#Just a little black cube of darkness

[2tarbell]

US — KOOK!READER

rafe cameron had been yours since the moment you met.

(drabble. © 2tarbell 2024)

if anyone asked you, you’d say you never got jealous. what was the point? a seemingly endless waste of energy and your valuable attention — people would get on their knees in seconds for a chance to talk to you. a kook princess never got jealous.

which is why the stinging question of ‘why?’ bounced around your head as you watched rafe walk back over to the bar, a pretty head of dark hair awaiting him with an infuriatingly easy going smile.

sofia.

you only learned her name after she introduced herself with a little grin. something about the pogue was effortless and it was currently eating away at any confidence you might’ve had when you walked in.

your makeup felt heavy and your miniskirt too short, too tight — did you look trashy? like you were trying too hard? she was sweet; that girl next door energy you know you’d never have. no matter how much you cried and pleaded.

a bump to your shoulder interrupted your brooding, pretty glossed lips stuck together in a pout, mimicking the furrow of your brow. topper gave you a knowing look and a scowl met him. he chuckled dryly.

“earth to princess, hellooo?”

you rolled your eyes, directing your attention to your empty cocktail glass. the ice looked back at you mockingly — you’re the one who asked rafe to go get you another drink. stupid, stupid, stupid.

“go to hell, top.” the quip made your other best friend laugh, kelce reaching across the table to steal a fry from your untouched plate. how could you eat in a moment like this?

“what’s the problem? you’re literally pouting.” the boy mumbled.

the way kelce spoke through a mouthful of fried potato made you wince. a napkin is thrown in his direction, landing on the table lamely. boys are so messy, and nosey.

you huff dramatically, “ugh, it’s nothing. god, i miss when men went off to war and, like, died or something—“

your annoyed spiel is cut off by a drink being placed in front of you, the lime already squeezed in and floating amongst the cubes of ice. just how you like it. a warm hand rests on the nape of your neck as the chair beside you squeaks against the floor. that voice you know so well rumbling close to you.

“who’s dying?” rafe mumbles as he gets comfortable in the plush chair again, arm stretching behind your shoulders. the gesture is so casual and it makes your stomach twist.

his eyes are piercing when you look over at him — a smirk raises his lips and you fight the urge to slap him then kiss it off his stupid face.

“you — if you were gonna take any longer.”

the eye roll you receive is nothing out of the ordinary — rafe was used to your bitchy tendencies. but watching him chat with the bartender made a seed of doubt burrow into your mind. sofia probably wasn’t such a cunt. maybe that’s why he likes her.

“yeah, well, someone wanted a lime and they were out. sorta hadta wait for your shit, dollface…” rafe explained like it was second nature.

your passive aggressiveness never seemed to phased him, he always put up with it, with you. the thought hurt more than you cared to admit. it was masked with a glare.

you flipped your hair over your shoulder and crossed a leg over the other, stomach churning while you poked at the cocktail with the thin black straw. the conversation between the boys picked back up — blah blah, golf, topper whining about sarah, blah blah.

it was like the cameron boy sensed your disinterest. his arm on the back of your chair shifted, blunt nails now tracing up and down your spine. the contact made your back straighten before leaning into his touch.

it was pacifying for a while. his side profile caught your attention, nose sharp and sexy, cheekbones crafted expertly. he was so handsome it was unfair... she probably thought so, too.

god, why couldn’t you stop thinking about that pogue girl? was he charming and funny to her? maybe he played hard to get and dismissive. maybe her number was sitting in his pocket, scribbled on a napkin in perfect curls — fucking ew.

suddenly you became irritated. the thought of your best friend, your rafe thinking he could flirt with someone like her then slink back over to you. yeah, right. you weren’t that easy. you rolled your shoulders, shrugging off his touch. he shot you a look but didn’t say anything, just adjusted in his chair.

you were listening to the conversation even less now, anger and something you didn’t want to name boiling in your chest. stiff as a board, you picked at your food. only humming in acknowledgment when something concerned you. it was obvious something was the matter and your friends shared curious looks with each other but never asked you outright.

a warm palm tried to squeeze your thigh but you pushed his hand off. rafe clenched his jaw at your dismissal, feeling that familiar need for dominance over you and whatever fuckin’ attitude you decided to have today. with topper and kelce in a heated debate over something probably stupid, rafe leaned in — his breath was hot against your ear as he spoke in a low warning tone.

“don’t know what your fuckin’ deal is — but it ends now, yeah? eat.”

the glare you sent up through your lashes only stoked the fires of his annoyance. there’s a momentary stare off, eyes communicating thousands of thoughts and unspeakable feelings.

with a scoff you look away, feeling a lump form in your throat. no, this isn’t happening. you stand abruptly and rifle through your purse for a hundred before you throw it on the table, storming off with heels clicking.

the sound echoes in rafe’s head as he snatches the bill up, placing his card down on the table. he quickly follows after you, ignoring the way sofia’s eyes light up when he heads her direction.

“hi, rafe, i was just…” her words fizzle out in her tongue as she watches him pass her, marching after the pretty girl in a yellow top.

the small family bathroom offered a reprieve from the stifling nature of rafe’s presence and your own mind. looking in the mirror — you hardly recognized yourself. you shoved your purse onto the counter, feeling like your composure was completely lost.

eyes wide and teary, lips still glittery but trembling. this was only a version of you he could bring out. now, you found yourself wishing for the comforting weight of his words and gaze and — no, be strong. get it together.

the silence was broken by the door being pushed open with immense force. your head dropped, not trusting yourself to form a witty stab of words. within seconds he was turning you, body hard and pressing your back into the counter, reaching behind you and shoving the hundred dollar bill back into your purse. a wince left you when he gripped your jaw tightly with a hold unforgiving and questioning.

“fuck was that, huh? you— you were doin’ so well, dollface, and now—”

the words halted when he saw a shiny tear streak down your face. the way his eyes softened only pushed you further into despair. his hand moved, now cupping your face and running a thumb along your cheekbone. the wet pearl caught on his skin but once they started, they just kept coming.

soon you were in his arms, hiccuping and holding on for dear life. rafe rocked you with a tight hold — voice soothing despite the look of confusion on his face. he’d never seen you this upset before, this broken.

“hey, hey, woah — what’s’a matter? what happened?” he cooed.

his large palm smoothed over your hair as you pressed your makeup running cheeks to his chest. hugging rafe always made everything better, but now you can’t stop thinking about him holding her like this.

he spoke your name firmly, pulling your head back to look deep into your wet eyes. his stare was intense, worried and seeking answers.

“use your words f’me,” he pushed your hair back off your forehead as he mumbled. and if you were in your right mind, you would’ve shrieked about him ruining your hair.

“jus’— d’you like her?” you blubbered.

rafe was more than confused, his eyebrows drawn together tightly. he crouched down a little, trying to hear your meek voice better.

frustrated and distraught, you pushed him back weakly. a few more inches were put between you two — only a few seconds until he crowded you again, trying to soothe you.

“sofia, rafe! do you like her?”

your yelling had him stepping even closer. shaking his head quickly, confused and slightly irritated, rafe cupped your cheeks in his palms.

“okay, okay— i heard you. don’t scream. i don’t— i don’t even fuckin’ know her. stop, stay still—“

you were squirming, trying to get far from him. far from this and the horrible ache in your chest at just the thought him maybe, possibly—

“stop, i’m talking now. ‘m not— i don’t like sofia, okay? i don’t, y’hear me?” his voice was authoritative, freezing you in place. those blue eyes pleaded with yours for understanding, for trust.

despite the tension between you, his heart skips a beat as your gaze meets his. he sees the sparkle in your eyes, that fire mixed with a hint of softness that he’s so fond of. it gives him a glimmer of hope that maybe he can bridge this gap between you.

“c’mon. you know you’re my girl.”

you melt into him unconsciously, seeking that warmth his embrace always seemed to bring. you’re hugging each other tightly in the small bathroom. rafe stares at your figures in the mirror, watching as you nuzzle further into his arms. like you belong there.

with a sniffle, you tip your head back. feeling so small as you look up at his face. rafe leans down and presses a tender kiss to your mouth — moving slowly in a moment of raw vulnerability.

his voice is low, you feel the vibrations against your lips as he speaks softly, “i wouldn’t do that t’you… to us.”

he feels your body tense at his words, his hands squeeze your hips. with wide eyes you pull back from the kiss and gape at him. his touch is begging you to listen, to not freak out. the tears well anew as you let his words wash over you. us. he thinks there’s an us.

suddenly, it’s like you can breathe again. like all the nights feeling scared and confused without him seem worth it. all of it’s worth it to be in his arms like this, hearing him justify the feelings you’ve done everything to bury.

rafe cups your cheek in one hand, the other arm wrapping fully around your body. there’s something so tender and charged about the way he’s looking at you and wiping your crocodile tears away.

he’s begging you now, eyes flicking between yours, “you’re my girl, you know that. always gonna be us, a’ight?”

a light burns in your heart and you realize that you do know that. when has it ever been anything else? when has he not been by your side, dealing with your bullshit? rafe cameron had been yours since the moment you met.

with a shaky exhale you nod, leaning into his palm. the sight of you so fragile tears at his heart and rafe draws you in closer. his nose finds home in your hairline and he peppers kisses along your forehead. us.

the revelation didn’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth, insecurity still pecking at your mind.

“she’s probably easier to deal with.”

“nah, i don’t wan’ easy.”

he pulls back, holding the back of your neck to angle your face towards him. there’s a hardness to his gaze — like the very idea of easy is repulsing him. then he’s smirking and leaning in.

rafe presses a firm kiss to your mouth, tongue parting your lips and swallowing the hiccup of pleasure that slipped out. his leg wedges its way between yours, knee pressed snugly underneath your miniskirt. he’s devouring you completely unforgivingly. without thought, you roll your hips against his knee. the tension in your body melts away as the friction of his jeans meets your covered clit.

“mmf, rafe—”

“i don’t want easy,” his words accented by harsher presses of his leg upward, causing you to choke on air, “i want you. whiny and bratty and beautiful you. got it?”

nodding your head fervently, he smushes his lips against yours. lifting you onto the small counter and shoving a hand up your skirt, his hardness pressing thick and pulsing against your thigh. the kiss so messy and clothes haphazardly being pulled to the side. the spark of finally being seen, finally being acknowledged as his, fuels the moment.

the sex is slow and steady, a promise of commitment and dedication to this messy relationship. to each other. tears of pleasure and happiness collect on your lash line, pretty face scrunched in ecstasy only rafe could provide.

(and topper and kelce took his card and ordered five beers each.)

[d-z20]

Not Like Before (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Witch Reader

Summary: You and Agatha go on a date, and when you return home, the evening intensifies as you both get more turned on and you try a new experience.

- OR -

Agatha fucks you with the strap for the first time and its magical

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, smut, top Agatha, enchanted strap, somewhat innocent reader, tiny bit of praise

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Requested fic :) In my head the strap is enchanted in the way she can cum from it being stimulated but like her orgasm is normal, not like gp orgasm if that makes sense?

AO3 | Master List

The night is alive with a quiet hum of energy. The small, upscale cocktail lounge you’ve chosen for tonight’s date thrums with an undercurrent of power that only those attuned to it can feel. It’s a haven for witches—neutral ground where enchantments and glamour are as commonplace as the expertly mixed drinks. The air shimmers faintly with unspoken spells and whispered charms, weaving through the soft candlelight that flickers on the polished wooden tables.

Agatha sits across from you, her presence as commanding as ever. Tonight, she is a vision of sharp elegance in a tailored black suit with a plunging neckline. Her hair is swept back into a sleek style, exposing her jawline and the glint of earrings that catch the dim light with every movement. She exudes control, a master of both her appearance and the simmering magic that radiates from her in subtle waves.

You’ve dressed to match her energy, knowing full well that anything less would pale beside her. Your outfit—a fitted, dark ensemble with just the right amount of daring to complement her sharp sophistication—keeps her eyes lingering on you just a moment too long every time she looks. Those glances, and the way her lips curl into a smirk as her gaze sweeps over you, leave your cheeks warm and your pulse racing.

The two of you play this game all evening. A brush of her fingers against yours as she hands you a drink. The faint spark of magic you send in response—a subtle flicker of warmth at her wrist that makes her eyebrow arch in interest. She teases you with her words, her tone low and syrupy, while you meet her challenge with coy smiles and the occasional playful hex—minor spells to warm her glass or dim the candlelight whenever her smirk grows too smug.

“You’re being particularly bold tonight,” she murmurs, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand. Her blue eyes bore into yours, her lips curving into that slow, deliberate smile that twists your stomach in the best way.

“And you’re enjoying it,” you shoot back, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass idly. A soft pulse of magic flickers from your touch, making the ice cubes inside melt slightly faster than they should.

Agatha tilts her head, her smirk deepening. “Perhaps,” she allows, her voice rich with amusement. Under the table, her hand brushes up your thigh, the faint static of her magic dancing across your skin. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed your little tricks.”

Her words send a thrill down your spine, though you mask it well. “Oh, those?” you say casually, tilting your head as if bored. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

Her laugh is low and dangerous—the kind of laugh that makes your breath hitch. “Careful, darling,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb over your knuckles. “Keep this up, and I might forget to be gentle.”

The flicker of heat in her voice makes your control slip for just a moment. The candle on your table flares slightly before settling, its light casting flickering shadows that seem to dance to their own rhythm. Agatha notices, of course. She notices everything. Her smirk grows as she leans back in her chair, swirling her wine glass lazily as though savouring her victory.

The tension between you builds all night—an invisible thread pulling tighter with every lingering glance, every casual brush of magic exchanged between you. The air feels electric, charged with unspoken desire and the potent power both of you wield so effortlessly.

When the server comes by to ask if you want dessert, Agatha doesn’t even glance at the menu. “We’ll take whatever’s at the top of the list to go,” she says smoothly, standing with a grace that’s almost otherworldly. She extends a hand toward you, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Shall we?”

—

The walk home is a blur. The cool night air does little to temper the heat between you, and every step feels like an eternity. You feel the subtle hum of her magic brushing against yours—a silent challenge you can’t help but answer with a flicker of your own. Her hand slides to the small of your back as she guides you up the steps to the door, and the moment you step over the threshold, all pretence of restraint vanishes.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, Agatha’s lips are on yours—hungry, urgent, filled with the fire she’s been stoking all night. You barely have time to gasp before she pushes you back, your spine hitting the wall with a soft thud as her hands pin yours above your head. Her kiss is relentless, her teeth grazing your bottom lip as her nails dig lightly into your wrists. Your knees weaken under the sheer force of her need.

“You’ve been driving me absolutely mad, teasing me, pushing me..." she growls against your lips, her voice rough and breathless. “Did you think I’d let your little games go unanswered? You should know me better than that.”

Before you can respond, she sweeps you into her arms with effortless strength and carries you toward the bedroom. You let out a startled sound as she tosses you onto the bed with surprising roughness, her smirk wicked as she towers over you. Her magic swirls in the air, palpable and electric, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. The fire in her eyes sends a thrill racing through your body.

Agatha wastes no time. With a wave of her hand, your clothes begin to peel away, each piece tugged free with deliberate precision. The fabric slides off your skin as though it has a mind of its own, her magic coaxing and caressing every inch of you it touches. You shiver under the sensation, your breath hitching as her power leaves you bare before her. Her smirk deepens as her eyes rake over you, dark with desire and satisfaction.

“You look absolutely devine like this,” she murmurs, her voice thick with lust. Her hand grazes your cheek, but there’s nothing gentle about the way her magic wraps around you—tight, commanding, and impossible to resist. “Completely at my mercy.”

She climbs onto the bed with the grace of a predator, straddling you as her hands press firmly against your shoulders. Her lips crash down onto yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless, her teeth scraping against your skin as her nails rake down your arms. The soft flicker of her magic tingles where her hands don’t reach, adding an intoxicating edge to every touch.

You arch beneath her, your own magic surging in response, flickering like fire across her back as your hands grip her waist. She lets out a low, guttural sound that sends heat straight to your core, her lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck. Her teeth nip at the sensitive skin there, and the faint spark of her magic sears against you, making you gasp and clutch her tighter.

“Getting bold again, are we?” She teases, her voice breathless but dripping with amusement as she presses her weight into you, pinning you firmly to the bed.

You barely manage a breathless laugh, your lips brushing against hers as you whisper, “Would you want it any other way?”

Her answering growl is all the warning you get before her lips claim yours again, and the world dissolves into a blur of heat, power, and the relentless pull of her touch. Every brush of Agatha’s lips against yours setting off sparks that race down your spine. Her hands roam freely now, trailing from your shoulders to your sides, exploring every curve and hollow with a possessive kind of hunger. Her lips find your neck again, and the sharp scrape of her teeth leaves you gasping, your fingers tangling in her hair to pull her closer.

“Such a tease,” she murmurs, her voice low and dripping with amusement. Her hands slide lower, her touch firm and deliberate, and the heat pooling in your core intensifies. You shiver as her fingertips trail over your thighs, brushing teasingly close to where you crave her most. When her hand finally cups you, the gasp that escapes your lips is enough to make her smirk against your skin.

Agatha doesn’t stop. Her fingers press just right, her magic thrumming faintly against you, adding an intoxicating edge to her touch. Your breaths come faster, your body arching into her as her lips return to yours in a kiss so heated it leaves you dizzy. She pulls back, hovering above you, her lips curled into a smug, satisfied smile as she brushes stray strands of hair from your face. Her own breathing is ragged; her normally pristine control frayed at the edges in a way that makes her look even more devastatingly beautiful.

You barely manage to form words between pants. "I... I want more tonight. I need more.”

Her eyes darken at your admission, a flicker of surprise mingling with the raw desire that’s already written across her face. She leans in closer, her lips ghosting over yours as she whispers, “Are you sure?” Her tone is soft, but the hunger beneath it is unmistakable. She’s been holding back, waiting until you were ready, but it’s clear how much she wants this.

Rather than answering with words, you pull her into another heated kiss, pouring every ounce of need and certainty into it. Her lips crush against yours, her hands sliding up your body as the kiss deepens, growing more fervent by the second. She groans into your mouth when your own hands begin to explore, trailing down her sides with deliberate curiosity. When your fingers brush between her legs and find a firm bulge beneath the fabric of her suit pants, you freeze.

Your wide-eyed gaze snaps to hers, startled by what you hadn’t expected. She pulls back slightly, her smirk widening as she takes in your reaction, her eyes glittering with amusement and pride. “Did you think I’d wait to put it on after the way you just kissed me?” She teases, her voice low and sultry.

“Oh,” you breathe, momentarily lost for words, “I love magic.”. Then curiosity takes over, your hand exploring the unfamiliar sensation, gently pressing and teasing. The way Agatha’s lips part, a soft moan escaping, sends a thrill through you. Her hips twitch under your touch, and it clicks—you realise she can feel everything.

Her moans grow sharper as your hand strokes the bulge through her pants, and her forehead falls to yours, her breath hot and uneven. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling,” she groans, her voice trembling with restraint.

You smirk, feeling emboldened by the way she’s unravelling under your touch. “I really, really love magic,” you murmur, your tone dripping with mischief.

Her answering laugh is low and guttural, a sound that sends heat racing through your veins. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she growls, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, her magic sparking faintly against your skin as her control slips.

When she finally pulls away, you’re left breathless, your skin burning with anticipation as she leans back and stands. Her eyes never leave yours; the promise in them is enough to make your pulse race. With a deliberate flick of her wrist, she clicks her fingers, and in an instant, her body is engulfed in a swirling haze of purple smoke. It lingers for only a heartbeat before dissipating, leaving her standing before you completely bare—except for the deep violet strap now secured to her hips.

“Ready for more?” She asks, her voice low and velvet-smooth, a dangerous smirk playing on her lips as she steps toward you.

You nod, your breath catching as she climbs back onto the bed. Her hands glide over your thighs, parting them gently as she settles between your legs. The heat of her body against yours is electrifying, her magic humming faintly where her skin brushes yours.

Agatha’s hands find your hips, her grip firm yet tender as she lines herself up with practiced precision. Her gaze meets yours, her smirk softening into something darker, more intimate. “Tell me if it’s too much,” she murmurs, her voice a low purr.

