#again I ALWAYS forget how dark it would be inside these kinds of places if there are no lights on

[rust-bearer]

Another zombie au writing exercise, feat: a bookstore

First Aid imagined, before, that places after the end of the world would be much more… dilapidated. Weed-filled and destroyed by both weather and time. But, surprisingly, these places were often just… fine. Speaking from that perspective, at least. The area wasn’t prone to flooding, so there was no water damage, barring extreme circumstances. There were no tornadoes, no hurricanes. There were some earthquakes, occasionally, but nothing major. So maybe some downed power lines, maybe some toppled trees. Old car crashes, some that had crashed into storefronts, some into each other. Destroyed windows… and maybe, rarely, a few adventurous plants trying to creep inside.

But mostly? They were all fine. When he entered the bookstore, the only ravages of time that he beheld were dried blood, slumped corpses melting into the floors, and layers of dust over the store that no one had any reason to scavenge. Some of the bookshelves were toppled over; many of the books were on the floors. Expensive things, like television shows and electronic reading devices- they were mostly smashed up and stolen, by those early days of chaos and looting. Maybe, if First Aid had been trying to scavenge from the old coffee shop in the corner, he would have had more trouble- but he wasn’t here to try and take moldering bags of coffee.

Instead, he was here to take their board games.

There was a lot of board games left, actually. A lot of card games undamaged, tossed onto the floor- old style games, simplistic ones, mixed in with the kinds based off of television shows and movies. First Aid fingered the plastic covering on a board game version of Halloween, checking out the price tag on some idle instinct- 60$, it said, and he smiled sadly at the knee-jerk reaction to put it back because of the price. He set it down anyway, not really interested in it. Instead, he picked up some variant on monopoly, stuffing it into his bag. The store had fidget toys that the kids would enjoy, and he grabbed a few of those too, letting them mix with the classic card game packs he’d picked up off the floor. He was pleased to find a normal version of Uno, too.

How do you pass the time without normal activities? It was like this. First Aid imagined he wasn’t the only one thinking of scavenging these games, because many were missing from the shelves- but he knew that, most of those missing were before ‘now’. When people thought this would blow over soon, and they jumped to take things they’d wanted, things they suddenly craved to have. Still, after a beat, First Aid grabbed one of those television board games and put it into the bag. This one was… based on the Thing, yeah. He’d actually wanted to play it before all of this. Maybe it be good?…

As First Aid got up to leave, he cast a wistful, wary glance to the darker sections of the store, the parts where the sunlit, shattered windows didn’t reach; textbooks, informational guides. Not this time, no.

But he did, on his way out, manage to stuff a few stray candy bars into his bag. He hoped they wouldn’t melt like the last time.

@mr-miss-anonymous for youuu

[thelostconsultant]

Playing house (1/2)

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Max's father is coming to Monaco to hand over the keys to his kingdom, but he has one condition--he wants to see that his son is in a committed relationship. This is where you come in.

note: mafia!AU. Merc!reader is based on V from Cyberpunk 2077, minus the cyberware. This will be a two-part thing, at least that's the plan now. Oh, and this is unedited. (Hey, don't judge, I'm in the middle of a depressive episode, it's a miracle that I can write.)

The fixer who offered that thievery gig didn’t say much, only that the person who was supposed to pick up the portable SSD you stole was captured by Max Verstappen’s men. Now you have to go and pick up the item yourself from the drop point, then somehow manage to survive until the fixer sends someone else for it. 

But when you lock the door of your apartment and lean against it after getting the drive, you hear a strange sound coming from the living room. The sound of someone shifting their weight, causing the wooden floor to creak. Cursing under your breath, you quickly open the door again to bolt out and get as far as you can, but they were expecting this, because a man was standing in the door to keep you inside.

“Don’t be silly, I just want to talk,” you hear a voice from inside, the tone a mixture of sweet and nurturing, as if he was trying to convince a little child not to start sulking. 

There’s an unmistakable accent, and the voice is also familiar, as if you have heard it before. Not in person, but on a recording of some sort. It takes a few moments for the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place, but before you could move your feet to head to the living room, you have your answer: the one and only Max Verstappen is here in your living room. You have a gun, but you’re outnumbered for sure, you wouldn’t get far if you tried anything.

After gulping and taking a deep breath, you head to where the man is waiting for you, only to find him looking at the framed photos on a table under the window. It enrages you, really, the lack of respect for your privacy. He invades your home, he’s going through your personal items, and you can’t help but wonder if he had gone through your walk-in closet in the bedroom. 

When he finally turns to you, there’s a smile on his face that reaches his blue eyes, and for a moment you wonder what’s gotten into him. Isn’t he here to kill you for the drive? But maybe this kind look is just a trap, he wants to coerce you into cooperating without putting up a fight. Then again, you promised to keep the item safe, giving it up without a fight would surely not help your reputation.

