turns out, he’s the next in line for the throne and his favorite color is red. Turns out, he dreams of someday owning a dog.

Little things like that.

“I’m assuming this is it?” Stopped in the tracks, you stand before a stone archway supporting dark wooden doors with black iron handles. Green vines ravel around the tall arch and stone walls, small pink blossoms appearing every here and there.

Hyunjin releases your hand, clapping joyously with crescent eyes. “Yes, we have most certainly arrived!” He steps forward, pulling the door out and gesturing towards the opening. “After you, my lady!”

“Thank you!”

You make your way pass the entrance, now entering a world splashed with even more vibrant colors. Blossoming trees stand tall, small shrubs dotted with warm-colored flowers, and bushes branching high wrapped in every color a garden could possibly hold. Few smooth stone benches are neatly placed throughout and behind the stone trail that’s willing to take your around the base of the garden, willing to show you as much as Hyunjin is. Intaking even further little wonders: The small bright caterpillars resting on leaves, red birds chirping their melody, sapphire-blue butterflies visiting, and flowers consisting of either loosely flared petals or neatly compact ones. Even the gentle breeze puffing through makes the garden more alive as it slowly sways.

The sight alone leaves you breathless. Leaves you breathless as it should for being such a lush garden you’ve never thought you’d ever see. Like one that jumped out of a fairytale book. Like one that has been experiencing an everlasting season of Spring.

One step after another and many more. A reaching hand, pointing out to a branch holding small white flowers, petals in a formation of a star.

“I insist you smell this one, it’s one of my favorite scents.”

Fingers gently wrapping around the branch, you pull it slightly down in your face, nose up against the blossom that it tickles your skin. The scent is soft, but still rich in a sensual sweetness. With a helpless smile, you turn to Hyunjin’s face which is rather quite closer than you recall, catching you a bit off guard but still leaving you to maintain composure.

“I see why it’s one of your favorites, it smells very pleasant.”

“Indeed.” His hot breath is felt against your skin, brown twinkling eyes adoring into yours, but only to be pulled away as a hysterical laugh booms from outside the walls.

“Fucking hell,” Mutters Hyunjin who has nothing but disappointment plastered upon his face. “Why must the world be so cruel when all I want is to show you peacefully around.”

“It’s okay, I certainly don’t mind. Unexpected company or not, I am without a doubt enjoying myself here,” You assure the boy, lightly patting his shoulder.

The dark doors open with a small creak, the iron handle given a clinking sound. The garden is now accompanied by three, the extra uninvited guest standing and peering at the two of you, face offering no emotion. The man’s finger scratches the side of his head of disheveled black hair. He stands tall, wearing what seems to be a spade card of seven draped over a black attire.

“Your majesty, I kindly expect to be informed about this situation here,” The stranger speaks huskily, face remaining still as stone.

“I assure you not to worry. I am spending the day with a very good friend of mine, nothing in the absurd. Now, what has had you sent here?”

“The Queen demands a fresh bouquet of fine red roses for tomorrow’s banquet, and with such the finely wild roses here, I bound to return to the castle after picking them.”

Hyunjin chuckles, hand slipping down to grab a hold of yours. “Quite a coincidence! You may go ahead as my dear friend and I were actually preparing to leave.” A lie. Definitely a lie since Hyunjin planned on staying for at least an hour more of telling you tales about the flowers. “Let’s go, Y/N,” He whispers in your ear, which most certainly doesn’t raise any suspicion from the newcomer or any confusion from you at all…

He leads you to exit the garden, hand gripping yours gently but firmly, and footsteps noticeably hurried, nervous one might manage point out. The other male just moves his head, fiercely glaring over his shoulder right into your eyes. That there just shares an anxious shiver down your spine. Everyone seemed more than friendly, or that is, until he approached. The intimidating sight disappears as Hyunjin closes the door behind, now letting out a sigh. A sigh of what? Relief or panic, perhaps both Hyunjin might answer.

Continuing to pull you forward back to where you previously came from, you quietly clear your throat, asking, “What was that about?”

There obviously was something off in the atmosphere once the strange man dressed as a card entered. The short visited garden due to the cold glares and insisted exits, a nervous undertone from your friend.

“I deeply apologize, darling. I did not plan on getting your hopes high only to leave so soon. I’m sorry for any uncomfortable feelings.” He sighs once again, head hanging low. A purposely dodged question, but an uttermost sincere apology to note.

You were itching to ask the question once again of what really had happened, but peering at him and taking notice of the frown that never left his face, you knew better than to. Looking slightly down with eyebrows knitted, he’s clearly deep in thought, and if only you could, you’d even see the worry dancing around in his eyes. Aside from this, something in the air already told you it’d be best to leave the conversation as is. So, to your unfortunates, you push all your questions of concern to the back of your head.

“It’s not a worry at all. Though the time was short, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this happy. So, very much, thank you, Hyunjin! This day still doesn’t fail to come to my appreciations.”

“A relief to hear that, so thank you. If you ache to see more as much as I, perhaps I could take you somewhere else? There’s a lovely river not too far; dozens of rose bushes remain untainted. I could take you there if you’d like. Maybe we could paint too.” He returns your gaze, his frown washed away, but bites his lip from nervousness. “B-but, if you’re not comfortable with that or want to go home, I-I can take you, it’s n-not a problem!”

“No, it’s okay, I promise!” A guilty pleasure: Hearing his stutters and seeing the tips of his ears burning red; It’s adoring to be the most honest. “I’d love to visit the river with the roses you speak of.”

The clouds faintly hang above in the soft pink and purple hued blue. There wasn’t all day left, but like dangerously piling berries in a basket or collecting more flowers than your hands are meant to hold, there still was time to stretch and spend until the last ounce.

And with all worries dissipated, he looks at you with a tender smile and crescent eyes.

And once again, such a look from him doesn’t miss to make your heart flutter.

“AH! So, the truthful words you dare to spill, my own son with such a girl! And despite being cornered in the garden, you dare not to get a hold of her?” Shrieks a high-pitched voice followed by frenzied giggles, all echoing off the castle’s marble walls.

“Your majesty, it did not seem the wisest choice at the time! Making such an impression that has a chance of failing? Why, the prince wouldn’t even let me approach her from several feet away! And—”

“You never fail to surprise me, always going about and missing opportunities like a mad fool with only a crooked mind. Especially when you bring me this news! You’ve outdone yourself, surely!” The Queen bursts out in even louder cackles, her head thrown back against the throne. The man of a seven spades card stands before her, hands fumbling around and nervously chuckling, unsure if he should join in on the laughter and unsure of his next move. The Queen then snaps, straightening her posture, leering with eyes that could nearly tear the guard apart themselves.

“YOU GODDAMN PRICK!!!” Everyone standing within the throne room flinches, which the Queen proudly notices. “Look! Look! I can promise next time will be worse if this girl isn’t in my grasp by the next four weeks! I can’t have the prince abandoning his duties and own throne like this nor does she even belong here. I truly cannot let my Wonderland given to her just like that!”

Every word is spit out with passion. Sinisterly passion. Pure insanity from the Queen of Hearts.

“Perhaps she isn’t as bad as most of us assume, your majesty. Perhaps! You should at least get to know of her and her capabilities,” Suggests the seven spades guard whose trying everything in his strength to not tremble under the intimidating gaze.

“I will gladly take your opinion, but I do have a request or two.”

“Yes, what ever is it you’d like me to do?”

“Follow them. Follow her! I’d like to know everything possible, from her effect on the Prince to how she even got here. But! You hollow-minded fool, please do be most utterly discreet about it.”

“As you wish, your majesty.”

#hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #stray kids #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin oneshot #stray kids oneshot #stray kids imagines #skz ff #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz x you #hwang-hyunjin-x-reader #hwang hyunjin

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heyovivi · 3 years

Text

ACOTAR 6? (MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ACOSF)

Okay! I just finished A Court of Silver Flames and absolutely love Nesta’s journey and this is coming from a person who didn’t really like Nesta from the beginning. Her journey of healing and finding herself was beautiful and her journey with Cassian was heart-wrenching and sexy and I just loved it all! But anyways, more on that later, I have some predictions for the next book.

So I usually don’t go into anything without spoiling myself so before I even picked up ACOSF from a bookshelf at Target (don’t worry I was able to read both bonus chapters; meaning Azriel’s and the Feyre and Rhys’ chapters) I knew a little about ACOSF already. Now, ACOSF wasn’t deeply plotted and there wasn’t any world building like there was when we read the first three book--although it didn’t really matter to me I still enjoyed the book. ACOSF was all about Nesta and her journey and an insight to her thoughts and why she is the way she is and although I felt that at some points I hated Nesta I could still understand her frustrations and I could understand that she was deeply flawed as a character--which is fine.

Now, even if ACOSF didn’t have a huge plot there were some key elements that will probably be very important in the next book such as Koschei, the remaining Mortal Queens, the Band of Exiles, Azriel’s journey, and Elain��s journey. But one key thing I noticed was Eris. Now he didn’t appear that much in the book and if he did it was during moments where his presence was essential to the plot (such as being kidnapped by Queen Brialynn and Koschei), but in that last chapter he appeared in it seemed like there was more to the story, to his story specifically. I think that maybe we might be getting a book on Eris.

A lot of people say that ACOSF is reminiscent of Tower of Dawn from the Throne of Glass series, where instead of following Aelin in her quest to free her kingdom and stop Maeve, we instead venture into a Chaol-centered book where we kind of try to understand his point of view and character growth. So maybe, and this is just a theory or prediction, maybe we’ll get a similar thing with Eris.

From that one little conversation we get with Cassian and Eris, it appears that Eris is kind’ve jealous of the Night Court and it’s relationships with the other courts in Prythian. A lot of people have already pointed how much Eris could be a lot like Rhys in the manner that Eris wants the Autumn Court to be seen not as the fiery court of rage and misery, but instead wants to be a beacon for those who dwell there. And you do see some parallels between Rhys and Eris and their upbringing with their fathers being very strict figures in their lives but with Eris there was an emphasize of abuse somewhere along the line.

Now I’m not saying that Eris is getting a book or that his book even next, but I think that we have not heard the full story of what happened between both him and Mor, and I really want to know the entire story of what had happened in Eris’ life to make him seem like such a conniving person. But if I’m being honest I would much rather read a book about Eris’ efforts to lift the Autumn Court than a book about Mor--just my preference you don’t have to agree with me.

Now here are my runner ups for who could be the possible voice of ACOTAR 6.

Azriel

Elain

No, not Azriel and Elain, but Azriel or Elain. Now there were a lot of people saying that the book is either about Elain and Azriel, or Azriel and Gwyn, or Elain and Lucien--and I’m not going to shut down anyone’s theories but I’m going to share my own. Again, if you feel peeved about what sides or ships I support then stop reading when you get pissed because I can live with the fact that not everyone is going to agree with my theories.

First off, Azriel.

I’m going to be honest, from what I read on Tumblr mainly I thought Azriel’s role in ACOSF was going to be way bigger, but I still enjoyed his dry humor and presence when he was there. Though when it comes to Miss Sarah J Mass we have to pay attention to every little detail in her books and if you caught onto his distance from Mor during the Solstice party or his reluctance to hold baby Nyx because of his scarred hands then I think it’s pretty telling that the next book could be about Azriel and his journey with coming face to face with his trauma, his past, and maybe his unsteady relationship with the Illyrians; not to mention his five century one-sided love with Mor.

If you know me, or looked at any of my content, you should know that I am a hardcore Gwynriel shipper. I love Gwyn and fell in love with the ship almost immediately so much so that I’m embarrassed that I entertained the idea of shipping Azriel with Emerie or Clotho. I think that she might play a pivotal role in his journey to healing and that he might also play a large role in hers as well. Through his bonus chapter we can kind of see the sparks of something starting between them, I’m guessing it’s tied to theories that they are mates or to the theory that Gwyn could be a possibly lightsinger. All I know for sure right now is that Gwyn’s story is definitely not over with and I except see more of her in the future along with the other Valkyries as well.

Finally, Elain.

Now I don’t think the next book is about Elain but I do feel that out of all of the other characters her story is in the making? I’ve been told numerous times that Elain will be getting a book of her own, but we don’t know when and we don’t know what it is going to be about. Now, I’m not the hugest fan of Elain and it all goes back to her and Nesta just sitting around when Feyre was in the woods fighting for her life and there's as well. I know that she apologized and felt guilty afterwards but her excuse was “we gave up and she didn’t” just did not do it for me.

It was in this passage from A Court of Thorns and Roses, where my distaste for Elain blossomed:

The mercenary transferred the coins to my waiting palm, and I tucked them into my pocket, their weight as heavy as milestone. There was no possible chance that my sisters hadn’t spotted the money--no chance they weren’t already wondering how they might persuade me to give them some.

...I felt my sisters sweep closer, like vultures circling a carcass.

Like at least we knew Nesta was the “wolf” as she described herself. We knew she had a sharp-tongue and we knew she could be a bitch with her words. But Elain, she was described as innocent and nice, and yes when you paint her in a garden with flowers and frilly dresses she does just seem like some Cinderella-like character but after five books, especially after ACOSF my hate for Elain has just grown. Like after ACOWAR, I just thought she was boring--yes, she had a hand in killing the king of Hybern but that hype was kind’ve stolen away when Nesta ripped his head from his body.

Since then, we haven’t really, really got a full look through with Elain and a large part of that is because we haven’t gotten her point of view, like not even in A Court of Frost and Starlight. From what we know about her, canonically, no theories or anything, she likes to garden, she likes to cook, her friends are Cerridwen and Nuala, she doesn’t want to confront that bond she has with Lucien, and she has an attraction to Azriel. But beyond that we don’t know anything--there were things that I kept out even though they were mentioned in ACOSF but there is also a lot of mystery around the things she said and claimed to do--even Cassian questioned them but didn’t approach her about the topic.