Her fingers dig slightly into your hips, holding you steady as she takes her time, letting the anticipation build as her body moves closer to yours. Agatha’s gaze never wavers as she presses forward, her movements slow and deliberate, giving you all the time you need to adjust. The initial stretch draws a gasp from your lips, and her grip on your hips tightens, grounding you with her steady touch. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing despite the obvious strain in it. “You’re doing so well.”

Her pace remains measured, her hips rocking in shallow, careful movements. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you feel the tension in her body as she fights to hold back, letting you catch your breath and find your rhythm.

But restraint has never been Agatha’s strong suit—not when it comes to you. It doesn’t take long before the careful control begins to slip. Your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her closer and urging her on with breathless gasps and moans that spur her to move faster, deeper, and harder. The moment she senses you’re ready for more, any pretence of caution vanishes.

“Fuck, doll, you’re perfect,” she growls, her voice rough and thick with desire. Her hips snap against yours with a growing urgency, and the world dissolves into a blur of heat and movement. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with the symphony of gasps, moans, and her ragged breaths in your ear.

Her name tumbles from your lips like a prayer, and Agatha responds with a low, guttural sound, burying her face in the curve of your neck as she drives you higher. Her teeth graze your skin, her nails pressing into your thighs, and every thrust sends sparks racing down your spine. You lose yourself in her—her strength, her heat, the raw passion she pours into every movement.

“God,” she groans, her voice heavy with awe and lust. “You feel… incredible.”

Her pace grows erratic, and she moves like a woman possessed, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. When your hands clutch at her shoulders, your nails dragging across her back, she lets out a sharp gasp, her hips stuttering for a brief moment before resuming with even more intensity.

You can feel her magic surging, wild and untamed, spilling over in waves that leave you breathless. It’s all-consuming, pulling you under like a riptide. When the climax crashes over you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—a white-hot explosion of pleasure that leaves you shaking beneath her, her name a broken cry on your lips.

Agatha follows moments later, her hips slowing as her head falls to your shoulder, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, tangled together, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing.

When she finally lifts her head, her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as she brushes a strand of hair from your damp forehead. “I told you teasing me was dangerous,” she murmurs, her voice soft but full of smug amusement.

You laugh weakly, your hands still clutching her waist as you try to catch your breath. “And I’d do it all over again.”

Her laugh is low and rich, and she leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, her movements now gentle and languid. “Careful, darling,” she purrs, her magic flickering faintly in her fingertips as they trace lazy patterns on your hip. “I’m far from done with you.”

With a sly smirk, she leans back, her fingers snapping once more. The faint glow of purple magic surrounds her, and in an instant, the strap is gone, replaced by an effortlessly regal floral robe that shimmers like liquid starlight. She stretches lazily, her eyes glinting with mischief as she looks down at you.

“Rest while you can,” she murmurs, her tone laced with promise. “We’ve got a long night ahead.”

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 7

Part 6

The door Sam knocks on is in a much nicer building than she expected.

She and Tucker are visiting Danny for dinner - and boy did they both nearly burst with excitement when he shyly extended the invitation - and frankly Sam had expected an apartment building in the Narrows or Park Row.

Danny was a teenage runaway less than a decade ago, for God's sake. Forgive her and Tucker for assuming he'd still be getting his feet under him and scraping by.

This? This is not that.

Sam has half a mind to think Danny is sugaring. He certainly wouldn't have any trouble - the Danny that disappeared from Amity was cute, but small and awkward in that teenage way. The grown up Danny they've been reconnecting with? He's tall, lean and positively gorgeous.

She wouldn't have a problem with that, per say. But the Danny they knew was also too nice for his own good and starved for positive attention. If someone was taking advantage of that Sam would kill them. 

Separation did not quell her instinct to wrap Danny up and protect him from the world, it would seem.

There's a slight commotion after the knock before Danny himself is yanking the door open with a grin that's happy and nervous at the same time.

“Guys! Hey! Come in!”

He ushers them inside with all the energy of an overgrown puppy, something that hasn't changed one bit since they were kids.

Sam shivers a little as they enter, assuming there's an AC unit blowing over the entryway at first. She smiles at Danny's back as he babbles at them.

“I kind of lost track of time, so food isn't actually ready yet, but then I thought - hey! Who cares! We can cook together and it'll be fun! I got all vegan stuff too so we can make a meaty pizza for Tuck and a different one for you, Sam-”

The apartment they walk into is a spacious open floor plan, furniture in blacks and grays. She shivers again. Seriously-

“Your AC on the fritz or something?” Tucker asks, rubbing his arms a little. “It's like fifty degrees in here, man.”

Danny freezes for a second on his way to the kitchen space before turning around and beelining for a wall - the thermostat.

“Shit, sorry! Sit, sit! I knew I was forgetting something,” he grumbles as he flaps a hand towards the black bar stools at the kitchen island and fiddles with the thermostat. “I like the cold, I always have it too low for most people in here. Sorry about that, it'll get better soon.”

Sam and Tucker exchange bewildered looks as they sit at the kitchen island. There's liking it cool, and there's fucking freezing.

“Guess I don't have to ask your favorite season,” Tucker jokes, and Danny offers him an apologetic grin as he lopes back over.

“Yeah, probably a safe guess,” he chuckles on his way to the fridge. “You guys want drinks? I have a homemade sangria if you want. Beer, wine, you name it.”

Tucker opts for a beer. Sam asks for the homemade sangria, curious. Danny pours two glasses and takes an ice cube tray out to pop a couple of ice cubes in.

When the glass is set in front of her - “they're the stemless kind you can't knock over. Cool, right? Look at ‘em wobble, they're just little guys.” - she raises an eyebrow.

The ice cubes are in the shape of little ghosts. Tucker snorts when he sees them, taking the bottle opener Danny offers for his beer.

“Ghosts? Really?”

Danny blinks like he'd forgotten he had a novelty ice cube tray, then grins and shrugs.

“I mean. What else is being from Amity good for if not inside jokes?”

He turns away before she can respond with any form of bewilderment - Danny had been known for disappearing during ghost fights, after all. He was terrified of them. She hadn't expected him to want any reminders of ghosts or his ghost hunter parents.

Sorry - Jack and Maddie.

With two resounding thunks, Danny slaps store bought dough onto his nice dark counters. He at least remembered to leave them out to rise. 

“Alright! While I roll this out, it's time to pick your toppings lady and gent - go wild, go ham. Let me show you my selection.”

He opens the fridge again, pulling out meats and veggies and cheeses abound. Sam notes vegan cheese alternatives in the mix with a warm fondness in her chest. She's stricter about being vegetarian than vegan, but the fact that Danny went that extra little mile? 

Yeah. Yeah, this is still her boy. She missed having two of them. She and Tuck were never meant to be without a Danny, and she can see on Tucker's face that he feels the same way.

Smiling and standing to start looking through the options, Sam sips her sangria. 

It’s delicious, and the little ghost ice cubes smile back up at her like they're as glad as she is to be here.

Masterpost

[revelboo]

Everything is Alright pt 6

Starscream x Reader- angry

•What does it say about you that you’re starting to look forward to your daily conversations? Besides the screamingly obvious conclusion that you have a bad case of Stockholm’s, anyway. For a giant, probably evil, alien robot, Starscream isn’t exactly awful. Snarky, insecure, and narcissistic, but not awful. And honestly, those flustered, little wing fidgets or startled silences when you play along or agree with him are kind of adorable.

• You’re definitely losing it. The big mech has become a confusing tangle of emotions in your chest. He’s your captor. He’s funny and surprisingly almost kind when he wants to be. He’s dramatic. He’s… a friend? Because, yeah, maybe you are getting a bit protective of the giant alien keeping you prisoner and maybe your heart aches every time he’s surprised or thrown off kilter by a tiny bit of kindness or compassion. Like it’s something he rarely gets.

• So when the door to his quarters slides open, you stand with a genuine smile, hand lifting in greeting only to freeze. That’s not your giant alien. Breath locking in your lungs, you slowly back away to the far side of your enclosure as two robots remarkably similar except in color to your robot enter his space. Sure, you’d realized that there had to be others as terrifying as the thought was, but he kept you hidden away like a secret.

• “We shouldn’t be in here,” the blue one grumbles, optics scanning the room with what sounded like trepidation. Or guilt. “He’s been weird lately. Keeping to himself.” The purple and black one starts opening drawers to root through the contents while you pray that they don’t turn, because your stupid, clear cage is right at their eye level.

• You’re still backing away when you step on the edge of your blanket, the material sliding under your heel as you yelp and fall. No, no, no. Don’t look. Don’t- crap. Both of them turn at the same time and stare right at you.

• “Is that… a human?” Blue alien is frowning as the purple one shoulders past him to stare at you as you do an undignified crab walk to scoot away to the other side of your prison until your back hits the wall. The purple one is grinning now as he reaches to hook a servo over the top edge of your box and tilt it. You go sliding to thump against the hard surface, heart racing as he tilts the cube further until you’re looking almost straight down at the floor below. Does he realize a fall from the height will kill you? Does he care?

• You’ve seen that cruel, amused glint in Skywarp’s optics before. If he’d been human, he’d have been one of those boys merrily hunting down ants to incinerate with a magnifying glass. And now you’re the ant. “Cut it out, Skywarp,” the blue one growls, but he doesn’t move to intervene.

• Instead of stopping, Skywarp reaches his free hand in and you fling yourself back to try and avoid being snatched. That only makes him flatten you against the far wall hard enough your head smacks the surface, stunning you. And then he’s grabbing you in a much too tight grip, lifting your limp, unresisting body free.

• You wonder if he’ll crush you or drop you. Ribs screaming at how tight his grip is, you can’t get a clean breath. Maybe he is going to just crush you slowly. Behind him, the door opens and you catch a glimpse of red armor, relief nearly making you sob. Starscream.

• Freezing just inside his quarters, Starscream’s optics narrow on his trine before alarm jangles through him. Skywarp has the human, its face ruddy as it weakly struggles against his grip. Anger spills through him in a dark tide as he bares his denta. “You dare?”

• “What?” Skywarp demands, voice all cruel amusement as he tosses the human up to catch in his hand. You scream, the sharp sound choking off suddenly. “Why do you even care? It’s only human.”

• You’ve seen Starscream angry before. At least, you thought you had, but this? As he charges at Skywarp, his face twisted in savage fury, you don’t recognize him. He drives Skywarp back, one of his hands seizing the other mech’s wrist and squeezing until he yelps. His other hand prying you free from Skywarp’s grip. It’s not gentle when he snatches you and there’s going to be bruises, but you’re too shocked as he snacks the muzzle of the weapon on his forearm into Skywarp’s face in a very obvious threat.

• Then the other one is there, trying to calm them both down as Starscream presses you to his chassis. You can hear him venting, the rough sound ending on soft growls. You feel like you’re in a fog, aware of the three arguing, but unable to focus on the words. How hard had you hit your head when Skywarp had pinned you? Exhausted, you lay your cheek against Starscream, soaking in the warmth and trying to shut everything else out.

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[darkdemeter]

BY THEIR LEASH

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it? ✎ 4.3k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

  An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

  Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

  That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

  At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

  Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

  Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

  The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

  Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

  You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

  Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

  “Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto. 

  “People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

  “He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

  You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

  Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

  In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

  You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

  In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

  The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

  For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

  When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. 

  “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

  “Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

  You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

  “Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

  “Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

  “Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

  She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

  Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

  Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

  But she never committed to joining forces. 

  You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

  Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

  For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

  Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

  She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

  “I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

  Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

  “Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

  “You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

  “Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

  “We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

  “No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

  She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

  “I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

  Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

  “And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

  “Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

  You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

  “Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

  At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

  “I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

  Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

  “I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

  This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

  Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy. 

  “Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat. 

  “You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos. 

  “No, I want something more.”

  “And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

  “And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

  She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha. 

  “E atât de bună?”

  The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods. 

  “Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

  Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed. 

  With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. “I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you. 

  “And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

  Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you. 

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

  “Animal magnetism, boys.”

  Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles. 

  “As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.” 

  You huff in reply, “And you?”

  Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

  Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

  She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest. 

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more. 

 She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

  She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail.  Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat. 

  Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

  “Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

  “Make us both cum.”

  You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

  “You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths. 

  Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow. 

  After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?” 

  “I think she’s been a good girl.”

  Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below. 

  Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl. 

  “‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing. 

  They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for. 

  “Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you. 

  Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

  You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips. 

  She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

  You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it. 

  You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down. 

  Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt hitches in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip. 

  “The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

  “Oh, she just needed some reassurance,” Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

  “Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect. 

  Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin. 

  “Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment. 

  “W-what thing?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out. 

  Thankfully and mostly dressed when Tony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98

[enigmatist17]

I've never written Deadlock before, but RatchLock(?) in the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon has me by the throat bc Ratchet is my #1 babygirl of All Time ❤️❤️❤️

My other fics I've done in said AU 1 2

---

Ratchet was old.

Sure, he still had a good 50 to 60 years left in him, but hoy boy he was old. He knows most of that "aging" happened when he worked with the mecha program, and while it had been the highlight of his life, the dark road they had started to turn down wasn't for him.

Pilots dying in dozens from all sorts of ways, the worst being the degradation of their minds from the very machine used to defend humanity

Bright-eyed rookies turning hollow and their spark burned out, most leaving with eyes unseeing inside the same black bag.

Demands for more, demands to integrate human and machine, demands to take away their humanity to win

Demands that still haunt his dreams, especially when old superiors ambush him with a gaggle of his new students and interns in his tow.

His town, dammit!

Most of them watch Ratchet spend the rest of the day cursing up a storm that could make any sailor blush while slamming things down, everyone escaping when he eventually made a vague motion to the door. He goes for his bottle of whiskey once he makes sure the last student drives off with some friends, taking a seat in the middle of the shop floor as he pours himself a generous glass, setting the bottle by the side of his chair.

"Does Ratty have all his toys away~?"

"For now." Ratchet rolled his eyes as he took a sip, able to hear the bay door behind his chair rattle before opening with a slight screech. To a normal person, the sight of what appeared to be an unpiloted mecha slipping into some random repair shop would have caused a bit of a ruckus, but Ratchet is unbothered as he takes another sip of his drink. "Make sure you close the door this time."

"I leave it open one time." The mecha scoffs, glowing red eyes cycling in exasperation as the bay door is closed with a slight tug, the loud crash of metal on concrete making the human in the room pinch the bridge of his nose. "Oops."

"If I had a wrench within reaching distance..." The mecha grins as it crosses the shop floor, unapologetic as they sit on the floor across from the bioengineer. "Any luck today?"

"I was able to take out two scouts, should give me enough energon for a few cycles." Ratchet watches as two glowing cubes are pulled out from a seemingly endless storage space inside one arm, shown off before they're placed back inside. "I've survived off less."

"I'm still working on a synthetic version, but no luck." A flicker of regret crosses Ratchet's face, and the mecha reaches over to poke the top of his head. "Hard to create an alien food source, apparently."

"You're still trying, I'll take that." The mecha croons, glowing eyes watching Ratchet take another sip with a sort of purring noise.

No, not a mecha, an honest-to-god alien known as a Cybertronian.

"You seem upset." While the strange organics lacked an EMF field, Deadlock didn't need one to see the annoyance in those pretty optics of his human.

"Just some of the usual bullshit." Deadlock raised an optic ridge and stared, his ornery human staring right back with a scowl. "Got somethin' on my face?"

"You don't get this grumpy over the "usual" bullshit." Deadlock leaned forward with a slight tilt of his helm, the low rumble of his engine getting the other to relax just enough to consider it a victory. "Ratty~"

"Stop calling me that, my name is Ratchet." The Cybertronian only grins, reaching forward to poke the man in his chest.

"I don't like you being upset." Metal that should not be that expressive molds into a pout that would rival his little niece, and had he not seen Deadlock rip out a part of one of the alien threats (Quintesson he's been told) with those sharp teeth, he might find it cute.

.....

Fuck

"Some of those government fucks showed up in front of my people, wanted me to just leave and go back to all of....that." The whiskey is drained, and Ratchet leans over to grab the bottle. "It's one thing to harass me over the phone, but the street? In front of my kids? They can fuck right off with that." The glass is filled again, and the two sit in silence as he slowly drinks, looking at the floor with his brows furrowed. "I can't go back to that, no matter how much that would help out my....project."

"Aw, I'm a project now?" Deadlock cooed, a clawed digit gently caressing the side of Ratchet's face with as much care as he could muster. "I got an upgrade~"

"You're a disaster." Ratchet rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn't move as he listened to the (begrudgingly) familiar cadence of Deadlock's systems. While he could be as silent as the grave, Ratchet was pretty sure he was some sort of spy or assassin of some kind despite any questions getting the brush off, the alien mech had adopted the practice of allowing his natural ambient noise to become noticeable.

Just for his human, one of many things he'd adopted for his savior-turned-object of affection.

"Would you like for me to kill them?" Deadlock purrs when Ratchet raises an eyebrow, taking in the warmth against his digit. "I could make it look like an accident~"

"Like hell you will, that'll just get more eyes on me."

"Are you sure? Didn't sound like you were all that upset by the idea Ratty."

"Yes I am...though if they approach me in public again, maybe you could cause an accident or something, as a treat."

"Oh you do spoil me~!"

[appocalipse]

never mine ✧ eddie munson

bartender!eddie x fem!reader • old friends to lovers • chapter 01 • 3.5k words

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

Summary: After everything that had happened with Vecna and the Upside Down, Eddie Munson left Hawkins as soon as you and the rest of your friends managed to clear his name. And you understood why Eddie and his uncle had made that decision. Truly, you did; Eddie's innocence had been proven, yes, but Hawkins was a small town and some people would always turn up their noses at them. It didn't mean you didn't miss Eddie, or think about him over the course of the next decade. Somehow, in your heart, you always felt that one day you would meet him again. The last place you thought that would happen, though, was at a bar — that Eddie, now in his early thirties, owns in New York.

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

It isn't the type of bar you usually frequent.

For starters, it's tucked away on a relatively quiet street in Brooklyn instead of being one of those swanky, pop-up bars you've gotten used to seeing all over Manhattan since moving here from Boston last year. Also, it's more rustic than sleek, more dark than trendy, its exterior walls adorned with faded red bricks, its small windows lined with black frames. It seems almost like an anachronism among the new construction that has been sprouting up all over this part of the neighborhood.

But even before you get close enough to see what the sign reads, something about this little place feels oddly familiar. In some intangible way, it reminds you of a time you left behind when you moved here: your years spent growing up in a sleepy Indiana town named Hawkins.

And maybe it's just because it's clearly about to rain — the air wet and misty, as though a storm is coming — but right now, for reasons you can't explain, you feel compelled to enter.

So you take a deep breath, open the heavy wooden door and step inside.

The inside is as rustic as the outside, with one long bar stretching across most of the space, booths running along the adjacent walls, and several tables scattered in the center beneath the glow of dim, gold lights. A jukebox quietly plays 'In Bloom' by Nirvana at the back. And just like outside, everything feels achingly familiar, a wave of nostalgia you don't quite understand crashing into you so intensely that you have to grip one of the barstools tightly to steady yourself.

"One sec, doll. Be right with ya!"

He's not really looking at you when he says those words. He's got his back turned, hands busy preparing a drink at the far end of the bar, head just barely visible as he hunches over to scoop ice cubes from the metal container beside him. You can't see much from where you're standing — he's wearing a denim jacket rolled up to his elbows, hair pulled up into a messy bun at the top of his head — but there's something about his voice, sweet yet gravelly, something about what little you can see of his face that makes your breath catch in your throat.

And then he straightens up, turns around. And you both freeze, staring at each other.

Eddie Munson.

It's impossible. But it's him; the same Eddie who sold you weed a couple times your senior year of high school. The same Eddie you grew to call a friend before he left Hawkins without even saying goodbye. The same Eddie whose name still leaves a dull ache in your chest if you think about it too long.

Ten years later, and he's somehow more handsome than ever, all grown up. His hair is a little shorter, curlier than you remember. He's wearing dark-wash jeans and a navy Henley beneath his scuffed leather jacket. That playful expression you once found so adorable is now made even more endearing by a small scar across one eyebrow. And those eyes — a warm brown, expressive as always — are locked onto yours as his lips part, slightly agape.

"Y/N?"

Your heart pounds in your ears when you nod. It's hard to tell what emotion lies behind his gaze, but after a few seconds of staring at you like this, he slowly places the drink he was preparing down on the bar countertop and all but runs toward you, a giant grin lighting up his face.

He nearly knocks you off your feet with the force of his hug, pulling you tight against him.

