#I swear that last gif brings me to my knees

[itsscottiesstark]

Here's some of my favorite Crowley on laudanum moments, just because:

1. Death is "just wrONGGG", Crowley said so. No more dying.

2. Because if you don't get high and improvise the unofficial anthem of Scotland (it's canon, Crowley improvised it), what are you even doing with your overly long life?

3. This lil dance is the best, I swear.

4. Reminder, he's looking at a graveyard, at night.

5. Find me someone cuter, I'll wait.

6. It was dark, he was wearing sunglasses, and he was high. Leave him alone.

7. I am petrified.

And bonus points because I will never get over this:

No, don't be shy, get closer.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Lessons in Ownership (Professor!Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Agatha gives you a night to yourself, only it turns out letting you off the leash brings up some issues for her.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, student/teacher relationship, power imbalance, unhealthy relationship, age gap (all 18+), possessiveness, jealousy, self-esteem issues, dom!Agatha, sub!Reader, smut, choking, swearing. marking, fingering (R receiving)

Words: 8k

AN: A sequel to my other Professor!Agatha fic which you can find here, although it's not necessary to read that one to understand this one.

Agatha’s fingers slowly traced over your skin, the same pattern over and over again. The same pattern she always traced into your body. Six letters. Over and over again.

You hummed, shifting closer to her. She stilled, finger tapping on your spine until you stilled again. Turning your head, you looked up at her. She was leaning against the headboard of the bed, gloriously naked, the morning sun lighting up her pale skin. You pressed a soft kiss to her hip. The way she looked down at you was molten.

“Morning, kitten,” she said, fingers tracing over your skin once again.

“Morning,” you said, pressing closer.

“You talk in your sleep, you know that?” she said.

“Oh no,” you mumbled, pressing your face into the skin of her hip, hiding from her, “did I say anything embarrassing?”

“Depends what you mean by embarrassing,” she replied, not really answering your question.

“Agatha,” you whined, muffled against her.

She chuckled, fingers tangling in your hair until she was pulling you away from your hiding place.

“You say my name a lot,” she replied when you looked up at her, “sometimes you moan it like the filthy girl I know you are.”

Your cheeks heated, which you were sure was exactly what she wanted. She lent down, magnanimous as she kissed you. After weeks of this you still hadn’t grown tired of it, of her, of all of it. If anything, you had grown greedier, wanting to be with her all the time. You barely seemed to leave her sight these days.

That was how you liked it.

You pushed up onto your knees, climbing into her lap, wrapping yourself around her. Her chuckle was lost in the kiss, dominating it the way she always did. Her fingers tightened, right over the bruises she’d already left, her handprints a permanent mark on your body now.

“You are my needy little thing this morning aren’t you,” she hummed when she drew back.

You nodded, leaning forward to kiss her again. She shook her head, hands holding you back. You pouted and she smirked up at you.

“Unfortunately for you, I decided to let you sleep in after wearing you out last night,” she said, holding you in place, “so you need to get that sweet ass of yours into the shower.”

“You’re not joining me?” you asked, still pouting.

“As long as you’re good and don’t distract me, I will,” she said.

You scrambled off her lap, holding out a hand for her. She rose and your lips parted, eyes sliding over her body. You would never grow tired of seeing her like that.

“Pet,” she warned.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Under the spray of the shower, her hands ran over your body, soap suds making her movements smooth. You let her, trying to stay still and not squirm. When her thumb ran over one nippled then the other, you inhaled sharply. Blue eyes snapped up to yours, hands still until she was sure you weren’t going to make trouble for her. You froze. She did it again, testing the waters. Your back arched but you didn’t do more, wanting to please her, always wanting to please her.

She turned you, her front pressing to your back as her tongue ran over your shoulder, catching the water droplets on your skin. You whined, low in the back of your throat as her fingers began to roll your nipples, soft lips on your skin, teeth nipping.

“Be good for me, pet,” she murmured into your skin.

You held still, leaning back against her body. When her fingers dipped between your legs, your teeth sunk down into your lower lip, trying to keep quiet. You weren’t about to risk doing anything that would stop her.

Your breathing grew heavy as pleasure licked at your skin. Her teeth sunk in where your neck met your shoulder, painful and sharp. You made a small noise, your hips jumping forward as your concentration broke. Her tongue licked over your skin before she drew back, hands sliding from your body.

“Agatha,” you whimpered.

“Finish up, pet,” she said, stepping out of the shower, “we have to leave.”

The throbbing between your legs was left unsatisfied. You cursed under your breath, reaching to turn the shower off. Left in the cool air, your skin prickled. You were perfunctory as you dried yourself off, muttering to yourself.

The bedroom was empty when you returned. You pulled on the outfit she’d left for you on the bed. The throbbing between your legs wasn’t getting any less insistent, but you weren’t about to try and alleviate it yourself. Agatha would not be happy with you if you did.

“Stop pouting, pet,” she said, sweeping into the bedroom again, “I told you we didn’t have time for distractions.”

“You started this,” you grumbled, snatching up your shoes to tie up the laces.

“Don’t give me that attitude, pet. You know good and well that you started this by being so delectable,” she said.

Her tongue ran along her lip. You couldn’t help but watch it, entranced, your frustration with her already melting away. Your need for her was definitely not going away any time soon.

“Come on, pet. We have work to do.”

She swept out of the room again. You followed, hot on her heels, not needing to be left behind. Her hand rested on your thigh as she drove, nails digging in. She didn’t offer you a single glance, but you didn’t need it, watching her as she drove, taking in her profile.

“Do you have to stare?” she asked.

“I can’t help that you’re the best view on offer,” you replied.

Her lips quirked up but you saw a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks. It wasn’t often you could fluster the older woman, usually so in control of every situation, but you loved when you said just the right thing to bring out the blush. Her hand tightened, nails biting in, before relaxing again.

“I want you to read the Fox papers today,” she said, rather than indulging in your flirting.

“Okay,” you agreed easily. You trusted her to guide you. She knew best, after all.

Walking behind her through the campus, you noticed the whispers and the stares that followed her. You usually did your best to ignore them. After all, at one point you might have been one of them, gossiping and passing on the rumours you’d heard. Now, you were in the forbidden circle of space that always surrounded her, the chosen. If you were a bird, you’d be preening with pride.

She slammed open the door to her office with little regard for the damage that would be done. You followed her in, shutting the door more sedately. Kicking off your shoes, you curled on the sofa as she settled behind her desk. Once again, she wasn’t looking at you but you’d been given your instructions. You knew how to follow orders.

It wasn’t until lunch that she broke the silence. You glanced up, feeling the weight of her gaze on you, not sure what to think when you saw a small smile on her face and her pinky gently running along her lower lip as her chin rested in her hand. You smiled at her, hoping it would be enough.

“Well?” she asked.

“I mean, she’s brilliant but she can’t half waffle on,” you said.

Her chuckle was an inch this side of fond. You melted against the couch cushions, liking the way she was looking at you. On slow feet she approached, hips swinging in a way that turned your mouth dry. She settled in your lap, curling her arms around your neck.

“You don’t like the use of an expansive vocabulary?’ she asked.

“I like when people get to the point,” you said, lips pressing to her collarbone, just peeking out from the collar of her shirt.

“Is that what you want me to do, kitten?” she asked, finger tilting your chin up, “get to the point?”

“I want you to finish what you started this morning,” you said.

The way her eyes smouldered at you suggested she wanted the exact same thing. And yet, the kiss she gave you was fleeting, leaving you wanted more. Not that you didn’t always want more with her. You knew you were greedy for her.

“I have to give you some bad news, kitten,” she said, thumb tugging on your lower lip.

You nipped at it, not quite listening to her words. Her hand slid down, curling around your throat, holding you in place.

“You’re not listening,” she said, “how many times do I have to remind you to listen when I speak?”

“One more. Always one more,” you sighed.

She shook her head at you but her lips were pressed together like she was fighting a smile.

“I’m afraid you’re going to be on your own tonight,” she said.

“What? No. I’ll be good. Look, I’m listening.” The stab of panic that went through you felt too intense.

“That was the bad news I had to tell you, not your punishment,” she reassured you, “that will come later.”

“Oh.” Your heart rate slowed a fraction, “why?”

“Why are you going to be punished?” she asked, a slow smile spreading over her face.

“Why can’t I see you tonight?” you asked.

She sighed, falling forward until her face was buried in your neck. You tightened you arms around her, playing with the ends of her hair, wild and loose and so very long. Her nose pressed against your skin, lips quick to follow suit. You tugged on her hair, your moan quiet. She suckled on your skin, teeth nipping until you knew you’d be finding a bruise there later. You wore her marks with pride, loving the visual proof that you were hers, that she claimed you.

“I’m afraid there’s a faculty meeting tonight,” she said, “if it’s anything like usual it will be nothing but blathering men drawing it out. They enjoy the sound of their own voices too much.”

“I could wait at your place until you’re done,” you said, hopeful, wanting her to say yes.

“As much as I’d like that, kitten, I’m afraid I’ll be home too late to enjoy you,” she growled.

“I don’t mind,” you said.

“But I do. I like taking my time with you, pet,” she said before her tongue ran up the length of your neck, “do as you’re told and don’t be a brat about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It would be the longest you’d gone without seeing her since that first night together.

“Okay,” you said, your voice small, disappointed in every way imaginable.

“Maybe you’ll be able to complete the readings I assign you,” she said, and the look she gave you was sharp as a knife.

“Was I meant to read them while you were…” You trailed off, her raised eyebrow silencing you.

“Don’t get mouthy with me, pet,” she said, grasping your chin again, “or I won’t let you come home for longer than a night.”

You nodded, closing your mouth in a show that you were going to be good. Her lips pressed to yours again, rough and possessive, teeth sinking into your lower lip with a sharp spike of pain. Your fingers clawed at her back, wanting to tear her shirt off her body.

She drew back, pushing your face away from her from the hold she still had on your chin. You huffed but did as she wanted. Sometimes you were terrified if you didn’t then she’d drop you quicker than a hot coal and leave you bereft. There was no part of you that wanted this to stop.

“Will you miss me tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “course I will.”

“That’s my pet,” she said, pressing a softer kiss to your lips, “now, finish up the draft of your introduction for me.”

She rose from your lap and you tried to ignore how disappointed you were to be alone again. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Sandwich?” she asked, voice lowering into a throaty hum, “I know you must be starving after last night.”

“Yes,” you replied, “please.”

She left you in her office, returning some time later with a sandwich for you and pasta for herself. You settled with your feet in her lap, devouring the food, pen scratching over your paper as you tried to get her the draft before the end of the day.

At the end of the day, the papers were left on her desk, pinned under a paper weight in the shape of a bell. Tucking your hair behind your ear, she was gentle as she pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Have a good night, pet,” she said, “be here bright and early tomorrow.”

“I will. I promise,” you said.

With a lingering kiss, she shooed you out of her office, locking it behind her. You glanced back before turning the corner, finding her watching you still. You raised your hand before continuing on, out of the history building, your arms full of books, so reminiscent of your early days studying under Professor Harkness.

“So you are still alive.”

You startled, fumbling with the books in your arms as you almost dropped them. Whirling around, your friend, the same one that had dragged you to that waste of a time party, was staring at you, arms crossed over her chest. You blinked then cocked your head.

“Was I not meant to be?” you asked.

“Seriously?” she demanded, and you realised in a flash that she was angry at you, “you’ve been missing for ages. Is it seriously that hard to text me back?”

Oh, right, that. You’d kept meaning to but then Agatha would do something like kiss you and you’d forget all about it. You were living in a haze, a world of your own, one that was consumed with the older woman.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” you said.

“Sure, the witch, I get it,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Don’t… don’t call her that,” you said.

“Sure, whatever.”

You looked down at your feet, shuffling them as you tried to come up with something to say that wouldn’t ruin everything. You knew you couldn’t tell her exactly what was going on, and you weren’t sure you could make up something that would satisfy her enough to forgive your blaring silence.

“Is that a hickey?”

Your hand clapped to your neck, covering the bruise Agatha had left on your skin only a few hours previously. Your eyes widened, stomach swooping.

“Is that why you’ve been missing?” she asked, sounding far more interested now, walking up to you.

“What? No,” you said, but you weren’t sure you were hiding it very well.

“You’ve been getting laid!”

Dread filled you.

“Girl, you should have just said. Must be good if you can’t even check in. Not that I blame you. You must need some serious stress relief after spending all day with the witch,” she said.

“I told you not to call her that,” you said faintly.

Maybe you’d gotten away with it.

“Are you seeing him tonight?” she asked, completely bypassing your comment.

“Oh, uh, no, not tonight,” you said.

“Great. A group of us are going to that new bar that opened up downtown,” she said.

“I dunno,” you replied, already looking for a way out.

“Look, I know last time was a bust, but this is going to be way more low key. Come on, we haven’t seen you in ages. I’ve got to prove you’re still around. Kate was certain you’d dropped out and gone backpacking through Europe but I knew you’d never do that. You love school too much,” she said, slinging an arm around your shoulders, forcing you to walk with her.

“Look, I have a lot of-“ You tried to say.

“Work to do,” she said, interrupting you, “yeah, I know. Clearly you’ve been having fun without us. But c’mon. It’s one night. What could go wrong?”

The creeping sense of dread wasn’t disappearing the further you walked, and yet you knew you would be going out with your friends. You couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to get out of it.

Your dorm room was dusty, clearly uninhabited for a while. Your friend fell back onto your bed, watching you unload the books onto your desk before looking through your closet. If it was really going to be chill, jeans and a tank top under the purple flannel you’d stolen from the back of Agatha’s wardrobe should be fine.

“You don’t want to wear something sexier?” your friend asked.

“Why bother? I’m not trying to pick someone up,” you said.

“What if you meet someone cute?” she asked.

“I’m perfectly happy with the person I’m seeing,” you said, “are we going or not?”

The bar itself was loud, packed with college students there for the happy hour cheap jugs and half price cocktails. And for a short while, you managed to relax. As long as you didn’t talk about Agatha, it was easy to slip back into your old role for the night. Drinks, and laughter, and reminiscing. You felt yourself ease into it, muscles loosening, your smiles growing easier.

“My round,” you said, pushing up from the table your group had absconded in the middle of the room.

Pushing to the front of the crowd, you did your best to get the bartender’s attention. Busy at the other end of the bar, you weren’t very successful.

“Hey.”

You glanced up. The handsome face looking down at you was vaguely familiar. Lips pulled up in a half smile, pretty brown eyes were twinkling down at you.

“Hi,” you said.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said.

“Sorry.” You shook your head, giving a self depreciating chuckle, “I don’t.”

“Mr Gracey’s sociology class. You always said the smartest stuff,” he said.

“Right, yeah, you sat behind me on the left,” you said, his face coming back to you as you thought back to the seminars from a year ago.

“Yeah, yeah, that was me. Matt,” he offered you his hand.

You took it, telling him your own name. He grinned and you felt a warm glow go through you.

“So what are you doing now?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, history,” you said, a wash of anxiety going through you again, “what about you?”

“Engineering,” he said, giving you that crooked smile again.

“Do you want to join me and my friends? If you don’t have people you actually care about to hang out with,” you said, immediately realising how stupid that sounded. There was no way he was here on his own.

“Sure, I’d really like that,” he said.

He followed you back to the booth your friends were at. Your friend elbowed your side as you sat down, watching Matt introduce himself to everyone, easy and confident in a way you’d never been. He settled beside you, warm thigh pressing against yours as he lent over the table to talk to Kate.

“He’s cute,” she whispered in your ear.

You shoved her before plastering a smile back on your face as he turned to you. You slipped into conversation, ignoring the way your friend kept looking between you and him. It’s not like you were going to go home with him, even if he offered. You had everything you already wanted in that department.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Clasping your hand over them, you glanced over Matt’s shoulder trying to find what had caused it. It was almost like someone was watching you. Your eyes searched the bar, trying to find whoever it was.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

You jolted, eyes snapping back to him.

“Yeah, fine,” you said.

“Looks like you could do with a top up,” he said, looking down at your empty glass, “come on, my treat.”

You followed him back to the bar, once again having to fight through the crowd to be able to place your drinks orders.

“So you said you’re doing history, right?” he asked, leaning closer to be able to be heard over the crowd.

“Yeah,” you said, more focused on getting through the crowd than what he was saying.

“Yeah because I saw you with Professor Harkness the other day,” he said.

You froze.

“What?”

“You were following her around like a puppy dog. Not that it surprises me. She’s a hard ass,” he said, smiling down at you like he was in on the joke.

“She just has very high expectations,” you said.

“Hey, I think it’s cool that she agreed to mentor you,” he said, “you must be pretty special. Word around campus is she hasn’t taken anyone on in like ten years. If she didn’t have tenure they would kick her out with that kind of track record.”

“I’m sure that’s totally overblown,” you said.

“Okay, well, can you name the last person she mentored?” he asked.

You didn’t have an answer to that.

“Exactly,” he said.

“It’s good she has standards,” you muttered.

“Oh, totally. So cool,” he said, “look, to your right.”

You squeezed through the gap he’d indicated, his hand resting heavy on your back. One more line of people to get through and you’d be at the bar.

And hopefully out of this conversation.

“So what’s she actually like? I can’t believe she once kicked a student in the balls for not handing in an assignment on time,” he said.

“Yeah, that’d be assault,” you said.

“Okay, well, what about the thing about doing those old timey rituals? Apparently she gets naked and dances under a full moon as she welcomes the devil into her body,” he said.

“That would be insane,” you replied.

But you could imagine her doing it for the aesthetic of it. And you wouldn’t mind seeing it.

“What’s she like then?” he asked.

“She’s… she’s brilliant,” you said.

“No doubt, but is she mean? To you, I mean,” he said.

“Uh, no,” you replied, finally pushing up to the bar, “no she’s not.”

“Really? Because she growled like a dog at mate of mine when he walked past her,” he said, “and she fails almost all her students.”

“Maybe they should work harder,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that?” he asked, leaning closer, right into your personal space.

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head.

The hand he had on your back shifted, almost curling around your waist as he lent forward to talk to the bartender. You looked away, that feeling creeping up the back of your neck again. Scanning the bar, you still couldn’t see where it was coming from. That same feeling of dread from earlier in the night snuck up on you.

“Here you go,” he said, handing you the drink he’d bought you.

“Thanks.”

It was purple, matching the flannel you had on, reminding you of Agatha. There was a sizeable part of you that wished she was there with you. Not that you thought she’d like your friends. But you always wanted her there and it was weird to be apart. You took a small sip from it.

“How is it?” Matt asked, leading you away from the bar to give the next people their go.

“Good,” you said, “elderberry.”

“It was the most witchy thing on the menu. Seemed appropriate given your mistress,” he said.

“My what?” you asked, a surprised laugh coming out of you.

“Your mistress. Professor Harkness. She does control everything you do, right?” he asked, but you could hear the teasing note this time.

“I’m out tonight, aren’t I? I doubt I would be if she had any control over me,” you replied, despite knowing you were out exactly because of the control she had over you. If she hadn’t said no, you’d be in her house this very moment.

“Lucky for me,” he said.