The silence in the room stretches out for minutes, and he eventually gets bored, breaking eye contact to go and take another look at your living room. He stops in front of the shelf with a collection of perfumes, and without even glancing at you for permission, he begins to take a closer look at them and their scents, one by one. Not like he needs your permission, you aren’t exactly in the position to tell him what he can and cannot do.

But then he turns to you with one of the bottles in hand. It’s the unmistakable triangle one with the dark pink liquid inside, the Prada Paradoxe Intense you received as a gift. It’s pleasant, but you somehow always forget about it. How could he find the only one you barely use? Max seems to notice that you’re thinking about something, and he steps closer to you with an almost friendly smile.

“You don’t really like this one, do you?” he wonders. You refuse to answer, not until he finally tells you what he wants. When he realizes that, he lets out a sigh and returns to the shelf to put the bottle back to its place. “You know, I don’t want you dead. It would be a shame to kill someone like you. You’re getting noticed. You’re a professional, discreet and efficient, and no wonder fixers are finding you with more and more gigs.”

Though you should be a little relieved after being told he doesn’t want to kill you, you can’t help but think about where he’s going with this. Why is he talking? Why doesn’t he simply take the drive and leave? It doesn’t really make sense, it’s impossible to tell what he’s planning with you. Because there must be a plan, he definitely wants something he’s yet to tell you.

His phone suddenly beeps, and he looks a little taken aback for a brief moment when he reads the message. You don’t move, you don’t make a sound, you don’t even dare to ask anything. Your usual snarky comments are nowhere to be found, which is the result of the ambiguous aura of his that makes you feel threatened and calm at the same time. There’s something about him that unnerves you, but right now all you can think about is survival. 

Max looks back your way, the smile returning the moment his eyes land on you. “Please, don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to hurt you. But I need something from you,” he says. 

Your eyes narrow because you know what he wants. The item he’s looking for is in your bag, and at this point you would hand it over to him in return for your freedom. Maybe the fixer and his client wouldn’t be happy, but right now that’s the least of your worries. They can’t win this. If you don’t give them the drive on your own free will, they will zero you and fish it out of the bag themselves. 

Nodding, you slowly peel off the backpack, and once he stops his man from shooting you, you offer it to him. But he doesn’t seem interested, in fact, he watches you with a slightly confused frown. “The drive. It’s in the bag,” you tell him.

“I don’t need that drive, I can get what’s on it elsewhere,” he begins to explain as he steps closer and gently puts a hand on yours to make you lower the backpack. “It’s you I want. You’re talented, you shouldn’t waste that on these stupid little gigs. Work for me, and in return I’ll give you whatever you want.”

You drop the bag as you gasp and instinctively take a step back. Working for him? He must be joking. Sure, you’re not stupid, you know he holds the kind of power many people can only dream about, no fixer could give you prestigious jobs like he would, and he probably pays a lot better too, but… Working for him would mean you sold your soul to the Devil. Would it be worth it?

There’s something about the way he watches you, something that makes you uncomfortable. Those baby blue eyes are intense, and they don’t miss anything, you’re sure he even keeps track of how many times you breathe in and out. You have a feeling that it’s not just about the job. He doesn’t need a merc to work for him, there has to be another reason why he picked you from all people. 

“What if I say no?” you wonder out loud.

Max nods. “Now, that would be a problem. But why would you refuse? I would treat you right, trust me,” he says, and then he gently sweeps a strand of hair behind your ear before pulling his hand away, making sure his fingers brush your jawline. 

For a moment you stop breathing as your brain is trying to process what just happened. Was he like this with everyone? From what you’ve heard about him, he isn’t exactly a nice guy when it comes to business, yet now his voice is sweet like honey, as if he was trying to coerce you to say yes to him. What if this is personal? What if this has nothing to do with you being a merc?

“What is this really about? You have your own foot soldiers, you don’t need me,” you tell him quietly, suddenly a little afraid of his answer as your gut is telling you he will say something you won’t like.

He turns to the man who’s standing by the door, then signals him to leave. Once he’s gone, Max tilts his head to the side with a soft smile. “I have a little… problem. I need a partner for certain reasons. Someone who knows who I am, someone who could be… my equal. Think of this as a gig. I’ll pay well, way better than other jobs would.”

“How long would this job last? And what exactly would I have to do?” 

There’s an amused smirk on his lips as he watches you, his eyes never leaving your face. “I don’t know, it will last while it lasts. And what will you do? Well, you look pretty on my side. Maybe you’ll give us your opinion about certain matters,” he replies.

Great, so he only wants a good-looking doll. “Hire an escort.” The roll of his eyes tells you that he’s not impressed with your suggestion. “Can I think about it?”

Max nods as he takes a step back. “I’ll make myself a coffee. You have time until I drink it,” he says, then heads to the kitchen as if he was home. 