But you're not complaining.

You cling to him just as tightly, your cheek pressed against his chest. The scent of cedar and tobacco mixed with something else — something unmistakably Eddie — overwhelms your senses as he picks you up a few inches off the ground and spins you around with an excited laugh, making you wrap both arms around his neck for stability.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaims, setting you down before gently taking hold of your shoulders. "I can't believe it's really you."

For the briefest moment, it almost feels as though you've gone back in time, returned to 1986 — the year everything changed forever — right after defeating Vecna for good and before Eddie moved away with his uncle, Wayne, just days before you followed suit to leave for college.

And it seems impossible — ridiculous, really — that you should both be standing here, in this bar in New York of all places, years and years later. So you just stand there blinking, speechless, trying to make sense of it all with the most stunned smile plastered across your face.

"I—"

"What's going on out here?" someone yells from the other side of the room. "For fuck's sake, Ed, if you're gonna flirt with another customer, do it a little more quietly."

At that, Eddie drops his hands from your shoulders and turns toward the woman speaking, more amused than you've ever seen him. He playfully sticks his tongue out at her before giving you a wink.

"Sorry about that," he chuckles.

The woman leans forward a little bit, squinting as though she can't quite believe what she sees. Then a smile stretches across her face, too. "Wait, aren't you–"

"Yes," Eddie interrupts. "It's her, Dottie."

The woman — Dottie — seems to be in her 50s, with shoulder-length blond hair streaked with gray and a sleeve of colorful tattoos on one arm. When she strides toward you, she's wearing an easy smile that crinkles the corners of her green eyes, extending her hand to you over the bar.

"Hey there. I'm Dorothea, but everyone calls me Dottie. You must be the girl that Eddie—"

Eddie quickly steps in between you. "We were just catching up, actually," he explains. "Do you mind giving us a few minutes to ourselves? Great, thank you."

He doesn't give her time to respond; Eddie kisses the back of Dottie's hand and grins, then wraps his fingers around your wrist as he drags you behind the bar, through a set of double doors leading to a stairwell.

"Mind the step, sweetheart, it's a little steep," he cautions, keeping a tight grip on you as you both ascend the stairs.

And maybe it's because you're just getting over a breakup, but your stomach flutters from the nickname, from the way his thumb draws gentle circles into your skin.

This isn't the first time he's called you sweetheart. You don't know why it affects you differently now.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer until the two of you reach the top of the stairs, at which point he drops his hand from your wrist and faces you.

"Well, here we are!" he announces, stretching out his arms and turning in a full circle. "Home, sweet home."

You blink as you look around, realizing you're standing inside an apartment — presumably Eddie's — whose open floor plan means you can see straight into the kitchen and living room.

"I can't believe you live here," you mumble, more to yourself than anything else.

A large black sofa sits opposite the TV, a coffee table littered with beer bottles, candles and an ashtray between them. There's a little dining room table for four beside the couch, across from the galley kitchen where the counters are covered with dirty dishes. But despite the mess, everything still feels very... cozy, somehow. Welcoming.

Eddie chuckles, reaching behind himself to loosen the hair tie at the base of his skull. A few tendrils fall loose across his forehead as he tousles his hair, then combs his fingers through it. You feel something twist in your abdomen, your breath hitching in your throat.

Fuck, you think. That's distracting.

"Yeah, me either sometimes," he says with a shrug. "But it's got a roof, a bathroom and a bed. It used to be Dottie's, but now that she and Wayne are married, she decided to move in with him instead."

"Your uncle got married?"

Eddie nods, and the expression that settles in his features softens as he talks about his uncle.

"They met at the bar. Got hitched a few years ago, have a little place not far from here. It's cute, really. Like a little love story for old folks or something. But yeah, this place is all mine now. Not bad, huh?"

Your heart aches a little hearing this — not because you're sad that his uncle found love (you do feel happy for him), but because you hadn't realized how much you've missed in the last decade, how much of Eddie's life you weren't around for.

Still, you smile.

"Not bad at all," you agree.

Eddie's returning grin is more hesitant this time. As if he wants to say more, but he's unsure of how.

"I missed you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Because you had; so much more than you ever knew was possible. Even when you'd only grown close to him for a few weeks before he moved away, he had managed to make such an impression on you that his absence became a wound you couldn't quite heal, no matter how many years passed.

So for the longest time, you told yourself that he'd probably forgotten all about you anyway, since he never tried to contact you after he left. It was easier that way, somehow. Better than waiting for something that would never happen.

"Me too," Eddie breathes, voice so quiet you might have imagined it. "Me too, sweetheart."

For a second, you can't breathe.

When you do, you inhale his scent, a hint of weed and tobacco mixed with cedar. His cologne, then, you suppose. And there's something entirely new, too, something that belongs uniquely to him.

You stare at Eddie, trying to find the right words, but all you can manage to utter is:

"Really?"

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. Maybe concern, too.

"What? Why do you seem surprised?"

"No, I just–" you trail off, thinking. "I dunno. I guess I just...figured you wouldn't even remember me after so long. It's been...what? Ten years?"

"You thought I didn't remember you?" he asks incredulously, and those deep brown eyes widen a fraction.

You bite your lip, sheepish. "I don't know. Maybe. A little bit," you confess, looking away.

Eddie exhales a half-chuckle.

"Sweetheart, you're — Jesus — you're not exactly easy to forget," he utters softly, almost like he hopes you won't hear.

You can't help but laugh at this, although your cheeks immediately warm up, burning like fire. "Says you."

There's something almost bashful in the way Eddie smiles, his gaze cast downward as he reaches for a strand of hair and curls it around one finger.

"Don't you wanna sit down?" he asks. "I'll get you something to drink. Any preference?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," you reply, still a little overwhelmed by everything that's happening as he gestures for you to take a seat on his sofa.

"Alrighty. Just wait here. One sec."

As you make yourself comfortable on the black leather, you notice several framed photographs atop the mantle of the fireplace. Most of the pictures depict Eddie with people you've never met — a tall, handsome black man, a blond guy, a girl with short, spiky hair and a tattooed arm — but the one you can't look away from is a smaller frame with a picture of you, Dustin and the rest of your friends squeezed tightly together, the sun setting behind you.

It was taken after you beat Vecna in 1986. Before Eddie moved. Before you did, too. Everyone in the picture looks dirty and exhausted, but there's also an air of celebration hanging over all of you that you can clearly see just by the wide, gleeful smiles stretching across your faces.

"It's a real shame you ever doubted it, by the way."

Eddie's voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you turn around to find him already halfway to the couch. He's holding two beers in his hands.

"I wasn't—I didn't mean to pry or anything," you explain, your heart beating a little faster.

He shrugs as he hands you one of the beers and takes a seat beside you, close enough for you to feel his thigh press against yours.

"Nah, it's okay," he assures, his gaze traveling to the picture you were examining a few seconds ago. "That's a good memory."

You nod in agreement as you bring the bottle to your lips. It's cool and refreshing against your tongue, but not as calming as you need it to be.

"I'm sorry for just barging in here, by the way. I don't actually know why I came in the first place, I just... felt like something was pulling me in," you tell him.

And it's true; that strange sense of familiarity that tugged you forward earlier today has started to fade, now replaced by a comforting warmth that feels like coming home.

Eddie snorts a laugh before taking a swig of his beer.

"Sorry, I'm just making it weirder and weirder, aren't I?" you groan, leaning forward to place your beer on the coffee table.

Eddie sets his down, too.

"No, you're not, sweetheart," he soothes, taking one of your hands in his and rubbing a calloused thumb over your knuckles. "Why would you think that?"

You can't look at him when you answer.

"I don't know, I just... I spent years wondering about what happened to you after you left Hawkins, and then I randomly show up here, and now we're just sitting on your couch like we haven't spent ten years apart? It feels insane."

There's something unreadable in the way he's looking at you, then.

"You look really pretty, by the way," Eddie says.

Your heart is thumping so loudly you worry he can hear it.

"Oh yeah?" you tease with a grin, desperate to hide the fact that you can feel yourself blush all the way up to the tips of your ears. "Prettier than when we were twenty-one?"

The grin he flashes you is bright and lopsided, playful.

"Way, way prettier, actually," he drawls.

Your brain seems to malfunction after this, his words playing on a loop, over and over and over again inside your head. And all you can do is return his smile, feeling a pleasant heat pool in your belly that has nothing to do with alcohol. "Eddie Munson, are you flirting with me?"

He laughs at this — a genuine, low chuckle.

"Depends. Is it working?"

Yes, you think.

"Not at all."

"Liar," he smirks before raising the hand he's still holding and pressing a kiss to its back. "Then yes, I am."

Your breath catches in your throat, a thrill running down your spine as Eddie holds your gaze with a small smile. But then it fades, replaced by something more serious as he absentmindedly traces a pattern onto your palm with his fingertip.

"Can I ask you something?"

You nod. He lets go of your hand.

"If you're here, does that mean you're also living in New York?" he asks, eyes filled with a cautious hope as he stares at you. "Or did you just happen to be passing through on vacation?"

"I moved here a year ago," you tell him, biting your bottom lip. "I can't believe you're really here. What are the chances, right?"

It feels like some kind of cosmic joke. And while you never quite stopped hoping that you and Eddie might meet again someday, you didn't expect it to happen like this. In a bar. In New York.

Ten years later.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, huh?"

"You sound like an old man."

He chuckles at your teasing tone before bending forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him.

"I just—this is gonna sound totally lame, but..."

Eddie trails off, chewing on his lower lip as he searches your eyes.

"Go ahead," you urge gently.

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his face as he takes a deep breath.

"When I left Hawkins, I felt like a fucking idiot because I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you. Not really, I mean. And I—shit, I really wanted to. More than anything. So... the reason why I left without saying anything was because I was scared that if I saw you one last time, I'd lose my nerve and not leave at all. And...I know, I know it's dumb, because we had only known each other for a couple of weeks, but—"

"It's not dumb," you assure him. "Not to me, at least."

It's one thing knowing someone for a long period of time and losing them. But when you grow attached to someone so quickly, so suddenly — like you did with Eddie — it leaves an emptiness behind. Something you can't quite fill, nor begin to explain to anyone else without feeling as though you're speaking nonsense.

"It's not?"

"No. Not at all."

And you wonder if he can see the vulnerability in your eyes when you reach forward and brush your fingertips over his. It's all you dare to do, all the courage you can muster, but he responds by uncurling his own and sliding them between your palms. His hand feels warm, smooth. Cold where the silver of his rings touches your skin.

"I never forgot you, you know? And I—" he stops, and you watch him swallow hard. "Shit. Sorry. You're gonna think I'm a creep."

"Try me."

The smile on his face is shy and endearing, his cheeks flushed pink when he admits: "Sometimes I have this...dream."

You cock your head to one side, curious. "What about?"

"About you."

Eddie glances down at his hand in yours, studying it for a moment like it's the most interesting thing in the room.

"Mostly about that night you saved me. You know, from the bats."

"I didn't save you," you protest. "I just...I got lucky."

He scoffs, shakes his head like that's the most preposterous thing he's ever heard.

"Sweetheart, I was half dead when you showed up. If it wasn't for you, I would be completely dead right now."

You glance at Eddie's side, where you remember him having an angry, festering wound when you found him. You wonder if the scar is still there, if it bothers him.

"Maybe," you concede, and his smile returns. "So you dream about that?"

"Among other things. Yeah."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you consider what those other things might be, his gaze intense upon you as you nervously wet your bottom lip with your tongue.

"Other things?" you repeat.

"Other things," he confirms. "I might tell you about 'em sometime if you play your cards right, though."

"Oh, right," you muse, pulling your hands away from his with a soft chuckle. "This is you flirting, isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" he asks, grinning as he leans back on the couch cushion.

You don't miss the way he looks at you, the same way he used to in high school whenever he was trying to get under your skin, to rile you up. And it seems that — even after all these years, with you all grown up, both of you in your early thirties — he hasn't lost his touch.

"So what if it is," you echo.

Eddie raises both eyebrows, smirking. "Guess you're gonna have to come back sometime if you wanna find out. You know, just to be sure."

"I—" you hesitate, realizing you hadn't considered the possibility of leaving before, too caught up in the whirlwind of seeing him again after so long. "Shit, yeah, I should...I should go, I've kept you long enough as it is. I should let you get back to work—"

You move to stand up, but a gentle hand on your arm stops you.

"Wait," he pleads, voice soft. "Do you...have anywhere you gotta be? Anywhere you need to rush off to?"

"Um—" you look down at the floorboards, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "Just my bed? It's getting late. Well, not really, but...it will be soon?"

The tension slowly eases from Eddie's body as he relaxes, his expression becoming playful.

"Are you asking or telling?" he teases.

You sigh.

"I don't wanna intrude."

"You're not. At all," Eddie says firmly, his words a promise. "Besides, you still have a lot to catch me up on. So you can tell me all about whatever boring day job you landed now that you're living the big apple life, and I'll tell you about my band, which has a gig tomorrow, by the way, so you're definitely coming to see it."

"Wow, you're bossy now," you point out.

His eyes gleam as they hold yours, and when he speaks, his voice is husky, full of mischief.

"You have no idea, sweetheart."

[absdoll]

oh my godddddd i just read your sub!Abby fic and i'm just thinking of a fic where reader 'doms' Abby but really she's just letting you have your fun and we all know who's still in charge :) oh my god i'm losing it please i just know you would make it so hot,,,,,,,, omg i'm giggling and twirling my hair

yesyesyesyesyes ♡ 💗💕 exactly nonnie ! <3

cw: ice play (almost) , dom!abby , daddy kink lol

“hands behind your back.” you sternly say to your blonde girlfriend, who is manspreading in front of you on your shared bed, you stood between her muscular legs.

“yes ma’am” she giggles back at you, totally taking this seriously, and pins her hands to the small of her back.

you roll your eyes at abby and puff out your chest, “what’s funny? don’t make me get rough with you.” you warn her.

“not funny baby, just cute.” she bats her eyes up at you, making your tummy explode with butterflies.

abby is always in charge. sex, plans, grocery lists, cleaning, abby is always the one handling everything. and as much as you love being under her control, today you wanted to give her a chance to relax and be tended to. but it’s abby, and abby won’t let that slide.

you point your finger to her broad chest, “lay back.” abby raises an eyebrow at you, following your orders. “you’re liking this, aren’t you princess?” abby teases.

“yeah, i am, princess” you tease back. abby can admit that she finds it hot how you’re being so demanding and tough, she knows at any second though she can bend you over her knee and you’ll be a whimpering obedient mess like you always are, but she’ll let you have your fun for now.

you pick up a cup that’s to your left, swirling around the melting ice cubes in it. abby’s gaze shifts to your hand, still shaking the cup. “baby…” she nervously breathes.

“i’m gonna take off your pants, okay?” you slide her grey sweatpants down her legs, biting your lip at the sight of her blue boxers, removing those too.

you plop an ice cube in your mouth, but abby abruptly grabs your jaw. “spit it out.” she demands. you shake your head out of her grasp, spitting the ice cube on her chest. “tss-ahh! what the fuck!” she hisses.

“i’m in charge, remember? don’t interrupt me again.” as you reach for the cup, abby has decided she’s had enough of this.

the burly blonde sits up, sliding her boxers back up to her waist. you watch as she blatantly disobeys your orders.

“here’s what gonna happen my sweet girl. you’re gonna lay down, take off those cute little panties, put your hands behind your back, and sit pretty until i tell you you can move, got it?” she hovers over you, awaiting your compliance.

“b-” you try to regain your “control” you had just a minute ago, but abby’s patience is long gone. “nuh uh baby, all i want to hear from that little mouth is yes daddy.”

abby walks out of the room, leaving you to process what’s about to happen. you do as you’re told because abby can get scary when disobeyed. her blue crystal eyes get dark, almost stone grey.

you’re naked, hands flat under your back, thighs pressing together trying to relieve the uncomfortable sensation pooling down there.

the door creaks slightly, abby’s tall build standing in the doorway, arm resting on the frame above her head. “aww good girl.” she smiles at you.

her strap is tucked in the band of her boxers, the black silicone tip peering from the top. “and good girls get rewarded, yeah?” she walks towards you, eyes locked with yours.

“spread your pussy for me doll” she coos, eyes widening at your milky cream dripping down your thigh.

abby slaps your sopping pussy, letting a long string of spit land on your throbbing nub.

“you ready?” she smirks, positioning herself at your center.

💕 @whore4abby @enbesbians @hersweetheart @picklesarenice69 @abbystoy ♡

a/n : HI MY BABIES OH MY GOD I MISSED U ANGELS SO MUCH ♡♡ feels like i haven’t written in years , ik u lot are patiently waiting on dealer!ellie & i promise promise promise she’s coming soon 🎀💕 enjoy this fun req i got awhile ago , sorry it took me so long nonnie !!!

[corviiids]

fic prompt: light in a final day of the yotsuba arc timeloop where he loses and regains his kira memories every day (but retains awareness of the loop).

It's not until the fifth time around that Light slips up and answers the question before L's asked it.

L is staring at him.

Light clears his throat. "Sugars," he says. "Right? You were just picking up the bowl."

"Right," says L after a short pause, though his hand is nowhere near the sugar bowl. He plucks two cubes out with his fingers and plops them into Light's coffee, just like he'd asked. "I always forget how intuitive Light-kun is."

Those cold black eyes don't leave him for some time. Light stares at his hands, trying not to think about the yawning hole in his memory. Over the past five Thursday the 28th of Octobers, it's only grown deeper.

--

The traffic officer dies every time. Light's tried to stop it, but there's little he can do. He doesn't know the fellow's name to call ahead on the radio. He's never stuck around long enough for the investigation to complete, so he's never seen the man's ID. The day always resets before then.

He does, at least, manage to prevent his father from being shot. It's Wedy instead. The next time around, Light closes his eyes to his father's pained shout.

On one occasion, Higuchi dies before they can arrest him. L takes up his--

--something. Something. Something, and. They reclaim something from Higuchi every time they get him. It's small enough to fit in L's hands and every time someone touches it they scream. Something. Each time they reach the helicopter, Light reaches across L and plucks the thing out of L's limp hands, and then his memory goes white and the fourth day of the week begins again. It's the thing Kira uses to kill, it's the only important thing he's learned. Why can't Light remember what it is?

On that one Thursday, Light shouts a new instruction and Higuchi shoots himself in the head before anyone can comply. L takes up the something as Higuchi's body bleeds out. Light tugs it from his hands and his memory whites. With the white comes something else: panic, the likes of which Light had never felt, sickness somewhere deep and coiling. He wakes up on Thursday the 28th of October with the heavy weight of a damning failure resting in his gut.

But it's morning again. The sun warms L's pale, sleeping face and lights up the dark blood vessels under his eyes. Light swallows down a gag.

--

"You've been agitated today," L comments.

It's lonely not having a confidant. It's isolating. Light has thought about telling his father, but their relationship isn't confessional like that. He's thought about telling Ryuk, or even Misa, or Aizawa. But then, anyone he told, L would hear it too.

Light isn't sure why he's keeping the loop from L. He has nothing to hide from L. No reason to hide from L. The two of them, after all, are going to catch Kira.

"Did Light-kun--"

"I slept fine," says Light.

L's expression doesn't change. "I was going to ask if you had any questions for me," he says.

That isn't true. "Oh, sorry," says Light. "No, I'm good."

Each time the white fades and he wakes, L is the first thing he sees. Some remnant of the night before draws back hissing from his sleeping face like grease from soap. Light will watch him sleep until the revulsion eases, until it fades, and L's eyes open wide again. The man never blinks. The skin on his eyelids is thin. Light will not get to see them again until they sleep, so while L sleeps, Light watches him and tries to forget everything L had asked of him the day before, and fails.

--

Higuchi enters the office and takes out Matsui's CV. He pulls out a pen and writes the name down, then he leaves. Light is forgetting something.

"It has something to do with the name," he says desperately, casting about. "Something to do with the way he wrote down that name."

L looks at him strangely. "We know that, Light-kun," he says almost gently.

"No," Light says, frustrated. There's something. Something. Deep in the recesses of his memory, there's something he can't find, something that will lead them to Kira. Higuchi wrote Matsui's name and all the tension left his body.

In the helicopter, he snatches at the something like a vulture at dead flesh and the world goes white again.