And there was the clincher. You shouldn’t have invited him to join you and your friends, but it was so nice to talk to someone who was so easy with you. Someone who wasn’t so changeable. Someone so simple.

Nothing about Agatha was ever simple. And you wouldn’t change that for anything.

But sometimes it was a mind fuck and simple was, well, simple.

“Hey, maybe you’d want to get a coffee sometime,” Matt suggested, breaking you out of your thoughts, “something in daylight hours when I can see your pretty face properly.”

“I’m seeing someone,” you said, the words coming out quickly, “it’s pretty serious so…”

“Oh.” He shoved his hand into his pocket, “but he’s not here tonight?”

“No,” you said, “not tonight.”

“Lucky him,” he said, “he got the prettiest, smartest girl.”

“Ha, thanks,” you said, “sorry, I should have said something earlier.”

“Nah, it’s all good. You couldn’t know I’ve been crushing on you since Mr Gracey’s class,” he said with an easy shrug, “should have tried to shoot my shot back then.”

You laughed and he slung his arm around your shoulders.

“I’ll take being your friend, if that’s on offer instead,” he said.

“Consider it done,” you said.

He fist pumped in celebration before the arm settled over your shoulders again. You could ignore the chill that went up your spine this time, certain you were just imagining things. After all, you hadn’t seen anyone before. You were hardly going to find them this time.

You stumbled home close to 1am, bleary eyed and drunker than you’d planned. You fell into bed, still in Agatha’s shirt, inhaling the smell of her from it as you drifted to sleep. It was the best you could have without her body curling around yours.

The next morning, the sunlight was too bright and your head was throbbing. Downing some pain killers with the coffee you picked up on the way to Agatha’s office, shoving a banana almost whole into your mouth, you hurried to the older woman. Despite the pain in your head, there was a skip in your step, anticipation at seeing Agatha again spurring you on.

Rounding the corner, her door was already cracked open. You pushed it open, shoving your sunglasses to the top of your head so you could see her properly. There, behind her desk, pen in hand, she was resplendent. Wild dark hair, pale skin, pink lips pursed with displease.

“Hi,” you breathed out.

She glanced up before going back to her work. A swoop of disappointment in your stomach had your weight shifting from foot to foot. But, not to be put off, you closed the door and dropped the books she’d sent you home with on the couch cushions.

“How was the meeting?” you asked.

“A waste of time,” she replied, voice clipped.

“Guess you should have played hooky with me,” you said, forcing good cheer into your voice as you dropped into your usual spot on the sofa.

“Yes,” she scoffed, “I’m sure that would have been far more worth my time.”

“It certainly would have been more fun,” you said, letting your eyes sweep over her body.

You could think of many things you could have done with her the night before that would have been fun. And satisfying. And hot.

“I doubt it,” she replied.

The sharp stab of rejection was swift and breathtaking. You gaped, staring at her. She was never one to turn down the chance to get you naked and begging. She liked making a whiney mess out of you.

“Is…,” you broached, “is something wrong?”

“No, why would anything be wrong?” she asked.

“It’s just, you’re being… prickly,” you said, “more so than usual.”

“If I was being prickly, it might be because I gave you clear instructions for last night, and those were not followed,” she said, finally looking up at you.

“What?” you asked.

She sneered at you, eyes darting to the books beside you before landing back on you. The pen in her hand was twirling and you didn’t know what to do.

“I believe I told you to do your reading. Not,” she said, voice growing hard, “going to a bar and flirting with the first pretty boy that smiled at you.”

“Flirting?” You didn’t remember any flirting.

“Yes,” she snapped, “flirting.”

“I wasn’t flirting with anyone,” you said.

“So you don’t deny being out late drinking last night?” she asked.

“No.” Your voice was so small.

“I was stuck in an endlessly boring meeting, thinking about all the ways I planned on rewarding you for this latest draft, only to find out you weren’t even capable of remembering such simple instructions,” she said.

“You were?” you asked.

“You can leave,” she said.

“Wait, what?”

The bottom fell out from beneath you. You gaped at her, your breathing coming too fast, not able to process what she was saying.

“Get. Out,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Agatha, I-“

“Out,” she said again, not giving you the chance to say anything.

You stood on numb legs, automatic to her demands. You stumbled to the door, opening it and stepping outside, glancing back for one last glance at her. She wasn’t even looking at you, staring down at her work. You had no idea when you’d see her again.

You were halfway down the hall when something in your brain clicked. You paused, wondering if you had the courage to do what you wanted. You were still shaking and you were terrified of pushing her so hard she made sure she never had to see you again.

You spun on your heels.

Her head snapped up as you pushed through her door, slamming it shut behind you. With deft fingers you flicked the lock before turning, pressing against it to steady you.

“I thought I told you to leave,” she said.

“I don’t want to,” you said.

“Not everything is about what you want,” she replied.

“I want you.”

It was there, laid out for her, the exact same thing you’d said to her that first night. The thing that had prompted that first kiss. The thing that she had laughed at, so confident in herself in that moment.

“And that’s my problem how?” she asked, raising a single eyebrow at you.

“Because you want me too,” you said.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night,” she said, turning her gaze back to her work.

“And I think you’re jealous,” you said.

That got her attention. Her upper lip curled as she looked at you again, her sneer obvious. Rising from the desk, she walked towards you like the predator you knew she was. You trembled, pressing against the door, her prey as always, but you refused to back down.

“I think your meeting finished and you went to the same bar I happened to be at and you saw me talking to Matt. And I think you didn’t like that,” you said.

Her hand snapped out, hand curling around your throat, pinning you to the door. You let her, staring in her eyes, watching the way she stared at you. Her snarling mouth drew closer, hand squeezing, eyes flashing with anger.

“When I told you that I don’t want anyone else touching you, I meant it, pet,” she all but spat at you.

“He didn’t touch me,” you said, “not like that.”

“Don’t tell me he was a gentleman,” she all but scoffed, “that he wanted to take you out to dinner first.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, not pointing out that’s exactly what she’d done.

Her hand squeezed tighter. You reached out, gentle fingers brushing the hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. She slapped your hand away.

“You don’t come in here after spending the night in someone else’s bed, expecting me to welcome you like a good girl,” she snarled, “you should be glad I’m letting you walk out of here without punishment.”

You brushed your fingertips over the apple of her cheek. She tried to grasp your wrist but you refused to let her. You were slow as you cupped her cheek, staring into her eyes, refusing to back down from her. You needed her to see the truth.

“You can’t convince me to forget this, pet. You disgust me. I bet you still smell like him,” she said.

“Agatha,” you managed to croak out, “I smell like you.”

Her upper lip curled and she drew closer, inhaling against the skin of your neck, just behind your jaw. She was so close you could smell her, the same scent that had clung to the shirt you’d been wearing since the day before, the one that soothed you to sleep every night, the one that could both calm you and excite you.

“You can’t trick me,” she growled, “I know he was inside you. Did he bend you over? Did he make you come so hard you saw stars? Or did he grunt and then roll over and fall asleep, leaving you unsatisfied?”

You shook you head.

“Is that why you returned to me, pet? Because you know no one can make you feel as good as I can?” she asked.

“Why would I bother with a boy like that when I have you?” you asked.

She seemed to not have an answer to that, gaze almost boring into you. Her hand tightened one last time before she let you go, shoving you against the hard wood of the door. The ache around your throat was almost comforting, knowing she cared enough to show so much emotion.

“Don’t come back,” she said, turning her back on you.

Ignoring her, you stepped forward, curling your arms around her waist, pressing your face to her shoulder. Her hand curled around your wrist, hard enough for delicate bone to grind against delicate bond, nails biting into your skin. You tightened your arms around her.

“I spent the entire night wishing I was with you. When Matt asked me out, I told him no because I already had someone. I told him it was serious. I’m serious about you,” you said, softening your voice, wanting her to hear you, to really hear what you were trying to say.

“He was all over you,” she said, ground out, but there, beneath the anger, was something else.

The thing that only made you hold on tighter.

“And all I could think about was how I couldn’t wait for morning so I could see you again,” you said.

“It didn’t look like you were thinking about me,” she said, “you were having fun.”

“When you’re not on offer, I have to make do with what else I can find. Would you prefer I sit alone, wallowing when you aren’t there?” you asked, knowing the answer, “I asked to wait at your house until you were done. I would have waited there for you if you’d let me.”

“Don’t turn this back on me. This is not my fault,” she spat.

“Nothing happened. You own me, body and soul. No one else compares,” you said before placing a soft kiss to the skin of her neck.

Her head tilted, just a little and you knew you’d won the war. She lent back, letting you catch her weight. You breathed in the scent of her, right from the source, before you kissed her again, tongue flicking out to taste her skin. Her hand tightened around your wrist, but this time, rather than on the precipice of dragging it away, she pressed you closer.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me,” you begged, “please.”

“You’re trying to make me forget, kitten. I can still see his hand on you,” she said, head rolling towards you.

“I can still see your hands on me,” you replied, “and your mouth. You’re all over me.”

She turned in your arms, those long fingers pushing into your hair. You held still, letting her do what she needed. Dragging you forward, she kissed you, tongue delving into your mouth, humming when you so easily opened for her. Her teeth sunk into your lip, tugging on it.

“On the desk, pet,” she murmured against your lips.

“What?” you asked.

“Get on the desk,” she replied, drawing back, breaking your hold on her.

You did, unsure of what was coming. Raising yourself to sit on the edge of her desk, you looked at her watching you, eyes so dark it still worried you. Your mouth grew dry as she stalked forward, once again her prey. Strong hands parted your knees, hips slotting between your thighs, touch sliding up your legs until your own hips were held in a tight grip, right over the bruises she’d left on your body.

“He might not have fucked you, but you were flirting, pet. I know what I saw,” she said, “I know what you look like when you flirt.”

“Because I flirt with you?” you asked.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Agatha,” you said, reaching out to play with the ends of her hair, “I was talking about you. That’s why I looked like that.”

“You were gossiping about me? Feeding the rumour mill? Did he enjoy hearing all of the depraved stories about me?” she sneered.

“I told him how brilliant you are,” you said.

A flash of pleasure went over her face before she settled back into the disciplinarian. You wrapped your fingers in her hair, tugging on it until her head dipped towards you.

“Just the thought of you makes me mooney eyed,” you whispered.

“You think flattery will make me forgive you?” she asked, voice cold, sending a shiver down your spine, “no one tries to take what’s mine.”

Your breath caught as her hand curled around your throat again, thumb pressing into the hickey she’d left on your skin the day before. Her teeth closed over your earlobe, tugging on it until she heard you whimper.

“You won’t remember his name when I’m done with you,” she murmured against the shell of your ear.

Her kiss was a relief, soothing your anxiety. You hadn’t ruined everything. She still wanted you.

The kiss was slow, taking you apart as you melted into her. She took her time, really making sure you felt every moment as she turned your brain to mush. Opening up to her, you let her take as much as she wanted from you.

You didn’t notice as her hands worked to unbutton your jeans. She hummed, fingers pushing past your waistband. You whimpered again, feeling her fingers slip lower, feeling how wet you already were for you.

“Naughty, pet,” she murmured, “did you enjoy my temper?”

“I enjoy everything about you,” you replied, breathless as her lips descended down the length of your neck.

Her teeth sunk in as her fingers slipped through your folds. You whined her name, the most beautiful word in the world as far as you were concerned. She chuckled, muffled against your skin, but you could just picture the smirk on her face. She always liked hearing the effect she had on you, refusing to let you remain silent.

Her finger was tracing a familiar pattern over your clit, featherlight, not nearly enough for you. Your fingers slipped into her hair, right at the roots, clenching just to have something to hold on to. Her tongue ran along the length of your neck before she kissed you again. You’d never grow tired of the taste of her.

Her finger teased your entrance. Your hips pushed forward, coaxing her but she lingered, never giving you what you wanted when you wanted. She never worked on anyone’s time but her own, refusing to give in unless it was what she wanted.

“Please,” you mumbled into her mouth, “Agatha, please.”

“No, no, no, pet,” she replied, drawing back to watch your face, your hands falling from her hair, “you’re going to be patient and follow instructions. Just like you should have yesterday.”

Her touch returned to your bundle of nerves, still too light, barely a brush of fingertips. The same pattern that had grown familiar, over and over again as she watched you squirm. Her own personal brand on your most intimate parts. You’d let her brand you as much as she liked if she would only keep looking at you the way she was. Like you were something she’d never grow tired of watching.

“Agatha,” you whimpered.

“Are you asking me to stop?” she asked, the humour obvious.

“No.” You shook your head violently.

“Then I can’t imagine why you’re talking. Needy pets need to learn patience,” she replied.

All you could do was sit there, accepting her teasing, the fire in your veins growing. Blue eyes watched every inhalation, every shift of your hips, every clench of your fingers. She collected the noises that fell from your lips like they were precious gems, seeing how often she could find them. Your entire body ached to have more but you held still, biting your tongue, knowing this was your punishment. Played just enough to make you want more, never enough to relax, caught under her gaze as you became exactly what she accused you of. Of being needy, greedy, desperate for her. If only she understood you didn’t need her teasing to feel that way. Just knowing you walked the same earth as her had you feeling like that.

“Turn around,” she commanded.

You scrabbled to follow her orders, almost crying out when her hand slipped from between your legs. You turned, splaying your hands on the top of her desk, staring down at the bell shaped paper weight. With one foot, she knocked yours apart. Her arm slipped around your waist, fingers running over the vulnerable skin of your lower stomach. Pushing you hair over your shoulder, her mouth attached itself to your neck once again.

Her hand slipped down, into your underwear, back to your throbbing heat. Your knees felt wobbly but you held still. You would do anything she asked as long as she kept touching you.

“Such a pretty little thing,” she murmured into your ear.

Her free hand snaked its way up your body, sliding under your shirt. Tugging the cup of your bra down, her fingers immediately found your tight nipple. You pushed your chest into her touch. She pinched it, slow to roll it between thumb and forefinger. She was busy sucking another mark into your skin as your hips pressed back into hers.

Her fingers sunk into you. The noise you made was a mixture between a cry and a whimper, nothing but pure relief to it. She whispered your name into your skin. Her own name falling from your lips was a thanks to a goddess given for all the blessings you were receiving. Her thumb ran in slow circles over your clit as her fingers began to thrust, painfully slow and deliciously satisfying. Your head fell forward as your breathing grew heavier.

“How does that feel, pet?” she asked.

“So good,” you whimpered.

“Want to feel even better?” she asked before her lips closed over your earlobe, still playing with your tits.

“Please,” you begged.

“That’s my pet,” she murmured.

Her fingers curled. You moaned her name, flithy and so good. Her thumb ground against you, electricity spreading over your skin. She was everywhere, completely surrounding you, wrapped up in her arms. The pace of her thrusting increased, each with a twist, a curl, a beckoning closer to your peak. Your name was so sweet on her lips as she kept whispering it into your skin, over and over, hand working hard and fast between your legs.

You held on, waiting for her permission. She was in control, and you were more than willing to give her that power over you. You turned your head, seeking out her lips again. Her teeth nipped at your lower lip, tongue sliding along yours, swallowing your moans.

You could feel your orgasm, so close, just waiting for you to give in to it. And her fingers kept pumping in and out of you, turning you breathless. You were practically chanting her name as she returned her attention to your neck, leaving a map of her mouth on your skin.

“What was the name of that useless boy you were with last night?” she asked.

“I don’t care,” you replied.

“Hmm, not good enough,” she said.

Her hand stilled within you, holding you right there on that precipice. You could have cried. Your hips pressed back against her. She tutted, pinching at your nipple again, painful, another jolt of pleasure going through you.

“Agatha,” you pleaded.

“I promised you wouldn’t be able to remember his name and I always keep my promises,” she said, “so what was his name, pet?”

“It was-“ Her fingers curled, stroking your inner walls, “it was…”

“Yes, pet?” she hummed.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

“Who do you belong to?” she asked, the words a caress over your skin.

“You,” you said, almost a sob.

“Say my name,” she commanded.

“Agatha!”

With precise movements, she took you apart until you were a trembling body wrapped in her arms. She whispered into your skin, too quiet for you to hear as every muscle tensed. Her name kept tumbling from your lips as your orgasm crashed into you, shaking in her arms, pressing into her. your knees buckled, and if not for her hold on you, you would have crumpled to the floor. Her fingers worked you through it, drawing out every drop of pleasure in your body. Soft lips pressed to your skin, over and over again, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

“Agatha,” you rasped out.

Her hand slipped from between your legs and you caught her wrist, licking your arousal from her skin. She hummed, nose buried in the skin of your neck, pressing you against her with the arm still around your waist. She nuzzled against you, surprisingly soft, almost needy in the way you usually were.

“Such a good pet for me,” she murmured.

You turned, ass pressing into the edge of the table as you dragged her into a kiss, desperate for her to understand how you felt. To know there was no future you didn’t want her in. That you would do this for the rest of your life with her. That there was no one else for you.

Whatever anger was there before was gone, leaving her soft as she looked at you. You brushed her hair out of her face, twirling it around your fingers, playing with it in a way that had grown familiar over the time you’d been with her.

“My good kitten,” she sighed, kissing you again.

You let her manoeuvre you to the sofa, curling in her lap as her hands continued to stroke over your body, soft and slow and gentle. You pressed closer, wanting her warmth to seep into you, for there to be no space between the two of you, to never be apart from her again. Her lips pressed to your hairline, lingering.

“You’re sure you don’t want to run off into the arms of that pathetic excuse for a boy?” she asked.

You drew back just far enough to look at her.

“There’s no one but you, Agatha,” you said, cupping both her cheeks as you stared deeply into her eyes, “you’re the only one I see.”

She softened before your eyes. Her arms tightened around you and when she kissed you, your heart skipped a beat. Her hand slipped under your shirt, tracing that same pattern into your skin. Those six letters a brand on your soul.

Agatha.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

A memory || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

GIF by @sommerspage divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: You have never questioned Coriolanus about what happened during his exile as peacemaker. But when the truth is revealed, Snow’s past quickly comes to haunt him.

Warning: blood, mention of infidelity, miscarriage

Wc: 1,818

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

“I really don’t think this is a good idea y/n.” Snow paces around the room as you sip your tea. “I’ll be fine Coryo, It’s a duty as First Lady that I need to do. It brings hope and somewhat unity to the districts.” Snow stops to look at you, his piercing blue eyes never failing to make you squirm under his gaze.

“If any of them touch you I swear-“ He storms your direction before you cut him off, “No one is going to touch me Snow. The baby and I will be perfectly fine.” You reach for his hand and place it on the barely there swell of your stomach. He lets out a sigh, dropping to his knees as he leans his head gently on your stomach.

“I want you back in one piece, untouched.” He softly says as you put your hands on either side of his face. “I promise.” Was all you said before kissing his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his soft tender lips that moulded perfectly against yours.

A knock at the door made you look behind your back, “The train is ready,” A voice called out. Snow stands up, towering over you as you embrace him in a tight hug. “Be safe. I love you.” He says against your hair as you rub his back. “I love you too,” You say, muffled slightly against his chest.

The trip to all the districts was going to take some time, around 3 months or so. 3 months away from the Capitol, 3 months away from your Coriolanus. But as First Lady, it was your duty to bring a sense of unity and hope to everyone, including the districts.