The way he tries to get an answer out of you so fast tells you there must be a reason why he’s in such a hurry. He needs your help, and maybe he doesn’t have many options. Or he’s lying to you because he wants to make sure you say yes. Either way, you really don’t have a choice. Knowing who he is, you’re sure he could force you to do this, maybe by threatening your loved ones. When he returns and sits in the armchair, legs crossed while he takes a sip of the warm drink, you gulp and let out a sigh to prepare yourself to speak. 

“Since I highly doubt I have a choice,” you begin, instantly earning a surprised look from him, “fine, I’ll do it. But it’s strictly business.”

There’s a strange glint crossing his eyes, but it disappears as fast as it showed up. “Good. Pack some essentials, we’re leaving soon. Oh, and only pack one or two sets of clothes, I’ll get someone to buy you new things anyway. You’ve got to dress the part after all,” he tells you with a satisfied smile.

Your eyes narrow in confusion as you take a better look at the Red Bull F1 team merch he’s wearing now, wondering how he’s the one talking about fashion choices. He follows your gaze, quickly understanding what bothers you, because he flashes a smile at you with a barely visible shake of his head. 

“It’s race day and I support my favorite team. I do normal things, you know,” he says.

Normal things. Sure. And here you were, assuming that leading the biggest underground organization in Monaco is a job that takes up all of his time. But now that he had the chance to mention his favorite sport, you saw a glimpse of a version of him that wasn’t a criminal, that wasn’t a cold-blooded monster. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought. Well, okay, he probably was.

Deciding to drop the conversation, you go to your bedroom and pull out a suitcase from the walk-in closet. Max said he would buy you clothes, so you follow his instructions and only pack what you really need. Once the suitcase is zipped shut, you sit on the edge of the bed with your phone in hand, wondering if you should call your best friend so at least one person would know you’re disappearing on your own free will.

But as you think about it, you realize that a phone call would be dangerous, you have no idea if anyone’s eavesdropping from the hallway, so you simply type a message that you’ll be unavailable for a short while. It couldn’t last longer than a week, right? Now that you think about it, you have to realize that this is a dangerous game you’re playing. You only know the stories about him—those Grimm’s fairy tales level stories that scare so many people in the underworld.

Until now, while your job isn’t always legal, you’ve been known for helping the cops every once in a while. But if you semi-publicly side with Max, things can change for good, and not necessarily in the right way. Even if you say you were only doing this temporarily for, like, casual sex, there would be a permanent target on your back. Some might assume you still have ties to him, some might think he still has a soft spot for you and can get to him if they hurt you… 

Going with him now is a double edged sword, but you don’t have a choice if you want to live. This is your life now, it’s time to accept it. Whatever happens after this job is something you can’t avoid. It’s annoying–no, it’s actually quite depressing as you think about it. You could just as well stay in his circles and work for him later too. 

Just when the existential crisis could truly kick in, there’s a knock on the door and Max pokes his head around seconds later. “Ready? We should leave now,” he informs you. There’s a gentle edge to his voice, something way softer than what you heard before. 

After a nod, you pick up the suitcase, but he walks over to you to take the handle from your hand. The two of you, followed by the man who’s been waiting in the hallway apparently, make your way to his car, a simple black Audi SUV that doesn’t really get people’s attention in a place where supercars can be found on every corner. 

You and Max sit in the back, and even though he’s busy typing something on his phone, you notice that he keeps glancing your way. Just brief, easily missable looks, but you still notice, because you can feel the way he’s staring at you. When you turn to him with eyebrows raised in question, he clears his throat and turns away. 

The rest of the car ride passes in the same silence, except he does his best not to look at you again. You can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. Is it as loud inside as it is in yours? Because here you are with a brain in overdrive, fear and curiosity battling for the lead in there. On the one hand, he’s known for being ruthless and sometimes even cruel, but on the other, from what you’ve seen so far, he’s not that bad. But maybe he’s just desperate. When he told you he needed a partner, there was something in his eyes–annoyance, maybe–that told you he doesn’t really have a choice in this matter. 

The car soon parks in an underground garage, and you’re led to a beautiful apartment on the top floor, with a view so amazing that you can barely stop looking out the window. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Max watching you with a smile, but he doesn’t say anything, and eventually he moves to the living room to turn on the TV and open the F1TV app on it. Of course, the race he was talking about. Unsure of how to proceed, you move closer to him, but you just wait silently in the border of the hall and the other room. You wonder how long it will take someone to take pity on you and tell you things like where your room is. 