I don’t think we have enough of a story to build up on Elain. For the most part I feel like her presence in ACOSF was mostly there to just piss Nesta off. Literally, in every scene she has with Nesta, she is pissing her off, setting her off, making her yell or scream, or making the silver flames ignite. And this is extremely out of character for Elain. Yes, we don’t get enough of her, but from what we can gather, Elain usually is not one to push buttons but I wonder why she did with Nesta.

Here are a few passages that I just found beguiling while reading Nesta’s interactions with Elain:

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness. “It’s the truth. We did this because we love you, and we worry for you, and if Father were here--”

“Don’t ever mention him.” Nesta bared her teeth, but kept her voice low. “Never fucking mention him again.”

Mentioning their father? A very taboo subject for Nesta. And Elain stans like to argue that Elain is quiet and docile because she is an observer. She takes things in and she tucks them away in her memory, but if she’d paid so much attention then why would she mention their father to Nesta? Feyre noted Nesta’s relationship with their father in book one, so there is no way that Elain herself didn’t know about it.

Here is another line from their conversation I thought were very weird to read about and I’ll explain why:

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

Bullseye. Nesta doesn’t like to be talked about, to be judged. We learned that in ACOSF and again if Elain was this person who sees and pays attention she should’ve known this or caught on.

I think in this scene, Elain was purposely trying to set off Nesta.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Cassian said it might be good if I came.”

Elain’s eyes flickered. “Did Feyre pay you, like last year?”

“No,” shame washed over her.

Elain sighed, glancing over Nesta’s shoulder to the open doorway across the entry. The party within, only for their small inner circle. “Please don’t upset Feyre. It’s her birthday, first of all. And in her state--”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked.

Nesta was actually trying to get better at this point. She even risked going to a party despite not feeling welcomed just because Cassian told her it might be good for her to be surrounded by her family and for her not be alone on the holiday. You could even tell how by the way Nesta is keeping herself away she is still uncomfortable but the thing is she still showed up which is a sure sign she is improving.

I don’t know why Elain started talking about the year before or about upsetting Feyre--literally wanted to slap the bitch in this scene. Like I just want to know why Elain pressed so hard. Then afterwards she waved it off as if she hadn’t just said what she said and acted normally. I can not tell you how mad I was at this--like especially for a sensitive character like Nesta who is ALWAYS In her thoughts and always takes things to a deep level. Like what Elain said could’ve just broken a vital part of Nesta and caused her to relapse.

Anyways, I think Elain’s behavior in ACOSF could hint at the Evil Elain theory. Although I don’t think it’s going to come in the next book--it might build in the next book but at most I think Elain’s story will come to fruition in ACOTAR 7 or 8 and isn’t going to be about her journey or soul searching but maybe we’ll be getting the point of view of a villain. Like there were many mysterious hints dropped in ACOSF and the way I interpreted them is that Elain is planning something and if her behavior matches her actions, it’s something that could possibly affect her sisters.

Plus, you have to wonder how Brialynn and Koschei knew everything. They knew all the IC’s moves and all of Nesta’s moves...but how? A lot of the time when Nesta was given a mission by Rhys it was in the River House and we also know that Elain has been getting better at sneaking around without being detected so it’s not too farfetched that Elain could be the spy. You don’t have to agree with me but I think it’s a pretty solid theory as far as they go.

But do tell me your thoughts I would love to hear them. I’m sorry if I offended anyone in the end but we all have to just respect everyone’s opinion so no fights or slander, especially in my comment section.

#eris vanserra #azriel #elain archeron #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #evil elain #cassian #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acosf spoilers #acosf #acotar6

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Thorn part 2

summary: You really should check who’s watching or not.

a/n: My quest to cram as many kinks into a fic continues. Special thanks to @littleredwing89 for helping me finish this and proof reading. Also, yes, I am trying to convert as many people as humanly possibel into Slade simps

warnings: voyeurism, exhibitionism, bondage, blindfolds, degredation-ish, spreader bar, threesome, (what do you call stuffing panties into someone’s mouth), oral (male receiving), vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, spanking and probably somethings I forgot.

villain’s masterlist

main masterlist

part 1

Something’s been bothering you for the last few days- an itching in the back of your mind that made the nerves in your hands prickle even as you leafed through the notes piled high on your desk. You flex your fingers, reading over a transcript of a witness’ statement. There was something wrong.

“Give us a good show.”

Heat trails up your neck at the memory of his skin against yours but it also agitated something in you. It was probably nothing but the way he said it bothered you. There was something you were missing. A joke. A hint. A pun. Something. Maybe you just hung around Nicky too much. Maybe, but that didn’t still your mind. It was Slade.

You haul March’s fluffy body on to your lap. She rumbles but makes no move to get up even as you thread your hands through her thick fur. In some lazy retaliation, she pads her little front paws against your papers but you don’t find yourself minding since you’re already too distracted. You gaze into her dark fur, a sea of black pooling and shifting on your lap like a dark mass of shadows. Your mind buzzes with too many details. That night was cluttered with too many… sensations. You cup your hand over your face feeling the heat rising on your cheeks. March’s ears perk up and the inky mass in your lap twists to face you. Her golden eyes leering at you questioningly.

Your stomach plunges. You remember Slade's eye, how carefully it inspected the corners of the room, how it would wander to them while you were… The prickling in your mind told you something was wrong. You set your notes down to the side and begin to move March but she yawns contentedly on your lap so you let her be. You drag your laptop closer to you, arching your back carefully so as not to move March. The scratching in the back of your mind definitely has something to do with the Thorn. Who knows maybe it was something relevant to the case this whole time? The dread rising in your stomach says otherwise.

Then there it was. Of course, it was in the fucking fine print.

High ranking clientele have 1 week to accept or decline the option to keep their private room videos private.

You swore viciously, putting your face in your hands. Your blood rushes to your ears. Of course, they would have cameras! You groan curling in on yourself. March bristles and shifts trying to pry your body open but you can’t make yourself budge not when you just want to implode. March, having given up on your sorry ass, squeezes her way out of your hold and hisses at you as if to tell you off.

“Yes, March. I know. I know. Oh my god- Shit, I know.”

Her judging gaze did not waver even as she flicked her tail at your papers. You look at her pleadingly but she does not relent and even turns away from you. God, even your cat thinks you’re an absolute dumbass. Did Sita know? Did Nina? Did Anthony? Sita, probably not. She wouldn’t throw you under the bus like that. Ok, she would but not this badly. Nina, yeah probably. Anthony, definitely. But those two probably thought you were ok with it. This was such an amateur move.

You bite your lip and drum your fingers against the keyboard staring at the clock on the corner of your screen. Your eyes flick to your eyes to your notes and the grumpy cat making a nest out of your papers. There wasn’t much you could do with the case right now, not until Sasha made good on her end of the bargain. That would likely not be for a few hours and …

You didn’t exactly trust Slade to keep this between the two of you. Besides, shit like this? Shit like this had a bad habit of leaking to other sites and whatever weight you pulled in the force would vanish in an instant. You ruffle your hair in frustration. Of all the mistakes you could make, why him?

“Such a good cockslut.”

You bury your face in your arms as the heat creeps up to your ears. Out of habit, you put some pressure on the back of your neck but instead of quieting your mind, it slung your mind back to when Slade’s hand wrapped around your neck. You could still feel his calloused fingers grazing your sensitive skin, his breath fanning against your shoulder. How the hell were you supposed to fight him when the mere thought of him made you so flustered?! You were a goddamn professional! You want to scream or to be swallowed by the floor or both. Both sounds better.

You sigh, exasperation bleeding through the sound. You don’t regret it. Not really. You just wished this wouldn’t end up being career suicide. Sadly, you weren’t lucky. March’s tail flicked angrily at the thought. You say a nasally apology. She, appropriately enough, does not accept your apology.

You look at your phone. 1 AM. The thorn should be busy right now, meaning the guards should have their hands full. You could definitely- Fuck it. You need to delete that thing.

You spring out of your bed, launching yourself out the door not bothering to change out of your pajamas aside from throwing on a jacket and a pair of tennis shoes. It would be a quick in and out job if you did it correctly.

“See ya, March! Don’t wait up!” you call out from the door, waving your jingling keys. The sound makes March stir but she doesn’t look at you. You snort but the fondness in your features wins over the anxiety and the annoyance.

“March?” Anthony’s voice rises above the echo of sensual music coming from the main room. You freeze, the movements of your limbs stuttering along with your heartbeat. “Uh hey,” you answer, voice infinitely more stilted than you were envisioning.

In the low light, you can see Anthony tilting his head, a wrinkle of concern marring his perfect brow. “I thought you were supposed to be off for a day or two since-” his statement falters when his eyes flicker to the hickeys dotting your skin. You fight down the urge to zip up your hoodie. “-since Mr. Wilson likes to play rough.” Anthony continues both from not really being able to stop the words and the need to get more information out of you.

You smile easily. For once, you’re thankful for the low lighting of the club. The corners of your lips twitch unconvincingly. “I- Mr. Wilson called me about an hour ago and told me to meet him here- same room- He said something about an offer and considering the tip he gave me… I found it hard to turn down.” You lie, shrugging your shoulders casually and giving him a look roughly translating to ‘eh what can ya do’. You will your muscles not to wince or fidget. Maybe your lie would be convincing enough.

Finally, after a long pause, Anthony gives you a knowing look and says “Well, don’t let him work you too hard.” You give Anthony a wry smile unsure what to say. “I won’t. Promise.”

You wait for Anthony to disappear before letting your shoulders roll into a slump. You wonder if he’s ever…

You shake your head. That wasn’t your business but that doesn’t stop your mind from wandering.

The security guard in charge of the monitors was almost insultingly easy to take out. Given, he had his hand crammed down his pants and he wasn’t exactly paying attention to the surroundings. Then again, could you really blame him when part of his job is just watching porn?

You drag his unconscious body to the closet, jamming the door with the guard’s chair. You would think this place could afford a rolly chair. Nope. You suppose they had to cut corners somewhere. They probably should have cut it at the cameras but then again you weren’t the one running the joint.

Just as with the guard, getting into the system was fairly easy. The universe may be telling you something. It likely was but you ignored it in favor of the screen lighting up with dozens of thumbnails of naked men and women. You fight down the spike of embarrassment that rises in your chest. The idea that one of these guards watched you as you… It was mortifying but something in your stomach stirred. It was a mix of humiliation and something unexpectedly warm. You shake your head doing your best to ignore the feeling bubbling in your stomach.

Underneath each thumbnail was what you assumed to be the client’s initials and what looked to be the dates of each video. Well, they’re horny but organized which really helps you. You type in ‘S.W.’ just to shorten your agony.

The screen flickers again and when it lights up with another set of thumbnails, your mouth dries and the blood rushes to your face and to your groin. You bite out a curse for letting your eyes wander to the images. The first one your eyes land on has his back facing the camera in all his naked glory. You scan the image, eyes tracing over the scars littered all over his body and the rippling back muscles you could only see through his shirt. You groan in frustration. You can feel yourself growing wetter. Because of course, you didn’t account for your body’s reaction to him factoring into the speed of your work. You slip up and play one of the videos, the vulgar sounds permeating the room and reverberating in your bones. You scramble to pause the video. A part of you is hesitant to. The better, more logical part of you wins out. It was either propriety or jealousy that won out. Either way, you weren’t eager to investigate, not when the aching between your legs made itself so pronounced. You swear but it came out more whiny and breathless. You tighten your grip on the desk and the mouse. You had to find this thing before you turn into a runny mess on the floor.

“If you wanted a copy, Kitten, you could have just asked,” a gravelly voice drawls into your ear. You attempt to twist, your body brushing up against something solid. Strong arms and a toned body cages you against the desk. The man certainly knows how to use his large build to his advantage. You twist and wriggle, a mix of irritation and panic traveling up your spine. Behind you, Slade groans as your ass brushes against his growing bulge. You freeze. Heat creeps up your face and a swelling pool of warmth in your groin makes itself known. The close proximity makes your hackles draw up with all the force of the ‘fuck you’ you felt but you reign it in along with the shiver suffusing through your frame.

You take a steadying breath. “How the hell did you know I was here?” you snarl, voice caustic. Unaffected and more amused than anything, Slade leans in closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck. You shiver. Your nose is overpowered by the mix of musk and gin permeating off of him. The scent was delightfully potent making you squirm in discomfort.

Slade kisses up your neck, taking his time answering. His teeth catch at your skin once or twice making you gasp. This feels so good. The thrum under your skin worsens. Your mind was starting to become fuzzy with anticipation. This man was definitely trying to kill you.

“Anthony told me,” Slade says in between kisses, and the anger that statement should have drawn out of you was nowhere to be seen. “He told me that you were waiting for me in my usual room. Imagine my surprise when you were nowhere to be seen.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Let’s see what you’ve been looking at, Sweetheart,” Slade murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing against your jaw as he maneuvers the mouse away from you. A large hand settles on your hip, calloused fingers toying with the top of your shorts as his thumb traces circles against your bare skin. You whine and lean into his touch not even minding the obvious distraction.

You feel him smile against your skin as he reads through the dates on screen. You know he could just zip through these dates, his meta powers enhancing the rate at which his mind processes things. You know he’s only slowing down to make sure you see the sheer volume of videos he has. Your mind tries desperately to shrink away, to carve out some sort of irritation or maybe even disgust but all you could feel was a rampant tinge of jealousy and you weren’t entirely sure what to make of it.

The obscene sound of your desperate moans fills the room, making you flush with embarrassment. On the screen, you watch as your fingers dip in and out of your core. The slick sounds blaring from the speaker make you drip and clench together but you do not look away. Your eyes are fixed on your trembling limbs and your gasping, kiss-bitten lips. You can feel it even now, the way your body greedily soaked up the sinful atmosphere. Your body aches from the memory.