Coriolanus was against this trip ever since your brought it up. After his exile, he never spoke about what happened during his years as a peacekeeper, all you knew was that he sacrificed so much to return and become President. You never probed him into telling you exactly what happened, you just knew it was something he rather kept a distant memory.

~

Visiting each district went smoothly. Majority of the people respected you. And you only treated them with equalness and kindness. That was just who you were. Coriolanus ensured that the most strongest guards accompanied you. You felt safe most of the time.

Except for an attack during your visit to district 8. You weren’t harmed but shaken up to say the least. When news of this came back to the Capitol, Coriolanus urged you to finish your trip that instance and return but your refused, saying it would only make people perceive you as weak, and just like the others at Capitol.

Nearly 3 months had passed and you finally made it to the last district, district 12. You were already 3 months pregnant. District 12 was the poorest and smallest district, but you personally enjoyed it the most. Lots of singing and dancing happened around which you enjoyed after an exhausting 3 months of travelling.

You were sat at the back of a bar where everyone was dancing and singing along to the female singer on stage. Guards were by your side, ready for anything that may come your way. All of a sudden, a woman came up to you, she had a cloak over her head, slightly covering her face.

The guards came closer to you but you gestured them to back off. “Lady Y/n, It is an honour to see you here in our district,” Her voice spoke. You smile, “It’s my pleasure. I find district 12 my favourite, but don’t go telling the other districts that” You chuckle as the woman does the same.

“What’s your name?” You ask, trying to search her features that were covered. “Lucy. Lucy Gray Baird.” That name. It was so familiar to you. “Have I met you? Lucy Gray?” You try and dig through your memories seeing if you could match the name to a face.

She chuckles. “I don’t think so. Though I am familiar with your Husband, the President.” She pulls back her hood and it all clicked. Lucy Gray. Coriolanus’ tribute during the 10th hunger games. “I’m familiar with you now Lucy. The tribute my husband mentored, the tribute he cheated for.” You nod your head at her as she smiles.

You knew Coriolanus was a peacekeeper in this very district. What you didn’t understand was why he was relocated from district 8 to district 12. A surge of curiosity courses through your veins. Curiosity to what happened here while Snow was peacekeeper, what sacrifices he had to make in order to become President.

“Would you like to sit down? I have a few questions I hope you are able to answer for me, please.” Your voiced out in slight desperation. Lucy studies you for a moment before nodding her head. You look towards the guards who nodded their head and give the two of you space, but still on watch out.

“My husband was to be a peacekeeper in district 8 yet he was relocated here. Do you know any reason as to why that happened? I need you to be completely honest with me Lucy.” You felt a sense of guilt. You promised Snow you wouldn’t dig into what happened during his exile, but you couldn’t help it.

“I will be completely honest with you, Y/n.” You take her hands in yours as she glances down at your hands. “Coriolanus relocated here because of me,” She slowly said as you search her eyes to see if she was lying. She wasn’t.

You swallow as you urged her to continue. She then revealed everything to you. From bobbin being murdered by him in the arena, to him killing the mayor’s daughter Mayfair, and the death of Sejanus which she suspected was Snow’s doing. Lucy also revealed to you her relationship that she had with Coriolanus.

It started even when you and Coriolanus were together, but you just had no idea. You tried to stay as far away as you could from the hunger games. You were utterly shocked. It made so much sense to you. Snow’s words hinted what he did and Lucy’s words backed them up perfectly.

“And what happened between you and him?” You fidget with your fingers. “I was scared. So scared of him Y/n. I thought he was going to kill me when he found guns in the cabin. And that was exactly what he tried doing but I escaped.” Lucy let out a shaky breath as you listen intently. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me this.” You hold her hands before placing money in them as her eyes widen.

“Take care Lucy Gray.” Was all you said before you got up, leaving the bar. “This trip comes to an end right now.” Your voice was shaky as you step into the train back to the Capitol. Your mind was swirling with thoughts. What Lucy Gray told you made you question so many things about Snow.

You knew he would never hurt you. But there was still the lingering thought that he might. You knew Snow came back a changed man, but you never knew how much he had changed and what sacrifices he had to make. The trip back felt like an eternity. You could hardly sleep, drink or eat. Thoughts plagued your mind.

The train came to a halt, but you were deep in thought to even realise. A hand touched your arm, “Are you okay?” Coriolanus asks in a worried tone as you stare at him in confusion. “Y/n? Y/n!” Was all you heard before you saw blackness.

~

You slowly open your eyes as you adjust to the bright light. You look around your surroundings and felt a heavy weight on your hand. “Coryo?” You weakly say as he wakes up in surprise. “Y/n. Thank God you’re okay,” He hugs you tightly.

“What happened?” You touch your head that was pounding, “You passed out on the train. The doctors said you barely ate anything or slept. What happened?” He asks as he cups your face in his big hands. Memories of what happened came running back to you.

Lucy Gray’s words came back to you. You suddenly push Coriolanus off of you. He looks at you in shock. “Did I do something?” “Get out.” You softly say, refusing to look at him. “What? Y/n-“ “I said get out Coriolanus!” You say this time louder and more stern. He swallows hard, before leaving you alone just as you asked.

You uncontrollably start to sob. Your heart was aching so much. You understood he had to do whatever it took but killing those innocent people…. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. As you sobbed you felt something wet in between your legs. You pause. No. No.

You quickly throw the blanket off of you as you scream at the sight of blood. “Help! Someone please help me!” You scream as tears continue to fall down your face. The door burst open to reveal Snow there, a horrified look on his face at the sight of blood. “Why me?” Was all you said in between your sobs as Snow runs out.

~

“I’m so sorry,” The doctor says to Coriolanus as you lay on your side, your back facing him as hot tears streamed down your face. You had just lost the baby. Exhaustion, lack of sleep and food led to it. “Y/n…” Snow’s voice was soft, you flinch at his touch on your shoulder as he backs off.

“She told me everything.” You manage to say, you turn over but refuse to look him in the eyes. Confusion etched his features at what you possible could mean. “Lucy Gray. She told me everything” Coriolanus’ features harden at the sound of her name. “She’s lying. You honestly trust a district’s word?”

“Everything she said made pretty darn sense Coriolanus. The sacrifices you made? You mean killing your best friend and innocent people! And you and Lucy. Look me in the eyes and tell me that never happened.” He looked taken back. You sobbed as you cover your mouth in disbelief. “I can’t believe this oh my god!”

“Do you even love me?” You asked. Coriolanus rushed to your side, taking your hands in his. “Of course I do. Of course I love you Y/n. More than anything. I did whatever it took to come back to you. You have to understand that.” A few tear drops fall from his eyes as he pleads.

“I just need time and-and space. Please.” You screw your eyes shut as you look away. Coriolanus sniffles before standing up, straightening his jacket as he nods. “Of course, I understand.” As soon the door shut closed, another round of tears gush from your eyes.

[laylaplease]

Warnings — SEX POLLEN, dub-con, Master x Padawan, power imbalance, intoxication, abuse of authority, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of pain, brief nipple play, brief fingering, degrading if you squint, pet names, praise, swearing...

Word count — 3.3k

Notes — Thank you, Anon for the request! This is the first time I write a fic this length, I hope it's enjoyable! I truly hope I didn't miss any warnings; it's currently past 3am and my head is fried.

“You know this is completely unnecessary; you are overexaggerating…” Anakin complains as you wrap a thick linen rope around his wrists, securing your master in place. “I swear, I’m fine. Look,” He leans forward, putting his face on display. So close, you could feel his soft breath on the tip of your nose.

You inspect his eyes, deep blue eyes with slightly dilated pupils; if it were somebody else, they wouldn’t have seen a difference, but you… Oh, you were different. You knew his eyes a little bit too well for just a Padawan, and you were certain: something was wrong. You could sense his heart pumping blood through his veins a little bit too fast, his irregular breathing, you spotted things he failed to notice about himself. Maybe all those stolen glances at his undeniably gorgeous face and broad body will pay off, giving you something else than just fantasy material for all the lonely nights.

“No.” You reply bluntly. “I’m sorry, master.” You tie a last knot around his wrists. You wanted to explain; tell him all the things you sensed were different: the way his gaze twisted when landing on your body, the way he squirmed just slightly as you bind his limbs together, the way he… Smelled. It wasn’t just a regular Anakin scent, no. It was sweeter, almost milky, and it made you want to burry your face into his skin, so naturally, you could never reveal your reasoning.

Anakin sighed, leaning his back against the remains of your spaceship, his tied hands resting on top of his lap, hiding the slowly-forming tightness you both failed to notice. He could swear everything was perfect. Well, aside from the fact that you both were left stranded on an unknown planet and after hours of wandering in search of life and help, you ended up back at the crash site. 

“You realize I would never hurt you, right?” He stares at you, visible annoyance present on his features. “There is nothing wrong with me, I didn’t even touch anything unknown.”

He was right; he touched nothing. He… Inhaled it. And (un)fortunately neither of you knew.

“I know….” You look into his eyes pleadingly, trying to convince him to stay put in case he goes on some kind of rampage that your whole body senses is coming. You wanted to deny your gut feeling, but the gleam in his eyes told you it was a bad idea. 

Time passes slowly, and Anakin is growing more and more impatient as he watches your failing attempts to fix the transmitter and possibly reach someone. 

“Give me that.”

You stare at him from a short distance, thinking whether it’s smart to approach him, but your doubts are quickly wiped away when that sweet scent reaches the inside of your lungs with the help of a soft breeze. You stand up and bring him the broken device.

Anakin grabs your hand instead and pulls you down to your knees in front of him. Your face meets his with a surprised stare, and before you can complain about the invasion of your space, he speaks. 

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. Fast.” His stare is intense, and he holds your hand tightly in his restricted grip. “Got it?”

“Yes, M-master.” You stutter, stunned by his sudden change of demeanor; you can’t even move. And the worst part is that he smells even better this close.

“Good girl.” He keeps staring into your eyes, grasping your hand as if he doesn’t intend to let it go. “Maker, you are such a pretty thing, I could tear you apart…” He contemplates out loud, his words surprising the last part of his sane mind as he’s becoming more and more vulnerable to foreign planet’s drugs.

“What?”

He slowly frees your hand, swallowing a lump in his throat. He’s starting to feel it —  pants failing to hide a very prominent arousal, mouth watering at the sight of your cleavage, you look fucking scrumptious; and he needs to devour you. He snaps his head to the side.

“Sorry.” Anakin mutters, seemingly regaining some of his senses. He shifts on the ground as you stare at him dumbfounded, not only because of his sudden vulgarity but also because the outline of his dick was now very visible and your eyes couldn’t help but glance. 

“Master?”

He groans. “Don’t say that.” He shamelessly palms himself in front of your eyes as if he were in pain from how tight his underwear was. “Don’t call me master. Not now, sweetheart.” His voice softens just for a moment.

“Master, are you okay?” You deny his request. Involuntary. Maybe because it was a habit, or maybe because some part of you really wanted him to get unbearably hard for you.

He yanks you towards himself with his sluggish grip. Tied hands wrap around your throat, and he hisses. “I fucking mean it. You call me that again. I’m going to bend you over this wreck of a spaceship and bruise your insides until someone finally comes and gets us off this forsaken planet.”

If you weren’t surprised before, you are now absolutely bewildered. You pushed him away, landing on your butt and quickly crawling reversely to create some space between yourself and the animal that possessed your master’s body.

Anakin stood up and leaned himself against the wreckage as if trying to fight something that’s been trying to claw its way out of his body. His back turned to you, shoulders rising up and down repeatedly as he struggled to speak.

“Go. Now.” He groans, trying to hold his panting in.

“Anakin?” You rise yourself from the ground and take a step towards him, hesitating to move or speak more.

“Fucking RUN.” A growl slips from his throat; you’ve never heard such an animalistic sound coming from him. It wasn’t an order; it was a warning, a head start for you. And if there was a perfect time to listen to his advice about doing everything he’s telling you — that was it.

So you do.

You feel the wind blowing through your ears and burning your throat as you try to get away as far from Anakin as possible. Your pulse is thudding rapidly, your limbs are shaking, and yet your insides are throbbing, aching to have relief from the extreme arousal created by your master’s primal behavior and the image of his hardening cock imprinted in your head. 

You turn your head slightly, glancing behind you, expecting to see Anakin making his way towards you, but instead you are greeted with the sight of nobody. Anakin’s nowhere to be seen. You look around, panting heavily, trying to spot movement somewhere between the trees. You fear him and what he could do to you, but the fact that he’s gone frightens you even more. Your master could never hurt you, right?

“Master?!” Your voice echoes through what seems to be an empty grove of an unrecognized planet. The only sound you can hear is your own breathing, and you realize how loud it is, how easy it is for any predator to hear you. Anakin's hunt was simple when his prey served herself on the plate before him.

A gust of wind passed through your ears at the same moment as Anakin’s hands gripped you from behind and harshly pushed your quivering body against a tree nearby. His wrists bruised red from the rope, which he seems to have torn apart. Your vision blurs for a moment from the force he’s grabbed you with. His lips press on your ear.

“I told you not to call me that, you stupid girl. Now look what you’ve done.” He whispers into your ear as his bulge presses against your ass. 

“A-Anakin-” You whimper, miserably trying to push him off you but instead just creating more friction on his already painful core.

His hand snakes into your robes, grasping your breast roughly, making your back arch. It’s hot and desperate to tear your flesh apart. And it feels so so good. So pathetically good that you almost feel like you’re the one taking advantage of him and not the other way around. He toys with your nipple, rubbing it between his fingers as his free hand grabs onto your thigh and presses your body onto his clothed cock.

“S’ alright, sweetheart… Your body’s so perfect…” He sinks his teeth into your neck and pulls on your delicate skin. “I’m so sorry—fuck—Sweetheart… I can’t stop-” His soft voice was a complete contrast to his forceful grip on your curves. His hands boldly groped you, kneading every bit of your body he could reach — all while grinding himself against you like an animal in heat.

“No- You can’t,” You whimper, trying to fight him and your own desire. “Anakin!” You gasp in pain when he presses your body into the tree, bruising your cheek.

“Shhhh… ‘s alright, just let me—” He pulls your robes, his hand making its way down your stomach, cupping your dripping heat. He inhales into your neck. “Don’t be scared.” He shushes your whines.

And it’s not like you’ve never imagined Anakin fucking you; you have. Way more than you should have, and yet you were shaking in fear, especially knowing that he was under the influence of something wicked.

“No, master-” You gasp as he inserts a finger inside you, wasting no time before fucking you with his hand. “S-stop-”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” He whimpers into your shoulder as your walls clenches around his digit. He slips another in. “What a perfect cunt… I’ll fucking ruin it." It was almost as if Anakin’s alter ego was overtaking his normal self — the one who would never dare to touch his Padawan like that, to taint her precious body with his pathetic touch.

“Ah!” Your back arched into him involuntarily. It was wrong. So so wrong and yet deep inside you never wanted him to stop, not when your walls spasmed around him for a sweet release. 

“That’s it, good girl, come here.” He pulls his fingers out, making you pulse and whimper at the lack of pleasure. He quickly lands you both on the ground, spreading your thighs apart for himself. “Look at that,” He bites his lower lip. “And you say you don’t want it? You’re fucking soaked.”

“We can’t-” You whimper yet again. “You wouldn’t- Ah!”

He grins as he slaps his cock against your clit, rubbing it up and down your entrance as the wet, slippery sound reaches your ears.

“I’m going to fuck you one way or another, so you just might as well enjoy it, after all…” He leans on top of you, lining the crown of his cock with your hole. “…master knows best.”

He slides in with one swift movement, filling you to the brim as you claw his back with your nails. He’s big, way bigger than his fingers, forcing your walls to stretch wide open to welcome both his length and girth. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust much when he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, earning a loud whimper from you.

“Pretty girl…” He coos, stroking your cheek as he repeats the movement more urgently. “Master’s cock feels good, hm?”

It did, Maker; it felt amazing. Every vein bruised your gushing hole just right as he thrusted into you, long and powerful strokes, head hitting your cervix at the perfect angle to make your toes curl. Each time his sack slapped against your ass, an electric sting flashed through your cunt, forcing a pathetic moan out of your mouth. Your vision is so blurry from how hard you are rolling your eyes back, you don’t even see how Anakin comes forward and presses his lips onto yours.

His kiss is starving, depraved of you. He tries to say something, but it’s pretty incoherent, muffled by your saliva mixing with his. He tugs on your lips, sticking his tongue far up your mouth, smearing spit over your chin. His teeth clash against yours every time he attempts to reach into you deeper, as if trying to devour you from the inside out.

“Fuck,”—thrust—”So…”—thrust—”Fucking…”—thrust—-”Tight-” He moans into your mouth, and you swear you can feel his whimpers inside your body.

Anakin props himself up on his forearms — each on the other side of your face. He snakes his fingers into your hair, making you look at him.

“Look at me, baby. Look at me, and tell me you love it. Beg me to fuck you, come on, baby…” 

He’s a mess, and he’s messing you up too; he wants you to plead, but there is no reason to; he’s already balls deep in you, abusing parts of your body nothing and nobody has ever reached before. 

“M-master…” A feeble whimper is all your body can muster when your whole lower half twitches from pleasure. “…Stop...” You claw on his chest, trying to push him off, maybe because you know how sick it is to allow him to turn you into a drooling cockslut, or maybe because you don’t want to cum so fucking soon.

“What’s the matter, angel? You wanna cum, yeah?” A wicked smile spreads across his face, as if he were listening to all of your thoughts while you laid there spread open. “Yeah? Your little cunt can’t take master’s cock at all, hmmm?” He mocks you, and you know you deserve it, for one reason or another.

His filthy words and a couple of powerful strokes are enough to have your juices coating his whole shaft as your back arches and hardened nipples rub against his chest. The orgasm he’s giving you blinds your mind; it drowns out every other noise that’s not his moans of pleasure or your wetness spurting around him.

“Thought so.” He laughs in your face, gripping the backs of your thighs and pushing them up — his cock still inside you, soaking up all you had to give it. “That’s alright, angel, it’ll hurt less now that you’re all stretched out and drenched.”

“N-no…” You cry when he adjusts your position to reach deeper into you, seemingly not even caring that your soaked walls are still aching from him fucking you over the edge just moments ago. “A-Ani…” It’s a bittersweet pleasure — the way he keeps going through your body desperately, trying to push him out and stop the ache inside of you.

“Look,” He releases his grip on your thigh and grabs your chin. “Look how perfect your little cunt is…” He slides all the way out and slowly pushes back in, his pubic hair tickling your skin. “As if it’s made to take me.” He forces your head to look down between your bodies and admire the mess he’s creating.

The more he sees you struggle to look without squirming, the more precise his movements are. He angles his painfully thick cock to scratch your spongy insides, your throbbing cunt squeezing him enough to force delicious grunts out of his mouth. 