“Come, sit,” Max speaks up suddenly, patting the empty side of the couch. “Watch the race with me.” Knowing better than to refuse, you obediently go there and put your bag at the edge of the couch before sitting down, leaving quite a lot of space between you and the man. “Oh, by the way, put your phone on the coffee table, please. Daniel and a friend of mine are out to buy you some new clothes and shoes, and they’ll stop to get you a new phone too. Wouldn’t want anyone to track your location, right?” There’s a small smile on his lips that makes you want to punch him in the face. 

In the next two hours you watch the race, and since you admittedly don’t know much about F1, he takes it on himself to teach you the basics. To your surprise, it’s not at all boring, but you can feel you would need a little more time and slightly different circumstances to become a lot more invested in this sport. Max can see that, because he stops talking about it as soon as the race ends. When you try to fight back a yawn, he looks at you with a curious look in his blue eyes. 

“Did you sleep last night?” Of course he knows you had a very long night, one you spent with a friend in a club to celebrate the successful gig–well, at that point, you thought it was done. So you decide not to lie and nod, surprised to see an understanding look on his face as he leans back and points towards the hallway. “The second room on the right is the guest bedroom. Your suitcase is already inside. Go, take a nap. We’ll order something to eat after you wake up, and we’ll begin the learning sessions,” he says. 

“Learning session?” you ask, profoundly confused by this. 

He nods. “Like I said, I need you as a partner. My father will come here the day after tomorrow, and we’ll have dinner with him. He wants to meet my girlfriend. You’ll need to know a lot of things about me, I’ll also need to know a lot of things about you, and we also need to learn the story of how we met and how we live as a couple,” he explains casually, as if it was perfectly normal. 

Even though you vaguely knew what this job was about, you’re still surprised when you hear the details. You have a day and a half to learn, but you’re not afraid of that. You’re afraid of learning more about him, because that knowledge can be dangerous in the long run. But there is one thing that bothers you, one little detail that makes you question a few things. “Do you have a real girlfriend? If so, why not introduce her to your father?” you wonder. 

Max flashes a sad smile at you. “I don’t have time to date. And my father… Well, he has high expectations. He always told me I shouldn’t waste my time on airheads, so I needed someone like you to play the part. He will like you, I’m sure of it.”

“And why can’t you just admit you’re not dating anyone?”

At first, he opens his mouth to answer, but then he falls silent. The gears in his head are visibly turning, and it takes him a minute to finally speak up. “He’s willing to finally retire and let me handle things in the Netherlands too. But he only lets me take over if I’m in a serious relationship,” he says. 

“Serious relationship? And what if he wants to see us together after this meeting? You’ll threaten me again to play along?” 

His jaw tightens at this, but he doesn’t lash out. He’s perfectly calm when he speaks up again. “I’ll figure something out, don’t worry about that.”

Letting out a sigh, you pick up your bag and head to your room without saying anything. You can once again feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment you even feel bad for him. It’s a lot of pressure he’s under, and it’s obvious that he really wants this. But you have a small voice in the back of your mind telling you that he doesn’t want control in another country, he wants his father to be out of the picture. There have been rumors about his troubled relationship with his father, and if even half of it is true, you wouldn’t want to be in his place. 

In the evening, after you emerged from your room, you only find an unknown man in the living room, flipping through the channels to see if there’s anything on TV that catches his attention. After some hesitation, you clear your throat to let him know you’re there, and he turns around to look at you with a big, contagious smile on his face. As it turns out, he’s Daniel, the man Max briefly mentioned in the afternoon, his right hand man as you now learn. Your host is out on an unexpected meeting, but he left instructions to order you something to eat while he’s away. 

After the introductions and the food order, your companion for the evening shows you the dozen shopping bags that are waiting for you in the hall, full of clothes and shoes that he thought you would like. While you wait for the dinner, you check the bags and realize that Daniel certainly has a good taste if it was him who chose them. All of them are designer clothes, things you would never buy for yourself, but they are undeniably pretty.

An hour later you’re both sitting by the dinner table, chatting about how he ended up working for Max, and he tells you details you’re not even sure you should know. But Daniel sees the uncertainty in your eyes, which is why he puts down his fork and knife in preparation for a speech. “Listen, you’ll have to be prepared. This game Max is playing? You need to have the answers to questions, you need to know these little details to play your role in a more believable way. So just listen and learn, okay? I’m sure Max will also tell you a lot of things,” he explains. 

“What is he like? Like you said, he’ll probably talk about himself too, but maybe as an outsider you can tell me something he wouldn’t mention,” you say as you push your plate away and lean back in your chair to give him your full attention. 

Daniel begins to talk. Max has two cats who are temporarily locked into his bedroom as he wants to introduce the three of you to each other himself. They are his furry children, he loves cats, so if you want to calm him down or avert his thoughts, just find a cute video with cats and show it to him. Then there’s the sim rig in the living room that you noticed earlier, one of the few hobbies he has. He plays padel with his friends every now and then, and he watches an insane amount of F1 and MotoGP. If we don’t count his leadership of one of Monaco’s biggest crime organizations, he’s apparently a pretty normal guy. 