You yelp when Slade’s fingers slip past the waistband of your shorts. You buck against his touch, letting his calloused fingers brush up against the bare lips of your pussy. “You making a habit out of not wearing underwear around me?” Slade teases bringing you out of your haze only through the need to defend your last bit of dignity but whatever sharp or witty comeback you have dies on your lips when he curls his fingers inside you. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

So much for your dignity.

Your hips rock against his hand, doing your best to fuck yourself on his fingers and brushing against his bulge. Sure, you were horny as all hell but that didn’t mean you weren’t still the pettiest little shit in existence. You close your eyes and look away from the screen trying to concentrate on the feeling of his hands inside you. But you can’t deny how the sounds from the video made this way hotter than it already was. Gripping your neck with his hand, Slade forces you to look back at the screen.

You open your eyes and see yourself bouncing desperately on Slade’s engorged cock. You groan, pussy clenching on his thick digits.

“Such a good cockslut, look at how well that tight cunt of yours is taking me in.”

Shame ravages your entire body as you hear yourself pant and whine at the statement. You recoil looking away wanting nothing more than to dissolve into seafoam at the moment. You don’t get to revel in your shame when the hand on your neck shifts and is pushing you down and closer to the screen. “Didn’t I tell you to keep watching, Kitten?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, mouth pressed against the meat of your arm. You try to concentrate on the video- the needy little noises you try to bite back, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the wet squelching noises as his cock drills into you. You really do.

You hear the click of the mouse. Your eyes watch as another video loads. On the screen, Slade rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, showing off his powerful forearms. There is a woman on the bed blindfolded, obediently keeping her arms in place as Slade binds her limbs to the bedposts with silk ribbons. Her parted legs show off the slick between her thighs flowing down to the sheets. Wordlessly, Slade drags a riding crop against her sensitive hole. You groan almost loud enough to snuff out her cries for him. A prickle of jealousy tugging at you makes you go rigid under his touch.

“Jealous, kitten?” he whispers, hand sliding into your shirt, large hand grasping the soft round flesh of your breast. You shuffle trying to kick him but stop when you feel him roll your nipples between his fingers. In the reflection on the screen, you can see him leering at your face twisting in reluctant pleasure. You can feel it against your ear. “Don’t worry, I have plenty of ideas for a good little slut like you.” You hear another click.

In the next video, the first thing that registers is a high keen, a mangled version of Slade’s name, accompanied by a low buzz. In the corner of the screen, Slade’s toying with a remote, flicking the slider up and down with no real thought behind it. The woman whines, a frustrated sound, and you can understand the frustration as you grind your barely clothed pussy against the swell of Slade’s cock.

“Sir, please- Ah!”

“Please, what, sweetheart?” he coos, turning the vibrator inside her back down to the lowest setting.

“Plea-” her plea is cut off by Slade flicking it back up to the highest setting then back down. You make a strangled noise of frustration at both the Slade behind you and the one on screen.

“Sir, please. Your cock. I need it. Please fill me up.” Tears are streaming down her face. Slade uncrosses his legs and stands up, smiling like he’s just been served something particularly delectable. “Such a good slut,” he purrs, turning the power back up to the highest setting.

The camera angle changes. You watch as Slade’s engorged cock sinks into her fold, vibrator still buzzing inside her. “You think you can take something like that? Can your tight little cunt of yours take that much?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer, rolling your ass against him. He grunts and you grin into your arm. “This tight little cunt can take your large cock,” mouth shaping itself, showing off your pretty lips, “and whatever else you can give me” you say, voice breathy but even. You inject all the cocksure you can into the words trying to sound more challenging rather than pleading. Slade chuckles into your flesh. “We’ll see, kitten.”

Slade clicks on another video. The camera trails over the swell of a woman’s ass down to her sopping core. Her face is pressed against the leather cushions of her couch while her limbs are locked to a spreader bar leaving her open and helpless to Slade’s ministrations. Slade, in all his naked glory, pumps his leaking cock lining it up against her greedy hole. She’s shaking and whimpering, trying to push her ass flush against him but his bruising grip keeps her in place. She cries out and your walls clench on nothing when Slade plunges his cock roughly into her folds. You whimper and buck against him, mimicking the way her ass bounces against his hips. The movement draws out a sharp ‘fuck’ from Slade’s clenched teeth. His thumbs press into the dimples of your back as he pins your hips to the table.

“Do you want me to fuck you like I fucked her?” he asks, threading his hand through your hair and yanking you up to his chest. You gasp, the pain making your blood sing. “Do you want that, kitten?” You nod. “Take off your shirt.” Slade pulls himself back, still pinning your hips against the table with his. You shimmy out of your shirt and jacket eyes glued to the screen. You want him. You can feel how much he wants you too from the possessive way he cages you into the way his fingers curl inside you. They’re crooked just the right way to let you fuck yourself at just the right angle but it’s not enough. They fill you but it’s not the burning stretch you crave. You watch as he fucks into her relentlessly, jealousy boiling over in your veins as her eyes roll into the back of her head, completely and utterly lost in the pleasure. “Maybe we’ll try one of those on you next time,” he whispers, pulling down your shorts and letting them fall to your ankles. Once again, your body bends over, presenting your bare ass to him. This time willingly as if to ask him to just fuck you however he wants.

"Tell me what you want," Slade licks a stripe up your spine, tasting sweat and desperation on your flesh and stopping at the back of your neck. You can feel him nip at your flesh. "What do you want me to do?"

All of that, you thought greedily. I want you to fuck me, use me, make me cum over and over. I don’t care how you use me.

"Would you rather I tell you what I want to do to you, kitten?" The hand shoved between legs is rubbing shallow circles on your clit. The motion easily cuts off whatever coherent reply was resting on your lips. You bow your sweat-drenched back into his chest. The hairs on his chest prickle your back. “I’ll tell you exactly how I intend to use a pretty little slut like you.” He grabs your neck, giving it a light but firm squeeze, his thumb brushing against your pulse. “I’m going to have you gagging around my cock as fuck your throat raw,” he growls. It sounds like a threat but it sends shivers up your spine. “Don’t worry, kitten, I won’t come down your throat. You know me better than that. I’d rather give you a string of pearls to decorate your wonderful breasts,” he says squeezing one roughly in his large hand. Your tongue lolls out thinking of just how much you want this. Slade brings down his palm against your ass; the same broad palm kneads your flesh feeling the familiar heat emanate from the red blooming on your skin. “Then I’ll fuck that tight little ass of yours.” You gasp as he enters your pussy in one swift thrust. The rhythm of his thrusts mimics the one on the screen, slowing down when he feels your insides strangling his cock. He whispers every filthy promise you don’t even dare dream of.

“Do you want to cum?”

“Yeees,” you sigh into your arms. “Please.”

“Ask nicely.” You’re going to kill him.

“Please, Slade. I-”

“Oh errr-” You freeze. You turn your head to look over your shoulder. You make a horrified bleat when you see one of the security guards standing meekly at the door. He doesn’t bother to hide how blatantly he’s watching as Slade continues to fuck into you drawing little sighs and gasps out of you. Your walls flutter around Slade, sweet and tight drawing a growl out of him. Slade looks over his shoulder as if he’d just noticed your audience. “Patrick, do you think you could give us a few minutes?” Slade grunts slowing his movements. Patrick seemingly surfaces from his slack-jawed haze. “Yes, of course, Mr. Wilson! Right away.” He scampers off shutting the door in a violent haste.

“You know him?” you gasp, twisting your body to scowl at him. His pace slows even more as he pretends to thin his answer over. “He’s caught me a few times,” he says offhandedly. You have no idea why this surprises you. “You’re not the first slut I’ve fucked over this desk.” You shiver as Slade pushes you back down onto the table, keeping you still with a hand around your throat. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he teases, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades. “You’d want me to fuck that tight little cunt while he watches.” The hot breath fanning against your skin draws a shiver from you.

“What do you think, kitten?” he asks, nipping at your ear. “Don’t worry he won’t mind. No one would mind watching that cute little ass of yours.” You whine in a half-hearted protest. It’s loud and you think you’ll get caught again. Slade seems to think so too as he instructs you to open your mouth. Your skin feels too hot and your mind is hazy so you obey fully expecting to press his fingers into your mouth. Instead, he stuffs a lacy piece of cloth into your mouth. You make the mistake of flicking your eyes back to the screen to investigate. In your mouth was your lacy underwear from the other night and on the screen was...

There he sits with the ease of a hedonistic king while one woman sucks on his cock, tears pricking the edges of her eyes, and the other riding his fingers chasing her own high as he devours her mouth. The satisfaction of your jealousy heats Slade’s veins. “Sometimes double is better, don’t you agree, kitten.” You make a dissenting whine cresting over your lips. “Don’t worry we’ll let you try it at some point.”

“Men would pay good money to watch you like that-” Slade tilts your chin, squeezing your chin and forcing you to look at the screen as Slade fucks the woman's throat raw. “or like this-” Slade’s cock plunges into you, deep and filling and hitting all the right spots. Your nails drag against the desk feeling your insides clench around him. He leans into your ear, voice a husky whisper. “They’d pay even better money to have their cocks where mine is-” thrust “-right-” thrust ”-now.” You whimper around the cloth in your mouth. You tighten around him at the thought of other people vying for your attention and Slade claiming you as his while they looked on with jealousy. Slade barks out a laugh, gripping hard above the arches of your hips to bounce you back on his cock. You’re so close. You’re going to cum. You cum with a shrill cry. Slade fucks you relentlessly through your orgasm, grunting loudly against your ear.

He takes his cock out of you. You feel something warm spill all over your ass. It’s sticky and hot and you don’t need to look to know what it was.

He takes your panties out of your mouth. Your breath, greedily sucking in air but it turns into a gasp when you feel the lacy cloth rubbing against your oversensitive skin.“Gotta keep this place clean, kitten- This is a high-class establishment after all.” You don’t protest as he tosses your cum covered panties into your pile of clothes. You simply press your body against the cool surface of the table and let out a tired little sigh.

“Feel free to delete the videos if you want. I already have my own copy,” he says casually waving a USB stick as he walks towards the door. “As I said before, just tell me if you want a copy. I’ll happily give you a copy… for a favor.”

“Fuck you.”

“Anytime, kitten.”

You hear the door close. You’re going to have to work to get your clothes back on. Your limbs feel like noodles but first, you click on your video and delete them. You saw several people on the members' list you want nowhere near you or your videos. Your skin heats again at the thought of those people bidding just to- You push it out of your mind and hit the delete button.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

Bonus:

Slade brings his phone up to his ear after typing in a familiar set of digits. “How did you like it?”

“Wilson, you’ve got her trained well,” Roman’s gravelly voice, says roughly strained from arousal as he replays some highlights.

“Indeed, I do.”

“How much?”

Slade hums, taking his time to answer. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“You would be surprised.”

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THANKS FOR READING

Tag list: @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#slade wilson smut #slade wilson imagine #slade wilson x reader #deathstroke x reader #deathstroke #slade wilson

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

City of Starlight {1}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses & Throne of Glass Crossover, Modern AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 5k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Competitive arts school tog x acotar crossover”

Summary: Velaris School of the Arts is the most prestigious school of talent on the continent. Whoever wants to be someone wants to get in. As her senior year of high school is coming to an end, all Aelin Galathynius wants is to go to the city of starlight and play music. Feyre Archeron, however, longs to paint for the rich and famous. Painters, singers, dancers, actors, and filmmakers come together in friendship, love, and lust, and find that they have a lot more in common than they thought.

A/N: Shoutout to @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty for writing chapter one with me! Ugh, I’m so excited to write this story, y’all don’t even know. Read, enjoy, & let me know what you think!

Warnings: language

Links:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me ANYTHING!

City of Starlight {ACOTAR/TOG crossover}

> Characters Detail Sheet <

Aelin and Aedion stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The drive had taken a little bit longer than intended, but that was only because they stopped to sight-see anything that sounded interesting, including the world’s largest pumpkin. Although ginormous, it was rotted and horrible, but there had been a sign just before the exit and they couldn’t resist. It was also at that exit that they stopped by a little hole-in-the-wall bakery and Aelin got two dozen chocolate donuts.

She’d eaten nearly half of them between there and the entrance of the city.

Velaris was beautiful, just as Aelin suspected it would be, but she really couldn’t wait until nightfall to see the famous starlight. They had a few hours before that, though, which meant that they had to find their apartments. Instead of traditional dorms, since Velaris was a smaller school, they had a huddle of apartments and townhouses. They were all cluttered close together, though, and it was a bit overwhelming trying to decipher which building was which.

“Fuck,” Aedion muttered, looking around the square. They were standing in the middle of four different apartment buildings, all of which looked exactly the same. “What’s your building?”

Aelin dug through her bag to find the envelope with all of her information in it, which took a solid two minutes, and once she opened it up, it took another two to find the right piece of paper.

Aedion just watched her, shaking his head. “How have you made it this far in life being so disorganized?”

She gave him a vulgar gesture as she read, “I’m in building B.” She blinked. “They’re alphabetized?”

Aedion looked around to find the nearest sign, then groaned. “Well, this is building Q, so if that’s the case, we’re pretty far off. I’m in B, too.”

With a dramatic sigh, Aelin said, “And here I was hoping to finally get some distance from you.”

Aedion nudged her in the ribs before climbing back up behind the wheel of his truck. They rode around for nearly forty-five minutes, slowly, reading every sign they passed with frustration. At one point, they thought they were close, because they came upon building C, only to be met at the next building with a sign that said “Apartment Building L”. Aelin swore it was a test of will - one she definitely didn’t care for.

But, alas, when they finally found Apartment Building B, it was a glorious feeling, and once Aedion pulled into a parking spot, Aelin jumped out of the car and yelled, “Finally!”

She expected Aedion to make a profound exclamation, too, but when she looked over the hood of the car at him, he was looking elsewhere.

On the other side of the courtyard was a girl with long, brown hair, a black tank top, and a pair of ripped skinny jeans. Aedion was staring at her, his lips parted.