Your eyes are blurry from the tears you didn’t know formed; you blink rapidly, attempting to catch a glimpse of Anakin’s face. You were self-evident about the desperate mess he’s turned you into, drenched in sweat and cum, your body sore and bruised, it was obvious, however, you didn’t expect Anakin to be as disheveled as well. His lips were apart, soaked in spit, the blue of his eyes barely visible from the expansion of the pupils, dirty locks sticking to his forehead, your master looked and, quite obviously, behaved like a brute beast devouring his prey. And yet, he was angelic.

Your idealization of Anakin was the root reason why you resisted digging his eyes out with your nails and putting up a violent fight against him for corrupting your body inside and out. Because, essentially, Anakin is still your master. The one who teaches you, the one who tends your wounds, the one who is now currently fucking you over your second orgasm with no mercy in his bloodshot orbs. And honestly, you are starting to genuinely enjoy it. 

“Just like that, pretty girl, keep squeezing me…” Anakin presses his lips against yours, forcing his tongue in and making you answer his desperate kiss. One of your legs is stretched up painfully, foot dangling over his shoulder, while the other almost involuntary wraps around him and makes sure he’s plunging deep into you with no chance of escaping. “Good girl, that’s it,” He moans into your mouth, “I’m going to cum, yeah, s’ like that, let me fill that tight cunt.”

“P-please…” You reach for his head, grabbing him by the roots of his hair to lock your lips back together. “Master- fuuuuuck!” There it is again — you are cumming all over his cock, slurping onto his tongue while milking him to his own orgasm. You can barely see or make sense of your surroundings; all you know is that he’s pounding you into oblivion, and you love every second of being stretched out for your master to use.

Anakin is grabbing your body, toying with your flesh. Even when his dick starts to fuck long threads of his thick cum into you, he can’t stop frantically abusing your body in every way possible; grabbing, biting, kissing, and fucking all come at the same time, sending your body into a sensory overload, and you can swear you are about to lose your mind and die right there and then.

But there is no time for dying, not when you realize Anakin has emptied himself deep inside you and yet is nowhere close to stopping. His cock, still hard, surrounded by the mix of your and his cum, is slamming into you with sensual yet forcible strokes, making it seem like you can taste the sourness of his release in your mouth. 

“So needy, going to make sure to fuck it deep in you, angel.” He whispers into your neck, you can’t help but whimper and dig your nails into his shoulder blades in hopes of him easing up on you, but he only pulls his face off your shoulder and greets you with a filthy grin. “If I knew how beautiful your fucked-out expressions and little whimpers were, I would have devoured this pretty pussy much earlier…”

“M-master…” You cry out for help, for pleasure, for him. Everything ceases to exist except Anakin. His expression softens just for a moment. He settles his cock inside of you and reaches out to wipe the mess of drool and tears from your cheek.

“It’s okay, my sweet Padawan." He whispers, his hands gently caresses your hipbones in a subconscious attempt to soothe your aching muscles. Anakin leans down to kiss your lips one more time. You can feel his whole length throbbing and begging for friction while the wetness of your releases seeps down your cunt. “I know you can take more, yeah? Just like when we train, alright? You want to stop…”—Thrust—”But I’m the Master…”

Your eyes roll back when your sex is rewarded with a glimpse of more pleasure, a little promise of what he can give you if you just enjoy it like he’s commanded you. So you buck your hips into him, seeking yet another release.

“There she is…” Anakin’s deranged expression makes its way back between his perfect features. To your surprise, he swiftly pulls himself out of you, which makes you whine from the lack of fullness and feeling of the mix of liquids trickling down your body. “Let’s see how useful your other holes are, mmm?”

And with that, you know — whatever he’s infested with still has yet to wear off.

[darylssunshine]

daryl x reader

“whoa hey, you’re bleeding.” reader maybe not realizing it until she looks down. falling into his arms and daryl callin for help. whump whump whumppp . set at the prison ?