You ask about his family, but he only shakes his head and tells you he would rather let him talk about it himself. This is a sign that there’s some touchy subject he doesn’t feel allowed to talk about, something that is probably important, so you make a mental note to corner Max about it later. 

That’s when he remembers he’s supposed to give you the phone he bought in the afternoon, and it’s already set up. And there’s a text from Max: The meeting lasts longer than expected. Don’t wait up. With a sigh, you put it on the table so Daniel can see what it is. He lets out a low hum, then suddenly stands up, already reaching for the plates. You pick up the glasses and go after him into the kitchen, following his lead as he puts them in the dishwasher.

“Why don’t you go home?” you wonder out loud. 

Daniel looks surprised for a moment, then a warm smile appears on his lips. “I have to stay until he gets back. Just to make sure you’re okay,” he adds.

“I can protect myself.”

“We know.”

So this isn’t about keeping you safe, Max just wants to make sure you don’t leave while he’s gone. It’s not that hard to figure it out, but for now you’d rather not tell that to Daniel. Which is why you nod and fake a yawn, then tell him it’s time to go to bed after such a long day. He’s a nice guy, you don’t want to lie to him, but right now you can’t fully trust anyone. You need to tiptoe around them, playing it smart for now. 

“Hey,” he calls after you. You turn back with a questioning hum, and he walks over to you with an uncertain look in his eyes. “He’s not a bad guy, and he gave you a choice when he offered you the job. I know, I know, it probably didn’t feel like it,” he says with his hands held up when he saw you open your mouth. “But he admires you. Professionally, of course. Ever since you began to earn a name for yourself, he’s been following your career. Just give him a chance.”

You nod, still having a hard time believing him. 

In the safety of your room, you can’t help but take a look around, wondering if you should check for hidden cameras, but then you decide against it. Even if you found one, there would be nothing you could do, because confronting them about it would lead nowhere. His home, his rules, and you’re not exactly in the position to object. Not like you would like to do anything they can’t see. But in the same way, you’re quite sure the phone has spyware too, they’re keeping track of what you do on it–who you’re calling, who gets a message, what social media apps you’re using. 

You’re on your own. 

//////

“Hey, it’s time to wake up.” 

With a groan, you turn your head to see who’s disturbing you, and to your surprise, you find Max standing in the door of your room. He’s wearing shorts with a simple gray shirt, looking sleepy as if he has just woken up himself not long ago. You shake your head and turn back on your side, even pulling the blanket over your head, but he’s not having it. Seconds later you feel the mattress dip on your side when he sits on the edge of the bed and gently peels the blanket back to your shoulders. 

“Look, I know it’s early, but we have a lot to talk about. We need to prepare for tomorrow, okay?” he says, surprising you with how gentle his tone is now. 

You sigh and sit up, resting your back against the headrest as you take a closer look at him. Could it be that he’s not as bad as you always thought? No. It’s just a trap, he’s only trying to earn your trust to manipulate you more successfully. You’re nothing more than a pawn in this game of chess, he uses you to convince his father to give him the keys to his empire. 

There’s a minute or two that passes in complete silence, but you can see the glint in his eyes that tells you he knows what you’re thinking about, and he doesn’t look happy about it. With a sigh, he hesitantly puts a hand on yours and looks you in the eye. “I’m not acting like I was nice, I really am like that. Especially with you,” he adds so quietly you almost miss it.

“What does that supposed to mean?” 

He looks away and bites the inside of his cheek. “Maybe I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while,” he finally admits, still avoiding your eyes. 

You can’t help but laugh at that. Daniel did mention that last night, it shouldn’t surprise you, but the way he just said these words? Strange. “If I didn’t know better, I would say it sounds like you have a crush on me or something.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can see how flustered he is, his cheeks turning into a bright shade of red within seconds. It’s hard to hide the small smile that wants to creep on your lips, because seeing the big, scary crime lord acting like some stupid schoolgirl is truly entertaining. While a voice in the back of your mind keeps telling you he’s lying, there’s something about the way he looks like he’s still half asleep that makes you wonder if he could even lie at this time of the day.

“Anyway,” he says after clearing his throat, “get ready. I’ll make some coffee and breakfast. Meet you in the kitchen.”

With that, he stands up and exits the room, leaving you thinking about why he’s acting like that. Yesterday he was way colder, giving you no choice but to come with him, but today he seems nice, and you can’t help but wonder if Daniel was telling the truth last night. Having breakfast with him only makes you more confused, because Max is super nice, smiling and laughing a lot as he tells you stories about his childhood. 

Throughout the day, you learn a lot about him, and in return he learns a lot about you. Having done his research, there are things he already knows, but he only lets this show when he asks you questions to clarify details. You notice the differences when he talks about his family, like the small smile and kind tone while he tells you about his mother and sister, and the deep breath he takes every time before talking about his father.