“Aed,” Aelin snapped, voice loud, and he jerked around to meet her gaze.

After clearing his throat, he muttered an apology and went around back to open the truck bed. He kept glancing across the courtyard every few seconds, though. Aelin wanted to pick on him, but he seemed to be quite smitten and she actually thought it was sweet.

“You should go talk to her,” Aelin said, at last, helping him carry their bags and shit to the sidewalk.

Aedion shook his head. “I’m too busy helping my cousin move in.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at the excuse as she grabbed a box of pillows and began walking backwards toward the sidewalk, keeping her eyes on Aedion, who was looking over his shoulder, once again. “I’m just saying. I’ve seen that look before, and I- shit!”

Aelin nearly dropped the box as her back ran into a tall, hard body. She quickly turned around to meet the narrowed, green eyes of her acquaintance.

“Watch where you’re going, freshman,” he warned, his voice low.

Aelin opened her mouth to tell him off, but Aedion must have seen her shift in body language because he was instantly at her back, saying, “It was an accident, calm down.”

“I’m just saying,” he began, repeating what Aelin had just said, still looking down at her, “that she needs to watch where she’s going. There’s a lot of people around here, and if she’s walking backwards, I won’t be the only person she runs into. The next one may not be so pleasant.”

Aelin snorted. “This is you being pleasant? Gods.”

The newcomer’s lips tightened into a straight line as he went to take a step around Aelin, at last. She let him go, but Aedion wasn’t as forgiving. He blocked the silvery-haired stranger’s path and met his hard gaze with one of his own. Aedion was maybe half an inch shorter than he was, a little less broad, but other than that, they were close in stature. In a fight, they would be fairly evenly matched.

“You owe my cousin an apology,” Aedion said, head cocked slightly to the left.

A light danced in the stranger’s green eyes as he met Aedion with a cocky grin. “You’ve only been here for five minutes and you’re already trying to get your ass kicked?”

“This is ridiculous,” Aelin muttered, stepping in between the two, even though they both stood a head taller than she. “We have shit to get done, knock it off. Unless you want to help us move our shit into 21 and 32, move on with your day.”

The newcomer tensed as he breathed a curse. Then, he looked to Aedion. “You’re in 21? Ashryver?”

Aedion’s hard eyes slid from his cousin’s to the man. “Depends who’s asking.”

“Rowan Whitethorn.” His arms were crossed, clearly not offering a handshake. “I won’t be helping you move, but looks like we’ll be spending a lot of quality time together.”

“Shit,” Aedion breathed.

Rowan turned, his pine green eyes pinning her in place. “And you are?”

Big brother mode kicked in and Aedion grabbed her arm. “None of your concern. Come on, Ace.”

The two began to walk towards the lobby, but Aelin glanced back over her shoulder at Aedion’s surly new roommate. Rowan’s eyes narrowed, as if he were studying her.

With her back straight and her chin held high, Aelin met his stare with one of her own. His shoulders tensed before turning his back to her and walking away.

“Considering you have way more shit than me,” Aedion began, snapping Aelin back to the present, “why don’t you go see where your room is? I’ll come find you after I find my room and bring my bags in, and I’ll start bringing your stuff up.”

Aelin held a hand over her heart. “What would I ever do without you?”

Aedion blinked. “Everything? Stuff for yourself, for once?” He suggested.

With pursed lips, Aelin shoved him in the shoulder, then he laughed as they took to the stairs. She left him on the second floor before trailing up to the third.

Students were hurrying in and out of every room, the excitement of move in day as strong for the older students as it was for the freshman. As she passed each room, it was like a glimpse into a different world. She could hear instruments being tuned and found people sharing designs on tablets and laptops. She heard clear voices and bass driven beats. She felt like she was home.

She finally found the door marked 32 and took a deep breath. She had been an only child her entire life, Aedion the closest thing to a sibling she’d had, so the idea of having roommates was completely foreign to her. She took a deep breath and sighed, twisting the door knob.

To find that it was...locked.

Aelin glanced down the hall again, on both sides. There wasn’t a single door shut on her floor, save for hers. She assumed she must have been the first of her roommates to arrive.

She dug through her bag until she found the key they’d given her, on a VSOTA lanyard and slid the key into the lock.

She had assumed wrong.

Sprawled out on the couch, tangled in each other’s arms, were two women lost in an intimate embrace, and Aelin was most definitely interrupting.

“Shit, sorry!” She yelled, quickly turning away, attempting to give them privacy while also feeling horribly embarrassed. “I should’ve knocked!”

There was a shuffling on the leather couch then soft laughter flooded into the room.

“Knock?” A light voice said. “It’s your house, if you’re Aelin, which I hope you are, because if you’re not this is a very strange situation.”

Aelin hesitated before slowly turning back around, where she was met with a grin from the young woman with long, blonde hair. She was brushing through it with her fingers when Aelin said, “I suppose that’s one way to break the ice in front of your new roommates, right?”

The blonde’s grin widened. “I’m Mor. This is my girlfriend, Nehemia. I live here, she doesn’t. Our other roommate should be here soon, but I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow!”

Nehemia gave Aelin a gentle smile before pulling her hoodie on over her tank top. Her long braids were pulled back into a low ponytail. “I’m glad you came, actually, brought me back to reality. Elide was expecting me ten minutes ago to help put up flyers for the block party tomorrow night.”

Mor clicked her tongue. “How dare you let me distract you? Elide will have my ass.”

Nehemia chuckled as she kissed Mor on the cheek, then smiled once again at Aelin. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she smiled.

The door clicked shut behind her and Mor said, “And how is Velaris treating you so far?”

Aelin chuckled and said, “Velaris is kicking my ass. It took us over forty-five minutes to find our building.”

Mor laughed. “Yeah, it can be a bit of a maze sometimes. But you said us? You brought someone?”

Aelin caught the glint in Mor’s rich, brown eyes. “No, no, not like that. I mean, I didn’t bring him. He's studying film, but he’s my cousin. Practically my older brother.”

Mor nodded. “My cousin is here, too, right beneath us.” She stomped a few times for good measure. “Over-protective prick.”

Aelin laughed. “Is it your first year?

“Technically, yes, but I’m from Velaris.” Mor made her way into the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water out of the fridge. “Rhys and Az have been here for two years, so I basically have, too.”

Aelin hesitated.

“Oh, right,” Mor said, after taking a sip from her bottle. “You have no idea who they are. Rhys is the prick, my cousin, and Azriel is the only good one in our group.” She winked as Aelin chuckled. “It’ll all be a lot to take in, but you’ll get used to it. Starting with the party tomorrow night, and the party that follows the party.”

Aelin just nodded, but she wasn’t following at all. Instead of asking more questions, Mor showed Aelin to the two unoccupied bedrooms and Aelin chose the one that looked out at a massive oak tree, the branches within arms reach out the window. Her and Mor made “get-to-know-you” small talk as she waited for Aedion to bring up her belongings.

Aelin wasn’t sure what she was expecting from her roommates, but Mor seemed nice and funny and Aelin assumed they wouldn’t have any problems.

She couldn’t say the same for Aedion, though.

Rowan Whitethorn seemed like a serious piece of work.

Feyre sat in Rhysand’s lap with her arms around his neck in the middle of the quad, Cassian and Azriel sprawled out on the grass beside them.

“This is it, then?” Cassian asked. “And here I thought we’d actually have to work our asses off at this beautiful institution.”

Azriel opened his eyes just to roll them. “Classes haven’t started yet, idiot.”

“Call me idiot one more time,” Cassian muttered, but he was grinning.

Feyre just shook her head before turning her face back to Rhysand’s, planting her mouth on his.

Cassian said, “Must you? Get a fucking room, gods.” Rhys lifted his foot where it laid near Cassian’s head and kicked him. He mumbled, “Prick”.

Feyre laughed. “Speaking of rooms, I do have one of my own now.”

“Should we go test out the bed, darling?” Rhysand’s violet eyes were brilliant in the August sun as he smirked.

“That’s not what I was suggesting, but maybe, later,” she said, with a wink.

Cassian and Azriel groaned. Az had never been so happier than the day that Feyre received her acceptance letter to VSOTA. It meant she’d have her own place, and he wouldn't have to hear she and Rhys until all hours of the night. No wonder their roommate hated them.

“I should go check on my sisters though,” she sighed. “Nesta is all the way across campus now.”

Cassian muttered, “Good.”

Feyre shot him a look, but she didn’t blame him. He and Nesta had a drunken one night stand at a party in high school, when he was a sophomore and she was a senior, and after that every time the two ran into one another it was...tense, to say the least.

“It’s been years,” Azriel said, his eyes still closed. “You two should get the fuck over it.”

Cassian's brow lifted as he looked sideways at Azriel. “Damn. What's up your ass?”

“He’s just pissed because Whitethorn drank one of his beers this morning,” Rhysand chimed.

Feyre scrunched her nose. “I never understood how people can drink beer when they’re not already drunk. The taste is awful.”

But Azriel was throwing his hands in the air. “They’re hard to find and I specifically told everyone to keep their hands off!”

“If you’d drink regular beer like the rest of us, you wouldn’t have this problem,” Cassian said. “And if you two would have requested me as your roommate like you were supposed to, you’d have one less person tell not to drink your Cafe Coco Coffee stout or whatever the fuck.”

“You didn’t turn in your registration until after the semester ended! It’s hard to request someone who isn’t a student.” Azriel laid back down and closed his eyes again. “And it's an IPA called Coffee Del. If you’re gonna make fun of me, at least do it right.”

“Sounds gross either way,” Cassian mumbled.

Feyre was laughing uncontrollably. “My gods, I never knew you were so boujee, Az.”

The side of Azriel’s lips quirked upward. “I’m heading to Elain’s in a little bit to help put together her bookshelf, if you wanna go with me.”

“I can do that,” Feyre said, “as long as Nesta’s not there, we haven’t spoken in a year and I don’t plan to start today. To do that, I will need beer in me, and not Azriel’s fancy shit, but the crap kind that tastes like junk but gets you real drunk, real fast.”

Rhysand just shook his head, slowly. “You’re so sexy.”

Feyre’s grin widened as she took his face into her hands and pulled his mouth back against hers. Cassian groaned as Azriel took off his beanie and threw it at them.

“Fuck off,” Rhysand muttered, against Feyre’s lips. “And I’m keeping your hat, so thank you.”

Azriel chuckled quietly as he closed his eyes, once again. Cassian stood up and announced his departure. “I have to go meet my roommates.”

He was in the building across from the others, which he had made sure they all knew he was pissed about. After pulling the sheet of wadded up paper out of his pocket, he read, “Fenrys, Lorcan, and Dorian.” He stared at the paper for another minute before sighing, dramatically. “You two assholes have fun with your new roommates while I go make new friends.”

“Your dramatic ass should have gone into acting, Cass,” Rhysand said, his arm around Feyre’s waist tightening.

Cassian just grinned as he shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking backwards, away from the center of the quad. “I would have, but I was gifted with the voice of an angel.”

“You’re no angel,” Feyre muttered, and he held his middle finger up high as he turned his back to them and walked away.

“Fuck,” Azriel breathed. “Now I have to watch you two suck each other’s faces alone.”

And that’s exactly what they did.

———

Nesta Archeron fell onto the couch, having finally carried her last bag up from the car. She deserved the chilled glass of wine she was going to pour herself, just as soon as she could breathe again.

The door opened and Amren groaned as she carried a tub towards her bedroom. “Why exactly do we have to move during the hottest season of the year?”

“I say you and I just buy a little house in the city so that we can stay there year round,” Nesta said, slowly making her way toward the fridge. “And then we wouldn’t have to have any other roommates, either.”

Their previous roommate had graduated the year before, so a new one had been appointed to them, one that Nesta was dreading to be in the same room as, much less living alongside her. She didn’t know Manon Blackbeak all that well, but the dancer certainly had a reputation.

Amren knew her a little bit. They’d had a few classes together, both being dancers at the same school for a few years now, but the two had never really talked.

When Nesta and Amren found out that Manon would be their new roommate, they debated on leaving VSOTA altogether and moving to the other side of the country, but no, they had worked too hard to get where they were, and they wouldn’t let Manon ruin their ongoing success.

“You know, you could help me,” Amren scowled.

Nesta shrugged as she popped the cork from her wine bottle and filled a glass. “That’s your last tub, you’ve got it.”

Leaving the door open, Amren rolled her eyes as she pushed the tote into her room before going back to the living room and falling down on the couch. “Just pour me a glass and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal.” Nesta poured a second glass before re-corking the bottle, returning it to the fridge and carrying the glasses to the other room. She handed Amren a glass and sat in the oversized chair in the corner.

“It’s the least you could do after you took the good room, you bitch,” Amren muttered, the glass to her lips.

Nesta scoffed and threw her a vulgar gesture. “I wasn’t up all night at Varian’s.”

“I’d hope not,” Amren smirked. “Since we were up all night fucking.”

A throat was cleared from the open doorway and Nesta and Amren turned to find Manon standing there with a leather messenger back over her shoulder. “Hey.”

Nesta’s oncoming good mood was instantly fading. “Blackbeak.”

Neither Nesta or Amren moved to welcome their new roommate, but Manon didn’t seem to mind. She walked through the open door, her chin held high. “Which room is mine? I assume you’ve already chosen, given how comfortable and smug you look.”

Amren nodded to the door in the corner.

“Thanks,” Manon muttered, and began to walk that direction.

“Wait,” Nesta said, taking a long sip from her glass before setting it on the side table and rising to her feet. “Since you’re being forced to live with us, there’s a few ground rules.”

Manon snorted, but faced Nesta, nonetheless. “Fine.”

“First of all,” Nesta began, slowly walking to where Manon stood in the middle of the room. “If you decide to have a late night booty call, let us know. We have no interest in sharing the breakfast table with whatever fuckboy warms your bed that night.”