Family

word count: 1.1k

a/n: finally getting into the swing of things with requests. hope you enjoy anon <3

~~~

The sounds of people yelling and the banging of chain link fences echoed throughout the prison courtyard. You jabbed your knife through yet another walker, grunting as you pushed it through its thick skull. You, along with everyone else in your small group, including Carl, had been at this for at least an hour now, but it was necessary to keep the prison safe. Still, the constant stabbing motion had your upper arm aching. Probably acid and bile rising up from your stomach, too.

“I got the last one!” Glenn called out from the middle of the formation, sticking his knife right in the middle of the walker’s eye. Audible sighs of relief could be heard from the group, along with a victory ‘whoop’ from Carl. Standing right beside you, Daryl was flicking the excess undead blood from his knife and his hands, wiping the rest on his pants. He shaked a stray hair out of his eye then wiped a hand down his face, sighing and sheathing his now blood-free knife. 

“Jesus. Glad that’s over. Can’t wait to do that again tomorrow.” He scoffed, leaning against the fence and stretching his overused right arm.

“I know, right? My arm is killing me. Gonna have to… ” You trailed off, suddenly feeling a wave of dizziness wash over you. You leaned your arm against the fence for support and lowered your head, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Daryl stopped leaning against the fence and took a cautious step forward towards you. “Hey, you okay?” 

You immediately snapped your gaze back up to the archer, desperately trying to seem like you had your shit together. “Yep. Yeah. I’m okay.” You placed your free hand on your hip to simulate normality. That’s when Daryl looked you up and down and his eyes suddenly went wide.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey, hey! Yer bleedin’!!” He quickly stepped toward you, glancing down sporadically. 

You placed your hand on your stomach, discovering the right side was wet and sticky. It was, in fact, blood.

“Fuckin’ damn it.” You mumble, before going limp and falling into Daryl’s arms, him catching you by the armpits. 

His heart immediately started racing when he caught you and layed you carefully on the dying grass. The few that surrounded you stepped back to give you some space. He instantly got on his knees and inspected your injuries, praying to whatever deity was listening that you hadn’t gotten bit. After a string of mumbled expletives, he shouted, “I need some fuckin’ help over here!” To no one in particular, his frantic eyes never leaving your closed ones.

What he didn’t see happening behind him was Rick rushing to get Hershel, while Maggie and Glenn hurriedly grabbing a makeshift stretcher and bringing it to wear you laid. He quickly got to his feet and helped you onto the stretcher. He was by your side the entire time and throughout all of the noise and chaos, you could swear you could hear Daryl whispering, “They’re gonna be fine. They’re gonna be fine.”

—

You groggily opened your eyes and instantly felt a stinging on your right side. The events of the past hour flooded back, and you wince. You cautiously felt the area, and thankfully you felt a clean bandage.

Judging by the beige ceiling and the firm yet surprisingly comfortable mattress you were on, you had been placed in Hershel’s room. You slowly moved your head to the side, expecting to be met with an equally beige wallpaper, but to your surprise, you were met with a sleeping, hot headed, brunette, redneck.

He was spread out in a chair he had brought from the dining room. His head was lolled towards you, his hair in his eyes and snoring quite loud. You smiled, heart slightly skipping a beat at the thought of him not wanting to leave your side.

“Hey.” You rasped, cringing at your own voice. 

Daryl, being a naturally light sleeper, immediately blinked awake. It took a second for the fog of sleep to leave his brain, but it left fast when he realized that you were awake. That you were alive.

“Holy fuck. (Y/N.) Hey. How’re ya feelin’?” He rambled, scooting the chair closer to the bed and sitting on the edge of it.

“Like shit. But I’ll be fine.” You sighed in response. 

“Good.” Daryl said softly, letting out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Hershel said you probably got scratched by a walker. That true?”

You averted his gaze from his and started picking your fingernails, a nervous habit you’ve had since you were a child. “It happened while we were dealing with that hoard. I didn’t wanna make a scene.” 

You heard him sigh deeply and didn’t speak for a moment. You turned your head back towards him, and he had his head in his hand, almost willing himself to speak. He looked up and his eyes looked redder and puffier than they were before. “Why th’ fuck would ya do tha’?”

You slowly sat up in a somewhat sitting position to better look him in the eyes. “We all have to protect this place, Daryl! This family! It’s something that most don’t have these days.”

“We coulda had one less person in th’ family if you’d told me about tha’ any later.” He motioned to your wound with a nod of his head.

“You guys can function without m-” You were cut off from your half-joking comment.

“I can’t, ‘kay?! I can’t. So shuddup. Don’t say tha’.” He suddenly raised his voice a little, making you shut your lips and look at him with your full attention.

“Look. I don’t want ya gettin’ hurt. I care about ya. Always have.” He gazed into your eyes with such a fondness you could’ve started crying right then and there. And you would’ve, if he didn’t look away from you in sudden embarrassment. “Yer the only one who keeps me sane ‘round here.”

You sniffed, chuckling to cover up the tightness growing in the back of your throat. “That why you stayed and kept me up with your snoring?”

“Shuddup.” He repeated, sounding exasperated, but you didn’t miss the slight smile on his face.

He then stood up, flexed his probably sore neck, and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. More heat blossomed onto your cheek at the sudden contact.

“Gonna go get Hershel now that yer awake.” He said softly before walking towards the door.

“Can you bring me dinner after pleeeeease?” You asked, your hands in a prayer motion and your eyelashes batting.

He turned around in the doorframe, his hands in his pockets.

“Sure. ‘S a date.” He drawled, winked, then walked away like nothing happened.

Maybe you should have thanked that walker before you stabbed him.

[only-luce-the-goose]

Busted

A/N: it’s a little short, I’m sorry. My requests are open, I’m going to start writing for all Formula (Prema too).

Arthur Leclerc x Norris!reader

Warnings: upset Lando, making out, little swearing, indicated to smut (none tho)

Based off this comment ⬇️

@barcelonaloverf1life thank you!! 🫶🏻

You had followed Lando around your whole life, he was your big brother. You love him to pieces. Some might say you were more excited that him when he was announced as an official Formula 1 driver. You came with him to every race, getting to know a lot of the drivers very well. Becoming close friends with a Spaniard, which led to a Monegasque, which led to a certain younger brother.

That was three years ago. Now, you and Arthur had been secretly dating for over a year. You expertly hid your relationship from your brothers, especially Lando. You know Charles wouldn’t have too much of a problem with his brother dating you. You also know that Lando was explode if he knew you were dating the impulsive idiot from Oscar’s Prema days.

It was time, once again, for the Monaco gp. One of the very few times a year you could publicly be seen with your boyfriend for a good reason. After making sure Lando was busy getting ready for the race, you slipped over to the Ferrari garage. Arthur was leaning against a wall, talking to his brother and an engineer when he spotted you. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and took off towards you.

It had been way too long (a couple days) since you had last seen each other and all you wanted to do was kiss him. Which you couldn’t, because you were in public. “I have an idea” you said as you turned to him. You snuck him through the McLaren garage and into your brothers driver room. You knew he wouldn’t be coming back until much later so you knew you had time.

You closed the door and pushed Arthur into it. You gripped his broad shoulder with one hand and tangled the other in his hair, bringing him down to your lips. You both began feverishly making out, tongues fighting. When Arthur won, he pushed you into the wall next to the door. His hands slipped under your shirt to play with your tits through your bra, his knee moved in between your legs and applied pressure to your clit. You started grinding on the knee, letting out little whimpers until the door to the drivers room opened. “WHAT THE FUCK”

Lando grabbed Arthur’s shirt and yanked him backwards as Oscar rushed in “what happened?” “Your prema mate was eating my sisters face off” Lando said as he kept prattling on “this is ridiculous. And in my room for fucks sake! Why now y/n? Why the sudden interest?” Lando asked. Arthur moved to answer, immediately being glared at my Lando. If looks could kill, Arthur would already be six feet under.

Lando looked at you, waiting for your answer. “Actually, Lando, Arthur and I have been dating for over a year. We didn’t want to tell you because we knew how you would react” Lando’s jaw hit the floor. “I’m getting Charles” he grumbled. Charles walked in five minutes later, we were both sitting together on the floor. “Finally got busted?” He laughed.

Lando looked at him, dumbfounded. “You knew?!!” He screeched. “I had my suspicions, until I walked in on them making it. They didn’t even know I was there” Charles admitted “come with me” he said afterwards. Charles took Lando outside and had a long talk with him. When they came back, Lando announced “I have a deal to make little Leclerc. Make my sister happy and I won’t murder you. Break or hurt her in anyway and you will never think about racing again”

Arthur nodded, agreeing with Lando. After everyone left the room, you turned to Arthur and said “I can’t believe we finally got busted. I thought it would have happened way sooner!” That made Arthur laugh.

[navybrat817]

Delivery driver Bucky is a feral lover, right?

Of course he does, nonnie!

Delivery Route

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 600 Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), possessive behavior, dirty talk, puns, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: A Moanday treat! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky arranges his route so that your place is his last stop. How else will he have extra time to deliver you his package?

And, yes, he does mean his package. Not the one you ordered.

You’ve learned not to wear underwear during his visits, unless you want him to tear them off. Which he sometimes does when he has you bent over the back of your couch and pockets them for his collection.

As much as he wants to fuck you some days, he’ll taste you first when he has time.

So when you hear him drop to his knees, you don’t even have a chance to ask what he’s doing before you feel the first flick of his tongue. It amazes you how deep it can get, along with his fingers, like he can’t get enough of what belongs to him.

He’ll eat you out until your legs shake and you can’t feel them anymore, the couch keeping you from collapsing on the ground.

“Taste so fucking sweet. Practically flowing out of you like honey. My tongue that good? You need my cock, baby?”

He won’t give it to you until your release is dripping down his chin and it does after the mess you make all over this face.

Your eyes prick with pleasurable tears when you feel the head of his cock against your fluttering hole and you swear you feel him in your soul once he finally pushes in.

When he grabs your hips and pulls you back to meet his rough thrusts, you can’t help but cry out from how good it feels when he splits you in half.

“My dirty girl. Bet you buy shit just so I show up,” he taunts affectionately as you clench around him. “I’m flattered you want my cock that badly.”

“Please,” you beg shamelessly, feeling him throb with the need to fill you up as badly as you needed him to finish inside you..

The animalistic growl he lets out when your release triggers his makes your eyes roll back in your head. “Letting me wreck your cunt. That’s my girl.”

You love how he fills you to the brim. Love how he ruins you.

And how he takes care to clean you up when you’re still coming down from your high, even when he takes a moment to smack your ass for good measure.

The sweet kiss he gives you when he helps you sit nearly brings tears to your eyes.

“Hey,” he smiles, framing your face as you blink a few times. “Not too rough?”

“Never,” you whisper, sipping the water he graciously hands you. There’s a bottle for him, too.

He runs a hand through his hair and you still see a bit of shine on his scruff from your earlier orgasm when he sheepishly smiles. “Maybe I can stop by again later?” He asks, his usual swagger nowhere to be found as his blue eyes fill with nervousness.

Your heart races as you pull him in for another kiss, glad that he wants to visit during his downtime. “Knock twice, okay?”

He smiles, his confidence back in full swing. “I always knock before I stick anything in your slot.”

He chuckles and dodges the pillow before you can hit him.

“You and your puns,” you smile as he fixes his uniform. You don’t know how the fabric doesn’t tear from his muscular frame.

“Perk of the job,” he winks. “Be good until I get back.”

“I’ll try my best,” You tease as he pushes his chestnut hair back.

“You better. Because I plan to give you an overnight delivery.”

You nail him with the pillow this time.

And can’t keep the smile off your face knowing he’ll spend the night with you.

Okay, lovelies! You may go about your business! I don't know where that came from, but maybe this man can deliver more for you lovelies. Love and thanks for reading! Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[creativeashproductions]

Constellations // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: reader is a secret ghost at Split River High School attached to the roof where Wally stumbles onto for solitude. With the new arrival of Maddie Nears a year later a secret comes out.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of a undisclosed medical condition, divorce, angst, and fluff

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Of course it’s a ghost show that revives this blog of writing. Am I surprised? No. Is Julie? Definitely not.

Masterlist

You’d have never anticipated the sound of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl being an okay soundtrack to watching the stars. But you’d also never expected discovering the afterlife so soon. Occasionally, you would hear a mixture of the living and the dead on the ground or through an open window, but you typically stayed on the roof.

It had been the hangout spot for the volleyball team when you were alive. The championship game had been the last time a living foot, other than maintenance, had stepped on this roof.

Most of the team had graduated, and the broken doors that couldn’t hold up against the wind were changed. So now it was only you. Reliving the excitement and stupid teenage decisions. And avoiding Mr. Martin and his afterlife support group because he was unsettling, to say the least.

 “This spot taken?” Your head lolled to the side, finding a fellow dead jock standing above you.

Wally Clark had discovered you on the fifteenth anniversary of his father’s not coming to the Homecoming game. He’d wanted a quiet place and one where Janet wouldn’t follow.

2022 Day After Homecoming Game

The door slammed from the stairwell slammed open, and the muffled sound of sniffling could be heard. Then, the shuffling of sneakers came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Your eyes left the book in your hands to the tall teen towering over you. One of the longer-term ghosts residing at Split River High School.

 “I-I didn’t know anyone used the roof. Are you new?” 

“Nope. Been residing in the afterlife awhile now.” You responded, leaning against the roof’s edge, “Proceed for whatever you were here for.”

Whatever emotional breakdown he was about to have ceased in favour of plopping right down beside you. His head shifting more in your peripheral. He froze when your fingers stopped moving in page-turning.

“Oh, sorry.” He leaned away sheepishly, “Am I annoying you?”

Your brows furrowed, “I’ve read the book a few times. So what brings you to my humble death place.”

“You died up here? Wouldn’t we have heard about-?”

“I didn’t die up here.” You interrupted him to shift to face him fully, “You’re the guy the stadium is named after, right?”

“Wally Clark.” The ghost said, holding his hand out. You exchanged your name in response. Wally slowly repeated your name as if savouring it.

“So seriously, are you okay? You were crying-“

“I died on the football field in 1984. Last night was the first time my dad wasn’t there.” Wally breathed, tilting his head to stare at the sky, “It really hits home that time is going by, and I’m standing still.”

You nudged his knee with your own, “I’m sorry about that. You’re welcome to hang out here to get away.”

“That’d be nice. I feel like all the ghosts expect me to be the outgoing, always happy guy.”

“How was the dance?” You asked as Wally settled on the ground beside you. The ends of his white bowtie hung loosely, and his suit jacket draped across his lap.

“It’s alright. Could have been better.” He spoke, dropping his arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side, “Simon persuaded the DJ to play a couple real hits. One day I’m gonna convince you to go with me.”

Your lips twitched. It was a pastime of Wally’s trying to get you to join in with everyone, especially with the whole drama with the new girl. Thankfully he understood and respected your decision to keep away.

You hadn’t spent years in secret from the support group for no reason. Instead, you existed peacefully in their obliviousness on the roof.

“Nah, I much prefer spending time up here.” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Maddie settling in?”

“She’s adjusting as well as she can. Rhonda’s warming up to her. The whole thing she had with Simon is nuts still.”

Maddie Nears, aka the newbie, had shown up suddenly in the afterlife with no memory of her death. Or the events leading up. The pool of suspects is deep, and the desperation to be found alive is strong. 

As he relayed the new development, you tried to think of anything but what you had done today. How do you tell your dead boyfriend something that makes Maddie and Simon’s communication seems like child’s play?

“-What about your day?” Wally questioned, moving so you’re leaning your back against his chest. 

You sighed happily when his arms came to wrap around your shoulders and press his lips to your head. 

“I snuck down to the lost and found for a new book. Mina left a couple things for me too.” 

The friendship you had with the ghost of the stagehand mind boggled Wally. Mina hadn’t left the theatre since the stage light fell on her in the late ’80s. She was eccentric, to say the least, but the only ghost other than Wally that knew about you.

“How? She always screams at us.” Wally chuckled, “Maddie’s the first that cracked through.”

“I got her a script for a production she loves and let her direct me on her birthday.” You hummed, crossing your ankles. Your eyes flinched open in perfect sync with Wally’s tensing up.

“How did you get a script-“Wally trailed off, staring at the stars twinkling under the night sky, “Whoa, wait.”

Wally’s mind flickered to the conversation with Maddie after talking with Mina.

“There’s another ghost. Mina mentioned something about me not being the first ghost outlier. That me talking to Simon isn’t earth shattering.”

Wally’s eyes swept from Ursa Major to your e/c eyes, refusing to lock with his dark brown.

“Can you talk to the living?” Wally demanded, shifting away. The space he created cracks your heart more.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maddie’s the only one. I can just…sorta leave the school grounds?” You trailed off with a wince. The betrayal is a wicked shattering force to your bubble with the former football player.

“…you can leave the school? And not be slammed back to where you died?!” Wally’s fists went straight into his dark strands. The hair being tugged under his stress.

“Because I didn’t technically die here. I had a health condition and was declared clinically dead a few times. So, wherever my heart stopped, and I escaped, that death destination is a place where I could go. It hurts.”

Wally scoffed, blinking, “We spent the last year, and you kept that a secret. You never told me anything about how you died or this huge thing for over a year. I’ve told you everything.”

Your lips parted to respond, but the door was already slamming behind Wally on his descent back into the building. His long legs eating up half the stairwell by the time you’d opened the door.

“Wally! Wally, wait!” You shouted, sprinting down the stairs, “I swear I was going to tell you!”

The expression on his face was enough to freeze you on the last step, “Don’t you have another place to haunt.”

Your mouth dropped open, watching him disappear in the sea of living students still on school grounds. Your eyes find the blue irises of Maddie Nears. Surprise lighting up in her gaze. Your expression twisted before turning on your heel to flee the area.

The last thing you wanted was to talk with the girl you were assigned to show around on her first day. Stupid school tradition pairing a senior with a freshman.

“Hey!”

Maddie popped around the corner to a dead end where you were nowhere to be found. Instead, you’d slipped into a space where you popped up in a different area of Split River with a sheer scream at the pain.

The fight with Wally kept you from returning to the school grounds. You didn’t know a particular ghost was spending hours on the roof anxiously waiting for you. Instead, you were watching your half-sister playing with her Barbie doll in the backyard of your childhood home.

Your arms tugged your legs to your chest. You rarely visited your family home since you watched the paramedics had arrived at 3am four years ago to remove your corpse from the house. 

“Ava!” 

Your head watched the little girl with piggy tails perk up, hearing your shared father’s voice. Your eyes take in the person you miss most in the world. It always hurt seeing the dimness your death had caused in his eyes.

The streaks of grey in his hair and beard showed the grief of losing you had caused. The guilt he barely masked from your sister. 

“Daddy!” Ava beamed, diving into his arms, “Are we taking Sissy flowers?”

Your lip quivered, hearing the adoration coating each word Ava spoke with that lisp. Speech therapy and growing up making the lisp less pronounced. Ava had barely been two when you died. 

The product of your father finding love again with a wonderful person who loved you and happily stepped into a parent role. You’d lucked out with getting a really great step-parent and a half-sister but a shitty hand for health.

“Absolutely. Do you think Sissy would like daisies this time?” Your grin grew, listening to Ava burst into excitement. 

You watched as the car disappeared around the corner before entering the house. Your room barely had any dust from Riley’s insistence on keeping it clean. Sometimes Ava would toddle in with a toy and curl in your bed to sleep.

Your clothing is still hung in the closet, your computer on your desk and all your pictures on the corkboard. Your phone was already safely tucked in your pocket with the charging cord in your backpack from the first visit back to the house.

The last time you visited your home was Ava’s birthday a few months ago. Long enough, the air freshener in your room had changed to the scent you loved during springtime. So it was time to rotate out a few items of clothing you wore. 

Your eyes lingered on the picture of your volleyball team wearing matching homemade t-shirts. A year after you died, they got together for a volleyball charity event in your name. Last you heard, two of them had become nurses, and one was on the career path to research your condition.

The following photo was of your mom holding you in her arms with a beaming grin matching yours. You hoped the move to Hawaii brought that smile back. You hoped Matthew was everything she deserved. You hoped she learnt how to live life again. 

“I miss you.” You murmured, pressing your fingers against her smiling face. 

The tears obscured your vision and the pacing form of your boyfriend when you opened the rooftop door. Your breathing gasping when his arms wrapped tight around your body.

“I am so sorry.” Wally mumbled in the crook of your neck, “Where were you? I’ve been up here for the last three days.”

“I went home.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his chest, “I-I don’t leave often. It hurts when I leave a place I died, like the universe or some bullshit forgets this isn’t the only place I died. So it’s like I’m gonna be spit out back in my death place here before I’m in my destination.”

You barely noticed when Wally tugged you to sit in the same spot he first met and talked to you. The roof’s gravel gives the feeling of digging in your jeans; you gave up trying to explain the metaphysical world a year after your death. Instead, Wally listened as you opened up the pieces of yourself you had kept to yourself.

“I was born healthy and lived healthily for a few years before I started getting sick. It broke my parents’ hearts. By the time I was sixteen, I had spent half my life in hospitals and doctors’ offices. Promises of working treatments and possibly experimental trials.” Your gaze stared off into the distance, “It was just noise by the time I graduated. I knew my body had a couple more miles before it would give out.”

“How are you….”

“I collapsed in the gym. I was clinically dead for a minute, but it was enough for this school to be a death destination. The mall once, the hospital twice, and the talk of transplants came around. Finally, I died in my backyard. It was late, and I was alone outside.”

You vividly remembered screaming beside your corpse. Sobbing when you heard your dad break down, cradling you in his arms. Him calling you your childhood nickname and the one you heard in home videos of ‘baby girl’.

“That’s why you love the roof so much. You died watching the stars.” Wally whispered, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fingers toying with the sweater with the volleyball team logo.

“I did.” You chuckled, “I have a little sister named Ava. She’s five now. She has minimal memories of me, but her favourite thing is bringing flowers to my grave. This past visit was daisies. My dad remarried when I was in middle school, and my mom a couple years before I died.”

“Your parents still live in Split River?”