And then in the afternoon he says something that surprises you. Photos. You need photos of the two of you to make things more believable. It’s not that his father is such a big fan of taking a look at photographs, but if your story is that you’ve been together for a while, it would be only natural to find some scattered around your shared home. But how do you do that in such a short amount of time? Well, he has already thought of that.

He has a friend, Lando, who loves to take photos in his free time, and he promised to join you for the afternoon and the evening to help. He’ll instruct you when you do some selfies in his home or elsewhere, then he’s going to take photos with a phone as if you asked someone to help, then prepare his camera to do some professional shots too. All while changing from one outfit into another, sometimes even taking the time to have a small team change your hair and makeup.

Max is going a little overboard with this and he knows that, but it’s necessary to make sure there’s no room left for error according to him. So, despite not feeling energized enough to smile for the camera, you pull yourself together just enough to play the part well. You know you have to make his father believe you’re his girlfriend, but having his arm around you and feeling his body being pressed to yours is really weird at first. But then you manage to loosen up, even laughing at his stupid jokes that he keeps telling you to make you smile, and Lando is thrilled as he goes through the pictures on the locations.

It’s almost midnight, and the three of you are sitting on the couch, with Max being in the middle, an arm casually resting on the back of the couch behind you, while Lando is on his other side, carefully curating your new portfolio. Every once in a while he giggles, but when you or Max ask him what it is, he just waves his hand and moves on.  

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you two are the cutest couple I’ve ever seen,” Lando eventually says with a wide smile as he turns his laptop to show you a photo. 

The photo in question shows you sitting on the beach with your head resting on his shoulder, and he’s looking down at you with a shockingly sweet and loving smile, as if being in love with you was the most natural thing in the world. You glance over at him out of the corner of your eye, and there’s that smile again for a moment while he watches the screen. He says something to his friend, but his words simply don’t stick around long enough to be processed by your brain.

You’re only snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of the laptop closing. “Alright, Daniel can pick up the photos tomorrow. I have picture frames that go well with your apartment’s design, so you’ll only have to put them in their rightful places,” Lando announces as he carefully puts his laptop into the backpack. 

“Thanks, mate,” Max says with a smile as they shake hands.

The Brit waves goodbye before heading to the front door, leaving you alone in the apartment. For a few minutes you’re sitting there in silence, a short break he spends checking his emails while you’re playing with one of his cats. Even though you’re tired, you try to avoid letting it show, but somehow he notices, because he soon puts the phone away and turns to you with a kind smile. He doesn’t say a word, only motions toward the hallway with his hand as he mouths, ‘go.’

With a nod, you stand up and take a few steps away from him, but something feels off about Max. You turn back your head to look at him, and even though he’s once again scrolling his phone, you can see it on his face that he’s not just troubled, he’s also nervous as hell. Yes, he’s good at hiding it, but you can see the signs. Cursing under your breath, you take a deep breath and turn around properly. “Hey, Max?” you ask softly, earning a surprised look from him. “Wanna talk about it?”

His eyes narrow in confusion. “About what?” he asks, sounding honestly lost. 

Letting out a long breath, you sit back next to him and poke his temple with your pointer finger. “About what’s going on in this gorgeous head of yours.” You regret your choice of word right away, but there’s no way to take it back now, and he certainly noticed too. 

“Gorgeous?” Max repeats with a wide grin, and when you roll your eyes at him, he shakes his head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry about it.”

“Does it have anything to do with your dad coming tomorrow?” 

His jaw clenches at the question, but he doesn’t respond right away. Those blue eyes of his turn to the window, focusing on the view of the port below, but his brain is in overdrive, that’s clear as day. When you begin to suspect that he’s not planning on answering, you put a hand on his, even letting your thumb run over his knuckles in a soothing manner. He looks down at his hand and turns it just enough to wrap his fingers around yours, holding onto you as if this would ground him and calm his racing thoughts.

While yesterday you were defiant, this morning you promised yourself to play along and be nice, and apparently he appreciates it. No, maybe it’s not appreciation, maybe… Well, maybe he misunderstands it. Maybe he takes it as a sign that you have a soft spot for him too, after all he made it clear that he’s been keeping an eye on you for a while now. Max wants something from you, something that goes beyond a simple companionship, and this fake relationship might be his only chance to get this close to you.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when he gently puts a finger under your chin, making you look up at him as he leans a little closer. “You know,” he begins hesitantly, showing you a vulnerable side of him that’s not even close to the image people in your circles have in mind, “my dad might wonder why I don’t kiss my girlfriend when he’s around. So maybe… Maybe we should practice.”