Manon lifted a perfectly sculpted brow. “Fair. And second?”

“Keep your space clean,” Nesta went on, stopping a good foot away from where Manon stood. “I don’t do well with messes.”

Manon sighed, looking at her long, black-painted nails, seemingly bored. “I’m not a fucking slob, shouldn’t be an issue. Anything else?”

Nesta looked over her shoulder at Amren, who was watching them both with a deadly, feline smile.

“We hear you got kicked out of your last apartment for being a bitch,” Nesta went on, at last. “So, keep to yourself as much as possible and realize that the school assigned you to live here, we didn’t ask for it.”

Nesta wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she was going to get, but it certainly wasn’t the grin that spread across Manon’s lips. She surely wasn’t expecting Manon to close the distance between them and get up in her face. Her voice was low, amused, when she said, “I don’t mind keeping to myself, because I came here to dance, not to make friends with bitches like you.”

———

Setting her phone down on top of the stack of flyers, Elide flipped her head upside down and gathered her hair into a messy bun. Being a member of the student council, she’d been on campus for over a week. While everyone else was moving in, she’d been mingling, giving tours, helping new students and, currently, putting up and handing out flyers for the block party she’d been planning for two months.

And, gods, it was so hot.

She picked her flyers up, tucking them against her chest. She’d already hit the East and South sides of campus. Nehemia, though she was late and Elide had given her a look which she blushed at, was heading to the North side. She decided to get to West campus through the Quad, where most students today were gathering.

As she crossed campus, many people she knew called out to Elide. She was waving to one of the girls she’d taken Geology with the year before when she ran into a wall.

Which turned out to be a rock solid chest of muscles.

Her flyers flew from her arms and Elide swore under her breath.

She was immediately down on her hands and knees, trying to gather the flyers before the breeze took them away. When it was clear the wall she’d run into wasn’t going to help, her eyes snapped up to meet the one and only Lorcan Salvaterre’s.

She didn’t know Lorcan, at least not well, only by reputation. He was a loner, kept mostly to himself. Some say he did jail time before he began at VSOTA, in high school, and looking at him now, Elide didn’t doubt it.

He was just staring at her when she scoffed, “Mind giving me a hand?”

“Here, I’ll help.” Elide looked over her shoulder to find Cassian, a freshman who she had met a few days before and had instantly clicked with, hurrying to where she knelt in the grass. Cassian leaned down to help, but not before giving Lorcan a distasteful look. “Fuck, you knock her down and don’t help her out? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t knock her down, she ran into me.” Elide could have sworn a snarl left Lorcan’s lips, but he did squat down and begin helping the two of them scoop the papers up. Once they had gathered what hadn’t blown away, he stood and held the stack out. “Maybe she should look where she’s going.”

Elide snatched the stack back and narrowed her eyes at him.

Lorcan’s expression didn’t change as he reached and took the flyer from the top to read it. “The block party? As if that’s the party people will be at that night.”

She took it back from him. “It’s before the other party even starts. It’s a way for new students to make friends, not get trashed.”

“Fuck that,” Lorcan mumbled. “It’s a waste of time.”

“How about you keep your negativity to yourself, huh?” Cassian asked, taking a step forward in Lorcan’s direction.

Lorcan blinked, as if just remembering that Cassian was there, too. “Who the hell are you? Is this your little boyfriend?”

The question was directed at Elide, but she didn’t answer. Instead, Cassian said, “I’m the only guy here that knows how to act in front of a woman, apparently.”

Lorcan laughed, loudly and humorlessly. “You may want to watch how you speak in front of me. Haven’t you heard? I’m a criminal.”

Cassian snorted. “Is that your idea of a threat? Pretty weak ass threat to me. I don’t know who the fuck you are, and I don’t care, but Elide doesn’t need your shit, so go do whatever it is criminals do, and leave her alone.”

Lorcan’s shoulders tensed as he asked, “Excuse me?”

Elide was suddenly there, in between the two men. “Let it go, Lorcan. Cassian,” she turned and handed him a flyer. “I’ll see you there?”

He grinned. “I’ll be there.”

Lorcan scoffed, but Elide ignored him. “Anything I can help you with? You’re good?”

“Nope, just headed to D.” He picked up the duffle he’d dropped when he rushed over to help Elide gather her flyers. “Time to meet my roommates.”

Lorcan snorted and said, “Good luck to them.”

Cassian stilled, and looked over to where Lorcan was standing. “Sorry?”

“I’m just saying,” Lorcan mumbled. “I’d hate to be stuck living in an apartment with your ego.”

“You’re a dick,” Cassian said, voice low.

“Do you really think that’s the worst insult I’ve ever gotten?” Lorcan asked, then took a look at Elide. “You going to let your little boyfriend insult me like that?”

Cassian was anything but little. In fact, he and Lorcan were pretty evenly matched.

“Leave Elide alone,” Cassian warned. “Seriously, stop talking to her like that-.”

“Or what?” Lorcan interrupted, humored. “I’m sure her little interaction with me has been the most excitement she’s had this week in her perfect little world.”

Elide wanted to tell them both to just walk away, but Cassian was pissed now, could see it in the way he clenched his fists at his side, could see it in the way the vein in his neck popped.

“How the hell did you get into this school?” Cassian asked, his voice low. “You fuck your way to the top?”

“I don’t think you want to do this,” Lorcan breathed. “My face doesn’t have to be pretty. I’m sure yours does.”

Cassian’s jaw ticked and he tilted his head to the side. “That’s sweet. You think I’m pretty.”

Elide froze and she swallowed. Everyone had heard stories about Lorcan. Everyone but Cassian, it seemed.

“What’s your name?” He breathed.

Cassian very casually tied his hair back in a short knot at the back of his head. “Why? You wanna follow my instagram? It’s pretty impressive, I’ve got about nine-hundred followers.”

“I won’t beat the ass of someone who’s name I don’t know.”

Cassian’s lips pursed. Elide watched the wheels in Cassian's head turning. Lorcan’s pride may not have let him kick the ass of someone who’s name he didn’t know, but apparently Cassian held no such reservations.

Elide wanted to scream at him, to call Cassian Nazari the world's biggest idiot, because he crossed the space between he and Lorcan, swinging his fist and knocking Lorcan Salvaterre square in the jaw.

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

Tag list (comment or send an ask to be added):

@mariamuses @wifeofchrishemsworth @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @rowanismybae @bibesfirra @starrynightsbooks @the-dark-swan @b00kworm @awesomelena555 @alxanxah @rowaelinforeverworld @highqueenofelfhame @slightfanofeverything101 @towhateverend17 @ifinallygavein @aa1482003 @sjm-things @courtofmaasdestruction @ifangirlninja @imwastingmylifeinhere @dreamerforever-5 @rhyswhitethorn @mynewdreamwasyou @notyournymphetish @slitherofgold @flora-and-fae @my-parabatai-is-a-herondale @thereaderandfangirl @courtofstars @psmarra @rosalineroses @marshall1199 @mockingjayusa @wordsafterhours @sleeping-and-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @mu-si-ca-l @court-of-glass @booklover41802 @empress-ofbloodshed @towhateverend17 @sjmships @absolute-disappointment @queenmaas @x3hopeless-dreamer @thesirenwashere @maastrash @humanexile @miaforseck @flutillo @jesstargaryenqueen @faerie-queen-fireheart @missbrightsky @runawayrowan @chemica

#crossover #tacmc cos #acotar #tog #fanfic #fanfiction #sjm

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project-rosewood-476 · 3 years

Text

This fic was based off the song "I hate u" by Simon Curtis and this takes place in the Every Rose Has Its Thorns (ERHIT) universe. This is a side fic and is by no means canon with the main story or with any future events in the story.

Tw: smut (but not the actual sex it's just very sexual and a lot of foreplay)

Tw: violence at the beginning

ENJOY

I hate him…

God, do I hate him…

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this…

But that’s how it always happens, isn’t it?

Those were Tabby’s thoughts as she was being pinned up against a tree in the backyard with the man that she despised. Holding her wrists up, body pressed up against her and his knee adding pressure between her legs. He looked at her with a mixture of coldness, cruelness, and amusement with a hint of lust for the younger girl. Tabby, on the other hand, looked up at him directly in the eyes with the most hateful, defiant, spiteful, lustful look to date.

How did she get into this position? Well, let’s go back a few months ago.

It all started with a mission. Masky, Hoodie, Toby, and Tabby were all put on the same team. Since Tabby was only three days in, she was brand new. So, the Slenderman put her in a group with the most experience, so maybe she could learn something. The mission should take at least six months, and it was to infiltrate a school and capture someone whos been trying to get information on the Slenderman. That meant living like usual and all together.

That didn’t settle well for Tabby and Hoodie. Tabby already didn’t trust the three as far as she could throw them. And after a brutal argument with Hoodie about him manipulating her and digging her heels in farther and saying how she will do as she damn well pleases. She realized that they were never going to see eye to eye, and after an argument like that, she can only assume that there will be more to come, which means that this would be a long six months.

The arguments started as yelling matches. Being raised the way that she was, Tabby was taught to go for the throat and attack where it will hurt most in a fight, whether it was a physical or verbal fight. Tabby had her stepdad’s verbal abuse to thank for her sharp tongue and harsh wit. Therefore Tabby always had the last word. This did not settle well with Hoodie. He hated how a scrawny, bratty teenager always got the best of him. It was time for his retaliation.

Hoodie was twice Tabby’s size. So he was able to overpower her with brute strength alone. He didn’t care if she was a girl or the fact that she was a teenager. To him, the moment you join the proxies is the moment you become an adult and become fair game. That’s when the arguments got physical. Hoodie was always the first to snap, so to Tabby, it was a fair fight and game on. Tabby is not the one to go down without a fight. So she’s just as vicious of a fighter as he is. Tabby may be small, but she’ll give you a run for your money. Hoodie may have gotten a bloody nose, black eyes, bruised throat, and maybe a broken arm once. But it was Tabby who is either face-first to the floor with him straddling her with her hair being pulled up forcefully in a tight grip or her being pinned up to the wall by her throat with his entire body pressed up against her to keep her from moving.

Nevertheless Tabby showed no fear. She exhibited nothing but contempt, hatred, and spite with a subtle hint of arousal. She always waited for his next move. Was it death? Or was it something farther? She never knew. Hoodie never hurt her too bad nor made anymore potentially sexual advances. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that he felt oddly aroused every time that happens. Just seeing her in a helpless state, under his mercy, while still having that defiant look to her? It was enough to drive him insane. He often had to go to the bathroom to ‘take care of himself’ after letting her go. He hated how the brat got him so riled up. It took him a little while to figure out that the little shit got aroused by that as well.

It wasn’t until he was training her for the first time while the other two were away that cemented it in, which brings it up to the” present time. He was somehow always put in charge of babysitting Tabby, much to both of their dismays. Tabby running on nothing but pure emotion and spite attacked him first.

“Stupid girl,” he thought to himself.

It didn’t take long until she was face first in the dirt, with him straddling her from behind, and he suddenly pulled her hair up with a tight and painful force. Tabby gasped at the pain and for breath. He leaned down close to her soft spot, which was where her ear meets her neck.

“You wanna try that again?” he whispered to her.

Tabby had to bite back a moan as he accidentally ground up against her as he sat back up. She struggled to control her breathing.

“Fuck...you…” she spat out along with the dirt that was in her mouth.

That was all he needed to go right ahead. Hoodie raised an eyebrow and got off of her.

“Are you sure about that? Is that what you really want?” he stated, darkly moving towards her.

Tabby scrambled to get up and brush herself off before moving backward, trying to get away from him. Her eyes were wide in suspense, and he daresay a hint of fear. Her eyes quickly darted from one area to another, looking for a way out. But there wasn’t any. She let out a squeak; she felt her back hit the tree in the backyard that they’re in. The backyard was fenced in highly, so it was almost like they were secluded.

She was utterly alone.

Hoodie planned to take full advantage of that. God, she looked so cute, being in fear and having nowhere else to go. Completely helpless and at his mercy. He walked towards her with a dark predatory grin spreading across his face.

“What makes you say that?” she said shakily with defiance in her voice.

Hoodie moved with the speed of a viper. He had her wrists pinned up above her head, one knee between her thighs so she was on his and his entire body pressed against her. Tabby sucked in a breath.

“Oh, I think that you know perfectly well what I mean,” hissed Hoodie in his low voice. Tabby looked at him wide-eyed, clearly unsure where this was going.

“Always starting fights with me…,” he trailed off and lifted his hand to touch the top of Tabby’s head and moved down to the shape of her face. Tabby flinched at first before being surprised at his gentle touch.

“Always fighting back and never doing what you’re told....,” his voice lowered and became softer as he gently caressed her cheekbones before touching her lips, parting them with his thumb, and Tabby whimpered as she lightly bit down in submission. She looked down, embarrassed with her half-lidded eyes. She then let out a stifled moan as she tried to shift her position so she wouldn’t be as uncomfortable, but she wasn’t expecting to be so sensitive when she accidentally grind up his thigh and then slowly slid back down in a fruitless attempt. Hoodie had to bite back a groan at the beautiful sight before him. Tabby being completely helpless and under his control and her squirming around rubbing up in certain areas was not helping him out either. Hoodie was surprised at how submissive Tabby was; he expected more of a fight.

“Hm?” said Hoodie as he roughly grabbed Tabby’s chin, slightly squishing her cheeks together making her look at him.

“In my defense”, she said through squished cheeks and narrowed her undeniably lustful eyes,” you start shit with me...I just finish it.”

“Fair enough. But I think it’s time that you learn your place”, said Hoodie.

Hoodie crashed his lips into hers that he was most definitely bruising hers while adding more pressure between her legs. Tabby let out a moan of pain and pleasure; she ground up his thigh slowly, then feverishly. Hoodie couldn’t help but break his composure but moan into the makeout session at the building friction. He ran his hands all over her body harshly to bruise her and bit her as well, leaving marks. Tabby moaned again and whimpered. It was like she was forced to drink cup after cup of his contempt.