“My dad and Riley live in my childhood home with Ava. I think they’re talking about maybe having another baby. My mom took my death the worst. Her older brother died in 1995 with his band members. My mom moved to Hawaii with her husband. Split River had too many memories for her. So when Matt was offered a job there, they left.”

“Ava.” Wally hummed, “I like that name.”

“Maddie knew me.” You offered after laying with Wally for a while in comfortable silence. His fingers draw shapes on your bare back under the sweater. His fingers briefly halted before moving again, “When you were alive, did Split River do this thing where a senior was paired with a freshman?”

“Oh yeah. I got paired up with this insanely smart guy. He went on to found this hugely popular website like that Facebook you showed me.”

“Myspace? You got paired with one of the founders?” You spoke, blinking at his grin, “Well, when I was a senior, I got paired with Maddie. Before her dad died, he worked with mine. So, I knew her at work BBQs.”

“Speaking about Maddie…do you want to re-meet her and meet my friends?”

Your eyes narrowed, “This is dues for keeping the secret.”

“Oh, 100%. Secret stays between us, but yeah, you’re definitely meeting my friends. You should check out the support group, Mr. M isn't too bad.”

Tag List:

@websterssrss

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part four

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Four - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.4k

I remain on my knees, the pain slowly ebbing away, replaced by a searing anger that burns hot and fierce. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I glance around, panic clawing at the edges of my mind. Logan is nowhere to be found, and my fear spikes, cold and sharp.

Deadpool’s voice, usually so irreverent, now carries a note of genuine desperation. “—I just, I wanna go home.” Cassandra’s tone is deceptively sweet, like venom hidden in honey. “Well, the thing is, I could get you home.”

Deadpool’s eyes light up with a fleeting hope. “Good.”

“But I don’t want to.” Her words drop like a guillotine.

“Not good,” Deadpool mutters, the hope snuffed out as quickly as it came.

Cassandra’s gaze narrows, her curiosity piqued. “What do you want, Wade Wilson?”

Without warning, she thrusts her fingers into his mind, just as she had done to me. I watch in horror as her fingers seem to jut out from beneath his skin, distorting the flesh in ways that make my stomach churn.

Deadpool tries to maintain his signature humor, but the pain is evident in his voice. “Uh, your fingers are inside me, but not in a good way.”

Cassandra’s smile is cold, pitiless. “My brother could enter one’s mind with a thought. I have to get my hands dirty.”

“Oh, gosh,” Deadpool groans, his bravado cracking under the relentless assault.

I can only watch, helpless, as she whispers venomous words into his ear, her voice a sinister lullaby. “You’ll never fucking matter.”

Deadpool’s response is shaky, his usual quips faltering. “She never said that.”

With a savage twist, she rips him from her grip, but the damage is done. “No, but I bet she thought it,” she sneers.

“You are so mean,” Deadpool says, a weak attempt at humor. “My brain could taste your fingers, and they tasted like hate.” He turns his gaze to me, his eyes softening as he sees my rigid, frightened posture. Then, almost instinctively, his head tilts slightly, gesturing to where Logan was last seen, as Cassandra begins to turn away. Deadpool’s voice rises in pitch, a strained attempt to bring levity to a dire situation. “And where in God’s name is the Intimacy Coordinator?”

Cassandra’s chuckle is devoid of warmth. “You’re so lost, Mr. Wilson. Long before you came here.” Deadpool, ever resilient, quips back. “This is Baby Knife, she’s gonna fuck you in the face now.”

Cassandra’s smile is a slow, dangerous curve. “If you want to kill me, it’s going to take more than that little knife.” I watch Logan make his way back to her and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Deadpool’s eyes gleam with determination. “How about six?”

Before Cassandra can react, Logan’s claws pierce through her from behind, lifting her off the ground with a savage thrust. She barely flinches, a low chuckle rumbling from her as she slides off the blade, completely unharmed. Her amusement is clear as she addresses us, “Well, this has been fun, but the big guy needs to eat, and the rent is due.” Her eyes shift to something behind us. “By the way, you’re the rent.”

Dread surges through me as I follow her gaze, and I see Alioth, the monstrous entity, advancing toward us. My mind races, flashes of potential futures darting through my consciousness, searching for an out, an escape.

Then I see Logan, running toward a discarded Sentinel leg. His claws jam into the machine, sparking it to life. “Come on, bub,” he growls, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos.

Heart pounding, I sprint to him, gripping my arms tightly around his torso. He turns to shield me, caging me between his solid frame and the towering machine. His gaze flicks to Wade, a silent command in his eyes. “Coming or what?”

Wade, ever the survivor, scrambles to join us. “Coming!” he shouts, as the Sentinel leg roars to life, offering us one last desperate chance at survival. The machine whirs and jolts, propelling us into the sky. I fight the urge to scream as the ground disappears beneath us, my heart pounding in my chest. Wade slides up on the other side of me, and I find myself wedged tightly between the two men, their combined presence both a comfort and a suffocating weight.

We soar higher, the wind whipping against our faces, the tension palpable. But just as quickly as we ascended, the Sentinel leg begins to falter, its power sputtering. I hear the mechanical whine as it loses momentum, and this time, I can't hold back the scream that tears from my throat as we plummet toward the ground. Wade’s scream echoes mine, a rare sound of genuine fear escaping him. Both men instinctively wrap themselves around me, their arms bracing for impact, trying to shield me from the worst.

As we hurtle toward the earth, I muster every ounce of focus, desperately trying to slow our descent. The effort works, just enough to break the fall, but not entirely. We hit the ground with bone-jarring force, tumbling across the dirt and debris. I tighten my body, rolling a few times before finally coming to a stop. Pain radiates through me, but as I take a quick inventory, I realize it's nothing major—just a few scrapes and bruises.

Wade’s voice, muffled but close, mumbles, “What you thinking, Pal?” I realize my legs are tangled with theirs, the three of us a heap of bruised limbs.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Logan growls, his patience clearly wearing thin. I try to untangle myself, but Wade’s weight keeps me pinned.

“Fucking move,” I grunt, trying to elbow him, but Wade only shakes his head, a grin evident in his tone.

“Shh, shh. Almost done.”

I freeze as I feel something cold and sharp touch my back. My eyes widen in realization. “Wade, I swear to god—”

“Almost done what?” Logan growls, the tension in his voice rising.

“Getting my knife out of your buttocks.” Wade yanks, and Logan flinches beneath me, a strangled curse escaping his lips.

“Ah, fuck!” Logan snarls in pain, his muscles tensing under my weight.

Deadpool, ever the opportunist, quips, “Get your mind out of my pants. I’m telling Blake.”

I finally shove my way off Logan, the three of us scrambling to our feet. I dust off my fighting leathers, the dark material reminiscent of my old X-Men suit, but black instead of yellow—left over from another variant. The air is thick with tension as Logan straightens, his gaze hard and focused.

“New rules,” Logan growls, his voice brooking no argument. “I talk now.”

Deadpool feigns shock, clutching his chest dramatically. “That’s gonna be very hard on the audience.”

Logan’s patience snaps. “Shut the fuck up!”

I raise an eyebrow, my irritation bubbling over. “Does that include me?”

Logan’s eyes flicker with annoyance. “Yes. Let me fucking think.”

Irritated, I mutter under my breath, “Don’t try too hard, you might hurt yourself.”

He growls at me, a sound that makes my skin prickle, but I hold my ground. Logan’s gaze shifts, his mind clearly working through a plan. “We gotta get back to Paradox, right?” he asks, the confusion in his voice betraying a moment of doubt.

I frown, unsure of what he means. “Logan, what—”

Logan looks to Wade, frustration etched into his features. “Right?”

Wade, ever the smartass, smirks. “Je m’excuse, am I allowed to speak now or…”

“Just nod, asshole,” Logan snaps, his patience long gone.

Wade nods, his usual humor tinged with something more serious.

“Right,” Logan continues, a grim determination settling over him. “We find the others—that poor kid Johnny was talking about before you got him killed.”

I nod, finally contributing something useful. “I know where they are.”

Logan gives me a curt nod, thankful for the direction. “If there’s a chance we can get out of here, we make those TVA fuckers fix my shit like you fucking promised.”

His words hit me like a shockwave. “Our world?” I ask, my voice wavering with hope and disbelief. “They can fix it?”

Logan’s expression is stern, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “That’s what he said.”

Wade’s head tilts, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “I smell quest.”

Logan’s nostrils flare, and he sniffs the air, his eyes narrowing as he glances at me before pulling away to sniff again. Suddenly, his eyes sharpen with recognition. “I smell food.”

Next Part

A/N: I have work the next couple days so I will update when I can!

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!

[heeliopheelia]

"look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't fucking lie to me" (heeseung x reader)

genre: angst word count: 0.7k requested by @flwrshee ♡

warnings: swearing, break up, heartbreak, lying

a/n: fuck i love angst sm LMFAO absolutely looooved writing this one

The silence is starting to feel heavy as you sit in Heeseung's parked car right next to your apartment complex. You're just coming back from a meeting with his friends and throughout the entire ride you haven't uttered a single word to him.

"Baby, talk to me, please," he sighs out after the uncomfortable atmosphere starts nearly itching his skin.

"What do you expect me to tell you? I just found out our entire relationship is basically a fucking joke," you say, face turned towards the window.

You don't even try to maturely approach the subject. Because how else is one supposed to react after realizing that their boyfriend most likely still has feelings for his ex? The sole thought of it makes your skin crawl and Heeseung can clearly see it as he swipes his eyes over your frowned side profile.

He tries again, feeling as if he's losing you already, one by one. "Nothing about us is a joke to me."

You want to get out of the car, you really fucking do, but at the same time you know that it's probably the last time you see him, the last time you're this close to him and the weak part of you that still wants to stay with him doesn't allow you to leave yet.

You feel goosebumps spiking your skin when his fingers hesitantly touch yours, so you quickly jerk your hand away.

"I feel like some fucking rebound, Heeseung."

"YN, baby," he starts quietly, trying to gain your attention. Pressing your lips together, you try your hardest to hold your tears back. "Will you please look at me?"

And you do, turning your head away from the window, hard eyes finding his immediately. For a second you take in the uneasiness painted on his face, his wide open eyes only making you want to cry even more. So you drop your gaze to your knees.

"I hope you had fun at least," you finally say, fiddling with the bracelet he gave you on your birthday three months ago. "Playing with my feelings like that, hope it was worth it."

"Don't say that, love," he pleads, hand itching to reach out to you again. "You can't believe everything people say so easily."

You scoff, looking at him in disbelief. "These people are your best friends. I see no reason as for why wouldn't I listen to them."

Realizing he's a step away from blowing his entire relationship with you, he finally engulfs your slightly trembling hand in his and brings it to his lips to press a kiss on your knuckles. His jacket around your shoulders suddenly feels all too heavy and burdening, a complete opposite of the comfort it used to bring you so many times before. The smell of his cologne is too strong all of sudden, the warmth of it nearly suffocates you.

"You know I lov-"

You interrupt him quickly, the sharpness or your tone startling him slightly. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't fucking lie to me." You swallow the bile in your throat as he sits in stunned silence, eyes gaping at you hopelessly. "I need to hear that she means nothing to you and we'll forget all about it."

"I- I can't," he stutters out, rubbing his face with his hand. "Fuck, I'm sorry. But I'll get over it, I promise. I can't lose you too, YN."

You jerk your hand out of his hold as if it was burning you alive and shake your head with a bitter scoff. "Then what the fuck are you even doing? Leading me on like that, do you realize how much this is hurting me? It's like the entire year we've been together meant absolutely nothing! That's so fucked up, Heeseung!"

"I know, I know!" He groans, pressing his palms to his eyes. "I'm sorry, I just thought that I'd lose these feelings along the way in a relationship with you. I never expected that she'd still have such strong hold on me even a year later."

"Well, since my love is clearly not enough for you, I'm finally gonna stop wasting both of our time," you nearly hiss at him, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and shoving it into his chest. He catches it, eyes as wide as a deer caught in the headlights. "Thanks for the ride, Heeseung."

"Wait, YN!" He calls after you as you walk out of his car. He reaches out to grab you and somehow try to make you stay but his fingers only manage to graze the edge of your top as you turn around to him. "Don't leave."

"Stop being so fucking selfish. Goodbye. Don't call me again," you let his pleadings go past your ears before you shut the door and leave Heeseung in shambles.

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @venividibitchin

[cal-flakes]

mean!rafe x bimbo!reader has me on my knees

╰┈➤ too much coke (blurb)

warnings: drug use, swearing, rafe being mean.

summary: rafe’s no comfort when y/n doesn’t feel okay.

“r-rafe..” y/n whispered, wincing as she spoke, a result of having chewed on the inside of her cheeks for the last couple hours. her jaw clenched uncontrollably as she pulled down the hem of her skirt slightly, irritated by its constant rising.

“yeah?” he groaned, glancing at her quivering frame before turning back to the line he was cutting, scraping the left over residue into a small bump.

“i-i think somethings wrong..i don’t feel right..” she croaked, trembling against the head of the bed. her hands worked to remove the blanket he’d placed around her, a sudden wave of cocaine sweats breaking free from her skin.

“you always think something’s wrong, don’t be dramatic..” he sighed, leaning down to sniff the white powder, his hand holding his other nostril closed. “no, i’m serious, i don’t feel okay..”

grinding his teeth, he pushed away from the table, dusting his hands off on his pants before stalking over to her.

y/n flinched slightly as he grabbed her chin a bit too harshly, squishing her plump lips into a pout. her eyes widened as he stared into them, inspecting her pupils. “go to sleep, you’ve had too much” he stated bluntly, still gripping her trembling frame.

“s-sleep? i can’t sleep, not like this..” she whimpered, wanting nothing more than him to simply wrap his arms around her, gently.

“i don’t know, i can handle it” he snipped, the passing insult bringing tears to her eyes. “oh don’t start fucking crying, i didn’t mean it like that” he groaned, kneeling in front of her.

“look, i’m sorry. just get into bed, m’kay?” he cooed, rolling his eyes as she slid under the covers. following suit, he rounded the bed, shuffling in behind her. rafe lifted his arm, allowing her to muzzle into his chest while he scrolled through his phone.

“you just be quiet and close your eyes, alright?”

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 1 (Evan Buckley x Reader) (Eventual Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you're an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them. Originally posted to AO3

A/N: This is such a niche story and I am desperate for validation, please tell me if you enjoyed reading! Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Swearing (if that even counts).

You’re ending the first half of your 24-hour shift the same way you always do—dinner with the team. Well, at least that’s how you try to end the first half of your shift. Of course, that’s also assuming that both the fire and medical teams are actually at the station and not on a call.

All things considered, this probably only happens once a week, if that.

When it works out, though, it’s a good time. You already spend a lot of time in the rig with Hen and Chim, being an advanced paramedic and all. When it comes to the firefighters, though, you aren’t as well-versed, so it’s nice to have a weekly ‘getting to know you’ session. It seems like these days, it’s a 50/50 shot if they’ll make it to next week's dinner.

The firefighting crew at the 118 is a revolving door of macho men. When you first started, it was Chim, Tommy, and Sal. Chim became a paramedic, so he didn’t exactly ‘leave.’ Sal got relieved of duty, so he didn’t really have a choice. Tommy left, but for something better. Maybe it isn’t so much the job that makes people leave; maybe being a firefighter at the 118 is a stepping stone for bigger and better things.

There is one firefighter that, if he left, you wouldn’t be heartbroken. In fact, it would probably make your shifts a whole lot better.

Evan Buckley, aka ‘Buck.’ God, even thinking his name makes you want to gag a little.

He’s a decent kid, but he’s just that: a kid. He’s a Probie; he’s only been on the job for about 4 months, and no one would assume otherwise. His heart is in the right place, but his brain hasn’t caught up yet. You’re starting to fear it never will.

“I know exactly what that polite, distant smile means: she’s bored,” Chim says as he leans over the counter, pulling you right out of your thoughts and back into reality. “This woman is so far out of my league, but she’s once-in-a-lifetime… I can’t let her go.”

“Lots of fish in the sea,” Bobby, your captain, chimes in. He leans over to pull something out of the oven.

“Not with the bait he’s using,” Hen remarks as she walks by. Her arms are full of dishes to set the table with.

“Amen, sister,” you agree, hot on her heels. She gives you a small smile and hands you the plates, which you accept with a smile of your own.

“Cruel, but true,” Chim sighs. “I met her on this new dating site, just for cops and firefighters, RomancingTheUniform.com. She’s an adrenaline junkie, so foreplay is me telling her stories about running into burning buildings and jumping into icy lakes and…”

“I’m sorry, wait,” Hen interrupts, “remind me: when was the last time you ran into or jumped over anything?”

“...I embellish a little.”

“Oh, noted.”

“So is she a cop or a firefighter?” You ask.

Chim gives you a look. “Why would she be?”

“Well, you said the website is for cops and firefighters,” you repeat. “Doesn’t that make her a cop or a firefighter?”

“Okay, it’s not just cops and firefighters,” Chim cedes, “it’s also for people that want to date cops and firefighters.”

“Ohhh,” you smile, “so cops, firefighters, and badge bunnies. What could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m telling you, the uniform is a major aphrodisiac,” Chim continues as he brings a salad to the table.

“Yeah, hence the term ‘badge bunny,’” you remark.

The conversation is interrupted by one of the engines backing into the station. You probably should have noticed it was gone, but frankly, as long as your rig is in the bay safe and sound, you don’t care what the meatheads are up to.

Speaking of meatheads…

“Oh good, PB is back,” you remark sarcastically.

‘PB’, aka ‘pretty boy,’ aka Buck. You started calling him Pretty Boy his first day, and over the months, you shortened it. He jogs his way up the stairs and dips a finger in the communal spaghetti bowl. You roll your eyes and take a sip of your coffee.

“Wash your hands!” Hen scolds as she pulls the bowl out of his reach.

“What if there’d been a call?” Bobby asks as he brings the last dishes to the table.

“I was in the neighborhood!” Buck defends himself. He takes one of the plates from Bobby’s grasp, but instead of passing it around like a normal person, he starts eating the food off the plate with his dirty hands. Sometimes, you wondered if he was raised by a pack of stray dogs.

Bobby starts lecturing Buck, and you smirk with a little satisfaction. Bobby’s going to write him up, and truthfully? It’s a long time coming.

“First infraction, two more, and you’re out,” Bobby says as he steals back the plate. “Wash your hands.”

“You know, you're not helping him by going easy on him,” Chim says once Buck is out of earshot.

“He just needs a little direction,” Bobby replies.

“I’ll remind you of that when he gets us killed,” you mumble.

The alarm bells start to sound through the station. Everyone groans, including yourself. So much for dinner.

Chim decided to catch a ride with the boys in the truck, so that leaves you and Hen in the rig.

“I’m sorry, dispatch,” you say into the radio, “118 RA responding: did you say the baby is in the wall?”

“10-4, 118,” the dispatcher responds. “Caller reports hearing a baby crying in his walls.”

“Copy that, 118 RA clear,” you say before hanging the radio back up. “Well, this will be fun.”

“You think you can play nice with Buck?” Hen asks, a smirk on her face.

“Hey, I’m always nice,” you reply.

“Not to him!” She laughs. “Don’t think I didn’t see you roll your eyes the second he got back to the station.”

“I can play nice and still think he’s a raging idiot,” you defend. “Besides, since when are you his biggest fan?”

“Trust me, I’m not,” Hen chuckles. “And I love you, but you don’t know how to play nice.”

“Why be the bigger person when you can be the bigger problem?”

That remark gets a full belly laugh out of Hen. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

Hen parks the rig behind the engine in front. The boys come pouring out immediately, grabbing various tools and equipment. You make your way to the back of the ambulance, tossing Hen her med bag before picking up your own.

You follow the rest of the crew upstairs, and before you know it, the five of you are standing in some random guy’s apartment, listening for something that probably isn’t real.

“Look, I'm telling you, I heard a baby crying,” the man says. “Someone flushed a baby down the toilet.”

Hen picks up a bong off the counter and gives the man a look.

“I’m not high.”

You both raise your eyebrows.

“Okay, I’m pretty high, but it’s Sativa,” he says. “It makes you happy. It doesn’t make you hallucinate.”

“It could’ve been a rat,” Chim shrugs. “Sometimes rats get stuck in the walls.”

You frown. At the end of his sentence, you swore you heard a cooing sound.

“Shh,” you say to everyone, walking over to the bathroom. “Did you guys hear that?”

They're hot on your heels, watching as you take your stethoscope from around your neck and put it into your ears. You place the bell on the wall and wait. When you hear nothing, you begin rapping your knuckles on the tile until you do. Once again, it’s a faint cooing sound, not unlike a baby.

You then knock your knuckles on the wall until you hear a hollow sound. You take a marker from your pants pocket and mark an ‘x’ over it, knowing the space behind it is hollow. You take the stethoscope out from your ears.

“We need to open up this wall,” you say, pointing to the ‘x.’

“No, we’re being punked,” Chim disagrees. “It’s a tape recorder or something.”

“Maybe not,” Hen says, stepping forward. “Maybe a mother gives birth on the toilet and flushes it.”

“Okay, first of all, that's awful,” Chim says. “Second, do you know how pipes work?”

“If the baby is premature, its bones can bend and compress like sponges,” Bobby mentions. “We need to get in there.”

“Stand back, I got this!” Buck says, swinging his fire axe over his shoulder.

He runs up towards the wall with full intentions of swinging. Hen and Chim move out of the way and shout while Bobby tries to grab him. Ultimately, you’re the one to stop him, and you do it by placing both hands on the axe.

“Hey! Did you even stop to consider that you might hit a baby?!” You shout, adrenaline pumping through your bloodstream.

Buck just stares at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” you spat, pushing the axe out of the way.

“Buck, go get the saw,” Bobby directs.

“Try to find some common sense while you’re down there,” you call after Buck as he walks out.

“Nice catch,” Bobby says, looking at you.

“How nice of me to save the baby from one of the LAFD’s finest first responders,” you reply bitterly.

You can’t help but look at Hen, who quickly looks away. Her avoidance gives you a small sense of victory because this? This shit right here? This is why you can’t play nice with Buck. His head is screwed on backward, and it can get people killed. Playing nice isn’t going to fix that.

Thankfully, Bobby takes the saw from Buck once he brings it up. He makes a few small cuts in the wall before he and the other boys are pulling at the drywall. They quickly expose a massive pipe running behind the toilet.

“That thing is huge,” you remark to Hen.

“It probably connects a bunch of the toilets in the units above this one,” Hen returned.

“So… even with the water turned off…” you start, a sense of dread filling your stomach.

“If someone above us flushes the toilet, it could drown the baby,” Hen finishes. Almost before she finishes the sentence, she’s running into the hall, yelling for people not to flush their toilets. The boys make a few cuts into the pipe, and in no time, they’re taking it to the floor.

“Guys, I can see the head,” you say, joining them on the floor.

They make a few more cuts until the pipe is one straight segment.

“Get the head out,” Chim instructs.

“Yeah, you gotta push from below,” Buck chimes in.

You try that, but the baby isn’t moving. You look to the corner, then at Buck.

“Bring me the defibrillator,” you instruct clearly.

Buck scrambles over, picking up the case.

“Just the lube, Buck,” you rephrase, but he’s already coming back with the whole thing.

“Take it, take it,” Buck says, passing it off to you.

You let out a frustrated sigh before grabbing the lube out and tossing the rest of it to the side. You pour some lube on the baby’s head, then down by its feet.

“Work that in,” you tell Chim.

You move your index finger around the circumference of the pipe, brushing the baby’s legs with lubricant as you do so. Then, you gently apply pressure to its feet, and slowly, you can feel it move forward.