--

What if, wonders a small voice. What if he didn't pick it up? What if, whatever the something is, Light left it in L's hands? Perhaps the dark would stay dark and Light might be permitted to see his next Friday. It's worth a try, at least. It's worth a shot. The cuffs slap onto Higuchi's wrists and Light lunges for the thing in L's hands once more.

[dadsbongos]

warm and fuzzies

1.1 k words / warnings - grinding, inebriated groping/sex, outdoor action, sniffing

summary - when you two sneak onto the porch during a Halloween party, Connie Springer knows he has the perfect opportunity to woo you.

kinktober: day four - high/drunk ~~~

Red and purple lights flourish around Eren and Armin’s comfy two bedroom apartment. Dulled thumps vibrate against the sliding glass door to your right. Smoke ribbons between two flush faces: yours and Connie Springer. He’s got silver rings and a black sparkly robe and his ghostface mask is laid on top of your head. 

“You put way too much rum in this,” and oh yeah, your dark lipstick is smeared on his lips as he passes your cup back, “Why?”

“The kitchen’s dark as fuck!” you huff, “I can’t see anything.”

Connie shakes his head, gagging histrionically, “No, I think your mixing is just dogshit.”

“Whatever,” eyes rolling, you hold out a hand to take the joint he holds, “Pass, Con’, don’t hog it.”

“You just had it, pretty girl,” your tummy flips as Connie leans over the arm of his lawn chair, bypassing your hand to perch the butt between your lips, “Go on, greedy.”

Despite his jab, you suck and blow -- politely airing the blunt smoke into Connie’s face. He playfully hums and closes his eyes to inhale, then sighing dreamily with a soft thanks, pretty. Red, lidded gaze locked on your own before dropping to your lips.

Gaze drifting sideways, you feel so bold as to reach up and twiddle his little hoop earring, “I like this.”

“Me too,” he mock gasps, “That’s why I got it.”

“Yeah, sassy?” the heat from his skin spurs you to card your nails along his buzz cut.

He hums, eyes fluttering shut to feel your fingers dance along his scalp while taking another hit. Dragging it out until he sears the back of his throat, now holding it up to your mouth, “Here, take it.”

“Hm?” you frown, and he can see the clarity sopping up alcohol in your eyes when you ask, “Are you going inside?”

“Huh? Nah,” he sits back, legs spreading. He wets his lips and encourages the blunt into your mouth with a gentle tap, “It’s gettin’ low. I figured you’d want the last bit.”

“Oh, okay,” awkwardly giggling off your earnest upset, “How courteous.”

“I know, right,” he’s been in your space all night. Eren called it weeks ago when he said you’d show at the party; said if you don’t take this chance to finally make out then I’ll kill you myself. So Connie clears his throat and pats his thighs, “I can be a bit more courteous?”

You giggle again, this time at him, “What?”

Connie shrugs it off -- he’s the funny short guy, thankfully your laughter is nothing new to him.

“How would you dig a new seat?” and again, he pats his thighs. Sparkly robe catching moonlight. 

Blinking twice, you take a sip of your rum and Coke before sliding from one creaky lawnchair and into another to occupy Connie’s lap. Chest pressed against his and hands shyly perched around his neck -- nails tip tapping against sweaty red plastic. Dulling ice cubes clink behind his head, but Connie pays it no mind in favor of staring up at you through hazy eyes. Pupils blown so wide they’re onyx marbles. He laughs in your face.

“What?” you whine, plucking back to take a sip. Face puckering at the sour taste.

“You’re so cute,” Connie murmurs. You can smell vodka ripe from his throat. Vodka and orange juice and weed. Any ocean spray cologne he thought was going to steal the night has long since faded. It makes you suddenly paranoid your own body spray has been choked out. 

“Do I smell bad?” you interrupt. Crickets croak behind you. A dog barks from down the road.

Inside Eren’s apartment, there’s a graveyard smash and drunken cheers.

Very sincerely, however, Connie’s brows raise and eyes widen. His hands land boldly on your hips, rocking you forward to steal an experimental sniff. You’re hardly listening for his response because your crotch notches his in the movement. A meek whimper leaks, one you’re not sober enough to bite down -- or even to have the shame to cover your mouth afterward.

For a stiff, endless moment you pray Connie simply hadn’t heard.

“Did you just moan?” his voice is hoarse, mouth agape and cheeks flaring red.

“No…” you bumble, shuffling onto your knees to stand only to be buckled down by Connie’s grip.

He whines and shakes his head, “You did,” he smiles and gives an airy teehee, “I wanna hear it again.”

“Con,” you whimper. He pushes you against his hardening cock. The pressure forces a huff of pleasure to waft out. 

“Yeah, baby?” Connie’s scraping out suave by the skin of his teeth, despite the rabid rackety thump in his chest telling him he’s about to drop dead, “You like that?”

But when you let out a broken mm mmm and loose nod, his hips jerk up into yours without much thought. A gutless groan vibrating from his lips to yours. Connie gasps when you relent and roll, abandoning the watery rum and Coke in the window sill behind him to curl hands around his neck. Thumbs tracing the hard ridge of Connie’s jawline, culling his mouth open. Velvety tongues clashing as you groan and gasp into each other’s maws.

No matter how light-headed you are, you’re steely firm in wanting Connie -- so you don’t stop him when he starts rolling your bottoms off. Guitar calloused fingertips dip beneath the band of your underwear, Connie honestly moans when he feels nothing but slick.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles.

“Is that bad?” you slur.

“No way,” he babbles back, “Could slip in right now, you’re so hot.”

His praise makes you grin into the sloppy, sad excuse of a kiss. Connie drunkenly yanks up his rob -- inebriation making him blind to the autumn night chill suddenly icing his bare legs. Pushing his boxers down his knees, Connie’s barely considering trivial things like protection and safety and forethinking because your hole is already kissing his tip. And if you’re so eager, who is he to stop you when he’s just as excited?

Sinking pelvis to pelvis is easy when it’s Connie, who coos and moans and coaxes and strokes hearts into your clit. He hisses, “So good, baby, you feel so good.”

A useless squeal is all he gets in return as you swivel, thighs straining enough to feel the friction of his thick dick stretching you open again and again. 

Crickets chirp. A dog yelps. A car zooms by as trees sway.

You and Connie fumble to feel each other up with fluttery eyes and sideways vision. Pure want clouding good judgment with neither of you bothering to temper swears and wails of one another’s name. Loud music and a prayer all that’s reliable to keep others oblivious. 

And it does not work well: Eren locks the door and cinches the black curtains with a disappointed sigh.

[lesbianhalflifeposting]

Could you imagine being Chell. Getting through to the end of a testing track after hours. Sweaty, exhausted, clothes clinging to your skin, wanting nothing more than to get in the elevator and be done for the day. Dropping a final cube onto its button and feeling the immense relief of the exit door sliding open, striding towards it, almost dead on your feet. Stepping through to where the elevator should be, only to find a blank room. Hearing the whir of air vents, starting to feel your knees turn to jelly beneath you, realizing you've been had. Feeling your legs give out, your entire body crumple to the floor, the last thing you see being the Party Escort Bot grabbing your ankles before the darkness ebbing at the edges of your vision wins out and you know nothing more.

Could you imagine slowly letting your mind come back to life. Dim light piercing through the blackness of unconsciousness, dragging you back to the world of the living. Realizing as your senses came back online that everything didn't feel quite right. Your body felt twisted, contorted in ways you couldn't make sense of. Feeling a pain inside you, but one that you just couldn't place. The events leading up to this moment flooding back into your brain, and your mind jolting to attention.

Could you imagine your eyes snapping open, desperately taking in your situation as the sensations you'd felt earlier now aligned into focus. Tied down on your knees, arms behind your back, unable to move no matter how you squirm. Wearing only your sports bra, every other piece of clothing you own being MIA. Forced down onto a massive dildo, one you couldn't possibly take normally. Stretched out to a degree that would make someone weaker cry out, silicone head rubbing against your cervix with every movement.

Could you imagine feeling a chill rush over you, goosebumps prickling as the PA crackled to life. Hearing that familiar breathy whisper as the full nature of your exposed form, your complete and utter vulnerability sank in. How she'd managed to outsmart you, humiliate you like this, in a way you had promised yourself you'd never let her do.

"I have to admit, I had expected much more resistance from you, Chell. I almost wonder if you wanted this to happen. For how much you fight me, you seem to be quite the perfect little slut. I was amazed at how little effort it took getting you down like this, let alone forcing that member inside you. You were wet from the bot's first touch, weren't you?"

Could you imagine growing red, humiliated at her words, disgraced at how she spoke about you. How dare she? A machine, a thing, calling you a whore? And yet... Could you imagine feeling yourself start to drip around the fake cock. Were you enjoying this??? Was she turning you on? Maybe she was right. Maybe you are a fucking slu-

Could you imagine your head throwing back, your mind going completely blank as the massive protrusion pressing against your most sensitive spots started vibrating. Shockwaves penetrating throughout your core, causing every muscle in your body to tense, only the restraints on your legs holding you upright. Trying desperately to find some kind of purchase to rub your clit on but finding nothing but cool air; feeling your slick gush from around the shaft within you, puddling on the floor around your thighs. Biting back moans and whines so she couldn't hear; trying desperately to hide how despite everything, this felt so GOOD. Failing to catch one as it left your mouth; a long, drawn-out, gurgling, guttural noise you didn't even know was capable of coming from your lungs.

"So you are enjoying this! Just when I was starting to doubt my hypothesis, you provide me with the ultimate piece of evidence. My own mute, dangerous whore."

Could you imagine her words barely registering in your mind as the intensity of the vibrations kicked up, surely for her viewing pleasure. Bucking your hips against the restraints, just barely managing to rise half an inch off the ground before the straps ground against your skin, keeping you from going any further. Slamming yourself back down onto the floor, the tip ramming itself back against your cervix in a mixture of extreme pain and pure ecstasy that you needed more of. Bouncing yourself up and down as much as your condition would allow, feeling your core start to tense up, release starting to poke its head over the horizon, edging closer and closer before finally taking you. Pure white flooding your vision as your eyes roll back, orgasm bursting from within your deep core, conscious thought escaping out the back door as pure pleasure takes its place.

Could you imagine the wave of ecstasy starting to subside, your train of thought reasserting itself as the world comes back to you. Taking in your own sorry state post-orgasm; a thick layer of sweat beads atop brown skin, bra soaked through so cleanly you can see the outlines of your areola. Slick puddled beneath you, mixing with the sweat of your thighs, soaking into your folds. Limbs limp with exhaustion, your body held upright only by the ties around your ankles

"My my. That was an incredible display you put on for me. I almost didn't want it to end. But, I suppose like all tests, results must come eventually. That said-"

Could you imagine jerking back as the vibrations returned, much stronger than they had been before. Feeling your sensitive cunt cry out as it was overstimulated, your mind flooded with painful pleasure as you start to cry out in between moans.

"-All good science must be repeatable through experimentation. I simply must gather more data before reaching conclusions. You understand, don't you, you little whore? After all, it's for science :)."

[rockyteriyaki]

i wasn’t quite able to finish my other halloween fic in time for the deadline, so i dragged out a carcar snippet and wrote a little bit for a tumblr fic! 1.5k words, guardian angel au 🪽 @motorsport-halloween

The first place they steer him after a race is the guardian angels tent.

It’s small, made of slippy plastic tarping and held up by thin aluminum, cheap like everything in F3. Water slides off the top and pours down the sides in a clear curtain. Today, there are more guardians than usual: a dense cube of feathers packed together to avoid the worsening storm. Probably because everyone and their mother was sliding around the track just now. Perilously.

Oscar stands on his tiptoes from his spot under an awning, trying to profile the crowd before running out in the downpour. He’s seen his angel exactly one time before- when he’d gotten into a particularly nasty collision and had to retire from a race. He remembers dark wings, dark eyebrows, dark eyes. An accented voice not that much older than his own.

“That was stupid. Do not- like that, you shouldn’t. Be smarter.”

Oscar had just stood there, gaping. Hadn’t closed his mouth until his angel had sort of huffed and turned away, back to the tent. The sparkling rip in the atmosphere was starting to stitch itself up, by then, swirling plastic cones into it like a vacuum. Saved by the bell. It hadn’t been until after he’d left that Oscar realized what he’d really wanted to say was fuck off.

Now, Oscar watches the rest of the grid flock to the tent, skittering in under the rain and finding their angels. He watches them idly recount their race stories to various levels of enthusiasm, subject themselves to pat-downs and wellness checks and lectures as needed. There’s genuine affection in their touches, especially in those whose drivers lost control of their cars or locked up in the rain. Who maybe got a little bit closer to the edge. When he gets to F1, this part won’t be televised, but it’ll be more thorough and more often. Because he’ll be closer to the edge, every single race.

But Oscar was pretty damn close today and his angel isn’t here, so. Maybe not.

Halfway through the F2 season, Oscar decides he officially hates his angel.

Whenever he feels his tires start to slip, whenever he clips the barrier or botches a turn, the adrenaline that rises in his throat is partially because he thinks that maybe his angel will have felt it. That he’ll be waiting for him under the tent or in the cooldown room, this time, and his dark eyes will be filled with something other than cool indifference. Like, a shred of concern for Oscar’s life, maybe. But he’s not, and he never is, and Oscar kind of really hates him.

The next time he sees him is in a bland conference room with Mark, his legal squadron and the team principal of Alpine who’s name Oscar can never remember. His black hair catches the shitty fluorescent-looking light of his halo and Oscar almost walks right back out.

“What is this,” he whispers to Mark. It’s not a hiss. “Why is he here.”

“I have to be here. To make sure your life is not ruined,” his angel says, at full volume. Oscar dislikes him so much.

“You are so—“ Oscar starts and doesn’t finish, which is a tactic he uses when he’d like to say something rude but shouldn’t. “Wait.” He turns to Mark. “Is my life about to be ruined?”

Mark inhales, reaching for his manila folder. The Alpine people wince. His angel waggles his incredibly thick eyebrows.

Oscar doesn’t sign with Alpine. He gets a text from an unknown number that says “See you should listen to me yes?” and he thinks about doing something crazy like throwing his phone against the wall. Instead, he shoves it under his sweatshirt and lets it rest against his stomach. It goes up and down as he breathes.

The issue is that his angel doesn’t leave.

Apparently he has to stick around until the ink is dry on Oscar’s contract, now that he’s waded into this whole mess. He has a little phone-like thing, sleek and rectangular, that lights up every once in awhile with indecipherable notifications about the state of Oscar’s life, or whatever. Oscar is 99% he has it on whatever the all-seeing equivalent of “do not disturb” is. He’s the worst.

“What’s his name again?” Oscar asks, around a mouthful of eggs.

“Carlos,” Mark says.

“Carlos,” Oscar seethes.

“You’re gonna have to nut up, mate,” Mark says. He sounds tired. “It’s standard procedure.”

Oscar wants to ask if it’s standard procedure to be concussed and have the doctors at the track refuse to take you to A&E without guardian angel signoff, and for that signoff to never arrive because your angel can’t be fucked, but he doesn’t.

Carlos is never around unless it’s to steer Oscar away from people and look smug. After the seventieth awkward handshake with the shadow of Carlos looming over his shoulder like an overgrown, disapproving hawk, he pulls him into a corner.

“Can you just tell me what I’m meant to do?”

“What do you mean,” Carlos says. It would have sounded sarcastic, if he hadn’t physically flopped his head to the side as he said it. Something evil settles around Oscar’s heart.

“My fate. My destiny, God’s plan, whatever the fuck, I just—I can do it myself. Please.” It comes out a little bit more desperate than he intends, but still north of begging, so he chalks it up as a point.

“No, I cannot,” Carlos says. “This is my job. Sorry,” he adds, because Oscar has the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes.

“Okay, so what if I—I dunno, disobey you?”

“Then you are making a big mistake,” Carlos says, so solemnly. His wings twitch a little bit, rising and flexing through his shoulder blades. Oscar swallows.

“You can’t stop me.”

“I can. This is my job,” Carlos repeats. His wings flare even further. The tips of the darker feathers almost block out the light, closing Oscar into the corner.

“I’ll sign with Alpine,” Oscar challenges. He doesn’t really want to do that, but there’s some kind of rabbity panic jumping around in his chest and making him stupid. “I could. They want me.”

“They don’t.” Carlos’ eyes are blazing the same neon as his halo. He could be seeing all possible futures right now, for all Oscar knows, and yet he still sounds like a moody toddler, shooting down everything Oscar says.

“I’ll show you the contract, mate, they definitely do.” Oscar is no better than him, apparently.

Except maybe he is, because Carlos steps forward until they’re practically chest-to-chest. All Oscar can see in his periphery are reflections of halo-light and Carlos’ heaving chest, his aquiline nose. “You don’t even—“

Somewhere, an alarm starts going off.

Carlos says something in Spanish, short and sharp. His eyes are wide. He fishes his angel-phone-thing out of his jeans. It’s angry red, flashing and beeping and buzzing all at once. An instinctive panic rockets through Oscar, far away from the warm anticipatory one from a few seconds ago.

“Isn’t that,” Oscar says. Clears his throat. “Um, is that bad?”

“Shit,” Carlos says in English. He does something weird, after that: like his whole body flickering, disappearing for a few milliseconds and then popping back in. “Shit. Oscar. We just—you just made a mistake.”

His accent makes it sound more deliberate. Mees-tek. “What? No, I didn’t.”

You’re not supposed to, like, try to kill your angel, but if Carlos thinks that’s what just happened then he’s even more delusional that Oscar had thought. Actually, it had been sort of exactly the opposite. Carlos had been so close, it was like—Oscar was worried he might—forget himself, or something. Try to do something crazy. Like grab Carlos’ hair and shove his head down and feel his nose against his throat.

Carlos shows him his phone screen. The text, in some archaic angel language, unscrambles before Oscar’s eyes. IMMEDIATE INTERVENTION REQUIRED, it says, scrolling across the top. Then, in bolded lettering in the middle: This message is for CARLOS SAINZ regarding OSCAR PIASTRI. Oscar’s eyes skip around the paragraph, can’t quite take any of it in. They’re not going to let Carlos leave. The angel system—fate, destiny, whatever—registered a god-tier fuckup on Oscar’s part, and they won’t let Carlos leave until he fixes it.

“What did you do?” Carlos asks, his voice annoyingly even as his phone wails and shakes in his hand. “Oscar, what did you do? Did you really sign with Alpine? You take it back and I will be gone, I promise.”

Oscar wants to say it’s just as much Carlos’ fault as it is his, but he can’t quite get the words out around the sudden, vicious longing to have Carlos squared up against him again, ready to fight, so he can watch it all drain out of him. He wants to take him apart, enact his revenge, put him back together again better and more tolerable than he was before.

MISTAKE, Carlos’ angel-cell cries. MISTAKE.

[chuubian]

Let the light in

Tags Beast Dazai x gn civilian reader, secrets, obsession (kinda), kidnapping, Dazai just needs to be loved, pathetic wet cat Dazai

Summary Your boyfriend, Dazai, has been acting weird. You suspect he's been seeing other people, but the reality is worse than you could've imagined.

A/N This one is rlly long again but i didn't feel like splitting it up into parts I'm so sorry

A loud ring cuts through the pleasant atmosphere of the cafe- dragging you out of your thoughts. You turn your head to look at the source of the interruption. There's a tall man at the door. The bags under his eyes are dark and heavy, pulling the rest of him down with them, hunched over, slowly making his way to the counter. Taking in the rest of his appearance, you notice the darkness of his eyes, and the dullness of his skin- stretched over fragile bone, giving his face a gaunt, hollow appearance. He seemed to be on the verge of death.

“What can i get-”

“Get me a regular coffee.”

Rude. He didn't even give you a chance to finish. Your eyebrows furrow, fingers tapping on the counter impatiently. Blood boiling, you decide not to start anything, instead turning to prepare his drink. There wasn’t anyone else in the shop so you could take your time. Grabbing a pour-over brewer, you set it down with a loud clunk. Making coffee was something that usually relaxed you. Warm steam rose up, washing over your face, cleansing your body of the irritation flowing through your veins.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the man settle down, taking a seat on the stool in front of you. You pour scalding hot water over the grounds, watching them bloom and bubble. Golden liquid circulates through the coffee, dripping down into the glass container under it. The see-through jug turns foggy and opaque- filling the entire brewer with not only freshly brewed coffee, but hot water vapor. The scent of a fresh brew is loud- filling the room, sticking to the walls and your clothing. It's hard to miss it.