But then again, he was forced to drink cup after cup of hers as well.

Tabby decided to get even with him. With both of them running on lust, his grip on her arms became lackadaisical, so she managed to get one of her arms free. She grabbed what fistful of his hair that she could and bring him closer to her pressing her entire body against him and grinding up wherever she could to gain more friction for the both of them. She did it harshly to leave both of their bodies aching later. She bit at his lips to bruise them and draw blood. She left nail marks, bite marks, and scratch marks on wherever skin was exposed. That was sure to leave his skin raw later. They were both moaning messes with Tabby's growing ever so louder.

Then they heard the sound of a car pulling up and parking, with the classic noises of the car doors slamming and the beeping of the keys. Masky and Toby were home.

Hoodie pulled away and dropped her. Tabby let out a yelp as he dropped her.

“Hey, what the hell!”, said Tabby still on all fours.

“The boys are home. Do you really want them to see us like this?” asked Hoodie as if nothing happened.

Tabby shook her head no.

“That’s what I thought,” said Hoodie as he walked back towards the house.

“But now I know what you’re into, and that’s very useful to use against you,” said Hoodie as he looked over his shoulder at her with the most sadistic smile before disappearing into the house.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”, screamed Tabby but he couldn’t hear her.

She took a few minutes to get her breathing back to normal and to recompose herself before standing up and fixing herself.

“I hate you,” she said in thought as she ran to catch up with them.

#tw smut #tw violence #every rose has its thorn #erhit au #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #original character #tabbyanderson #tabby #hoody marble hornets #brian thomas #ticci toby #toby rogers #masky marble hornets #tim wright

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parlideldiavolo · 3 years

Text

have mercy, pt. 02

(CW: Brief mention of child endangerment.)

ll.

The shadow of Mephistopheles crouched low behind the glass. The cat’s ears were swept back and flattened as he sat atop the package in the front seat, and for a brief moment Vic’s attention shifted from Mercy to the small, helpless creature he’d first picked up off the street at a sickly three weeks old.

He wanted to tell Meph that it’d be alright; that there’d always be someone to take care of him no matter what happened. He wanted to shove the man next to the car away, get in and pet Meph’s ears and ignore everything that this meeting meant as though the man called Mercy was no one and this whole thing meant nothing.

But he wasn’t no one.

Vic turned his gaze back to the older man. <“Got somewhere picked out, do you?”> he asked in Italian. The devil sounded remarkably calm; he couldn’t afford to be shocked or dwell on the years of feelings that welled up behind his heart like the betrayal was still fresh.

<“Yes.”>

Vic hated the weight in Mercy’s voice-- like he cared. He hated the bright, sad eyes and how little they’d changed since Vic was fourteen years old and stepping outside a classroom to see his uncle in the hall, smiling with those same bright, sad eyes and an outstretched hand.

He’ll hurt you, an instinct had whispered then. You know he will. He wants to.

In his youth, Vic had been hurt many times by failed promises--but this was his forever family, wasn’t it? His new dad had sworn it (and Vic wanted that to mean something.) His new uncle had only ever been happy to see him. Vic had decided to have faith like they always said you should and believe in something... something like family.

So he'd taken Killian’s hand against his own strange instinct, because he wanted to believe.

Killian had led him from the school. The other Saints had been waiting outside.

Cycles.

In the present day, Vic didn’t respond further and popped open the back door to toss the drinks he’d picked up inside the car. He watched Meph slowly slink around to the backseat when the door closed. Mercy, meanwhile, stepped to the side and observed him with that same expression of heavy serenity. Vic didn’t spare him another glance.

It was clever to do this so publicly. It meant neither of them could cause a scene because that’d invite innocent people into this or risk exposing people that Vic knew to the Saint, and the devil wasn’t about to have that. Mercy knew too much just having seen the car. What else did he know? Vic was certain the Saint hadn’t been around his house, at least not while he was there, so there was that.

<“Get in,”> Vic snapped. Only one of them would be driving this car and it wasn’t the traitorous (traitorous? do you still feel betrayed?) relic.

Mercy nodded and moved around to the other side of the car. Vic resisted ripping the driver’s door open and let his eyes fall on the package opposite. He slid into the car and picked it up before Mercy had a chance to sit. The Saint’s eyes flicked over it.

Vic smiled with all the attitude he could muster. “None of your fucking business,” he said before setting it in the back seat. When he retracted his hand he fanned fingers out to catch Meph’s silky fur. The cat pushed his head into Vic’s hand and his fingertips trailed down the length of an ear before pulling away.

Would that be the last time he touched him?

“Of course,” Mercy replied with a glance back at the seat. He finished settling in, dropped a large satchel at his feet and buckled before looking around the car. Anger flashed through Vic’s veins as he watched the Saint’s gaze travel over every small detail because he shouldn’t even be sitting here much less looking.

There was nothing in the car that outright betrayed Tom’s identity, at least (Vic confirmed with a quick glance around the cabin.) Fuck. Tom.

(What would their last touch be? Vic flicking the vampire’s nose ring and winking cheekily as he walked out the door? Their last words: telling Tom you’d better be waiting for me over text? He deserved more.)

Vic’s gloved fingers dug into the steering wheel when the radio switched on. Mercy’s expression didn’t change as their playlist blasted out of the speakers and Vic felt the same anger lash forward over it feeling like evidence and that the Saint didn’t need to hear it. An impulse swept through Vic to turn it off like that could protect Tom, but at the same time—

Fuck.

(It’s just the two of them ripping down the road with the windows down and the music blaring. The wind whips and roars; Vic feeds him a peach ring Tom can’t even taste and smirks. It’s a good memory.)

“Your tastes haven’t changed much,” Mercy spoke up like this was some kind of happy reunion.

“Shut up.” Vic revved the engine and pulled out onto the street. Part of him wanted to turn the music up until it drowned out the sound of the other man’s breathing and his own heart but he was going to need directions to wherever Mercy had picked out for their…

… for this.

He’ll hurt you. You know he will. He wants to.

Vic wasn’t stupid--he knew what was about to happen. He’d been prepared for it since leaving Italy, or so he’d thought. Maybe he hadn’t been prepared enough to have things he didn’t want to lose.

He thought about his dad. As if on cue his phone vibrated and Vic’s heart panged.

“Turn right up here,” Mercy suggested with the same kind, even tone he’d adopted since they’d locked eyes outside the store. Vic flicked the blinker and said nothing. Several seconds of silence passed with nothing but the low drone of the radio playing between them. Vic caught Mercy gazing into the mirror and studying the crouched shape of Meph in the backseat.

The boiling in his blood intensified. Vic took the turn a bit sharp and the Saint’s attention flicked to meet the stormy grey that glared at him from the mirror’s reflection.

He wants to.

<“I love you,”> Mercy told him.

The fiery feeling rippled cold down Vic’s limbs. He gazed out over the road and felt his teeth snap together. <“No you don’t.”>

Mercy followed his eyes to the road. <“There are many kinds of love. Some are greater than others. They must be.”>

Vic said nothing.

<“You know the story…”> Mercy trailed as the streetlights passed. He indicated another turn. <“When God told Abraham to bring his beloved son Isaac into the land of Moriah to be made a sacrifice. Do you think he was happy to do it?”>

<“Always thought that was a special kind of sadistic,”> Vic snapped back.

<“My love for this world—my love for the hurt and downtrodden. My faith... These must be greater even than my love for you. I know you cannot help what you are.”>

<”What I am,”> Vic repeated. <”A thorn in your fucking side? A devil? What about a man? What about your nephew? What about a kid? I sure was one of those once!”>

<”Dangerous,”> came the reply.

He wanted to laugh. <”And you aren’t?”>

<”I know you are trying to get into my head,”> Mercy quietly rebuffed. <”I know that’s what you do.”>

<“What’s in the bag?”>

That question had the older man pausing. Vic continued:

<“Is it full of all the love you fucking feel, or is it full of what you plan to kill me with?”>

Minutes passed in silence. Then, a response: <“Both.”>

Streetlights. Buildings. People. The world hazed around them as lights flicked by the dashboard and over one curled, gloved hand gripping the wheel and two weathered, calloused ones folded gently over a lap. Nothing felt real. Everything felt distant.

Vic had no intention of making this an easy fight. He’d fight tooth and nail to survive.

Afraid of dying?

(He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He’d accepted that a long time ago.)

Tha-dump.

His heart was in his ears.

(They’d all be taken care of. Vic wouldn't fail them. Hadn't.)

As the drive continued, part of Vic wanted to ask if Mercy had spoken with his dad. He wanted to be snide about it; dig the daggers in while he could and see if Mercy still had anything left to bleed. He wanted to ask how long he’d been here and what he knew.

But there would be no illuminating answers from the Saint just as there hadn't been any in a dream, and the devil’s silver tongue was now under lock and key because he refused to give even a sliver of detail to the Saint that he didn’t already have. He’d get nothing.

This is why, when they finally parked under the shadow of an old warehouse that was Killian’s own personal Moriah, Vic pulled out his phone, met the older man’s eyes with hot steel, wrapped his fingers around it and let it melt.

The casing buckled under the devil’s touch as metal glowed and dripped from his hand. The home screen (a picture of Meph being held up by cheerful olive hands) flickered and blackened along with the notification from Emmett that had vibrated his phone. Vic crushed it until it was a barely discernible hunk gripped in his palm.

Mercy hadn’t budged or flinched as this occurred but a shadow did cross his scarred face once it was done.

(They’d be protected.)

Vic dropped the husk of a phone on the floorboard. Mercy studied his face for several long moments before his bright eyes grew dark with sorrow.

Vic cut the engine and the music lapsed into silence. He popped the driver’s door open and felt a ticklish sensation cross his hands as he climbed out. A quick glimpse down revealed Mephistopheles slipping out of the back seat as smoke. The devil’s heart squeezed when it brushed against his legs. “Go,” he said.

The cloud at his feet lingered. Vic could hear the passenger door snap open as Mercy climbed out. The building above them blocked out most of the sky.

“Go,” Vic whispered again.

Meph knew where to go and who’d take care of him. Vic had made that clear, even for a cat. He’d be okay. They’d both be. He just wished…

Fuck.

Vic shut the door both in reality and on the sudden well of feeling that threatened to drag his heart, whatever it was made of, straight through the ground. The cloud at his feet rippled, dipped, then rapidly shot away. Vic turned to find Mercy standing in front of the car holding the bag he’d brought. The old man’s eyes flicked with the movement of the dissolved cat vanishing down the empty lot.

The Saint looked like he was about to say something but decided against it.

“After you,” Vic told him with no small amount of scathing.

Mercy didn’t argue. Vic followed him up the cold concrete to the second floor.

(…And wished so many things were different.)

#standalone #post

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thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

Text

The Winter King’s Ward: Endure

WKW masterpost

OKAY. SO. I’ve been blocked on this story long enough that I just wanted to post what I have, even though it’s out of order. So, there’s about a month-long time skip between this and the previous piece. Sorry about that.

Also: This is nsfw. Please read the warnings carefully, because this is the most graphic thing I’ve posted thus far. It’s an outsider perspective (i.e. not the victim or the perpetrator) but it’s fairly intense.

TW for: rape/noncon; oral sex; nsfw text; abuse of power; guilt; vomiting; mild gore.

Not tagging anyone just to be safe.

----

Andry told the people to endure, there on the balcony with his arms unbound but the least free he had ever been, and he did not say it lightly. He knows that the people are under the power of their enemies in ways many of them never have been before. In this respect he feels he has an advantage; he is used to having his movements restricted, though he knows he has less protection now than he did, even in his father’s house.

He knows it’s coming, in other words. When it inevitably does, he’s almost relieved; he had been afraid it would be The Winter King, and he’s not sure he could have kneeled for the Winter King as easily—it would have been too easy to shake, from anger or from fear.

It isn’t Morden Crane, and it isn’t Thorne either, against all odds; he had been fairly sure Thorne would be the first, since that was Crane’s intention from the first. It’s three drunk Leisevan soldiers, after the feast.

Three is a bad number; enough to egg each other on and spur each other further than one would probably go. But that doesn’t really matter. Andry knows it’s coming. He’s ready to endure.

----

Thorne stays longer at the party than he might otherwise; the wine his Master has liberated from the Lion’s cellar is sitting warm and pleasant in his belly and he isn’t eager to leave this room filled with people who think he’s funny for his own chambers where the Summer Prince will be waiting in sullen silence. After two months with His Highness, a few more minutes in the company of those who think him more than a murderous brute does not go amiss. Or, people who think his being a murderous brute is cause for slaps on the back more than frigid silence, at least.

He’s in charge of the Summer Prince’s care and feeding, however, so when he’s weaving very slightly and feels impenetrably Approved Of, he snags a plate of what meat is left, and a full cup of the excellent wine in anticipation of the Prince’s silent martyrdom at being brought table scraps.

He passes the locked door of the Prince’s closet first, and then he stops, because it is very slightly ajar.

Thorne blinks owlishly at the cracked-open door. It doesn’t even really occur to him that the prince may finally have made his first escape attempt. Presumably because he is drunk.

For similar reasons, the low voices and muffled laughter coming from inside don’t set alarm bells ringing in his head as quickly as they should.

The men standing in Andry’s closet are definitely drunker than Thorne is, though, as evidenced by the fact that they don’t immediately notice when he pushes the door open, making no effort at stealth.

Drink is why the two on either side don’t see him enter, anyway. The center one is presumably drunk too, but probably more distracted by the fact that he is busily shoving his cock down the Summer Prince’s throat, rocking back and forth on his heels with the force of his thrusts and making fast, short little gasps of pleasure.