“This is gonna be a scoop and run,” you mumble.

“Hen, get the ambulance ready,” Bobby tells her. You’re not sure when she got back, but when you look up again, she’s gone again.

Slowly, the baby’s head emerges from the pipe, and the rest of her body follows.

“She’s not breathing,” you quickly note, “starting CPR.”

You place your index and middle finger in the center of the baby’s chest and press down fast and hard. “Looks like her airway’s obstructed.”

“Buck, get the bulb syringe,” Chim demands. A few seconds pass. “Buck, come on!”

“I’m coming!” Buck barks back, clearly in a panic.

“Come on, pretty girl,” you say quietly as you continue compressions. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Buck returns with the bulb syringe and uses it, but it doesn’t help.

“Dammit,” you curse. “You’ll have to try a blind finger sweep.”

Buck looks at you, then Chimney, then the baby, then back at you. “Me?”

“You gotta learn somehow,” you remark. “It’s easy: just turn her head to the side, curl your pinkie, and see if you can scoop anything out.”

Buck is hesitant initially, but he eventually does as you tell him. It takes a few seconds, but he manages to clear the obstruction, and the baby begins crying. Everyone laughs with relief.

“Let’s get her wrapped up,” you say, reaching for a towel.

The four of you rush down the hall, you with the baby in your arms. The pit in your stomach returns.

“No one held the elevator?!” you yell.

“Dammit,” Chim curses.

“Give her to me,” Buck says, nodding to the stairs.

You stare at him.

“Come on, I’m twice as fast,” Buck pleads.

“Screw this up, and I’ll kill you,” you threaten before carefully handing her over.

Buck takes off down the stairs, but you follow after. There’s only so much that can happen in a few flights of stairs, but you aren’t willing to risk it.

“I got you,” Buck says to the baby, “you’ll be okay.”

A faint smile crosses your face. Maybe Buck isn’t so terrible after all.

“Come on, move it!” Buck shouts as you both make it out of the lobby and out to the rig.

You climb into the ambulance with him, but before either of you can even sit down, you hear someone yelling to wait. It’s not just anyone: it’s LAPD Sergeant Grant, or as you’ve heard Hen calls her, Athena.

“Wait, is that the mother?” Buck says, looking at the young woman with blood-stained pants in someone’s arms. “Yo, screw her! Look what she did!”

Never mind. Buck is still terrible.

“Sit down and shut up!” You yell at Buck. “This is not your call! She is a child, and she’s bleeding out!”

“Look what she did!” Buck repeated.

“Come on, let’s get her up here,” you say to Athena and the man carrying the young girl, disregarding Buck’s protests.

Bobby and Chim made it down, so they help haul the young girl up into the rig. Chim stays at the head while Bobby sits next to Buck, the spot you were about to sit in mere moments ago.

“If this baby dies, it’s on you,” Buck says, staring at Athena.

“Stop talking, Evan,” you snap as someone closes the ambulance doors.

Using his actual name seems to shut him up.

“What’s your name, honey?” You ask the baby’s mother as you cut away her shirt to place EKG leads.

“Marika,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you’re scared, Marika, but you just have to keep breathing for me, okay?” you say. “My friend Howie is going to start an IV so we can give you fluids and medication. You’re bleeding a lot, so I have to do what’s called a fundal exam, okay? I have to press on your stomach to make sure your uterus is contracting back down normally.”

She stares at you, eyes filled with tears, before eventually nodding.

Using one hand to stabilize over the pubis, you begin pressing down the other into Marika’s stomach, a few fingerbreadths below her belly button. She lets out a few whimpers. You don’t feel the fundus, or the top of the uterus, like you should.

“Marika, you’re bleeding a lot because your uterus isn’t contracting. I have to make it contract by doing a fundal massage. It won’t feel that good, but it could save your life.”

Once again, Marika looks at you before nodding. This time, she closes her eyes.

Using firm and consistent pressure, you push one hand down where the fundus should be and make small circles. Marika lets out a few more cries of pain. You notice that, after a few minutes, the bleeding starts to slow, and her uterus firms up beneath your hands.

“Hospital ETA 5 minutes, hang in,” Hen chimes in from the ambulance's cab.

“Something’s wrong,” Buck says, staring at the baby in his arms.

You quickly move over to him. “Put her in your lap so I can see.”

Buck listens, moving away the towel so you can look at the baby. She’s cyanosed around the lips. You flip open a compartment and pull out the neonatal ambu bag. You hand it to Bobby, and you don’t even have to tell him to start bagging.

“I’m so sorry,” Marika says. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Bobby squeezes the bag every other second, delivering a breath to the baby. Her color is starting to look better, but she isn’t very responsive.

“Here, let me try something,” you say.

You gently pick up the baby and set it on Marika’s bare chest. After a few moments, the baby begins to move and cry out.

“Oh my god, why did that work?” Marika asks, wrapping her hands around her baby.

“Skin-to-skin can help babies regulate bodily functions, like temperature and breathing,” you reply as you place a towel over them.

You look over to the men sitting next to you. Bobby gives you a nod, and Buck avoids eye contact, but you can tell that he’s pissed. Fuck him, he doesn’t know his head from his ass anyways.

Once the rig pulls into the ambulance bay, you and Chim help the ER staff get the gurney out of the ambulance. Bobby and Buck follow suit, only Buck tries to follow them into the hospital. Bobby stops him before he does.

Bobby gives Buck some lecture about how we did our jobs, and now it’s their turn; it’s the speech every overly excited first responder gets at least once at the start of their career.

A cop car pulls up, and Athena comes out. She clearly found the person she was looking for, because she starts yelling at Buck.

“You do not get to choose who lives and who dies,” she lectures.

“Really? Because I was under the impression that kind of was my job,” Buck retorts.

You could seriously slap him.

“That mother was no less of a child than her baby,” Athena continues yelling, pointing a finger at the hospital. “You’re gonna get someone killed.”

“Well, maybe, but not today,” Buck says with a cocky head tilt.

You laugh humorlessly. “You know what, Pretty Boy?” you say, turning to Buck.

Fuck it. Bobby won’t put him in his place, and Athena isn’t allowed to, so you take matters into your own hands, literally.

Before you even fully comprehend what you’re doing, you’re wrapping a hand around Buck’s throat and pushing him against the ambulance. You aren’t choking him, but you don’t move your hand because keeping it there is your only leverage.

“I’m getting real tired of this tough guy bullshit,” you growl, your face only an inch from his. He’s quite a bit taller than you, but when you bounced him off the rig, his footing faltered, so he’s crouched at your eye level. “You wanna get real, Evan? You didn’t do a goddamn thing today except get in the way. While we were busy saving lives, you were shitting your pants and dropping the ball, not exactly what a tough guy is supposed to do.”

“Okay, enough,” Bobby says, trying to break it up. You’re far from finished, though.

You move your hand from his neck, but only so you can point it in his face. “You aren’t a god — you don’t decide who lives! You didn’t even save a life today: we did, because you kept fucking up. And if you keep fucking up like you did today, you definitely will kill someone, and your little jokes and midday booty calls and your shitty little grin won’t change that!”

Bobby ends up physically pulling you away while Athena makes some room between the two of you.

“Aren’t you going to arrest her or something?” Buck says, rubbing his neck. “She assaulted me!”

“She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Athena counters. “I promise you, Buckley, the next time you screw up? It’ll be your last.”

Athena casts Bobby a glance before she walks away.

“You,” Bobby says, looking at Buck, “in the truck. Now.”

You start to walk over to the passenger’s side of the cab when Bobby calls after you.

“I want you in my office the second we get back,” He orders.

You clench your jaw. “Yes Captain.”

Ch 2

[promptthebear]

Could you do a 🐰 Drabble with Peter for 27?? Or anyone really, I just think that it needs to get out in something thank youu

Below the Belt

Tormund Giantsbane x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Tormund is in love with you. It isn’t reciprocated, and a little wager goes horribly wrong.

CW: Swearing. Tormund behaving like a little boy with a crush, think pulling pigtails for attention. Kind of enemies to lovers dynamics but not quite. Mild implications that the reader has been abused. 2nd person, reader is referred to as "you"

A/N: I’m baaaaaaaccckk! This is my first time writing for Tormund so pls be nice.

Tormund was bored, which meant he had gone from being a tolerable pest to the biggest, loudest nuisance in all the Seven Kingdoms. Even worse, he had somehow used the ale soaked lump he called a brain to convince himself that he was besotted with you. And so, since Brienne had found you wandering through the ass end of the North and started bringing you back to your half brother on the Wall you hadn’t known a moment’s peace.

“Can’t you make him shut up?” you begged the lady knight one evening, not even bothering to hide your desperation. You’d been through a lot these last few months, far too much to have stupid stories about she-bears and giant’s tits be the thing that finally broke you.

“Trust me, my Lady,” Brienne replied, not even glancing up from where her whetstone slid across the edge of her blade “If I knew how, I would’ve done so the moment I met him.”

You glanced over your shoulder to shoot Tormund a withering look. As though he knew he was being discussed, the giant Wildling met your glare with a broad smile and a wink. You scoffed, tugged your cloak tighter around your shoulders and stared into the meagre flames of your small campfire. Perhaps if you looked at it long enough and wished hard enough, it would suddenly blossom into a full hearth complete with a pot of mulled wine and aurocs on a spit. And perhaps, dragons would live again and every last one of the Lannisters would drop dead by morning.

“Y’cold, beauty?”

The first time you’d heard Tormund address someone as such, it had been Brienne. However, when she’d shoved the tip of her sword against the hollow of his throat and told him she’d forsake her honor without hesitation should he even think about calling her that again, he’d awarded the title to you. You’d also threatened his life in increasingly creative ways whenever he did so, but unfortunately your words didn’t have the same impact as Brienne’s. Instead, they only seemed to spur the stupid man on and multiply his interest in you tenfold.

“No,” you shot back, your tone just as icy as your frozen toes. “Not in the least.”

“Then why are you shivering?” Tormund asked, eyes gleaming “A delicate little southron blossom like you isn’t meant to sit in the snow.”

“I’m from the bloody North, Tormund. How many times need I tell you?!”

The giant made a rude noise in response, blowing air between his lips and shaking his head.

“No, girl. I’m from the North. The Real North. You Winterfell lot and your ilk are nothing more than a lot of Southern twats who wandered too far up the coast and were too busy freezing your arses off to bother going back.”

“Lady-” this came from Podrick, who usually was too shy to say much to you but even he could recognize that Tormund had taken things a step too far. You were on your feet and bearing down on the Wilding before you even really understood what was happening.

“How dare you?! How dare YOU?! I am a Stark. My ancestors were the Kings of Winter. My father, his grandfather and his great grandfather were all Wardens of the North. We are descended from the First of Men, we drove the Andals out of Westeros and brought Kings to their knees. We have endured for hundreds of years, and thrived where lesser men have withered. Our crypts go as far back as-”

As quickly as your tirade began, it stopped with the faint sound of your teeth clicking as your jaw snapped shut. Echoes of your enraged speech bounced around the clearing, your righteous anger drifting up into the bare branches of the skeleton trees and into the black night sky beyond. Your cheeks still burned hot with ire and your chest heaved, your breaths coming in shaky huffs while your hands fisted and tangled around handfuls of your skirts. Were it not for the love you bore your late mother, you would have reached out and shook Tormund’s neck until it snapped. Because even after the earful he’d just gotten, the fucking fool was laughing at you.

Not just a little chuckle, either. Tormund’s head was tossed back against his shoulders, his mouth open wide while tears streamed from his eyes, laughing as though he would never stop. The flush on your cheeks quickly turned from one of anger to one of embarrassment. Of course. You had fallen right in to his trap. Tormund had wanted you to become angry with him, he had poked and prodded at you the same way a bear might be baited at a feast. The intent was the same too. He was looking for amusement. Gods, how you wanted to kill him.

Eventually, the Widling man managed to quiet himself down to the point where he could speak in between a few sparse chortles though it took several deep breaths and even then, his shoulders still shook with lingering mirth.

“Well,” he said, dabbing at his eyes with the edge of his cloak “You certainly sound like a Northerner, and you’ve shown me that pretty hair of yours is for more than just good looks. But, I’m afraid you’ll always be a little Southern princess to me. Unless…”

While you sported your father’s grey eyes and your mother’s red curls, you hadn’t inherited their stoicism or their tact. You were far too often entirely bound to the whims of your temper, especially when someone waved a challenge so obviously right beneath your nose. The clever thing would have been to walk away and leave Tormund stewing for the night, but the temptation to put him in his place was far too strong.

“Unless what, you blithering idiot?”

Tormund grinned, his blue eyes turning soft as though you were cooing sweet nothings rather than barking insults. He then rose to his feet and strode over to you, his long legs closing the distance in a matter of seconds. You’d expected him to at least have enough sense to stand at arm’s length from you, but that was far too much to demand of his simple intellect. No, Tormund didn’t stop until he was practically standing on top of you, so close you could feel his breath ghosting across the crown of your head and smell the dampness on his cloak.

The sound of a sword unsheathing made you glance quickly over your shoulder, where you saw Brienne now standing with her weapon drawn. You gave a subtle shake of your head, to which she responded with an equally short nod though you noticed she didn’t remove her hand from her hilt either. You stole a brief look at Podrick as well, though the young squire had little more to offer you than a half hearted shrug.

Grumbling under your breath, you turned back to face Tormund. The sudden closeness now meant that you could no longer look the man in the eye without craning your neck upwards or taking a few steps back. Not wanting to seem intimidated by his nonsense, you chose the former and fixed the Wildling with a searing gaze. Tormund chuckled in response, the sound as rich and dark as Dornish wine. A unwanted, tingling warmth began to grow in your belly but you quickly squashed it with a hard bite to the inside of your cheek.

“Alright little one,” the giant said so softly he was nearly whispering “You want to be a real Northerner? Then show me. Show me you’re more than just talk, and I’ll believe you.”

You wrinkled your nose, but didn’t break from his stare. It felt as though his deep, ocean blue eyes were boring right in to the depths of your soul.

“How?”

Movement at Tormund’s hip made you flinch involuntarily, which caused his brow to crease in concern. However, when you didn’t react further he pushed aside his cloak and pulled out a stone knife with a bone handle. You stared at the flint blade, watching the way glinted in the faint firelight.

“If you can take this from me in the next minute or so, then I’ll believe you’re truly a Northerner…” he paused and drew in a sharp breath “And, I’ll be yours. Mind, body and soul, from now until my dying breath.”

You let out a derisive snort.

“Is that it? Truly? You’re betting your freedom on whether or not I can take your poxy knife? Tell me Tormund, are all Wildlings this stupid or are you the exception?”

You couldn’t help but relish the way the ever present grin fell from the giant man’s face. Clearly, his little proposition hadn’t garnered the reaction he’d been hoping for.

“I’m exceptional in more ways then you know, beauty.” He replied, quickly regaining his composure and leering openly at you “Though perhaps it isn’t quite fair to pit such a sweet little thing against a mighty warrior such as-”

Whatever Tormund was going to say next would forever remain a mystery. Instead, all that could be heard was a faint, guttural sort of choking sound. Tormund quite looked like he was choking too. His pale skin had turned almost as red as his hair, while his mouth hung open in a silent gasp and his wide eyes stared blindly down at the snowy ground.

“How?” he sputtered, bent double with his hands clutched over his loins.

“Easy,” you replied, tossing his knife from your right hand to your left “I have two older brothers. Three, if you count that traitorous Greyjoy fucker. When needs must, I know where to hit.”

Tormund drew in another deep breath, which was followed by a series of coughs and a few strangled laughs. For some reason, this made you grin all the wider. Even after taking a full on strike to the bollocks, Tormund could still find a reason to laugh.

“Clearly, I underestimated you girl.”

“Clearly.”

You gently placed the tip of the knife beneath Tormund’s chin, slowly tilting his face upwards so he was looking you in the eye. He looked at you as though he had just discovered his own personal goddess, and he was about to become your most devoted worshiper. The tingling warmth erupted in your gut again, though this time you didn’t try to stop it.

“Do you yield?” you asked, keeping your voice low so only Tormund could hear you. He nodded as much as the knife would allow, and swallowed hard before answering.

“Yes.” came the reply.

“And do you promise not to call me a southerner anymore?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” you said, giving Tormund’s cheek a rough pat before straightening and turning round to face Podrick and Brienne. The young squire was gawping at you with renewed fear in his eyes, while Brienne was grinning at you from ear to ear. It was the happiest you’d seen her in months.

“Will one of you please see to him?” you asked, your voice practically dripping honey “It would be a shame if our journey was delayed because Tormund was too sore to sit a saddle.”

As you began to walk away, snow faintly crunching under your boots, you saw Podrick dart past from the corner of your eye. He immediately went to Tormund, bending at the waist so he could better assess the Wilding for damage.

“Are you alright…Sir?” you heard him say hesitantly

“Oh look,” came Tormund’s reply, sounding far too pleased for someone in his condition “My will to live. It’s gone.”

[sakkiichi]

YOU’RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH.

You meet him under the brightness of ballroom lights and the vibrant colors of his mask. However, is it a good idea to let yourself be lead by infatuation?

feat. Childe, Kaeya, Kaedehara Kazuha, Lyney, Albedo x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, fluff, slight angst in kazuha’s and lyney’s, royal masquerade au. reader wears a dress, mildly suggestive allusions on childe’s (very soft).

i would like to dedicate childe, kaeya and albedo’s part to my dearest @bunny-rambles <3 albedo’s part is dedicated to the sweetest @ssilversiren too !

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ CHILDE

Crossed arms over his chest and a sharp edged smile peeking from underneath his mask. The prince is certainly amused, and not precisely by this gathering he himself hosted.

It’s this feeling. Being unknown; just another face amidst the ebb and flow of a sea of profiles.

What would it be like, to converse with others, with them being none the wiser about his royal status?

Running a hand through his ruddy locks, Childe leans off the wall, something, or rather, someone having caught his attention.

The person is standing on the opposite corner of the room, their skirts as if weaved out of seafoam and tides, cascading to the floor in silky waves of sky. They’re alone, the ornamented wall behind them making them look as an extension of it, a painting without frame; for they stare longingly at the swaying crowd, their frame still, anchored, yet without a harbor.

“Fancy a dance?” A voice you swear you have heard somewhere before asks, causing you to turn around.

Striking sapphire eyes lock with yours, the cheeky smile he sports weakening your knees for a second. He’s dressed finely, in white and red, silver accents decorating the lapels and shoulders of his jacket, matching with the scarlet mask partially concealing the constellations of freckles dusting his handsome face.

You swear you know him. But you don’t at the same time; a crystalline pond at night, argent starlight swallowed by the depths of its abyss.

“Quite the bold request, considering you haven’t even introduced yourself, don’t you think?” You prompt, the stranger’s magnetizing grin drawing one of your own from your painted lips.

“Oh, come on, humor me?” He pouts, drops of cobalt glinting in the previously dull ocean patches of his gaze.

“Hm,” you ponder, bringing a finger to your chin. “How about you give me your name first?” You suggest, tone taking on a playful lilt. He watches the light quality of your dress, sweeping around you, tendrils of a spring wrapped around the delicate curves of your figure.

“A name, huh?” He smirks, and no matter how much you know it’s a bad idea, you find yourself hoping to call his name often in the future.

He knows what he’s about to reveal is an equally bad idea as you swimming in the currents of his pull, and still, he finds himself uttering the appellative he hasn’t heard in ages.

“Ajax. My name.” He whispers, those lips that only promise trouble brushing the shell of your ear.

You smile, your stare glinting not unlike the azurite shimmer that decorates your disguise.

“Very well, Ajax,” you draw out the last word, your voice directing the incognito royal’s heart wildly against his ribcage. “Come and find me.” Is the lingering echo of your words, a seashell’s melody, as Childe watches shades of aquamarine mingling with the crowd.

Perhaps this was not a good choice; but maybe you like the rush that comes with wishing he asks your name, with wishing his hand catches yours.

From the corner of your eye, you spot a wisp of red as you turn a corner down the busy corridors of the palace. You certainly wouldn’t mind if you happened to take Ajax’s half cape off later tonight.

✧ KAEYA

Rows upon rows of glinting masks and flashy clothing fill the luxurious room, the space practically painted in molten gold.

If anyone were to ask you, however, you’d reply this place is hell. The palace’s corridors are labyrinthine as it is, twisting endlessly, the frozen images hanging on their walls unchanging to your widened eyes.

And certainly, the shoves and pushes of a too excited crowd are not helping your mood at all. Exasperated, you grunt for the thousandth time, bunching up the skirts of your lacy white dress, determined to elbow and step your way to the damned ballroom.

Alas, the distant stars had other plans for you tonight.

Just as you were going to decidedly advance a particularly rowdy crowd, a force collides with you from behind, sending you and your unstable high heels against the polished tiled floor.

Except when the impact comes, it is not hard at all.

“My, a beauty like you should be more careful to watch where they’re going.”

You rise your gaze to meet the owner of that smooth teasing voice.

Hair weaved of icicles at midnight, braided to one side, falling over the spotless bronze skin of the stranger’s pretty face. His eyes, or rather, his visible eye, is chilly blue, the biting touch of a sunny morning after a snowstorm. And, unlike the rest of the guests, he’s not wearing a mask. He doesn’t need one either, his mystery-exuding aura, paired with the eyepatch on his right eye, somehow disguise enough.

You clear your throat, trying to act as if you hadn’t been blatantly staring at the man in front of you.

“Why, thanks.” You let out, tone crisp. “I was watching, but apparently someone with no manners wasn’t.” You add, with disdain, glaring at the advancing multitude.

“I don’t disagree.” The enigmatic stranger smiles, a sliver of moon, icy eyes following over your figure as you straighten your skirt.

Then he hums, the crescent of his sultry lips morphing into a smirk.

“Why don’t I accompany you for a while?” He offers his arm to you. “I was just leaving, but seems I’ve found a reason to stay, at least for a while…”

You match his smirk, conflicted at how attracted you don’t want to admit you are to this man.

“Oh? Does it outweigh the reason you were planning on leaving for?”

“I’ll take the risk to find out.” He grins, looping his arm with yours.

In silence interrupted by the joyous multitude, you make your way to the ballroom. It’s odd, the way you feel comfortable next to him, despite secrets and starry nights concealing the truth of his nature. You don’t even know his name…

“Call me Kaeya, by the way.” He murmurs, as if reading your thoughts, his tan hand, adorned in gold and midnight, lacing with one of yours, his other around your waist.

“Pleased to meet you, Kaeya.” You find yourself whispering back, entranced by the mysteries frozen in that shady stare of his.

Perhaps this is wrong, to let your heart out in the falling snowflakes around the flickering spark of this igniting infatuation, and yet, maybe just this once, you feel like you can fly with wings made of ice under a blazing sun.

You don’t regret it. Not when you know you’ll dream of Kaeya’s voice for nights on end. Not when he twirls you around the room, a flurry of snowy clouds outlined by gilded twilight. Not when he pulls you aside, hiding both of you into an alcove, his smooth hand pressed against your mouth, as some guards pass asking for “the prince”.

He definitely looks like one, you think. You don’t have time to dwell on iit as you both run off, hands still laced, into a narrow torch-lit corridor, the night air beckoning you towards the exit.