Sure, you have your moments, but you’re not entirely stupid, you can tell it’s not strictly about your upcoming play. He just wants to kiss you, plain and simple, and you don’t know how you feel about this. What would you do if he was a normal guy, someone who has nothing to do with the world of organized crime? He’s undeniably handsome, and today he was nice to you, even nicer than some of your previous boyfriends.

Then again, he’s probably just playing with you, and you can’t be some stupid girl who falls for his charm. Who knows how many women have already heard this story, that the great Max Verstappen had been keeping an eye on them and now wants to spend more time with them. You would be another victim, nothing more. 

“I really should get some sleep. I would probably mess up big time if I met your dad half-asleep,” you reply with a nervous smile after pulling your hand away and slowly getting on your feet. 

He looks confused for a second, but then he follows your lead and stands up as well, watching you with wide eyes. There’s something he wants to say, but he’s hesitating, and eventually he lets out a defeated sigh and nods. “Sure. Sleep tight,��� he says quietly.

“Goodnight, Max.”

//////

The day has come. Jos Verstappen set foot in Monaco, and the tension in the air is palpable. Max is tense, he’s pacing his office like a caged lion, responding to questions in extremely short sentences. Eventually, he closes the door, so you’re left in the rest of the apartment with his right hand man, Daniel. He’s also nervous, but you guess it’s just a residue of his boss’ own feelings.

You sit on the barstool next to his in the kitchen, your fingertip running around the edge of the glass as you think about where to start. “Have you met his dad?” you ask him when you’re finally ready to turn to him.

His smile disappears in an instant, and he lets out a troubled sigh. “He’s a real piece of work, let’s stick with that.” He looks away, but you can see he wants to say more, something that you should probably know about the older Verstappen. You gently nudge his arm with your elbow, causing him to turn back to you. “He will grill you, expect that. In his eyes, no one is good enough for his son, and I’m sure he will do his research after meeting you.”

Nodding, you take a sip of your iced tea and begin to wonder what else is there. “I assume a merc isn’t who he would like to see on his son’s side,” you note. 

Daniel shifts in the chair just enough to face you. “It’s not that you’re a merc. It’s the fact you’re not really together. If Jos tries to learn more about the two of you, he’ll bump into walls, because obviously no one will know what he means. Max now has to convince him that you’ve been keeping this under wraps, but you already know this.”

“Yeah, he did mention that,” you confirm with a nod. “Listen, there’s something I wanted to ask. When I got here, you told me Max admired me. What does that mean exactly?”

A nervous grin appears on his face as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, no, I should have known this would happen. He really is terrible at hiding it, I guess.”

“Hiding what?”

“I’m not saying he has some Helga Pataki-style shrine of you in his closet, but… You know, he might have some stupid crush on you,” Daniel explains.

“Who’s Helga?”

Pain becomes visible on his face, and for a brief moment you expect him to start crying. “You guys are so young, you don’t even know Hey, Arnold, do you? God, I feel like a boomer.” He turns his coffee mug, but doesn’t raise it to drink. “Anyway, in that cartoon there was a girl, Helga, who acted kinda hostile with Arnold, but secretly she was obsessed with him and even had a shrine of him in the back of her closet.”

You raise an eyebrow as you try to process what he just said. So, unless Daniel is part of some elaborate scheme, Max might truly like you. In this case, Max picked you for this job because it would be easier for him to play house with someone he has real feelings for. These emotions could cause problems later on, they could easily turn into something violent after this whole play ended. You’re fucked. Damn it. 

“No need to worry about him. I know he can be ruthless, but you have nothing to worry about. He could never hurt you. Trust me,” he adds with a warm smile. 

The two of you sit there in comfortable silence for a while, which is only disturbed by a familiar voice calling out from the end of the hallway. “Y/N, could you come in?” With a sigh, you pat Daniel on the shoulder and head to the office to see what Max wants from you. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the desk with a troubled look on his face, and he avoids your face when you stop in front of him. Something is bothering him, and you guess that something is his father’s arrival. Ever since he received the message that his father’s plane touched the ground, he’s been extremely tense and irritated, and he’s been clearly avoiding you until now. But in a matter of hours you’re expected to meet him in a restaurant, he can’t stay away forever.

For a moment you think about putting a hand on his shoulder, just to give him a little pat to make him look at you. But then you decide against it, because you don’t want him to think you have a soft spot for him. Who knows where that would lead? Let’s just keep a safe distance for now. “What’s going on?” you ask him.

Max finally looks at you, and you can see the hesitation in his blue eyes. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Daniel will take you home,” he announces. 

Your brain needs a moment to restart and process what you just heard. “And your dad?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Max,” you say softly as you take a step closer, but he holds up a hand to stop you. “Why are you doing this?”