Time slows for a moment. The room is dark; they’ve lit one candle to see what they’re doing and it’s near the entrance, casting everything in harsh shadows, but Thorne can see more of the middle guard’s ass than he wants to, and two different hands twisted in the Prince’s short-cropped hair, and a knife held clumsy and half-forgotten in the center guard’s hand, very close to the Prince’s already-scarred face.

He also sees the second Andry, the only sober one, knows he’s there, and when the Summer Prince jerks in surprise, he chokes on the Leisevan soldier’s cock, gags just loud enough to carry.

“What the hell is going on here,” Thorne says, and his voice sounds like a stranger to his own ears; it isn’t until he hears it that he realizes he’s the angriest he’s ever been.

The guard fucking the Prince’s mouth starts badly, stumbling backwards and trying to turn at the same time, and Thorne sees the knife he’s holding bite deeply into the Prince’s cheek, but the Prince just rocks back on his heels and coughs slightly, like he doesn’t know there’s blood pouring down his face. Thorne sees the stricken look on the Prince’s face, and then he sees the guard on the left left tucking his cock hurriedly back into his trousers, and the guard who had been kneeling to hold the Prince still stumbling to his feet, speaking quickly and swaying, while the man whose cock had been in the Prince’s mouth is just standing there, slackjawed, his pants still down around his knees and his cock standing at confused attention.

Thorne is still carrying the Prince’s dinner. The goblet he borrowed from the great hall is sturdy ceramic, Craeten make, borrowed like everything else in the castle. Thorne drops the tray of food, and then he swings the goblet with all his strength, and it shatters against the guard’s jaw; blood sprays hard enough to splatter on the wall behind him. The impact throws the guard into the wall and he sinks down, keening. The other two stare at him. At some point they succeeded in tucking their cocks back in. Thorne looks at them, so he’ll know their faces tomorrow.

“Get him out of here,” he says, and the two who can stand scramble to follow his orders, dragging the third between them.

“My lord Wolf, sir,” the one who had been kneeling mutters on his way past. Thorne doesn’t answer.

Thorne stays with his head turned halfway toward the door to give himself a second to catch his breath without having to look at either the fleeing soldiers or at Andry, still kneeling on the floor. He drags a hand through his hair; he’s glad his Master isn’t here to see him. He feels like he can barely stand up straight.

“I ordered guards posted on this door,” he says, because his brain feels like molasses. He’s heard people are supposed to sober up suddenly in serious situations; he can’t decide if he’s disappointed or relieved it doesn’t seem to be true.

He isn’t sure who he was addressing. Not Andry. But since he’s the only one there, after a pause the Prince says in a cracked voice, “You did. You’ve just sent them away.”

That is—no mystery, should have been easy to guess. Part of assigning men to this door had meant giving them a key, in case the Prince was doing something suspicious. And he hadn’t needed guarding, really. It had been a show, to prove Thorne was the one with the power. As if the Prince could have somehow forgotten.

Thorne makes himself look at Andry. The Summer Prince hasn’t moved, his head bowed, his hair tangled and hanging in his face. Blood is dripping slowly down his jaw and landing on his legs, which Thorne realises with a sickening jolt are bare. He’s wearing a nightshirt and it’s torn badly at the collar, exposing most of his chest. He must have been sleeping when they came; it is, after all, very late.

The Prince is looking down at his mismatched hands, which are resting on his bare knees, the whole one open and empty. His voice is that way too. What he says is, “Why did you stop them?”

Thorne has to catch himself against the wall. He makes a noise, but it certainly isn’t Craetan; he isn’t even sure it’s Leisevan.

“Did you want that?” he almost yells. He’s never been more miserably drunk than he is now.

The Prince doesn’t answer that, since it wasn’t a real question. He doesn’t look up or move from the floor, either.

Thorne’s head is swimming, and he can’t think with Andry kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Get up,” he says, his voice lower and huskier than he means it to be.

The Prince does as he’s told, though he lists to the side in the process, as though he’s been on his knees for a while and his legs aren’t yet ready to bear weight again. Thorne instinctively reaches forward to steady him, and for just a second, Andry jerks away from him, his face spasming with panic. Then it goes blank again and he stands completely still, clearly waiting for Thorne to do what he will.

Thorne stares at him, his hand still outstretched, feeling as though he’s just been slapped.

Andry has the cover on his wrist stump, since that seems to be permanent, but his arms aren’t manacled together. And Thorne knows, distantly, that the Prince knows how to fight, has seen him spar with skill and grace. Even down a hand, the guards were so drunk they were unsteady on their feet; for someone with years of training, even woken suddenly from sleep, the one narrow blade among them and the difference in number should have made little difference. Physically, he could probably have stopped them, in the same way he could have pushed Thorne away, a thousand years ago, in the banquet hall.

Except. Except of course that the men who woke him and forced him to his knees were the men Thorne himself had assigned to watch his room, to report back to him if the Prince did anything suspicious. What would he himself have done if those men had come to him with bloody noses and said they’d caught the Prince trying the windows? Who would he have believed?

Andry’s made no escape attempt so far, nor fought any of the soldiers since the House was taken; Thorne wants very badly to think he would have found it suspicious. But he seems to be a bit too drunk to effectively lie to himself at the moment.

Thorne turns abruptly, leaving the Prince standing there in the middle of the disarray of his closet-room in his torn nightshirt, still dripping blood onto the floor. Thorne stumbles to his chest of drawers and pulls out something that feels like a shirt and pants, then returns and thrusts them in Andry’s direction without looking at his face.

The Prince hesitates a moment, and then he takes the clothes from Thorne and stands there, as though waiting for further instructions. It makes Thorne’s stomach turn.

Thorne looks around the room so that he won’t have to look at the Prince’s face, and realizes with dismay that he can’t ask Andry to sleep here. Even regardless of the fact that he didn’t retrieve the key from the guards, Andry can’t keep living in the same room where they—it doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Come on,” Thorne says roughly, gesturing toward the door to his own chambers, and the Prince’s face shutters so completely that Thorne wants to tear out his own tongue.

“I’m not—all gods, Andry,” Thorne says, and either the strain in Thorne’s voice or the sound of his own name—how long has it been since he’s heard it spoken?—seems to bring a flicker of life back into the Prince’s eyes. Thorne lowers his voice, trying to keep it steady. “I’m not going to touch you, Andry, alright? On my mother’s grave, I won’t.”

Andry blinks at him, his eyes as blank and reflective as they were the first time Thorne saw him, with blood in his hair and his hands newly bound. Then he blinks again, and inclines his head very slightly. Thorne doesn’t know what that means—whether or not the Prince believes he isn’t about to be held down again—but it’s all he has, for now. He scrubs at his eyes, deeply wishing he were sober. With one hand still covering his face, he gestures to the door with the other hand.

“I want to get the hell out of this room,” he says. “My chambers have a perfectly decent couch, as you probably remember. I’m inviting you to sleep on it. I’m the only one with the key.”

Andry stares at him. He’s still holding the clothes Thorne gave him, and the cut on his face is still dripping freely onto the floor. When he doesn’t move, Thorne throws up his hands with a despairing grunt and stalks through into his chambers himself.

Thorne doesn’t know where they keep the extra linens, and he doesn’t want to check whether the sheets on Andry’s narrow bed are clean, because if they aren’t he thinks he’ll be sick. But it’s not too cold this far into the palace, anyway, so he drags the comforter off his own four-poster and tosses it in the direction of the couch.

“Don’t get blood everywhere,” he says over his shoulder, on the off-chance Andry has actually followed him into the room instead of standing there blank-faced in his own smashed-up closet. Thorne’s pack is lying near the door of the room, and the gods smiles on him enough that it’s still stocked with bandages from the last time he took it out. He could use something to clean the wound with, though.

When Thorne finally steels himself and turns to look, Andry is shrugging out of his ruined night-shirt, the leggings Thorne grabbed for him already sitting low around his slim hips. Thorne watches him, biting his lip. No part of him wants to ask, but--he doesn’t know how long the men were in there. He doesn’t know how badly Andry might be hurt.

Andry pulls the shirt off over his head and freezes when he sees Thorne’s eyes on him, not able to keep his face blank this time: he looks like a deer catching the eyes of a wolf. Thorne curses himself for cowardice and forces himself to speak.

“Andry,” he says softly, and the Prince shifts slightly at the name, though his expression doesn’t change. “They cut your face. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Andry looks at him with glassy eyes, as though Thorne’s gaze is hypnotic. Mechanically, he shakes his head.

“They were too drunk to think of anything complicated,” he croaks. “I don’t even know why they brought the knife. I got on my knees when they told me; that was all they wanted.”

Thorne closes his eyes and takes a deep breath until his ears stop ringing. “I’m going to tell my Master,” he says when he’s confident it will come out steady.

Andry blinks, the spell apparently broken. Then he almost laughs, a single mirthless huff. “Why?”

What the hell kind of a question is that? “I want to tell him his men broke orders.”

Andry raises a brow, his face more open in confusion than Thorne’s almost ever seen it. “Did you order your men not to fuck me?”

Thorne rocks back from that one like it’s a blow. “It didn’t—occur to me,” he says, which is the truth but isn’t an excuse, but Andry shakes his head, like Thorne isn’t getting it.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says softly. “What makes you think Morden will be angry?”

Thorne stares at him. Gapes is a better word, actually. “Andry, they raped you.”

Andry’s face twitches slightly; Thorne feels like scum. “I know what they did,” he says, and Thorne can’t read his face, but he feels a sudden shift—like he’s seeing the Prince clearly for the first time, the solemn steel-spined truth of him. “What makes you think Morden is against the idea of me on my knees?”

Thorne shakes his head wildly. His ears are ringing, and he isn’t sure why “Master didn’t—Master wouldn’t want—“ His brain isn’t working.

Andry turns to look at him, his ruined bed-shirt still in his hand. “Thorne,” he says slowly, as though explaining something very obvious. “Why do you think Morden gave me to you?”

Thorne takes a step backward. He shakes his head again, dumbly; his mouth is dry, and he feels unsteady, like a man standing on a high cliff in a strong wind.

Andry is still staring at him. He almost looks angry, now. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and very cold, “did you think it was for your impeccable fashion sense?” Andry’s hands are in fists on the torn cotton of his shirt. “Do you think one single person at the banquet didn’t see you leading me around on a leash and immediately think you were bending me over in my father’s quarters?”

It occurs to Thorne very suddenly that he’s never seen the Prince angry before—never seen him anything but quiet and resigned and ready to survive whatever Thorne and his people want to do to him. Andry’s eyes aren’t ice now; they’re blue fire.

“But you hate me,” he says through numb lips; his mouth is working entirely without his consent, his brain is too occupied with not processing anything he’s hearing to say anything that makes sense. “Everyone knows that. They know you wouldn’t--”

“You think that matters?” Andry says, his voice rising to almost a shout. “You think that means anything when they all know I can’t—" Andry cuts off abruptly, his face going white. “I’m going to be sick,” he says suddenly in a panicky voice.

Thorne has exactly long enough to thoughtlessly reach for the chamber pot and slide it towards Andry before the Prince half-collapses, hunching over it, and throws up a stomach-full of bile. Thorne suddenly remembers that Andry hasn’t eaten, possibly all day. The guards could easily have brought him something, but apparently they had other priorities.

Thorne watches Andry dry-heave into the basin, wanting to help but knowing he absolutely cannot touch him, and is just distracted enough that the idea that his Master and the entirety of the Falconers thought he’d be happy to repeatedly rape anyone they left under his power crashes down over him like a bucket of hot oil. Thorne’s Master has known him since he was in short trousers; and he’d thought that if Andry suited Thorne’s tastes it wouldn’t matter if Andry said no or not. Crow and Harpy have known him almost that long, and Thorne suddenly remembers that they’ve been clapping him on the back since he first cleaned Andry’s wounds, like they’d be proud if he held Andry down and forced him. Thorne slithers down to floor level, landing on his ass on the carpet, hard. Then he blinks the black away from his vision enough that he can see Andry shuddering over the basin, spitting the last bit of bile from the back of his throat. The cut on his face is still bleeding into the basin.

They’re both on the ground now, at least, which is better than one of them kneeling in front of the other. And they’re very near the couch, so Andry won’t have far to go when he can stand. Thorne blinks harder and looks up at the end table beside the couch, just above their heads. There’s a half-full bottle of whiskey sitting on it; a gift from Crow, but Thorne doesn’t have time for that to turn his stomach. He reaches out a hand that barely feels attached to his body and takes careful hold of it so he can hand it to Andry when he raises his head.

“Here,” he says, his voice raspy, though he hasn’t even been shouting.

Andry blinks at the whiskey, then scrunches up his nose, but he takes it, spitting the first mouthful into the basin and then taking a long, rather desperate swig.

“Give me that shirt,” Thorne says, when Andry hands the bottle back to him, and Andry does. Thorne covers the bottle with a corner of the shirt that looks clean, and lets it soak up the alcohol. Then he lifts it tentatively toward Andry’s bleeding face.

“It’ll sting,” he says quietly. “Can I?”

Andry looks at him. The fire is gone from his eyes; he looks—breakable. He nods once.

Thorne touches the alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut on Andry’s face; Andry sucks in a sharp breath and squeezes his eyes shut, but doesn’t move back. Thorne pats the wound clean as gently as he can, and Andry holds very still while he does. He’s grateful to be able to turn away when he’s done, stretching to grab his pack without getting up.

Andry lets him roll enough gauze to catch the remaining blood still coming from the wound, and cover it over with bandages. It’s short, just a few inches starting at his cheekbone, but it’s deep; Thorne knows it will scar.

Thorne thinks he’s probably mostly sober now. It’s become very hard to tell. Either way, he doesn’t know how to say any of what he’s feeling; doesn’t want to talk about how sick he feels when he’s not the one who’s been cut and violated tonight--but it seems wrong to say nothing.

“I wouldn’t—have done it,” he says very quietly, and Andry, his eyes still closed, shakes, a single shudder through his whole frame, his brows drawn down as if in pain.