You pour the man's coffee into a white mug, setting it down infront of him. His gaze had not left you the entire time, it was unsettling. A freezing cold shiver traveled down your spine. What was with this guy? You had never met anyone that was so ominous. So haunting. His lips stretched into an unnatural smile. It looked off. Like he had never done it previously.

"Thank you."

His voice was softer, not as freezing or rude as he had treated you only a few minutes ago. You set down a little jug of creamer and some sugar cubes. He didn't seem like the type to like sweet coffee, but you didn't like to make assumptions. His slender fingers reached out to pick five sugars, putting them in his coffee and so much creamer that it turns into a light beige color. Seriously? What is wrong with this guy.... He tips the mug back, chugging like its water.

"It's delicious."

"It's basically just milk and sugar with everything you put in it."

His dry lips quirk up into a small grin- genuine this time.

"Still tasty."

The only sound resonating through the cafe is soft classical music and the man's quiet drinking. You hadn't realized before but... he was so handsome. Dark hair framed his thin, pale face. His eye is big and dark, like a black hole, swallowing up all the life around him. Did he lose his other eye though? Why is there gauze covering it? His features were small and delicate, nothing like his demeanor. There was something so captivating, so uncanny about him. He almost seemed like he was half-corpse. Everything about him was so cold.

When he finally finished his drink, he asked for the check- pulling out a black metallic credit card from his wallet to pay with. You looked him up and down. Was he rich? You wouldn't doubt it. His clothing seemed to be good quality. Signing the bill, he slides the receipt back to you.

"Have a good day!"

You wave him off but he doesn't respond. As he disappears out the door, the tension from the room dissipates, only leaving a churning sensation in your lower stomach. Like your belly is eating itself. You look back down at the check. He left a huge tip. 45%. And his number.

Call Me :p

It wasn't uncommon for customers to try and hit on you, but they had never been like this guy. And none had been as bewitching. Something in you urged you to call him. To not let him slip away. You punch his number into your cell phone, a prickling sensation spreading over your skin. When your phone asks for a name, you don't know what to put. Fuck. Why didn't you ask?? What are you supposed to call him?? Suddenly, a realization comes over you, the fog clearing from your mind. You were fucking stupid. You pull the crumpled receipt back out from your pocket, looking over the messy signature. Dazai Osamu.

—

In the few weeks you had known Dazai, he had completely overtaken your life. He frequently sent you gifts, called you everyday for hours at a time, taking you out on beautiful dates every week. He always came back to your apartment after, but for some reason, you were never allowed in his house. Any time you would bring up the subject, his face would turn impassive, voice growing frigid. What could he possibly be hiding?

"Don't worry about it. We can always go to your place anyways right? What's so important about mine?"

"I guess... but why can't I? It's just weird that you won't let me."

He presses a small kiss to your forehead. Immediately, all your muscles seem to even out, relaxing.

"It's just... not somewhere you want to see alright? You trust me right? I have your best interest in mind."

When he puts it that way, it makes sense. Why are you so suspicious? He hasn't done anything wrong. He's been perfect in every way so far. Maybe it's just new relationship anxiety. Things have been moving quickly but that doesnt mean Dazai can’t have boundaries. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his slender waist. Solid bone digs into your flesh painfully, sharp aching throbs lighting your nerves on fire. It always hurt to be so close to him, but you couldn't stop going back. Being with the brunette was too addictive. You wished you could have all his attention to yourself.

"Let's go back to yours."

You nod, taking his cool bandaged hand in yours, leading him through the streets towards your apartment. As you two walked hand in hand, you noticed something that never happened previously. It was noon, but the street was relatively empty. This is a big city, why is it so still? Everything is so peaceful. The few people that are walking, are looking down at the floor, seeming humiliated- almost distressed. Men refuse to even look in your direction, deciding the wall is much more interesting than anything else.

"It's so empty..."

Dazai hums quietly, looking straight ahead, not answering. It's uncharacteristic of him. He usually can't shut up. He pulls you closer, arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you up against him. You walk back home with him, an awkward silence fills the air. You took a long deep breath, eyes darting all over. Moisture beads on your forehead. It's far too warm. You step away from Dazai, taking hold of his hand again. It's uncomfortable to be too close right now.

When you arrive at the door of your apartment, the pressure weighing on your shoulders lifts. It's home. You stick the key in the door. A jangling noise fills the air- metal against metal, clinking and working to unfasten the padlock. Once the door opens, cool air rushes towards you, refreshing your overheated skin. A shiver runs down your body to your fingertips. The feeling of tranquility descends over your muscles.

Before you can take a step forward, Dazais slender fingers wrap around your wrist.He pulls you inside, going through the doorframe- his shoulders sag forward, letting out a breath he had been holding the entire walk home. The scowl that had carved its way between his eyebrows finally evened out, leaving only smooth skin between them. He takes off his coat and scarf. He hands them to you, already anticipating you'll do everything for him.

You grab hold of his stuff, taking off your coat too. When you reach up to hang your stuff up, you feel thin arms wrapping around your waist- smooth plaster grazed against your clothing, his nails biting into the fabric, keeping you in place. Warmth radiates from his body. Overwhelming and stifling. You wanted to push his arms off of you. To free yourself from his crushing restraint. Maybe you shouldn't have let him come over. It was difficult to behave normally around him. What is he hiding?

Dazai rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. His dark hair brushes against your cheek. You don't want to do this right now. Not like this. He needs to go.

"Dazai..."

You grab his wrists, prying his arms off you.

"Hm? What's wrong, darling?"

"It's just... I've told you everything about myself but I barely know anything about you. Why?"

His arms tighten around you. He stretches his lips into a tight smile.

"We went over this. You need to trust me, honey. What do you want to know anyways? I'll tell you anything."

"Well for starters... I don't even know where you work. Where is your family? Are you close with them? You never mention your mom or anything."

His eyes blacken. Absorbing all light. Empty and chilling. It sends a shudder down your spine. The skin crinkles around his eyes, teeth flashing, smile widening. It seemed forced.

"Well... I work in marketing, and my family lives in Osaka. I moved away for University and i've been here ever since. I call my mom every day, i love her dearly and even though we dont see eachother often, were very tightly-knit."

He sounded like he was telling the truth... Maybe the reason he never mentioned his family is because they're far away, but something in the back of your mind was nagging at you. Did his explanation even make sense?

"Where did you study? What company? How can you afford all the gifts with just a marketing job?"

You shoot out questions as fast as you can, trying to catch him off guard.

"Yokohama city university. Mikatsu group. I have a good position. Money isn't something I need to worry about."

He answered without hesitation. Expression giving nothing away. He must be telling the truth. He seemed so sure of himself.

"...Really?"

"Really."

He looked into your eyes, maintaining eye contact until you decided to look away. Dazai gave you no reason to doubt him. He just wanted trust. But there was something telling you he was lying.

"I believe you."

You lean back into his touch, melting under his ministrations. He leans down. Pressing his lips to your temple, he starts walking you back to your room.

"Come on... Let me help you relax, yeah?

—

Stillness seems to follow you around. In the cafe. In the street during rush hour. Even in shopping centers that are supposed to be overflowing with people. Whenever you stepped foot anywhere in public, the floor cleared and your surroundings were drained of people. They didn't even look up as they stream past you, rushing out like water that's been repelled by oil. Oil that for some reason just can't get the harrowing feeling that their boyfriend is lying to them, to stop.

So you decide you have to investigate. Maybe it's absurd. Dressing up in all black and dark sunglasses, you head out- making your way down the stairs, up the sidewalk to Dazai's supposed place of work, and hiding in the alleyway beside the old building. Waiting for three hours, from seven to ten, just to make sure you can see him if he comes in late, proves to be more uninteresting than anything else you've ever done. Why didn't you just ask what time he goes in?

Now you have to spend too much time in this dirty alleyway. The smell of grease and trash permeates the hard concrete of the buildings and sidewalk- it would be unthinkable for them to ever be apart, especially when the ground is covered in decaying food and random black stains you would never want to know the origins of. You don't dare to touch anything around you, deciding to just stand. Even if it hurts your legs.

It's been at least an hour. Where is he? People have been filtering in and out, unaware of the person observing them in the shadows. This is ridiculous. You should call and find out. The fluorescent glow of your cell phone blinds you, making you squint as you scroll down your contact list and press on Dazai's name. A ring circulates through the air. You look up, startled out of your trance.

Of course he's there.

You see him dig his phone out of his pocket. He looks at the screen, thumbing at the buttons and holding it up to his ear. You do the same.

"Hello?"

"Dazai... uh...where are you?"

Fuck. Does that sound suspicious? You definitely should have planned better.

"I'm going into work right now. Why? You miss me?"

He's smiling, earnestly, stopped in front of the door to the building. His suit is finely pressed, his bandages are clean and neatly arranged. He looks so good.

"No.. uh... I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over afterwards? Do you usually go to work at this time?"

"I do. Are you suspicious of me again darling? Is that why you're watching me right now?"

His voice had flattened. Dazai turns his head slowly to look in your direction. Your blood runs cold and your heart hammers in your chest. His gaze was piercing, seeing right through you and into your very core. Past all the deceit. You felt naked. Stripped of all the pomp and frills.

As he steps closer, his sharp features become clearer to you. His lips are pursed together, hands clenched so hard his knuckles are turning white. A prickling sensation shoots up your spine. You try to look around frantically for a place to hide but it's a pointless endeavor. Sooner than your shaky legs can move, you feel a heavy hand gripping your shoulder tightly, forcing you to turn and look at the offender.

Dazai was grinning.

"Why do you look so scared, darling?"

"How did you-"

He cuts you off.

"You're so obvious... But seriously why are you following me? I thought you trusted me. Did you think I was lying?"

Your hands reach out for Dazai, curling in the fabric of his suit jacket. Taking a long, slow, deep breath, your eyebrows pinch together.

"I-i'm sorry I don't know... I just had this feeling..."

"Don't listen to your feelings, listen to me."

His grip turns gentle, boney hand traveling up to your scalp, petting your hair lovingly. You look up at his handsome face, eyes shining with amusement. A tremble runs up your body.

"You're not mad?"

Dazai holds your face.

"Of course not. I just think you're crazy and a little silly, but I'm not mad."

He leans down. His warm lips press against your forehead.

"I'm not crazy-"

"You are. Don't deny it. You figured out where I worked and stalked me."

His voice is sharp, reminding you of the severity of your transgression.

"Sorry..."

A low chuckle rumbles in his throat.

"Why should I forgive you huh?"

Your eyebrows pinch together. Really? You're not begging for his mercy.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Go on, tell me how much you love me, I'm listening!"

He puts his hands on his hips, stepping back and puffing his chest out. You could feel the blood simmering under your skin.A displeased sound leaves your lips without your permission, unintentionally encouraging Dazai to keep going.

"Don't be shy, I know how much you love me."

Has he always been so irritating? You swear he wasn't like this when you first met.

"Look.. I'm sorry for following you but I'm not saying that."

Sighing, he looks you up and down. His eyes are downcast. Disappointed.

"You dressed up for this? You're not in a spy movie you know."

You push him away lightly, cheeks heating up.

"It helped me get in the mindset."

"I'm sure."

Dazai steps forward, arms coiling themselves around your shoulders. His rigid, skinny sternum presses against your chest. It's ice cold and sharp.

"You look stunning."

Dazai noses at your throat, a fluttering feeling nudging at the walls of your stomach. Pushing the limits of your anatomy. Your knees are on the verge of collapsing. He keeps going, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck- his dry lips scrape against the surface, sending small sparks of pleasure down your spine. Bandaged hands migrate down to your lower tummy, lifting your shirt and gently caressing the small bit of flesh there.

"Ready to eat, really."

A breath catches in your throat. Your hands shakily grasp onto his arms. Before you can lean in to kiss him, he drags himself away from you.

"I'm gonna be late, I should get going."

You cross your arms, feet tapping against the concrete.

"You're such an asshole."

"Hm? What did I do? You know I have work right now."

You huff, shoving his shoulder away softly.

"You knew what you were doing."

His lips stretch into a sleazy smirk.

"Yeah, I did. But I really do have to go."

Dazai pulls you closer, hands on your waist.

"Do you want me to come over later?"

You can't bring yourself to make eye contact, nodding.

"Fine."

He snorts gleefully, kissing your cheek before bolting into the building. His feet slam against the floor as he calls out to you.

"Get ready for me!"

You're left there, again. All alone. It happened so fast you could barely process everything that happened. Your brain was scrambled- whiplash blurring your vision and filling your ears with cotton. You don't even get to say a proper goodbye when Dazai is gone, inside the building and presumably hard at work.

Gathering what little remains of your pride, you drag your feet across the pavement, slowly making your way down the empty sidewalk. The minute amount of people around you, refuse to look up. How can they even tell where they're going honestly? Were you that ugly that they couldn't bear to, even briefly, glance over at you?

Despite the fact that no one was looking up at you, there was still a persistent feeling of being watched. No matter how fast you ran, how furiously your lungs worked to keep oxygen in your lungs, Or how strenuously your heart worked to pump the blood though your arteries- you could not escape the penetrating gaze. You whip your head around, hoping to catch the freak in the act, but nothing was there. Only a vacant, silent street.

Was it just your imagination?

It couldn't be.

You stand still. Glaring at the deserted sidewalk behind you.

"Come out! I know you're there!"

Nothing happens. The bird's morning songs fade into hushed, uneasy chirps. Even nature can sense the impending crisis.

"I don't have all day! Why are you following me?!"

A small shuffling noise comes from the alleyway behind you. As soon as you turn around you're greeted with a short man who has white hair and a bizarre haircut. The collar around his neck looks heavy and painful. What's wrong with him? He's hiding his face, peeking up at you almost... scared?

"You. Why are you following?! Who are you?!"

You don't dare to get closer. He could be dangerous. Who knows if this stalker would get violent.

He doesn't answer.

"My boyfriends a cop! You better answer me!"

It's a complete lie. But he doesn't know that.

"No he's not."

You're taken aback. How the fuck would he know.

"What?! Yes he is! How long have you been stalking me? You don't even know basic information about me. You're bad at this! Find something else to do!"

"I'm not stupid. I know what I'm doing."

The man's voice was soft- weak and meek. You slowly make your way over to him, arms crossed in front of you.

"Then you should know my boyfriend can beat you up."

He stays deathly silent, hunched over. Almost like he's an animal- ready to attack or make his escape.

"You better give me one good reason not to call him up right now."

"It's pointless."

Your eyes narrow.

"Why would you say that? You don't know anything. You're a degenerate freak. He'll kill you."

He stares at you, eyes boring into your soul. He seems confused. The white haired man's head is tilted curiously- looking at you like youre a dumbass.

"He's the one who sent me."

What.

Dazai??

"Huh?"

The man steps forward.

"You didn't know? He just wanted you to stay safe... I swear it's not me being a creep, but with his work, h-he's worried about your safety."

This man is delusional. His work? What could a man in marketing be trying to protect you from?

"You're crazy."

"I'm telling the truth!"

Does he truly think you'll believe something so ridiculous? Your hands clench, face heating, breath picking up. You're seriously in the mood to put him in his place yourself.

"Stop lying."

He senses that you're getting angry.

"I have proof!"

"Show me. It better be real."

The man pulls out a flip phone with unsteady hands, snapping it open, and pressing a few buttons. When he turns the phone over to you, you are horrified by the amount of pictures taken without your knowledge. It's hundreds. Pictures taken through the cafe windows, from behind while you're walking, of you out with friends. It's only been a few weeks. How are there so many?? Your eyes widen, blood draining from your face. A dreadful feeling forms in your stomach.

This can be true. You frantically take hold of the device, holding the radiant screen close to your eyes, uncaring of the damage it could cause to your sight. Pressing a few buttons you go to the contact information. It's his number. You would recognize it anywhere. But what if it's fake?

"What's your name?"

"Atsushi."

You look back down at the phone, thumb hovering over the keys.

"Atsushi. Okay... you better not be lying to me."

Before you can overthink it, you press the call button. Your hands are shaking as you bring the phone up to your ear. You hardly have to hear the rings when a deep voice comes through.

"Atsushi. What is it?"

Chills run down your spine. It can't be him. Why does he sound so distant? Like when you first met him. You quickly hang up, handing the phone back to Atsushi. Your abdomen feels like it's eating itself. Churning and swirling. A hollow vortex swallowing you up.

"W-what does Dazai work in again?"

Atsushi's face gives nothing away.

"Management…?"

You roll your eyes. He knows exactly what you mean.

"Where."

"If he hasn't told you, I can't either."

Your eyebrows pinch together, scowling.

"Fine."

You toss the phone back to him.

"If you won’t tell me, I'll figure it out myself."

The despair in your gut turned into burning white hot rage coursing through your veins. This time, you couldn't even enjoy the empty street on your way back home- stomping past the gardens you usually visit when you're out alone. Your entire body was trembling, both with anger and anguish. How dare he? He made you feel like you were crazy! He lied to you this entire time?! Why?!? Brass keys rattle loudly as you try to unlock the door.

The door unlatches and swings open. Emptiness is the only thing you can discern when you walk through the threshold. Dazai, the person you once trusted isn't here. Even when he does finally make his way back to you, the lies he told can never be untold. The walls shake as you slam the opening shut- anticipating the storm that's about to come, quivering nervously.

Time goes by faster than expected as you wait for Dazai. Your mind is racing- trying to process everything you knew and everything you didn't. What was he thinking? Why? What else had he lied about? It's been hours and your brain still can't figure it out. Why? It can't be that bad... He could be on the verge of bankruptcy and it wouldn't have mattered to you. Maybe he was just a pathological liar.

Your head is spinning in circles, exploring any path it could, trying to find its way to the truth. That's the important thing. Your blood is boiling- bubbles of frustration rise up to the surface, bursting in vicious outbursts. The resounding scream you let out make a  dryness and pulsating throbs echo through your esophagus. Your ears ring horribly. 

You're dizzy. And there's no other choice left but to confront him.

The echo of a knock on the door reverberates through the room. Your legs feel sluggish, you have to force the muscles to work. Force yourself to go to the entrance. Your skin heats, and small drops of sweat start forming around your hairline. Quickly, you wipe your forehead and hands off. When the door swings open, you're met with the face you dreaded the most. Dazai.

He doesn't even wait for you to let him in before he lunges at you. His skinny arms are surprisingly strong, squeezing your waist and pulling you closer.

"I missed you so much honey."

He buries his face in the crook of your neck. Warmth engulfs you, dragging you in. Your head knows you should push him away. You should be confronting him- but your body wants to give in, to give it up and just forget about everything. After all, did it really matter? It's just his job, he isn't a bad person.

With great effort, you managed to separate his hands from your midriff.

"Dazai. We need to talk."

He smiles, pulling you right back in.

"No we don't, come on you seem tense. I'm already staying up all night. We’ll talk after."

He insists, hastily pressing gentle kisses to your jaw and neck. You thoughtlessly tilt your head back, giving him free reign. Dazai doesnt waste a second, nipping at the delicate skin. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, blood rushing up to your head. It's hard to keep your composure. A soft gasp escapes your lips.

"See? You need this."

Dazai is merciless- when you try to get him away, he dives right back in. He’s relentless.

"D-dazai, I'm serious!"

After wrestling with him for a few minutes he finally backs off.

"What is it?"

His voice is flat, eyes darkening- he sighs and steps behind you, chin resting on your shoulder. It's a drastic change from his former appearance. He definitely knew more than he let on.

"Tell me the truth."

He doesn't answer.

"Please dazai... Why is this such a big deal for you? I don't care where you work, I just can't be with someone who keeps lying to me."

He tightens his grip on you.

"I can't tell you."

"Really. Why not?"

Dazai turns you around to face him. His fingers dig into your sides.

"Because it's just not important. I thought you loved me. This shouldn't be a big deal if you truly do."

That was so unfair.

"Of course i do. But I don't want you to keep lying to me... please."

He stares at you for a few seconds, judging your expression.

"I work as a programmer."

"Nope."

"I do!"

You give him a pointed look.

"Fine, I'm actually a lawyer."

"Dazai."

"Doctor."

"Don't make me laugh."

"Sanitation."

"No."

"Barista."

"Seriously? How long are you gonna keep this up?"