Danger had never felt so right.

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

You should have known better.

Better than to trust that bastard.

The nobleman that was supposed to be your date tonight.

It’s not like he didn’t show up, oh, he did alright.

You wish he hadn’t.

Seeing that asshole arm in arm with someone else makes your blood boil, a cold, cruel anger seeping into your bones, its chill enough to burn white-hot.

And yes, perhaps stomping out to the too pretty rose garden was a childish decision, but maybe it was you just exercising self control.

Best to brood than let your tempestuous wrath strike the whole place down.

Storms were only beautiful from a distance, after all.

You heavily sigh, removing the bejeweled mask covering the upper half of your face.

No point in keeping it now, you observe, running a thumb over the faux diamonds embedded over the indigo surface.

How ironic, you laugh, humorless, for your mask to look like a bright starry sky, when all you see the moment you rise your gaze heavenward are dark clouds gathering.

“Pardon my intrusion,” a pleasingly gentle voice begins, just as you were plucking the fading petals of a dying rose, “but are you not feeling up to joining the ball?”

Suddenly, the gloomy night dyes moonlit and crimson: twin pools of sunset regard you, a soft flame, soothingly warm in the chill of the inauspicious night; threads of starlight seem to constitute the man’s hair, almost angel-like in the way it frames his candid face, in the tender way the locks fall over his shoulder, tied in a bright red ribbon, akin to a bouquet of lily of the valleys. Like you, it seems he has discarded his mask, a splash of vermillion held in between svelte fingers wrapped in pale silk.

You greet him with a smile, the previous gales of fury receding, replaced little by little by the nurturing caress of an early autumn wind through maple leaves.

“I could ask you the same question.” You offer, turning your body in his direction, the faint touch of moonlit clouds brushing against your skin.

He shakes his head, tendrils of silver swaying with his movement.

“Let’s just say I prefer the peaceful nature of the outdoors.” He chuckles, sincere, the sound almost transparent in its quality, tiny ripples by a dawn breeze over a mirror-like stream. Then, he tilts his head to the side, silken strands caressing the smoothness of his cheek in ways you know you shouldn’t be dreaming of so soon. “However, I do believe it could prove romantically irresponsible of me to deny someone else this dance, no?” He asks, extending a hand to you.

And you know you shouldn’t feel your face heating up at the protruding tendons over the callous softness of his skin.

“My name is Kaedehara Kazuha,” he finally introduces himself.

Kazuha. You can’t quite tell just yet why you somehow wish that to be forever the name on your lips, nor do you know yet why you find your eyes naturally drifting off to every lash and diminutive freckle so temptingly touching his cheeks.

You don’t know if it’s right either, to take this leap of faith. What if the jump ends in you downfall? Again.

But what if you could swim in a pool of starlight instead? Is the voice whispering in verse into your ear, when you find one of your hands entwined with Kazuha’s, the other resting over the shoulder of his black and red suit jacket.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Kazuha.” You find yourself smiling back, before introducing yourself.

As your dance partner twirls you around, the warmth of his hand lingering on the small of your back, the overcast skies seem to part. Like a wrinkle in the mundanity of human life, endless sparkling stars cast their gaze over you two, even their moon coming out to take a peek into the couple’s hearts yearning for the fated romance to be.

Splashes of cotton candy pink and cherry crimson sweetly bloom under the argent lights of the enchanted night, even the wilting rose you had been tampering with earlier dyeing in shades of life anew.

Though, to you, in this moment, the only life that matters is the one held in Kazuha’s autumn stare, his tenderness tethering you to the gentle comfort of your head resting against his heart.

Maybe it had already started beating for you, much like yours.

Perhaps some charms begun at midnight.

✧ LYNEY

Throngs of people gather around the Opera Epiclese building and yet, you had never felt so alone.

A sinking feeling settles in your heavy heart, as you pat your now lackluster gown, check your purse, only to come up empty handed.

Your ticket for today’s masquerade ball, seemingly vanished.

Defeated, you sigh, turning on your heel.

What use will be lingering around, with no way to get into the opera house anyway? Things couldn’t have turned out worse.

Or so you thought.

For, seconds later, you would find yourself tripping over the hem of your long dress, ripping it in the process, one of your delicate high heeled shoes slipping off, clattering to the concrete ground, a few feet away from you.

The ruby tear embedded on your mask seems like a mockery right now, salty crystalline tracks streaming down your cheeks.

Luckily, no one will pay you any mind and you’ll save yourself the embarrassment, you try to console yourself.

Alas, the fates didn’t even want to concede you that small salvation.

“Are you alright?” a pleasant voice questions, causing for you to turn around.

And when you do, the man standing right before you is not unlike a spell himself. Violet eyes concealing the secrets of a lifetime spent on the edge of light and shadows regard you through his cat mask, the disguise leaving a maroon tear-shaped mark visible on his cheek, similar to the one on your own mask; his top hat is decorated in shades of rose and night, a purple ribbon around it, its hue almost in tune with the magic of his gaze. Silvery strands sweep over the stranger’s pale visage, slightly ruffled in the ebb and flow of the night’s balmy breeze. And in his hand, he’s holding the fine shoe that caused your fall.

With your face burning in shame, you look to one side, mumbling an affirmative response. You can only be grateful for the crowds starting to dissipate, leaving you and this boy mostly alone.

Kneeling, he carefully slips the shoe on your bare foot.

“Are you sure about that?” He prompts further, helping you up. “You look dressed for today’s ball, however, you were heading in the opposite direction…”

Rubbing at your face, you hang your head low.

“About that… I’m not going anymore…”

“Is that so?” He tilts his head to the side, gaze of iris settling on the torn skirts of your attire.

“I just… it’s embarrassing…” You admit. “I somehow lost my ticket to enter… and well, then I fell, and now besides not having the means to get in, there is no way I look presentable for the occasion anyway…” You chuckle, humorless.

He hums. Then:

“If I may be so bold, I do believe you look lovely.” The mysterious man compliments you, snapping his fingers.

You follow his gaze to your outfit. And when you take it in, your eyes widen. Where there used to be a tear on the fabric, now it’s seamlessly weaved together, sweeping over the nightlit cobblestones. And not only that, but its shade is an even more vibrant shade of carmine now, small sparkly flecks catching the silvery ripples of Fountain of Lucine.

“Wha- Thank you…” You breathe, awestruck, admiring the revived color of your clothes.

“My pleasure.” The magician chirps, with a wink. “Now, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ball? It’s starting soon, and I would be very happy if you said yes.”

“I mean… I would love to, but my pass is gone…” You answer, regret lacing your tone.

“Hmm…” He muses, holding his chin in between two fingers. “Can I ask you to look closely now?” He pulls out his ticket, and right there, in the blink of an eye, he slides a second pass from behind the first one.

You gasp, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“How about now? May I, Lyney, have the pleasure to join you for the night?” He proposes, bowing.

Smiling gratefully, you take his arm, wonderstruck still.

Together, you make your way towards the Opera Epliclese, the tickets safely held in Lyney’s free hand.

When you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the clear surface of the fountain’s waters, a Rainbow Rose adorns your hair.

The magician’s doing, no doubt.

You silently thank Lyney with a smile, and he believes no beam of moon could ever hold a candle to the sight of you.

✧ ALBEDO

Above the hall’s music, an acute faraway sound pulls you out of the forest of masked faces.

The spacious room is lit in gold, luxurious lamps and chandeliers focused on a crowd disguised in velvets and lace.

But, that melody. You can’t quite get it out of your head. You’ve been hearing it all evening, every now and then.

Akin to a gelid river, cutting through blocks of stone-hard ice, making your every hair stand on end when its notes tantalize you with the promise of the gilded reflections of northern lights over the stream’s surface.

You can’t ignore it any further, the flames dancing from ornate candles against the walls seem to murmur.

And even though the impending rushed beat of your heart may be painting danger red all over this possibility, you decide to ignore it, listening to the unknown song’s voice, beckoning you out of the ballroom.

Flecks of gold seem to hang in the air as you make your way through twisting ample corridors, the otherworldly sound welcoming you through a set of double doors, their wood snow white, their handles, crystal.

When you push them open, frozen air appears to settle all around you. It is not unpleasant, though.

In the same way, even though the music has just stopped, the sight before you is not unpleasant either in the slightest.

Amidst the room, a blonde man stands. His gaze, resembling underwater lights at dawn, is set on you. A white shirt with blue and golden accents falls perfectly against his frame.

You don’t miss the way his sleeves are rolled up, nor the tiny multicolored splashes in them.

Which brings you to take in the space around you.

A multitude of paintings line every wall: landscapes of somewhere you can only dream of stepping into; portraits of people you have never met, or have you, in the distance of sweet sleep?; abstract brushstrokes, constituting colors you had never seen before, that you know you won’t see anywhere else.

“Hello,” a soft voice that can only belong to the man in the room utters. “I am Albedo, the court’s alchemist, how may I be of assistance?”

You clear your throat, stammering an apology. He smiles, that sunny sky gaze never leaving you.

“I-I uh… I just heard music and… it seemed to come from here… I apologize for barging in so rudely.”

He gives you a sweet smile. You wonder whether he’s a prince, instead of an alchemist.

“Not at all. Music, you say?” He asks, bringing close to his lips the flute he had been holding. “Did it sound anything like this, perhaps?” Albedo starts to play, notes filling the chamber, colorful blossoms flourishing along snow-covered plains.

You get lost in the sound. In the ethereal aura the prince-like alchemist exudes. He’s as magnetic and entrancing as the melody he plays. Unconsciously, you’ve started to sway, and perhaps a part of you wishes this song was a gift for your ears alone.

At some point, the symphony stops, notes of it, still lingering in the crispness of the atmosphere, despite the closed windows.

“Beautiful.” He utters, tender, the fall of snowflakes atop your open palms.

Warmth creeps up your neck when he steps closer to you, his elegant hands hovering close to your face, to your silver mask.

“May I?” His lips say, rose-colored in the careful lilt of his tone.

Nodding is all the answer you can manage, Albedo’s cool fingertips grazing the side of your cheek.

“Yes, lovely.” He repeats, studying the lines of your mask-free face, the wave of your hair, the sparkles in your wide eyed gaze.

You wonder if he’s ever looked into a mirror, because if he’s presenting you these compliments, no words could describe how utterly breathtaking you think he is.

“Would you allow me to paint you?” Is the question you find yourself nodding to as well.

Beneath the golden lighting of fabricated starlight and with the paradoxically warm caress of Albedo’s cool touch when his hands position you for his portrait, you enter a labyrinth of emotions you only want to brave deeper.

What lies beneath the sunlit layer of snow clinging to Albedo’s every movement?

Perhaps tonight, as he renders you in watercolors, you have already imprinted yourself in his golden encased heart.

[mydearesthrry]

trinkets on tour — H.S.

hi angel pies this one is very self indulgent!!! i hope you enjoy &lt;3

🎀 warnings/cw: none, fluff, swearing maybe?, kisses, harry being a sweetheart tbh

🐇 pairing: famous!bf!harry styles x fem!reader

💐 wc: 1.3k (short cute little baby!!!)

summary: a few different occasions with harry and your trinkets.

“Ow, fuck,” Harry muttered under his breath, something sharp poking in the skin of his foot. Moving his leg, he finds a small bunny figurine, the ears animated and floppy, wearing a pink dress with a small basket full of strawberries in its arm. “Y/n? Is this yours?”

The girl comes walking around the corner, seemingly doing her skincare in the hotel bathroom if the headband and glowy face had anything to go by. “Oh! Yeah, it is!” A small smile covered her face.

“It’s you, bun! I found it at a small corner store in Horsens and meant to give it to you. I thought I’d lost it since it wasn’t in my purse when I checked for it last night, but you found it! Isn’t it so cute?” She grins, walking over to her boyfriend to slip it from his fingers and roll it around in hers.

Harry had just about melted. She went to a shop and found something that reminded her of him, and just because of that, she bought it? God, was he in love.

“That’s s’ sweet, m’heart,” Harry pulls her into his side, pecking a few kisses to the top of her head, “thank you, sweet girl.”

She looks up from where her head is tucked into this side, wearing a pretty smile and bright gleam in her eyes. Harry looks on at her in awe, entranced by her beauty.

“Of course, H. Think about you always, all the time. Think I’d be broke by now if I bought you everything that reminds me of you that i’ve seen.”

—

“Harry! Harry, look!” His girl comes running to the stage, interrupting his phone time as he waits for soundcheck to start.

“What, wha’ is it?” Harry’s brows furrowed, locking his phone and placing it next to his legs that swung over the edge of the stage.

“I found this in the green room, you haven’t even fully looked in there yet! It’s you!” She carefully tosses a small item onto the stage, not being able to reach up and place it due to how much shorter she was compared to the stage.

“‘S a— strawberry? ‘M a strawberry?” He says confusedly.

“I mean- okay its not you, but it reminded me of you! It’s a gold strawberry ring, and I have a gold strawberry ring too! Look, I’m wearing it right now,” She brings her left hand up to rest on his knee, showing a small dainty ring on her pinky finger, “We can match!”

He looks down at where her hand was placed on her knee and smiles. “Okay, m’love, we can match.”

Hearing her soft giggles, he knew he just couldn’t say no now. There was absolutely no way he could say no.

“C’mere lovie, there’s stairs right there,” With a soft gleam in his eyes, he points to a different area on the floor, “Jus’ wanna hold y’for a bit before the show.”

She squeaks out a little ‘okay!’ and runs over to the stairs, taking longer strides to get to her love faster. Plopping down next to him, she twists in her spot and scooches forward a bit, laying her head on his lap. She plucks the small ring from his hands, pointing at details in it that he hadn’t— and probably wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.

Despite not looking at the ring, and staring at her instead, he memorizes every detail of the ring, while engraving every small peep and barely noticeable rasp in her voice into his brain.

Come showtime, the fans immediately notice a new addition to his ring collection, a small strawberry ring that adorns his right pinky finger.

—

“Oh shit!” A shout followed by a small crash catches Harry’s attention, raising him to his feet in record speed as he nearly flies out of the bedroom and to the living area of the hotel.

“Honey, y’okay?” He says hurriedly, rushing over to where his sweet girl was.

She spins on her heel immediately, a broken wooden box in her hand, a small light purple unicorn in the other. Behind her near her heels laid almost a dozen other little trinkets, some scattered farther away from her feet than others. A sad look glazes over her features as she nods softly.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I accidentally dropped my Love On Tour trinket box, and now I’m a little sad,” She places the box and tiny unicorn onto the table, taking small steps to get to him, resting the side of her head on his chest, “I even decorated it! I’ve been getting small things from every stop on tour and the box I’ve been putting everything in broke!”

Harry’s heart ached for her, knowing how sweet and sentimental his girl was and knowing how much the box probably meant to her. Not saying anything for a few beats, he wraps his arms around the girl and runs his hand up and down the length of her arm. “Hm, m’heart. ‘M so sorry, can I see it?”

She nods, stepping back to go retrieve the box from the table, going back to Harry with it in her hands.

“M’kay, I think I can fix this up for you just right, want me to?” He says, assessing the damage, handling it carefully.

Her eyes light up as soon as the words leave his lips, a soft gasp falling from her lips. “You can?”

“Of course I can, y’gotta give me a couple of days though, Lovie. ‘M sorry.”

“It’s okay!” She chirps. “‘S okay even if you can’t, but if you can, that would make me so happy, thank you, H.”

“I’d do anything f’you, but for now, I think I have a small jewelry box y’can put it in until I fix it. Sounds good?” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead at her graciousness.

“Sounds amazing, thank you, Baby.”

—

“Lovie? C’mere for a sec, baby.” Harry calls from yet another hotel bedroom, smiling softly as he heard a sweet ‘coming!’ followed by small steps on the floor.

“Yes?” Her head popped into the doorframe, a small furrow in her brow.

“Got a surprise f’you,” He smiles, hands behind his back.

“For me?” She walks over to him slowly, a suspicious look on her face.

“It’s nothing bad! Jus’ a quick something before we leave for the venue.” From behind his back, he pulls out her (now fixed!) box, placing it in front of her on the white duvet.

A gasp falls from her lips, followed by an excited squeal. In gratitude, she cautiously jumps onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, placing her lips onto his. She places small ones on his lips first, before pressing them together in an elongated, sweet kiss.

“Wait, wait Lovie, there’s another surprise inside the box.” Harry laughs, muttering the words against her lips to keep her close.

“Another?! You’re spoiling me now,” Grabbing the box, she opens it before gasping in shock.

“Always spoil you, don’t I?” He chastises, plucking the trinket out of the box.

A small, red convertible keychain lay flat in his palm, another small charm of a white daisy on it.

“Harry-“ She starts, pulling his hand closer to her face to look at it in closer detail. “Thank you, s’much.”

She turns her head to him, now teary eyed. She knew the sentiment behind both items, making the experience all the more emotional.

“The car, from our fifth date, where I asked y’to be m’girlfriend, and then the daisy from-“ He drawls, a soft and sleepy lull in his voice.

“From the field in Holmes Chapel, where you first told me you loved me.” She giggles breathily, sniffling to contain her emotion. “They’re perfect, baby. Thank you, thank you s’much.”

Twisting around in his lap, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, burrowing her face into his neck. He reciprocates the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist as he lays soft kisses on the side of her head.

“‘S perfect, you’re perfect.”

“Oh shut it, Lovie. Jus’ can’t believe I’m now contributing to your trinket collection.”

[sumeruin]

♫♪: punishments!!

♫♪: pairing: dottore x bunny hybrid! reader

♫♪: warnings: written by a minor, slight yandere, aphrodisiac usage, dacryphilia, grinding, reader gets tied up, begging, mentions of being cut open (nothing really graphic though dw), if i missed anything let me know!!!

♫♪: a/n: happy easter!! :)

♫♪: minor writing smut, dni if uncomfortable!!!

“zandik? do you think we could go for a walk sometime? it’s been a while since we’ve been able to do anything together.” dottore’s head immediately snapped in you direction, his eyes narrowed and full of suspicion.

“where did you hear that name?” you shoot him an innocent smile. “what do you mean? that’s your name, isn’t it, zandik? i think it’s a lovely name if i’m being honest.”

he scoffs, slowly approaching you like how a predator would approach its cornered prey. you feel a pit of anxiety and fear gnawing at your gut when you see the pure, unadulterated rage in his eyes, starting to think that maybe you had finally taken it too far.

dottore grips your face tightly in his hand once he reaches you, his other moving to rest wrapped around your neck. “you know very well what i mean. you know not to talk about my past.” he forces your head up to stare directly into his eyes, and you swear you see the corners of lips quirk up when he sees the glassy shimmer of fear in yours, obviously enjoying how easy it is for him to rile you up.

“i think a punishment is in order, you need to learn how to control that mouth of yours and stop being such a brat.” you swallow nervously at his words. his punishments are always agonizing. your ears involuntarily twitch at the memory of your last one, still able to remember the way his scalpels felt when he carved open your skin.

“no! i’m sorry, dottore. i didn’t mean it!” he smirks, clearly enjoying your begging. “that’s better, but still not enough. you broke one of my rules, and you think a simple apology will be enough? you’re dumber than i thought.”

you desperately grab his sleeve, eyes starting to fill with tears that threatened to spill with every passing second. “please! i’ll do anything, i promise, just please, not another punishment. i’ll be good, i won’t ever break any of the rules again, i swear!”

dottore smiles at you, removing his hands from your face and neck to rest one of the back of your head and bury it in his chest, his thumb lightly stroking the base of one of your fluffy ears. the other moves down to rest on your waist, softly caressing your puffy tail and bringing you that much closer to him. he presses a soft kiss against the top of your head before speaking.

“as much as i enjoy your sweet voice begging me to take pity on you, i’m afraid i can’t let you go without a punishment this time.” his hold on you gets tighter when he feels you jolt in fear, tears finally spilling and soaking the fabric of his shirt. “but, if you calm down and stop trying to escape the inevitable, i might go easier on you. i have a couple new drugs i’ve been meaning to test, and none of the side effects are permanent. if you’re good, you can test those for me and i won’t have to cut you open again. as much i enjoy punishing you that way, you have such adverse reactions to it, and i wouldn’t want to make my little rabbit distressed just because you said my name. that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

with the combination of dottore’s cologne invading your senses, the slight lack of air from being pressed against him for so long, and the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. he smiles when he feels you feebly nod your head against his chest, stroking your hair one last time before forcing you to your knees and tying your hands and legs up.

“now, just stay here and be good while i go get the medicine ready. it shouldn’t take longer than five minutes.” he kneels down and smooths away your tears while he speaks, leaving one last kiss to the top of your forehead before getting up and walking away, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts and a slowly increasing sense of relief that you wouldn’t be hurt again.

true to his words, dottore comes back five minutes later holding multiple bottles filled to the brims with color liquids. you watch curiously as he spreads them out in front of you. “since you’ve been so cooperative with your punishment this time, i’ve decided to let you choose which one you try. pick one out and i’ll save the others for later.” you slowly look down at your options, there’s so many it’s hard to choose. after a couple minutes of deliberation with dottore staring at you with a mix of love and fascination, you decide to go with the shimmery pink one in the heart shaped bottle.

“dottore?” he tilts his head to the side and hums. “what, little rabbit? have you decided?”

“mhm. i want the cute pink one!”

dottore laughs, patting your cheek condescendingly before sitting down on the floor in front of you. he picks up your chosen bottle and pulls off the cork before pressing it to your lips. “drink up, in order to get accurate results you have to take all of it.”

you obediently swallow everything in the bottle, and almost instantly you feel your entire body heat up, a sharp pang of arousal striking through your whole body. helpless whimpers start to slip from your lips as you look up and dottore with glossy, teary eyes. “ah! ‘tore, please help! hurts so bad, n-need you to touch me, hurts!” the end of your sentence trails off into a needy whine, and you lean your body against him.

you feel his chest vibrate with a small laugh while you hopelessly squirm and cry against him, his arms coming up to wrap around your body. “oh, dear, it seems my little experiment has put you into an early heat, huh? you poor thing.” he starts cooing at you in that sickeningly sweet voice he uses when he wants you to feel more like a pet than a person. “it was a very weak aphrodisiac, i didn’t think you’d react this strongly to it. i should’ve taken this into account though, it’s my fault, really.”

“don’ care, just need you to touch me! please ‘tore, it hurts!” you whine out, trying to grind against him for something, anything, to relieve the deep ache that’s settled between your legs. he shushes you, his hands starting to move up towards your soft, fluffy ears. he starts to gently rub at them, getting rougher when you let out a loud moan at the feeling.

dottore keeps playing with your ears like that while you grind yourself against his knee, the overwhelming sensations soon becoming too much for your body to handle as you violently cum all over his leg, the pain finally going away as you lean against him and let out a content sigh.

before you can say anything, you feel his large bulge underneath you, and as you feel your body heat up for the second time, you know that you’ll have a long night ahead of you.