“You do everything he wants you to,” he says, so quietly Thorne has to lean closer to hear it, heart thudding. “If he asked you,” Andry whispers. “If he wanted me broken in front of the court, in a way they wouldn’t forgive.” He opens his eyes, freezing Thorne in place; he looks like he’s already broken. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you,” he says, his voice all air. He sounds more honest than Thorne’s ever heard; Thorne’s hands are still on his face, he can’t move.

He remembers the high, the relief, of his Master’s approval, running down his back like a caress; he knows the place he goes when his Master is pleased with him, like nothing else matters; he knows he’ll do anything from that place. He’s never been afraid of it before.

He wants to make a promise, to swear he would never force anyone, wouldn’t force Andry, but instead he just stares at him, tongue-tied, and he knows he looks scared.

Andry takes a shaky breath and lifts his hand to push Thorne’s away from his face, gently. He touches the bandage Thorne’s just put there and briefly closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” Andry says very softly before he turns to climb onto the couch, and somehow that’s the worst thing of all.

#winter king's ward #nsfwhump #original whump #royalty whump #noncon tw #interrupted noncon #referenced dubcon #oral tw #wound care #rescue #angry caretaker #unnamed whumper #multiple whumpers #stoic whumpee #emeto tw

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robbyrobinson · 3 years

Text

OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS: GOD AWAKEN (24)

Camila found herself alone in a dark, dank room. Around her wrists were tightly bound in a rope extending from the ceiling. It had now been a few hours since she was cruelly torn away from her only daughter. Her daughter may as well be dead at that point. Every passing hour, Camila tried in vain to loosen the strains weighing her down. The thought of what could become of her daughter filled her with determination, but even that was not enough to make a dint.

“Mija.”

The door swung open alerting the middle-aged woman. Any hope that it was her daughter on the other side were quickly dashed when she was met with the cold, luminous glow of a golden mask.

“It is time, daughter.”

Camila squinted her eyes in a scowl. “Whatever you have planned, you will not prevail.”

Emperor Belos let out a low, hazy chuckle. He was in such a sickly state his ribs were poking through his robes. At that rate, taking the life essences of palismans was not enough to delay the inevitable. Death was now knocking at Emperor Belos’ door to claim him and it occurred to Belos that Death was not a patient fellow. “I am really going to miss your feisty attitude; maybe that is where Luz got her fire from.”

Camila wanted to bash Belos’ mask in until his skull cracked from the pummeling. “Leave my daughter out of this.”

Belos raised his hand in objection. “Fret not, daughter: I will take good care of your daughter.” He turned away from Camila and exited through the door. “I will raise her to the perfect child. Better than you ever were.”

Emperor Belos firmly grasped his staff. He inhaled deeply and exhaled through the tiny slits in his mask. His legs were clenching up giving him a near gallop to his walk. The Owl Spy walked down the hall seeing his lord staggering.

“Any problem, your Majesty?”

Belos waved his head to save face. “Just interrogating the human woman.”

“I see. Luz and the Owl Lady are still locked away, so there should be little issue for the occasion.”

“Excellent; you have always been a loyal follower,” Belos lamented. “By the way, have you seen Kikimora? She is usually the one who would oversee these public punishments.”

The Owl Spy bowed his head. “It’s a shame, really. I cannot believe the odds of this happening.”

Belos tilted his head quizzically. “What pray tell?”

“Our Kikimora was in your laboratory earlier, and for the likes of me, I don’t know how it happened.”

Belos tapped his fingers on the tip of his staff. “Well, what is it? Go on.”

“Kikimora...lost her footing and fell into one of your vaults. She was not in too much pain from the looks of it. It was like...taking a long sleep.”

Belos loosened his grasp on his staff. “Well. That’s a pity.”

Belos resumed walking in the opposite direction without much thought aside from finally getting revenge on his adoptive daughter. When he was completely gone, the Owl Spy opened the door to Camila’s cell. Camila tensed up when she heard the door open again.

“Are you back to mock me more?” She looked at the site of the opened door instead seeing the Owl Spy. “You’re...you’re not Belos.”

The Owl Spy nodded and removed his mask. “Your daughter happens to be friends with my daughter.”

“Oh. Well, why are you here?” Camila walked backward as a way of trying to get as far away as she could.

“Relax, I am not going to hurt you,” he reassured.

“I’m sorry that I am having a hard time believing what any of you witches tell me,” Camila said, “after all, it was your coven that attacked the hospital I was working at and dragged me kicking and screaming to this world.”

The Owl Spy nodded in understanding. “Listen to me: your daughter is still alive, and she is fighting to save you.”

Camila perked up. “Take me to her, please.”

The Owl Spy put his finger on her mouth. “Not too loud...I do have a plan, just listen carefully.”

Amity sprinted down the halls with the knowledge that her siblings were locked away in the dungeon. Her breath was getting heavier and all the running was making her legs sore, but the pain was only a minor stumbling block.

“I just hope Luz has the glyphs ready.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see the mighty door of the dungeon coming into crystal view. In front of the door, two large burly guards were in front of it. Given their attire, it was easy to identify them as working for the dreaded Conformatorium. Amity quickly hid in a wall’s corner hoping to have been silent enough to not be heard. She glared out from behind the wall and saw that the guards were still none the wiser. In fact, they were having a conversation from the looks of it, but about what the witch-in-training did not know nor care.

Amity took her finger and drew a spell circle into the air drawing forth a fire ball. This too she had to do in great silence. She held the ball in the palm of her hand and watched it flicker as it danced around. She took one final look and flung it. She quickly dashed herself away when the guards took the bait and ran to find the origin of the sound.

Amity raced her way to the door now seeing that locks of varying shapes and sizes were all over the door. The witch girl looked around in some ways hoping that the key wasn’t too far behind. Having another idea in mind, Amity placed her hands on the door and inhaled. With a wave of her hand, permafrost began to manifest from her palms and wrists before spreading in all directions on the door. She could feel the door’s metallic design shift underneath her palms becoming converted to solid ice.

Once the door was completely frozen, Amity looked around for something she could pitch at the door. Scanning her surroundings, Amity grabbed a medium-sized rock and tossed it at the door. Much like breaking grass or fine china, the door broke into fragmented pieces and shattered. Without much prompt, Amity immediately dashed in on the off chance that the two guards from earlier returned. It took little effort to see that her siblings were in a cell together.

“Edric, Emira!”

She dashed to their cell, stopping just short of the bars. Now, Edric was nothing more than fragile glass: he was sprawled on the floor in capable of moving. From her sister’s wailing, Odalia likely arrived earlier and withdrew another hit of magic. Now, the boy’s magic sac was completely depleted. Without magic to balance off of, he was a vegetable. Emira looked up to her baby sister. Mascara was running from her eyes.

“Mittens?”

Amity hushed her. “Don’t worry, I’m here now. Once I get the staff, we’ll have our brother back.”

Emira’s eyes widened fearfully. “Look out!”

Amity jumped out of the way of a red beam that sliced into the floor of the dungeon leaving a deep cut in it. “So you’ve come to stop us?”

Amity clenched her fists. “Mother.”

Odalia held the staff in her hand and it shined its ominous red glow. “Why must you prevent Lord Nyarlathotep’s plans?”

“Mother, can’t you see that Nyarlathotep had corrupted you?” Amity asked “the staff has to be destroyed.”

Odalia shook her head. “I have finally gotten everything that I could have ever hoped for.”

“You’re insane.”

“Because of Lord Nyarlathotep, I have gone up exceedingly on the pecking order of this isle; I am a part of an elite group of magic, and now, with his help, I have become one of the most powerful witches on the Boiling Isles! Maybe even second to the Emperor himself! After years of trying to upkeep the proud Blight name, I am now reaping the benefits of that labor.”

Amity got up on feet. “If you let Nyarlathotep and Belos win, then the family line will die with you.”

Odalia firmly grasped the staff in her hand. “You have always been a perpetual thorn in my side, haven’t you?”

Amity did not respond. Her mother continued her tirade.

“You should be more grateful to your mother that I even allowed you to be born. After all these years molding you until you achieved perfection, you instead chose to throw that all away by continuing to see that half-witch behind my back, and I would have at least loved it that you’d befriend...I don’t know maybe a river troll...but no, once that human vermin encroached on our world, you have always been by her side...Why? Are you really telling me that all that time and energy I put into raising you so you could be the best that you could possibly be was all for naught? You are an insult to the Blight family name.”

Amity shook her head in defiance. “The only insult to our family is you.”

“Is that so? Is that how you really feel?”

Amity nodded whilst gripping the ground.

“Death it is then.”

Odalia shot fire balls from the staff in a flurry. Amity instinctively dodged them and shot ice from her finger tips. It quickly froze the balls of fire and they dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

Odalia slammed the staff on the ground creating a tremor. The earth opened up to swallow Amity whole. Once more with quick thinking, the witch girl fell into the hole but bounced back. Odalia stared into the crevice seeing that she created a barrier that bounced her off.

“All that talent, spoiled.”

Odalia lifted the gem of the staff to the sky and twirled it. A crackle of sound came from the gem and it began to glow a bright, crimson red as it charged. Odalia flashed a smile and discharged a ball of light. Amity created another barrier this time large enough to cover the cell of the twins. “Stop this at once! Edric and Emira could get in the way!”

Odalia laughed to herself. The barrier was quickly starting to destabilize from the eldritch powers eating away at it. “This magic is infinitely more powerful than the run-of-the-mill variety you have been studying.”

Amity drew more attention to the barrier. She twirled her finger once more and fired it into the barrier. Holes began to form inside of the barrier which the witch girl tried to fight by hardening it. Sweat was beating down from Amity’s forehead. Her fingers started chafing from the prolonged time she put into resealing the barrier. She sensed the magic being cast from her magic sac was draining slowly. If it were to completely disappear, Amity would be sure to faint.

“I am going to stop you no matter what!”

Odalia shot more of the alien light at the orb forming. It was readily eclipsing the size of the barrier Amity devised. Amity’s knees clamped together. “Just a little more...”

The barrier shattered sending Amity flying back. Amity’s eyes fluttered open seeing the Blight matriarch approaching her. She went to get off her back, but Odalia pinned her down with the staff. It was pressed firmly on her stomach. The gem once more shined brightly.

“If only you would’ve been a better daughter.”

She lifted the staff up and flipped it. The growing gem reflected in Amity’s eyes. The power inside of it surged and crackled. There was a sudden surge of heat coming from the object. On instinct, Amity rolled over and kicked the end of the staff.

“You brat!”

Odalia made a grab for the gem, but Amity took her other leg and tripped the matriarch with it. Odalia held out her hand but it was too late. The gem made contact with the ground and shattered into millions of pieces. A green mist slithered put of the remnants and entered the cell holding Edric. The gaseous cloud hovered over the boy and entered the orifices of his face.

Edric’s skin returned to its former glory, and when he inhaled, his skin bubbled up as it was filled with the magic it was deprived of. Edric opened his eyes, looking around. “Guys? What’s going on?”

Emira’s eyes widened and she sighed in relief. “Edric!”

Before Edric could say anything, she spontaneously hugged him. “You’re crushing my ribs.”

Odalia screamed and clung onto the pieces of the destroyed staff. In her blind anger, she grabbed Amity by her neck and lifted her in the air. “You ungrateful, insolent, self-absorbed brat!”

Amity grabbed her mother’s hands attempting to pry them off her. “Lord Nyarlathotep will be most displeased when I tell him what you have done!”

A crackle grabbed their attention. On the ground, another mist was growing. It widened into a flat circle and opened up. “What is this??”

The hole began to suck whatever was in its path inside it. The sound of legions of flutes emitted from the hole now understood to be a portal. It had the two warring family members in its proximity and was sucking them in. Amity grabbed the cell bar for dear life. “What if that is Nyarlathotep’s dimension? Then that means...”

“Whatever Nyarlathotep had in that dimension was likely feeding on Edric’s magic,” Emira interrupted. She shook. “And I think they’re still hungry.”

Amity’s finger tips were starting to give way. She walked timidly so she could be close enough to grab another bar. Odalia grabbed her. “If those monsters are hungry, you will satiate their hunger!”

The older woman ripped Amity’s hold of the bar and tossed her on the ground. The pressure of the portal grabbed the rim of her shirt to draw her in. Her legs flailed around to catch solid ground.

“Mittens!” the twins shouted.

Odalia observed her daughter’s struggling with indifference and turned to walk away. Black tentacles burst through the portal’s opening and, for some indiscernible reason, bypassed the witch girl and instead grabbed a hold of Odalia’s legs.

“What? Me!?”

It jerked Odalia on the ground, flopping her on her chest. She sunk her long fingernails into the ground. “No, you can’t have me! My bloodline! You cannot do this to me, I am a BLIGHT!!”

But what Odalia did not understand was that there existed beings of unknowable shape and form, some that are older than the universe itself, and they give little thought to the status of the person they are interacting with. The Boiling Isles itself and all the witches within were small specks of dust that the gods would step on without malice but cannot be burdened with our conventional morality.

The tentacles jerked harder on her legs. The once proud matriarch of the Blight family was now reduced to a powerless bully who was begging for her life. Her fingernails scrapped the floor leaving marks in it when the final pull was administered. She shrieked one final time before becoming engulfed by the portal and disappeared. Amity plopped on the ground her heart beating fast.

“Where do you think it sent her?” Edric asked.

“Who knows,” Amity replied. “But now that it’s over, time to get you both out.”

Unbeknownst to them, their mother was ripped from the demon realm and was cast into a dimension outside of space-time, the unfathomable void that the Outer Gods made their domain. It is there where Odalia’s mind would melt from the presence of the gods and she would be an unintelligible mess and the fibre of her being would be shredded for eternity.

#the owl house #owl house #fanfiction #owl house fanfiction #cthulhu mythos #cthulhu #odalia blight #amity blight #fanfic

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