Dazai runs his hand through his hair, clearly stressed out.

"You really want to know? You're not gonna like it."

"Dazai... come on, you know I'm not like that. I wont stop liking you so easily."

He looks away from you, squinting, deep in thought.

"I work somewhere dangerous."

"Where. Specifically."

He shakily takes hold of your hands. The old bandages are unraveling slowly- revealing more and more of his pale skin. It's littered with scars and scabs. There's a few spots with discoloration, and you can practically see his veins through his skin.

"Promise you won't hate me first."

You raise his hand up to your face, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"I promise."

He takes in a large lungful of air- releasing the tension from his shoulders.

"I work for... a criminal organization."

You lower your head. A hollow feeling grows in your chest. It's like a huge weight has been plopped onto your shoulders. Your ears stop working for a second as the sound of water rushing resonates through your head- washing in fear and outrage.

"Like.. a gang?"

"Slightly bigger."

You pause.

"How much bigger..."

"Like... Port Mafia sized."

Your body stills. There's a loud ringing in your ear. Scenery of horrible new stories flash past your eyes- destroyed jaws from biting the curb, and hundreds of poisoned civilians as a way to achieve their depraved objectives. What?? You can't find it in yourself to speak up, your voice is weak and cracking.

"A-As a cleaner or something... right? Something that doesn't i-involve..."

Some things were better left unsaid. You couldn't imagine him doing something so cruel. He's not capable of killing someone... right?

"As the boss."

Dazai can't seem to look directly at you. His hands tighten painfully. You try to step away, to process everything, but he won't let you. You just wish the ground would swallow you whole.

How naive of you to ever think Dazai could genuinely be good after lying so much. The small flame of hope that your heart fostered, was blown out within seconds. It left your body freezing to the touch. No longer does the love for him blaze on. Even if it did, it was your duty to extinguish it. You couldn't be with someone so cold-blooded.

"Please say something."

It's like your body is not your own anymore. Like your soul has escaped its bodily imprisonment. You wish it had. Then this would be none of your problem. What could you even say?

"Leave."

He stammers over his words, shocked.

"W-What?"

"I said leave. I don't want to see you any more."

Desperately, he starts shaking his head. The one eye that's exposed widens. They're no longer than deep empty black, but something more ardent. Something frantic.

"No. No. You can't do this to me. I won't let you!"

You lightly squeeze his fingers.

"You can't stop me. It's not your choice to make Dazai... If one person says it's over, it's over."

"I can't be without you. Please."

Abruptly, he drops onto his knees. Hard. Dazais body presses against your leg, fingers sinking into the flesh of your thigh. He holds on urgently. It's like he's climbing a mountain. He's hopelessly struggling to hold on to the last remaining ledges, trying to make his journey up to the top. It's something he knows is futile. The cliff is too steep, there's nowhere left to step, he's tired and starving after all his effort. But he can't help it. He has to. What else is there to do? He can't go back now- it's too late.

The relationship will never be the same. You know it. He knows it. But is it so wrong to want it back? His eyes keep darting around the room, looking for anything to help him. It's... unsettling. You've never seen him like this. He's usually so much more composed- so much harder to read.

"Y-You can't just break up with me. Not like this... I can't live without you."

"You have to find a way.”

Dazai pulls you down to his level, holding your body against his slim sternum. He's trembling.

"Never. I won't go back! I can't!"

You shake your head.

"It's over Dazai."

—

It's been a month since you left Dazai. You haven't dated for long but he's the kind of person that's hard to forget. The little time you spent together left a huge impression on you. Everything felt... oppressive, unfulfilling without him.

Coming back home from work with nothing to look forward to- boring white walls stare back at you. The quietude was ear-piercing. When he was here, the air was filled with laughter and Dazais ominous jokes. They always made you laugh even though they weren't funny. Only the noise of the air conditioning, working tirelessly, was present.

The scent of his cologne had long since faded away. He took back all the clothes he'd left over the weeks. When he was over at your apartment, he'd always start making coffee. But the aroma of those stupid beans made you feel sick now. The taste had turned bitter- and not in the acidic way that was characteristic of the scalding hot golden drink. Within the first week of your break up, you were forced to throw away your coffee machine. In the second week you could barely even handle your job at the cafe anymore.

Working at the cafe is a bleak affair. The coffee shop has too many memories. Coffee in general has too many memories. It was still as peaceful as ever in the shop, but you found yourself rushing through your work- trying to get the customers out as fast as possible. You didn't want them to stare. You didn't want them to see the tears forming in your eyes, or the tremors wracking your body.

Dazai never failed to be the first one in the cafe, even before it opens. Not a single morning would pass without him there. How he gets in you'll never know. The door is still locked and it doesn't seem like he broke anything to get in. You set up for the day, not sparing him another glance. He doesn't speak anyways.

You quickly make him a coffee.

"Thanks."

You don't respond, turning away and cleaning up. Soon, customers will start pouring in. Dazai will be gone by then.

"I miss you."

Your chest tightens and your eyes start to sting. It never seems to get easier.

"Please leave, Dazai."

"No. You need to hear this. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I cant concentrate on my work. Please... You don't have to be upset at me, just imagine I'm someone else, it's fine!"

Why did he have to be so difficult to be with? Part of you wanted to just give in. To feel him close to you. But you couldn't forgive him for something like this so easily.

"Dazai... don't make this harder than it has to be... please..."

When you glance up at him, you notice the small teardrops clinging to his eyelashes. It's a pathetic display of vulnerability- something he would never allow himself to do in front of anyone else. He sees you viewing his pitiful state, hurriedly turning away, hiding his face from sight. It's odd that a man who has been begging you every day to get back together with him, begging you to believe that he'll change, still refuses to be open with you.

"I have to go."

Before you can protest, he's gone. He, of course, leaves an absurdly large tip.

The rest of your shift isn't much better. You were already having an awful day, full of overthinking and longing- but angry business men in a rush to get to their office jobs also had to add onto the pressure. Hopefully they don't notice that you spit in their coffee.

At the end of a long eight hours, your coworker eventually comes to relieve you. As they take over, you clock out and start your journey home. Interestingly, nothing had changed since Dazai and you broke up. The people in public still avoided your gaze, and you altogether.By this point it was obvious they only did that because of your ex-boyfriend. But is it really still necessary? You're not together anymore.

Atsushi's gaze is piercing. He's likely been watching you all day, even when Dazai was with you. His footsteps behind you grew heavier and heavier. He must be tired. A wave of remorse hits you like a tsunami. Your chest throbs painfully for him. You should probably make it up to him- it can't be easy working for Dazai.

Without a second thought you turn around, ready to offer Atsushi a bottle of water at the very least. But what you’re met with isn't the familiar face and uneven bangs of Atsushi. Instead, it's a tall man, completely dressed in black pants and a black hoodie, face shrouded in darkness. Your heart stops. Cautiously, you step back. It's like you're drowning and unable to breathe- water impeding your ability to scream and call for help. What?? Who is this? Where's Atsushi?

"W-who are you?"

The dryness in your mouth and throat make it hard to form proper words. Instead of responding, the man springs forward, arms reaching out to grab you. Instinctively, you try to run, but your legs feel heavy. They won't move no matter how much you try. Strong hands restrain your movements and pull you against him. His nails dig into your waist and arm, making you cry out in pain.

In a frenzy, you try anything you can to at least run- kicking and screaming. With everyone on the street avoiding you, there's no one noticing what's happening. They're all gone. It's just you and the strange man. It's an impossible feat. He's bigger, stronger, taller. Without delay, he holds up an old white rag to your nose and mouth. The last thing your mind recognizes before your vision goes black, is the syrupy scent practically gushing from the cloth.

—

Your eyes flutter open, vision hazy, head inflamed. Your body is completely covered in a cold sweat and begging at you to go back to sleep. Metal chains hinder your ability to move. The solid wood bars of the chair dig into you cruelly. Adjusting your posture only makes the wrists tied behind you pull against your bonds more- you are sure your bones are going to break.

It's impossible to escape. Everything around you is dark, you couldn't see your hand waving in front of your own face if it was free. A constant ear splitting vibration resonates in your head. Where are you? What's going on?

"Ahh... you're finally awake."

A deep voice speaks up from behind, startling you. A fist clamps onto your hair, pulling back brutally. Your scalp was burning.

"Ahh! That hurts!"

The man chuckles, letting go of your hair and putting his large hands on your shoulders.

"Now... Since you're awake, we can get started."

You can hear the sound of his heavy boots slamming against the floor, stopping in front of you. The gleam of his bright phone screen stings your eyes. His face is now visible to you- illuminated by the fluorescent light. He looks dirty. There's muck stuck in the crevices of his wrinkles. An unevenly shaven beard has left behind a green-hued 5 o'clock shadow over the lower half of his face and red inflamed ingrown hairs. A thick layer of oil covers his skin, sealing the filth and grime between his skin and itself.

It's like a bucket of cold water is poured over you. Your muscles seize, freezing, unable to move. But at the same time, your body is trembling- as if expecting something. Why are you here? Is he planning to... No. You shouldn't even think of that.

"Just sit there and look pretty for me okay?"

He raises his phone. The man is pointing the camera towards you, flash on, his grimey hand coming up to graze your chin. He doesn't even speak to you, instead he decides to address the camera recording.

"See what I got here?"

He tightens his clutch on your face.

"If you don't get me 300,000,000 yen by tomorrow at 6 pm, I'll make sure you never see them again... alive, at least."

The man lets go of your cheeks, alternatively opting to bring down his open palm on your face. A gasp emerges from your lungs. Your cheek stings and burns. The blood rushes to your face, overheating your skin. Your jaw clenches. A scorching heat travels down your body. Anger makes your blood boil. You couldn't do anything if you tried at this point. If you could just get out....

"Fuck you. I'll get out of here soon.. and I'm going to kill you."

He howls. As if it was just a silly joke.

"You really think you can do that huh?"

The man's face twists, like he just tasted something bitter. He knees you right in the stomach. You double over. Air rushes out of your lungs, they throb and heave- yearning for another breath. White spots dance in your vision. He ignores your cries of agony.

"You have until tomorrow. Osamu."

He spits out that name. The dirty man pulls your head back, recording the miserable look on your face for his camera before he shuts his phone off and slips it into his pocket again. The noise of his steps fades away. The hinges of the door creak and echo through the empty room. You once again are left in the shadows. Deserted.

So that's what this was about. That bandaged asshole. Resentment and outrage fills your entire being. If he had never gotten involved with you, this never would have happened. It's all his fault. You could never forgive him.

Time flows by slowly. The things you see, the things you hear, become hazy. A tide of seclusion rushes in, polluting the little cognizance you have. The edges of your memory blurr and muddy. All that is left is the bitter taste in your mouth. The ire towards that man. That man who could have avoided this if he just never came into the cafe.

Your head hangs low, unable to hold itself up from the weight. Wood chips invade the space under your nails as you scratch at the arms of the chair. They poke at your sensitive nail beds, drawing out small droplets of blood. Saliva could no longer soothe the cracking of your dry lips. The taste of iron in your mouth was sickening. Every muscle in your body is sore.

In the distance, a faint buzz of excitement tears through the deafening silence. They must be thrilled. It's a lot of money to squeeze out of the boss of the port mafia. It must have taken a lot of planning. The noise becomes stronger and louder. As you pick your head up, your ears can discern the muffled sounds of screaming. There's loud banging against metal, creating a sort of disorienting wobbly noise. You flinch as there's an intense explosion, followed by gunshots. Your entire being vibrates with the force of the blast.

After a few minutes, the thundering clamor vanishes, leaving behind an eerie tranquility. Is everyone gone? Did they leave you here alone? To starve? Eyes darting around the room, you try to find anything you could use to break out, but the room you were currently held captive in is too dim. You're practically stuck in a black hole- consuming everything around it, all light and sound, letting nothing evade its unforgiving clasp.

Heavy steel chains clatter noisily. Your head whips around to look towards the source of the sound. A piercing ring and clash resonates through the room. Soft leather crashes against the concrete floor before stopping right in front of you. Freezing, slender fingers brush against your jaw. It's... familiar. You could recognize that bandaged hand anywhere.

"D-Dazai...?"

Searing hot agony spreads down your throat. You could barely recognize your own voice. They had given you no food, no water, no mercy. A deep voice hums softly.

"Yes.. It's me, I came for you."

Fury and panic stop you in your place. Your heart feels like it's jumped into your throat. He's here. His nimble fingers are undoing your restraints, he's helping- but you can't help wanting him to get as far away from you as possible. He's the reason you're here to begin with. Unfortunately, your body won't let you fight back. Uncontrollable shocks attack your nerves- your skin feels raw and delicate, on the verge of splitting.

"Get a-away from me.. I-I can handle myself."

"Shhhh."

Boney hands reach out for you. He gently reaches out for you, lifting you up with no problem, and pressing your chest against his.

"Relax... you're okay now."

The hardness of his body isn't even uncomfortable. It's... calming. You don't even realize when your eyes slowly flutter shut, shutting out the world, cascading into a tranquil slumber.

—

Only aching pains and drowsiness registers in your mind. The sun is too bright in your eyes, and it's far too cold in this room. Actually... where are you even? You whip your head around, puzzled. There's red silk curtains draping down the floor-to-ceiling windows, and lavish persian rugs. Everything was luxuriously decorated in reds and black- only the highest quality fabrics and furnishing were allowed.

You rip off the fluffy warm sheets. Freezing cold air rushes towards you, attacking your body and etching goosebumps onto your skin. The sensation of spines pricking at the soles of your feet when you step onto black tiles is agonizing. Your legs tremble with effort- carrying you out of the lush bedroom and into the large, just as extravagant living room. Dazai lives like a king.

Dazai is sitting silently on the couch. He's leaning forward with his hands clasped under his chin. As soon as the door opens, his head whirls around.

"You're awake."

He stands, running over to you and helping you over to the sofa.

"Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

The bandaged man tries to sit next to you, invading your personal space. but you scoot further down.

"I'm fine. I don't need your help."

The hopeful look in his eye dims.

"Honey-"

"Don't call me that. You lost the privilege to call me that the moment you lied to me."

An anguished, guttural noise spills out of his lips.

"Look... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lied, but I saved you didnt i? I care about you. I didn't mean for you to get involved like this. I have a lot of enemies and i know i shouldn't have kept things from you-"

"So you admit you were a horrible, deceptive boyfriend?"

His skin is flushed, hands shaking and fumbling- he's clearly frustrated. He scurries closer. A slim thigh presses against yours, his bandaged hands dart out to grasp yours. His touch is frigid, but somehow it makes a heated feeling develop in the pit of your stomach. You can't deny that you're still attracted to him.

"Yes. I know I was, but I love you... We don't even have to date anymore i just- "

He stumbles over his words. A breath catches in his throat.

"I just want you in my life."

Your brain is spinning. You don't know what to do or say.

"I need time to think-"

"That's fine."

Dazai answers immediately- far too eager.

"I'll wait however long I need to. For you."

The delighted expression on his face sends a pleased trickle down your vertebrae. You almost wanted to believe him. Your skin tingles where he's touching you. It's been much too long since you were this close.

Questions you had been pondering for your entire stay pop into your head again. He must know right?

"If you're truly sorry, prove it. The people who took me... Who were they? What happened to them?"

Surprise flashes in his eyes.

"You want to know about them? huh... Well, they were just a small-time gang. Nothing special. And we did with them what we do to all people who oppose us."

Your blood freezes.

"You killed them."

He nods. There's a hardness in his eyes- a deep, dark look. He clearly doesn't regret it.

"I had to... I can't let them get away with something like that, especially not if it's you."

Despite the heavy sensation in your stomach, you're glad. It's horrible, it makes a guilty feeling settle into your bones. You shouldn't be glad someones dead. But what they did was heinous. It's a relief to know they can ever do that again. That Dazai crushed them with all the power of the Port Mafia behind him.

The organization was a hurricane, destroying everything in its path that dared to challenge it. Nothing would be left if they could help it. Everything would bend to their will, whether they want to or not. Everyone in Yokohama knew about it. How that tiny gang figured they could get the boss to fold, was beyond you.

"Are you upset about it? It's not the most savory method... I know you don't like unnecessary violence, but to me it was crucial."

You nod.

"I get it. To be honest, I'm glad."

His lips curl up into a creepy grin. He's clearly not used to smiling but it looks... cute. Unnatural, but cute. You can't help but smile back.

"What about Atsushi? He's not in trouble is he?"

Dazai chuckles.

"No he's not. The only reason he wasnt there is because I called him into my office. Any other time, he would have fought those guys off himself."

"Good. I feel bad for the kid. He has to deal with you."

"Hey! I'm a pretty easy going boss!"

You roll your eyes, waving him off.

"Whatever you say."

His skin is brighter. It doesn't seem to have that dull, gray tone any more. The gauze that used to cover even his fingers, has receded back down to his wrists. Redness paints the fragile skin of his pale knuckles. He stands up, putting his hands on his hips.

"Did you want something to eat? Drink? You must be tired."

"Some coffee is fine. I feel like I'm going to collapse from exhaustion."

He races to the kitchen, like his life depends on it- way too excited for something like making coffee. Never in your career as a barista had you been that excited to serve customers. Within a few minutes, he's back. A cafe latte stares back at you when it's placed on the table. Your favorite, and he knew it. You beam at him.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you."

He's always too greedy for any sort of affection. Too eager to please. Dazai was almost like a child sometimes. A child that had never felt the warm embrace of a lover. Who would forever yearn for more. To pine for someone, anyone to keep him company. It was obvious from the moment he begged you to stay with him just a month ago. It almost made you feel.. pity for him.

A part of you still loved him. He's not easy to forget. Does he even have any friends? Your thoughts are swirling. It's dizzying. You don't know what to do. Maybe it would be best to try again...

Bringing the mug up to your lips, you take a sip. Your tongue burns from the freshly made coffee. It's pleasant.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's smoother, not so sour. It's way better than last time. Did you practice?"

He nods enthusiastically.

"I wanted to win you over... so I was practicing a lot while we were apart."

That makes you stop in your tracks. It's so sweet but so disheartening to hear. Was all he did the past month simply working towards the goal of getting you back?

"Really?"

"Yes. I was serious. I can't live without you."

You sigh, putting the mug back down.

"Dazai... You can't just revolve your entire life around me. It's not healthy."

He sits right next to you. Personal space is a foreign concept in Dazais mind- he does what he wants, and what he wants now is to drape himself over you, to feel your body against his.

"I know. I can't help it. You're everything to me. I've ever met anyone like you."

"You really feel that way?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

He was crazy. He was definitely completely insane. But he looked so angelic. It shouldn't be possible. If anything, he would be a demon. Something evil that can only be found in the deepest pits of hell. But here, where he's being so genuine and honest for the first time, he's heaven sent.

Without noticing, your face starts leaning closer to his. What would his lips feel like on yours? Would it be the same as last time? You can't turn away from him- your eyes are locked on his moistened lips. Dazai was the same. His eyes darted down, longing for you. a gasp catches in your throat. Anticipation fills your whole body. Time seems to stop. His breath brushes over your skin.

He closes the distance. It's as if he's consuming your entire being. Taking you all for himself. It's difficult to not get completely swept up in him. You thrust yourself against him, deepening the kiss. He responds positively, hands tangling in your hair, practically trying to possess you- mind and body.

When you pull away, craving fresh air, Dazai pulls your right back in. He's greedy. Selfish. He can't stand to go on another second without you by his side. After a minute of him trying to kill you by asphyxiation, Dazai finally manages to feel satiated enough to tear himself from you. Your lungs are on fire, begging for air. He isn't much better- if the heavy breathing and flushed skin is anything to go by.

"So... you'll stay...?"

His inflection is higher than usual, hopeful of what's to come.

"Sure… I'll stay."

[mischiefmaker615]

You're So Dark (1 of 2)

Inspiration: Arctic Monkeys - "You're So Dark" Song

Requester: @kathren1sky-blog

Summary: Someone seems to have taken notice of you.. more than you expected..

Note: Happy Spooky Season! 

Rating: R

“your out of the dress code again.’’

You cast a glance over your shoulder at your supervisor who kept walking, knowing it was an endless battle where you would just keep showing up with your black makeup on. Right down to your choker that stayed comfortably tight around your neck, you told yourself they should be grateful you even bothered putting on the SHIELD uniform on today.

Halloween was upon you all, just at the end of this week and you thought there was nothing wrong with getting into the spirit things.. even if you were the only one celebrating. Then again.. you practically celebrated every day..

You took walks in cemeteries, isolated with your dark romance books and rocked the black ‘everything’ look no matter what occasion. What was wrong with you? You weren’t sure how to answer that when people asked, though they didn’t stay long for an answer. Not many people talked to you at work- anywhere.. they might assume you looked like you didn’t want to be bothered. Needless to say, that didn’t stop the eyes that would stare, one sharper than the others while you worked about in your environment- oblivious and innocent.

Loki often roamed around the tower in silence, sometimes reading outside his room on a good day. You thought his mysterious and quiet side was an invitation to find something in common, but whenever you would work up the guts to even think about approaching, he vanished. Yes, he was real. Yet seemed to not stay long whenever you were around.

Perhaps he thought you were weird, like the rest. His taste in company was rather picky. Hella picky. At least it didn’t mess with your usual ‘lone self’ routine. Quite recently you caught him at work, roaming around still and looking down his nose while some agents babbled on about a job we all knew he wasn’t going to accept. At least looking like he was trying bought him time here before Fury would realize he could care less about paying off his ‘community service.’

‘’trick or treat’’ one of your coworkers snickered past you, earning a glare while you did your best to be as polite in the work place as possible.

‘’fuck off.’’ Failed.

Maybe it was better to not talk to anyone, they seemed to be all the same anyway and you enjoyed your secluded cubical where you didn’t seem to get bothered.. that is, until you turned the corner.

You stopped short to find Loki lounging in your roller chair, ankles crossed while a lazy arm roamed around your items you had on the desk- décor and trinkets you somehow got away with by your bosses whom looked the other way as long as you did a good job.

‘’to my understanding, you humans don’t tend to take an interest in the remains once flesh has been removed. Shall I locate the trash bin?” Loki asked innocently, his eyes not even looking up at you while he turned your raven skull in his hand curiously.

‘’no-!’’ you gasped, stopping yourself short once his teasing eyes flicked up at you, making you glare and try to lower your voice as you stepped more into your cube, having to stand since a certain someone was in your chair. ‘’it’s décor.. safe to keep.’’

‘’and your interested in things like this?” he asked, not a tone of judgement in his voice while his eyes seemed to study you, mainly below your neck as you crossed your arms, somehow the choker feeling a little bit tighter.

‘’well.. yes- why waste something that won’t deteriorate? Any fascination of- no- never mind.. can I help you?” you shake your head, trying to figure out why he was here and not babble like an idiot. He probably didn’t care about all this anyway and would think your weird just like all the rest if you kept talking.

‘’you could very much help me darling,’’ he smirked as he set the skull down and uncrossed his legs, manspreading while his fingers laced together in front of him. ‘’but I’m sure we have to keep things professional around here.’’

You blinked at him, trying to take in what was happening right now. Did he just.. suggest an innuendo? The man who seemed to vanish every time you were around and yet here he was, in your chair, messing with your stuff and suggesting something sexual? ‘’..I don’t underst-‘’

‘’of course you don’t, not by word from mouth darling. Yet I’m sure you would perfectly understand it if it was written down.’’ He smirked and stood up, his height making itself highly aware while you tilted your eyes up at him.

‘’I’m.. sorry-‘’

‘’you enjoy books darling, is that correct? I’ve come to offer you an opportunity to gaze upon a selection of mine that may poke your interest.’’ He said calmly, his eyes almost finding themselves distracted as your arms tightened in their fold against your chest, the material somehow getting itch the more he stared while you opened your mouth to make an attempt to guess what he was talking about.

‘’are you talking about.. bo-‘’

‘’books.’’

‘’books! Of course!’’ you laughed sheepishly, your social awkwardness dripping out as you rubbed the back of your neck. Of course he wasn’t talking about anything sexual- Loki was well known to be stuck behind a book,.. but.. ‘’how do you know I enjoy books?”

‘’the quiet Midgardians tend to find themselves partaking in activities that send them anywhere else but here. Due to the fact that we also share the same living arrangements at the Iron Idiot’s domain, I figured.. we might as well get along.’’

By gods.. was he reaching out to try to be friends? You? Him? your brow raised more, waiting as if for the punchline where he would then turn this into a joke, leave like the rest and allow you to inherit the title ‘weird’ all over again. The more you watched him, the longer a conversation about books felt weird- because of you.

‘’er- sure!’’ you said almost to excitedly while your eyes dropped to the ground, your hands meeting in front of you to play with your sleeves while you started over. ‘’-I get off at 5:00, I’ll meet you at 6:00?”

‘’I would guess you know where my chambers are?” he hummed.

‘’yes.’’ You cut yourself short, hoping it wasn’t weird you knew where it was considering it was a big tower but you shifted in your stance and looked up, just to find Loki had gotten closer, making your eternal insides jump.

‘’then I shall see you at 6:00, I do hope you find something that.. matches your interests..’’ his voice got lower, looking down his nose at you while the tip of your shoes practically touched his. ‘’Y/N.’’

‘’hm?- oh yes of course.. I’m sure I can find something..’’ you said quickly, hating the fact you thought your name had been a question rather than him finishing his current sentence. Geez why were you like this.. no wonder you kept to yourself. But the amused look in his eyes seemed to ease you out of the pain while you tilted your head more up at him.

‘’Y/N?” he hummed, his voice almost at a whisper, almost as if he were testing your name on his tongue.

‘’yes?-‘’

‘’might I get by?” he smirked, clearly amused at your eternal suffering in this moment as your eyes rounded and quickly moved to the side, your body sideways to let him slide while your cheeks reddened.

‘’of course.. sorry-‘’

You heard an exhale of a chuckle as he turned his body every so slightly to pass by you, his side still managing to rub against yours, almost lingering before he disappeared out of your cubical.

You were so grateful you judged the chair correctly while you plopped down into it without looking, your brain obviously racing at what had just happened right now.

‘’6:00..’’ you whispered, almost having small doubts whether it was a good idea or not before your eyes moved back to the computer screen.

~

Somehow walking past a cemetery seemed a lot more comforting than the walk down the halls towards Loki’s room. Were you being rude? He was reaching out- in his own sort of way- to try to make friends and here you were wanting to retreat in your dark and secluded territory of your bedroom. You loved books, it obviously gained his interest compared to what the others had to offer- which he seemed to already dismiss considering it was the other Avengers in the tower. The strange thing about it was.. you don’t remember bringing your books out of your room to really give Loki an opportunity to know you loved them.. how did he know?

No going back now, you lifted your eyes to find you stood right outside his door. After having taken a quick shower, the choker was back on your neck- ripped jeans with fishnets beneath them and a black, oversize sweater. There was no goal here, it was all purely comfort and an outfit most people didn’t try to understand while they looked down their nose and called you goth.

You.. supposed? You liked particular things, you’ve always considering yourself different, but you weren’t sure if there was quite a label out there for you. You were just.. you. And you seemed to have peeked the interest somehow from a particular god of mischief whose door opened just as you had raised a hand to knock.

‘’right on time darling, I quite admire that.’’ Loki purred, a sly smile on his lips as his eyes dipped below your neck to take you in, eventually coming back up to meet your eyes. ‘’do come in.’’

A small part of the brain in these situations will always nag you, telling you no or reconsider- second guess. Most people choose to ignore it, which meant a small part of you fit in with the others and chose to step in without hesitation.

No sooner did the door close was when you felt a slender hand make contact with mild harshness in your ass, causing you to yelp more in surprise and quicken a step forward before you spun around to face Loki.

His hands clasped behind his back, looking rather proud of himself while he smirked at your wide-eyed face.

‘’what the hell??”

‘’don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that darling, you don’t exactly hide your sexual wants.’’ He chuckled, his voice seductively low while he took a step forward.

You instinctually took a step back, your hands raised to hover by your chest, almost as if ready to strike out if needed while your tried to muster up rage that never came. ‘’what are you- you have no right to do something like that!”

‘’what do you wish for me to do darling? Apologize?” he asked with such innocence, he almost seemed to shrug while he spoke. ‘’I regret nothing, and I dare say you want me to do it again..’’ with another step forward, you took a step back, feeling the redness on your cheeks while a mild sting reminded you of the not-so-long-ago events.

‘’t-that’s not why I came here-‘’

‘’ah, so you wish to make another appointment so we could do such things?’’ he teased and waved a hand to indicate behind you, making you glance to what he was referring at before you felt him press to your side, an arm wrapping around your shoulder to guide you himself. ‘’the books I spoke of are right over here, I’m sure you’ll find quite the selection- some you most likely have already indulged in. your Midgardian literature has quite an interesting taste’’ he told you simply, acting as if everything were normal while your body tensed and for some reason, let him guide you to the library along the wall.

It was huge- from bottom to ceiling there were books! Of course someone his height probably didn’t need a ladder but you probably would struggle getting something from the top while your eyes lifted to scan them all. You felt him slowly step away, taking a stance behind you while your eyes tried to focus ahead, feeling his hand slide away from your side, taking his time until his finger tips eventually vanished as well.

‘’you have.. quite the collection..’’ you offered, hoping to begin the journey away from what had just happened while you practically felt his eyes on you from behind.

‘’I’m sure you recognize a few, go on, take a better look..’’ you felt his hand return to your lower back, your feet jumping to take the initiative to get closer rather than wait for him to push. Something was going on.. something not right..

He was always quite, kept to himself and observant.. any conversation you did seem to catch amongst souls were very short, dry and boring. He clearly had no interest in talking with anyone- but right now, it seemed like he was hinting.. wanting.. waiting..

His hand slowly removed itself again, taking its time until his finger tips ghosted under your sweater before moving to his side again. ‘okay okay- just pick a book, be polite and be gone’ your mind told you, making your eyes search and scan quickly until your eyes fell upon a familiar title.

Maid to Honor.

Your eyes squinted, feeling yourself lean a little bit more while your hand rose to ghost over the spins of the books. Your head tilted every so slightly to read sideways while your eyes moved to read more.

Tears of a Mermaid.

You blinked. No.. there was no way.. it was a coincidence.. just to be sure, your eyes skipped a few books and landed on another on a different shelf, only to widen at yet another familiar title.

Ghost.

‘’these.. these are..’’

‘’yours, my love.’’ Loki smiled, having joined your side with his hands clasped behind his back while he scanned the books as well. ‘’each, and every one. Of course.. I took the liberty to convert your shorter stories- the one shots, if you so call them? Into more individual books.’’ He waved his hand more up the shelf, having you raise your eyes in horror to find thinner books but still with the same titles what read ‘Doctor, Love Potion, Sex Pollen, Dark Angel.’

You quickly took a step away, eyes widen while Loki tilted his head, watching you over his shoulder while you shook your head and gazed at the bookcase. ‘’no- no these aren’t-‘’

‘’come now darling, you are a brilliant writer, do not shorten your rights for credit’’ Loki chuckled and turned more to face you, waving a hand behind him at the books that seemed to mock your eyes. ‘’I will not be selling these, if that is what worries you. I simply just prefer it’s raw form rather than.. digital. However, I do check now and again encase your.. naughty mind comes up with anything else..’’ he smirked and you shook your head.

‘’I don’t know what your talking ab-‘’

‘’Y/Username? Ring any bells darling? Clarification is useless to be anyway, I can sense your denial as easily as a lie.’’ Loki chuckled, sighing as his eyes then began to roam again, undressing you with his eyes practically where you hugged your arms.

‘’you’re so dark.. and you’re so mysterious..’’ he whispered, a sly smile spreading over his lips as his eyes flicked up at yours again. ‘’or perhaps to everyone else. I quite find your mind.. alluring..’’

You weren’t going to waste time trying to convince him that wasn’t you. It was a lie anyway.. NO ONE on this damn green earth knew of your secret hobby, our pass time, your escape onto the internet where you wrote.. wrote about anyone you found attractive, any scenario you imaged being in or perhaps trying out some day.. but you nearly wanted to die when you had forgotten about a few stories you let star the famous Loki Laufeyson.

‘’it w-was a long time ago-‘’

‘’how long darling? You act as if you haven’t touched these novels in ages. No matter, I can tell you exactly the last time I’ve starred in your little.. fantasies..’’ he smirked and turned his back to you, a single finger gliding amongst the spines while you backed yourself up while he wasn’t looking towards the door. ‘’ah- this one,’’ he smirked and pulled out a smaller book, slipping a single page while his eyes scanned. ‘’it would seem it is not updated, taking place with my little encounter with your city New York.’’ He read, seeming to chotted a few notes down where he was reading.

Your hand reached behind you, keeping your eyes on him while he was distracted while your hand tried the door handle. ‘fuck- locked..’

‘’fuck, indeed.’’ Loki chuckled, the snap of the book getting your attention and having your attention back on him as he raised his eyes over to you. ‘’a word you so often like to use, under more meanings than one..’’

‘’stay out of my head..’’ you glared and he chuckled, turning his back with no concern while he put the book back in its proper place. ‘’oh darling, I recently discovered you like me being in your head..’’

‘’and upon my discovery just now, if your last publishing was when I starred in New York, dare I say your writing attractions revolved when I was.. cruel..’’ he smirked, eyes lazily turning back to you with no rush at all.

‘’it’s just writing- it doesn’t mean anything in real life- half those stories were merely requests by other people’s inter-‘’

‘’not all of them.’’ He interrupted with a finger pointing towards the ceiling, somehow silencing you.

‘’I’m quite flattered by this.. little community. Yet I have a point I truly need to clarify which you stated just now.’’ He said carefully, his hands behind his back once again while he took dangerous steps towards you. ‘’you said writing doesn’t mean anything in real life, that is where you are wrong.’’

You gave him an odd look, mixed with a warning as he drew near, feeling yourself press up against the locked door with your heart racing. What did he want.. why did he care.. were you truly some sick little fuck that inserted people into stories just for fun times? Was it a consent thing?

‘’when I struck your tight little ass, I could practically smell the arousal that sparked from you- deny it as you may.. that gorgeous little collar of yours- in which I would love to switch out for one of mine, just indicated you relish in the pressure it brings and tells me you enjoy being choked..’’ he rose a hand at this, making you flinch a little with your head turning to the side as if he was going to do just that, only to find him resting is flat against the door beside your head.

‘’you wish for people to leave you alone in this world only because you relish in the sweet escape of a book.. as most of us do, even I find myself guilty of the same thing. However, one day you found out why read when you could create your own worlds? Make anything happen? Anything possible? You dream of things to form into reality, but because you cant, this.. fan fiction, is the closest you can ever get to it.. and by such, you intertwine your real life between the very lines you type on the screen..’’ he smirked, his voice dangerously low to a whisper while his other hand moved to caress your side, his thumb ghosting under your sweater while he studied your reactions. ‘’you find me attractive.. my attention has neglected you so you find yourself pulling me into your fantasies..’’

His soft whispers could almost be heard beside your ear, your eyes wide as denial began to fade away and the cold truth causing you to shiver. You turned your face back to look at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing up against his while his eyes slowly dipped to look at your lips.

‘’but the best part of all this darling.. is all you had to do.. was ask..’’ 

PART TWO

Note: this was semi inspired by my one shot "The Selection"

~DM a song for your own Musical Mischief one shot! 

~Fan Fiction books/one shots were Cameos of my work that you can find on my Masterlist :) thank you for your support! 

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Any way you want it

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 4

Prompts: Slap & Loud

Rated: E

Words: 1,282

Tags: Nudity; Light BDSM; Blindfolds; Sensory play; Slapping; Dirty talk; Top Eddie; Bottom Steve

Steve doesn’t know for how long he's been here. It's hard to tell with the blindfold on, the way his mind has gone fuzzy and soft, but his legs are starting to ache from keeping his kneeling position and the ropes binding his wrists behind his back are starting to chafe, so it must've been a while. He supposes he could call out, ask Eddie to end it, but the mere thought has his hackles rising and his teeth gritting, so he doesn’t. Instead, he counts his breaths, tries to focus on the crackle of the fireplace and the pleasant warmth of the flames on his aching limbs.

“How are we doing, baby? Desperate yet?” 

The words tear an involuntary gasp from Steve’s throat. The last thing he remembers is Eddie closing the bedroom door, the sound of his boots thunking down the stairs. How far gone has he been that he didn't hear him return? 

“Desperate?” is what he says. He's a little proud of himself for how his voice comes out, all casual disinterest with only the barest of trembles. “Bored, more like. I thought the goal of this was to make me horny, not tired.” 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie chuckles. He's closer than before, even though Steve didn't hear him move. Did he take off the boots? Steve fidgets in his spot, straining his neck and trying to peek out from under the blindfold, but it sits snugly and won't budge. “That's the problem with you, y’know. You're too stubborn for your own good.”

A hand wraps around his throat, pulling him back against a warm, naked body. Eddie’s cock presses into the space between his shoulder blades, thick and fully hard, and Steve gives a strangled moan as he feels himself twitch to attention. Something clinks, like a glass being set down on the mantelpiece, and he frowns at the sharp, earthy scent that hits his nostrils. 

“Wait, did you get into my dad's good whisky?” 

Eddie laughs. Something touches Steve's collarbone, something hard and sharp-edged and cold and he hisses at the sting of it.

“Why not?” Eddie says, slowly dragging the ice cube down, cold droplets catching in Steve’s chest hair. “Why shouldn't I drink his booze? I'm in the house he never comes back to, in the bedroom he never uses, and I have his perfect golden boy at my feet. I think your daddy has made it abundantly clear he doesn't want any of these things. I, though?” 

The ice cube drags over his left nipple, and Steve just barely manages to keep in his yelp. 

“I want it all, baby boy. The question is: What do you want?” 

He rolls Steve’s hardened nipple between two fingers, the pain only heightened by the lingering cold of the ice- … and then he's gone. Steve is left in the dark, floundering and disoriented and desperately hard, and this time, he can't contain his whimper. 

A hand grabs his jaw, from the front this time, and he smells whisky and cigarette smoke and the heady, thick scent of Eddie’s arousal. Steve moans and opens his mouth, saliva pooling on his tongue. When he tries to lean in, Eddie digs his nails into his skin and holds him in place. 

“What. Do. You. Want?” he repeats, every word sharp. “You're not getting anything unless you tell me.” 

He gives Steve’s jaw a brief, warning shake, and Steve’s cock twitches against thin air. Eddie waits. A second, two, while the fire crackles merrily and the cold water on Steve’s skin slowly goes warm. And Steve still can’t see him, but he knows he must be a sight to behold. The black lines of his tattoos contrasting with pale skin, dark curls basked in a halo of red and orange by the firelight, the smug smile playing on those perfect, plush lips. He wishes he could see. 

He could say as much, he guesses - except the thought makes something unbearably soft stir behind his chest, so he doesn’t. 

“You,” he says instead, struggling to form words around the hand still clenching down on his jaw. “Want you.” 

“Aw, honey,” Eddie coos, all fake sweetness. His grip doesn’t ease. “But you have me already. I’m right here with you, ain’t I?” 

His thumb shifts, the pad of it pressing down on Steve’s bottom lip without quite slipping in, and it’s all he can do not to cry out in frustration. His hands twitch in their restraints.

“Your cock,” he grits out, humiliation prickling at the corners of his eyes. Suddenly, he’s glad for the blindfold. 

“Pardon?” Eddie says. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.” 

“Fuck you,” Steve snaps. “You know exactly what I-” 

The slap comes without warning. One second, Eddie’s hand is on his jaw, and one moment later, it’s gone, only for his open palm to connect with Steve’s face. The impact isn’t hard, but it still echoes loudly over the crackle of the fire, leaving behind a hot, stinging feeling in its wake. 

“Oh, look at that, he can speak up,” Eddie drawls. His hand fists into the hair at the base of Steve’s neck, tilting his head up. “Now listen to me, baby. You’re gonna tell me what you want, and you’re gonna tell it to me loud and clear. Do you understand?” 

Steve bites down on his bottom lip to keep in the sob building at the back of his throat. 

“I can always leave again,” Eddie says. “Give you another hour or so to-” 

“No, please,” Steve blurts. He doesn't know why, but the thought of Eddie leaving him alone again fills him with a horrible, cold dread. “Your cock. Fuck, I need- … I want your cock, want it inside me.” 

It feels so weird, saying it out loud. Embarrassing and mortifying and freeing and beautiful all at once. His voice cracks pathetically around the last syllable, but he can't bring himself to mind - not when Eddie makes the softest, fondest sound and cups his face in both hands. 

“That was so good, honey,” he praises, and Steve’s breath hitches in his throat. He can't quite tell if it's a sob or a laugh, but when Eddie strokes the pads of his thumbs over his cheeks, he realizes that they are covered in wet tracks. “Where do you want it?”

“Everywhere,” Steve babbles, the words rushing out of him in a mad tumble, now that the dam has broken. “Wanna suck you off, want you to come on my face, want you to bend me over the bed and fuck me into the mattress and fill me up with your-” 

"Whoa, sweetheart,” Eddie says, pressing a long, chaste kiss to his lips to stop the barrage. “I'd love to do all that, but let's take care of one thing at a time?” 

Steve whines again, the prospect of having to wait, of having to choose when he needs everything, everywhere, at once, sending fresh tears of frustration to his eyes. 

“How about,” Eddie says, lips ghosting over his mouth, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, “if I fuck your face first, until I'm nice and hard for you? And then, when that's done, I get us on that bed and you can ride my cock until we both can't come anymore? How does that sound?” 

“So fucking good,” Steve breathes. “Can we start right now? Please, I need-” 

“Of course we can, baby,” Eddie coos, slipping a tender hand into Steve’s hair in the same movement that he pushes his cock into his mouth, stuffing him deliciously full. “See? Good boys get everything they want. They just need to know how to ask for it.” 

More smutty September

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part four

art by the amazing @piaart!!

author’s note: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY @angellayercake!! GO TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

so sorry for the delay on this haha. i've been wrestling with this for a while but i'm pretty happy with it now! it is about 4.4k words. part one/two/three. ao3 linky.

Terzo’s house is different at night. The lights are dim and the shadows are long, every long, creaking corridor seemingly ending in a black void. You’ve never been here this late. In fact, you can’t remember what you were just doing… why are you working late? The hardwood floor rasps beneath your shoes as you turn a corner and see him inside the room at the end of the hallway, sprawled out across a plush purple couch. Terzo immediately perks up at the sight of you, propping himself on his elbows, the usual lop-sided grin sitting handsomely on his face. You feel like you float to him and you’re suddenly standing next to the couch, hovering over him. One of his hands crawls up your waist and then loops his arm around you to pull you down on top of him. It’s much more forward than the careful dance the two of you have been doing since the couch incident. You struggle to breathe in his lap, his hands firmly planted on your waist as he leans up to level his eyes with yours.

“This is what you want, si?” He purrs, his hands snaking up your back to hold you close to him, his face an inch away from you. His paint is sharp, more sharp than usual, and he feels hot to the touch, his fingers nearly burning through your shirt. Your heart flutters and you gasp, your mouth dropping open as his stuttered breath hits your lips. “You like me. You want me. You’ve wanted me from the start, haven’t you, puffetta?” You’ve heard him growl before but not like this, not in a low hum that sends a shiver down your spine. Words fail you but you manage to nod. And nod. And nod again before his large hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers knotting in your hair. You nearly moan in anticipation, wanting and needing this so badly, his lips just about to touch yours — so close to finally tasting him.

Instead, you wake up in a cold sweat, your fingers dug into the sheets and drool on your pillow. Your panting and your cheeks are flushed but you slowly start to cool off once you rip the comforter off of you, throwing it to the ground in frustration. Mostly frustration at yourself for continuing to watch videos of your boss performing. You can’t help it. Terzo let you in. He invited you to sit beside him and take a peak into his world. The memorabilia makes sense now, the posters, the photographs, the everything.

And you want to know more.

“Ah, it is really… coming along, eh?” Terzo sounds so sleepy, brushing the hair out of his eyes and gazing out of the kitchen window while his hip rests against the counter. You take a moment to look up from your laptop and out the window as well, silently taking in the improvements that have been made under your care. The grass is a lush green, a hammock underneath the only tree in the yard, now trimmed and shaped to actually resemble one. A patio with a stylish dark grey conversation set beneath a hardtop gazebo is just to the left of the window, nestled in a corner of the yard. The garden still needs some work but there are two small raised beds in the back corner, where the sun shines the most, and a few spots already reserved for jalapeno peppers at Terzo’s insistence. You turn back to look at him, unable to fight off the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“Do you like it?” There’s a lilt in your voice, lips pulling into a small smile. It makes him melt a little bit.

“Si, yes. It is much nicer than it was before…” He trails off as he slinks closer to you only to keep his gaze settled on the yard. “We must have spritz’s outside one of these nights.”

“Spritz?”

“Ehhh, it’s like rosso arancio — orangey **drink with ice cubes and, uhhhh, ah! Served in a wine glass.” His mannerisms make you smile even more. You feel like a fool and you’re sure you look like one but you can’t help it. Your dream intensified your feelings, making it nearly impossible to hide them at this point. Is it so bad? To have a crush on your weird, retired-rockstar boss?

“Oh, like in White Lotus?” You rest your chin on your hands and flutter your eyes at him. Terzo flashes a bright smile but you can see in his eyes that he has no idea what you’re talking about. Silence lingers with him hovering just above you, your eyes locked. The moment is interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. “Oh shit, the landscaper!” You grab your phone and hurry out of the kitchen and toward the backyard.

Terzo keeps his eyes on the yard, slipping his hands in his robe pockets as he waits for you to appear. You caught him off guard this morning, your dreamlike gaze and easy smile making it impossible for him to be anything other than endeared to you. He’s almost relieved for the interruption because of how close he was to breaking the tension, wanting nothing more than to shove his fingers down your throat and watch those bright eyes widen with shock. You come into view with the landscaper trailing behind you, looking over your shoulder with a smile as you use your hand to sweep across the landscape with your finger ending up pointing to some brush that needs to be cleared. Terzo has spent so much time just watching you operate and he hasn’t tired of it, which is a feat due to his relatively short attention span. In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

You’re a natural with people. You always have a cheery smile, a nice greeting and some banter to lighten things up. He’s been so shut-in, his only company either you or his own voice, that watching genuine human interaction makes him swoon hard for you. His mind drifts to the times when he used to be social and how it used to fuel him, how it used to keep him going even after his Papacy fell apart.

What fuels him now? His gaze falls to where you had been sitting and his attention is immediately captured. You left you laptop open.

Terzo has always been nosy, even during his days at the Abbey. He can’t help but allow his eyes to focus on your email inbox that you foolishly left open. How many secrets could be in your inbox? What could he find out about you through what’s there? Terzo resists. He truly does for a split second. But he just cannot help himself. He slinks into the wooden kitchen chair you are set up at and pulls his glasses out from his robe pocket. He clicks on the first thing he sees: Banana Republic and is disappointed that it is only clothes. One of the male models catches his attention, though.

His outfit, specifically. A henley and a cardigan, matched tastefully with a pair of sweatpants. Terzo wonders if this is the kind of style you like. He pulls out his phone and opens the Banana Republic website but freezes when he hears faint footsteps. Terzo scrambles out of your chair, only to settle close by, leaning against a nearby wall and pretending to be hopelessly distracted by his phone (aka, staring at cardigans).

You enter the kitchen and can’t help by eye him suspiciously, the look on his face perhaps just a bit too aloof. He keeps scrolling lazily and starts to lean backward, all too aware of your gaze. It lingers for a moment before you sit back down, knitting your brows together at the email open on your screen. Then, you see that it’s up to 50% off all items which could be combined with clearance items and you’re clicking the link, getting lost in the undeniable pull of online shopping. Terzo gives a dramatic huff and leaves the room, desperately trying to hide how tickled he is.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, unable to hide a grimace. This is silly. Today is date day. You ended up texting Dylan. How could you not? Something you’ve longed for since you were a girl was offered up to you on a silver platter. So — why aren’t you more excited? Instead, Terzo is on the mind. It feels like he’s consumed your whole life as of late, spending your days in his home working for him and now he’s seeped into your home time. You haven’t allowed yourself to fully go down the rabbit hole, sticking only with the videos he had shown you in his home despite your YouTube recommendations now being full of him but also… other videos of different singers and musicians under the same band name. Of course, you couldn’t ask despite your curiosity — it’s obviously something of a sore subject and he’s only just started opening up to you more about that time of his life. The last thing you want to do is press him on something so personal and painful to him.

But now you have to live with this knowledge.

You try to push the thought from the forefront of you mind, instead focusing on yourself in the mirror again. A black shift dress hugs your figure and you have your red scarf, your favorite scarf, loose around your neck. How are you supposed to dress for this occasion? A date after work? It’s impossible to put together an appropriate outfit for both. But also — who are you kidding? The idea of Terzo seeing you in a dress has you anxious in more ways than one. No one needs an excuse to wear a dress but for some reason you feel guilty. Guilty that this dress isn’t for him. Maybe… a little bit disappointed, too. But you should give Dylan a shot, right?

“Right?” Oh, you are anxious.

Something catches your eye in your mirror, your gaze slowly trailing toward it. Your red scarf. You hum in thought for a moment and then turn to snatch it off your dresser, quickly looping it around your neck. Immediate relief washes over you, something about the scarf soothing your nerves. Could be because it makes you think of the way warm knuckles brushed along your cool neck. A shiver runs down your spine and your cheeks flush from the thought. Fuck. You have to pull yourself together. Time to focus on work, on getting shit done to distract yourself from… well everything.

Meanwhile, Terzo is having a similar time looking at himself in disbelief. It’s the most put together he’s tried to be since his days as Papa. He sits on the edge of his bed, one hand on each knee, his toes tapping on the ground in front of him. The amount of thought that has gone into this outfit is silly, even though he basically bought exactly what the model was wearing. Now his thoughts have turned to how should he be sitting when you arrive? See? It’s silly*.* He almost ashamed of how **you’ve wormed your way into his cold, broken heart **when **that was not his plan. You’re supposed to be obsessed with him, waiting on him hand and foot while kissing the ground he walks on. Instead he’s fallen for you. How embarrassing. But how could it have been avoided?

Terzo rests his palms on either side of his bed as he leans back and spreads his legs, sharp eyes examining his position for a beat. Too forward? An amused grin flickers across his face at the thought of you reacting to him like this. Definitely too forward. He tilts his head and adjusts himself with care, back straightening out and he crosses his legs. Closer but not quite. Terzo stares at his own reflection, admiring his paint for the day. Every time he sees himself he wonders why he still applies it everyday. Perhaps it’s a comfort thing, makes him feel like he’s important again. Like he’s Papa.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear you call him that.

Terzo takes a deep breath and exhales with a rumble, his eyes falling shut. You would do anything he asked, wouldn’t you? His mouth splits into a grin as he runs his slender fingers through his hair. Eyes open slowly, gaze focusing on his reflection. Strands of hair had fallen into his face and his head overall looking stylishly unkempt. More giggles.

Perfect.

Some mornings it’s like you blink and you’re at Terzo’s home. Not this morning. You are hyper aware of every stoplight, every Dunkin Donuts as your commute drags out to the second. Too much alone time with your overactive brain plotting out kind of every situation where something could go wrong with the date or work today and coming up with attack plan after attack plan to fix the issue. Not fun. After what feels like an eternity, you pull through the eerie wrought iron gate and travel down the long, tree lined driveway. Tension fills your chest as you come to a slow stop. It’s just one weird day that you have to get through.

You got this.

Terzo is already in the foyer by the time you walk through the door which is unlike him, usually spending most mornings in bed or somewhere else dark and comfy until he can no longer tolerate his caffeine withdrawal headache. He’s balancing his coffee cup on his thigh, one hand resting behind his head while the other scrolls through his phone. Your feet come to a stop, blinking a few times to ensure what you’re seeing is real, having never seen him this clothed before*.* He’s still in sweatpants but they taper down to his ankles and he’s wearing a pair of moccasins, his hair expertly tousled and reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a white henley that is artfully unbuttoned to expose his thick chest hair and a cozy navy blue cardigan draped over his slinky shoulders. Only his eyes are painted — giving you the chance to finally see his bare face, smooth olive skin wrinkled with age. You stare at him silently. He looks like he’s come directly out of a magazine. Terzo head tilts to face you, his eyes still focused on his phone until they unhurriedly drag away from the screen to settle on you.

“Ammazza…” The word is an impassioned whisper. He’s stunned, eyes wide as he looks over your figure with such a deliberate slowness it makes your cheeks burn. Dark eyes settle on your scarf, a smirk tugging on his lips, then his gaze flickers to meet yours. He rises from his seat, one hand clumsily snatching his coffee from his lap to stop himself from spilling, trying to hide his clumsiness with a cough. “Buongiorno mio toppolino… eh, you are wearing a dress?”

“I am. You’re wearing a cardigan.”

“I am.” Terzo purrs and slinks closer to you as he slips his phone into his cardigan pocket. His clumsiness is now replaced by that irresistible lazy swagger you are so familiar with. He lets his eyes wander again, tilting his head while regarding you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest but it’s impossible to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “I do not think I can let you start work without a dance, not when you are wearing such a beautiful dress, puffetta.” There’s an undeniable heat in his words. It’s too early for this.

“It’s too early for this, Terzo.” You huff as you avert his eyes, a desperate attempt to not fall under his spell.

“Come now… I don’t want to pull the “boss” card but, eh…?” He sets his coffee down on the table as his other arm brazenly snakes around your waist. Your face is fully red now and your brain is in a deep state of fart but you manage to move with him. This is the exact opposite of what you wanted for today but you find your stress slipping away to focus on the warmth of his fingers from having held his mug of coffee. He guides your hand to his chest then slips his bare hand along your other arm until he laces his fingers in yours and raises them to lead the way. Terzo is taller than you, not by much but he still looms over you, those piercing eyes never leaving yours. He starts to slowly sway to imaginary music as your cheeks burn, your chest impossibly warm but you start to loosen up, especially as his movements grow more fluid. “There is always time for a little dance, eh?” Terzo leans in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips then rests his cheek against your temple with a hum.

And you thought cuddling on the couch was intimate. You feel every inhale and exhale, his humming gradually growing stronger in your ear. His cool lips and warm breath giving you goosebumps. Cirice. You recognize it from your be various videos you’ve watched but bite your tongue and enjoy him. This may not be a stage in front of thousands of people but it definitely feels like a demonstration of some kind. Or he could just be pushing the boundary like the creeper he is and you’re eating. it. up. The last time you slow danced was at your senior prom with your date who was on probation — unbeknownst to you at the time he asked you. Somehow this is far less awkward than that. His arm around your waist starts to shift upward, his large hand pressing up your back. He lifts his head but is still only a breath away, his smile lines deep as his gaze meets yours. Your heart stirs in your chest, air caught in your lungs but before you get swept up in the moment he changes the tone.

Terzo starts singing, more energetic and loud as he leads you from the foyer into the den. You nearly trip over yourself when he twirls you, picking up the pace to be more jaunty, more goofy. But even with the fun movements you are extremely aware of his hand on the small of your back, fingertips pressing against you every so often. He’s smiling so wide that it makes it hard for you to hold it together. All of your worries about the day are gone, though — replaced by being completely entranced by him. You know just how special this song is to him, the moments he had on stage with fans, holding their hands and kissing their knuckles. And now he has you in his arms.

“I am going to dip you now.”

“You’re going to wha--?!” You squeal as he dips you, your hand frantically gripping onto his shoulder. He doesn’t drop you though, instead pulling you back to your feet with his toned arms curling around your back. You stop breathing, your chests touching and a strand of his hair brushing against your forehead from how close the two of you are.

“Mm… you are a good dance partner, you know? Easy to lead.” Is he trying to kill you today? Terzo gives you some space but still sways with you, the dance feeling more like… more like standing very close to one another waiting for something to happen. “You spoiled me today with wearing this dress.”

And a punch to your gut. Extreme guilt builds inside you and you can’t stop the distress from being all over your face.

“Oh…oh, puffetta, I am sorry, am I making you uncomfortable or—?” You cut him off with a sigh and take a step away from him, your eyes closing to give yourself time to collect your feelings while his arms fall from around you.

“No, I’m sorry. Ugh, this is so weird. I’m… I have a date after work today. So that’s what the dress is for.” There is no air in your lungs. Everything is so strained. “But you… this…” A flutter in your chest. “I like it. I’m… sorry this dress isn’t for you.” Do you even need to be apologizing? The answer would be no if it was anyone else other than him.

His face is stone cold, so different than the joy that had radiated from him just moments ago. The smile is gone and his brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You think you’re going to, ummm, die? All you can do is stare back at him, eyes incredibly wide and worry etched across your face. What is he thinking? Why is he taking so long?

One of Terzo’s hands lunges forward and grabs you by the back of your neck, his thumb pressed hard right below your ear. A surprised yelp, grasping for his sleeve and his shirt as his grip on you only tightens. His lips crush against your mouth, tongue forcing it’s way inside. He tastes like spiced coffee. The kiss is ferocious, you feel like you’re disappearing into it, mind blank but fingers digging into the fabric of his cardigan. Terzo’s teeth graze your bottom lip as he pulls away, a fiery look in his eyes.

“Do not forget who you belong too.” A low, vicious growl with bared teeth, pointed fangs glistening in the morning light. He uses his strength to push you down to your knees by your neck, your legs now trembling beneath. Speechless, you can’t look away from him now. Silence stretches between you. And then… he leaves and doesn’t spare you another glance.

You think you are broken. There’s an ache, a primal ache between your legs that burns hotter than you’ve ever felt before. Your skin is on fire, your cheeks burning and numb. What the fuck? He kissed you. Your boss kissed you and then spoke to you as if you are his possession. And it makes you want him more than ever before.

How are you going to be able to think about anything else?

Lucky for you, Terzo is MIA for the rest of the day.

You work as if he is standing over you, watching your every move. You don’t want to disappoint him, not now. Not after he kissed you. But the date. Dylan. Oh, Dylan. Caught in the middle of something there is no way he will ever understand. You hover in your text chat with him a few times with intent to cancel on him… but you can’t. He’s the one who got away, the one who you pined for like an idiot throughout half your life. This date could close that book. Or it could be the prologue. You won’t know unless you follow through.

The end of the day rolls around and you can’t help but pause in the foyer on your way out. Your chest tightens. Such a pleasant start to the day only to spiral out of control. You’re almost happy he kissed you before you were able to tell him that your date was picking you up from his house. The front porch creaks beneath your feet, the rotting wood the focus of your work today. Dylan is already there, leaning against his car and he gives you a big wave. You smile and wave back, light on your feet as you head toward him.

“Ma che cazzo…?” Terzo stares in disbelief, watching from his bedroom window as your date opens the passenger side door for you. Rage boils up within him, his hands clutching at the hem of his cardigan. A ceiling light POPS! behind him, green electricity illuminates the room but only for a second. Flames light up the bottom of the curtains, slowly eating away at them until they are completely engulfed. He’s too angry to care. The shy smile you gave your date eats him up inside, churning his stomach and making his nerves spark. The car fades from view and he unleashes an anguished scream as his hands seemingly grow claws, tearing and ripping the cardigan he had so carefully styled that morning. He doesn’t stop until he’s shirtless and surrounded by shreds of fabric. A sloppy wave of his hand somehow extinguishes the flames, leaving him in his room in the dark.

The nerve of you. To flirt, to giggle, to flutter your beautiful, delicate eyelashes at him while entertaining the idea of another man in your mind. A whore for attention, aren’t you? Pain in his chest. He shouldn’t call you a whore. You don’t deserve that. But it hurts, puffetta. Is it because he slacked off? Or that he had gone soft on you? Terzo groans as he sits on his bed, lasting less than a second before he flops onto the mattress and sinks into the mess of covers. He has been too soft, fucking twirling you around the foyer like a lovesick puppy. A romantic at heart always, eh? It was worth it — seeing you smile and blush gives him life, a reason to wake up the next morning because he has nothing else to do. You’ve made this shithole the Ministry saddled him with into a place that actually makes him feel at home. So… maybe he could be somewhat lenient with your punishment.

Electricity crackles in his bones. He is going to spend the rest of the night here, he thinks, casting a glance at his ancient alarm clock. 5:30pm. What else could possibly get him out of bed at this point? Terzo huffs and swings one of his legs over his body to lazily roll over, dragging the covers along with him to successfully burrito himself with a scoff. Another instance in which someone stole the spotlight from him. At least this time it isn’t his decrepit father. He breaks into a wild chuckle.

That would be fucked.