“I had time to think, and… I can’t do this to you. You were right, I could just hire an escort or someone to play the role. I’ll tell my dad I’ll meet him tomorrow, and that will give me time to get someone else ready,” he explains, then gets off the desk, motioning towards the door. “Pack your things, I’ll discuss a few things with Daniel until you’re ready to go.”

Shaking your head, you reach out to take his hand. He’s clearly surprised, because he pulls it away as if you’ve just burned him. “Why? Did I do something wrong?” The only answer is a shake of his head. “Then what’s going on? We know everything we need to know about each other, why would you bother going through this again?” you ask with a confused frown.

Max lets out a sigh, then bites his lower lip. “I made a mistake. I trust you, I know you won’t turn what you know against me. Now, pack your suitcase and leave.” Gulping, you nod, and turn to head back to your room, but he suddenly speaks up again. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

You can’t help but wonder why these words tasted so bitter as you said them. Sure, you spent a lot of time getting to learn everything, but you wanted to get away from him, you didn’t trust him, so you should be happy now. Yet, as you’re packing your suitcase, you can’t help but think about the past two days. Maybe there’s a part of you somewhere deep down that’s sad it’s over so soon. Maybe this part actually grew to like Max. 

Well, maybe it’s not just a small part.

[mrsmnsn]

Insecurities…

warnings: problems with body image; angst; caring!boyfriend!eddie (the sweetest guy in the world); fluff; he makes sure you understand that he doesn’t care how your body looks, you’ll always be the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

that’s a bit short i know. but i had this draft for a while and i wanted to post it. i just love the idea of eddie comforting the reader. at least i genuinely think that he would always try his best to make you feel better if you’re not or make you laugh when you need to. HE IS THE BEST!!!

******

“Sweetheart, are you still doing you makeup thing? Because if you’re ready, we have to leave.” He knocked on the door hoping he was not using a tone that seemed like he was rushing you. He knew better. You were in your house, getting ready to go to one of the famous Steve Harrington’s parties.

You were in your room for hours, at least that’s how Eddie felt. He wasn’t the most patient person ever, but you were taking too long. Longer then you normally take. Little Eddie knew that you were sobbing in front of the mirror for 20 minutes by now. You tried your hardest not to cry. That seemed only to make things worse. Now you were miserable, mascara all over your cheeks, red eyes and nose, freaking out. Fuck! What were you supposed to do. You forgot that you also had to deal with your boyfriend. So you cleared your throat, trying to sound chill so he could just give you a minute.

“Hey Ed, just give me a minute ‘kay? i’m almost done-“ You were cleaning your face when he cut you, opening the door to your room. “Eddie!”

“What happened?” How did he knew? you thought to yourself. Like he read your mind, he answered “i heard your crying voice. Do you need something, baby?”

“No sweetie, i just-“ You looked at you reflection in the mirror again. He gave this dress to you as a valentine’s present. According to him, he wanted to see you even more hot. The dress was extremely pretty. It was a dark green dress, tight on the waist. But for some stupid reason, you thought you looked… not extremely pretty in it. “Do you think i look too fat in this?”

“Babe, why would you even say that?” He looked concerned when your eyes locked with his and the tears started to stream down again. “No no no, i’m so sorry i said that. I meant like, you’re not fat, not at all.”

He opened his arms welcoming you to a tight hug. He knew that sometimes you would compare yourself to models and singers you liked. Or even the Hawkins High Cheerleaders. And they were all very skinny. Eddie was pretty sure that some girls of the last group didn’t even eat right. But he could not stand that you couldn’t see yourself the way he did. To him, of course you were so much more than your body, but if he was talking body, you were the whole package. Always kind to the ones you loved, funny, making him laugh so much sometimes, he would have to pee, AND your sexy smokin’ hot body.

“You know me angel, i would never care only with your body. I’m not dating you because of your body” He separated from your hug to wipe your tears and placed his hand on your cheek. “I love you, this person inside here” he placed the other hand right up your heart. “And really, I, Edward Munson, think you are perfect, inside and outside. And i know i can’t make you just forget about this angst your feeling right now, but i need you to know that. That you are beautiful. And still, you have so much more. Honestly lady, i could keep going for hours.” seeing you smile at him, made him feel a bit better. He hated seeing you sad about this shit.

“Can i kiss you?” He asked. You were sensitive and he didn’t want to push things

“Of course you can.”

You always loved the way he made you feel safe. His arms around you and his soft lips pressing into yours, kissing you so tenderly. It almost felt like you were never sad.

“I’m sorry-“ You whispered, still close to his lips, caressing his chest but he kissed you again.

“Don’t say sorry for feeling things. I just hope you’re feeling better. If you don’t want to go to the party anymore that’s totally fine too!”

“No! I want to go. Just give a minute to fix this mess” You pointed to your face and started to clean it with a tissue. He was smiling at you now, sitting on your bed, he whispered to himself “That’s my girl”.

In 5 minutes you were ready. Eddie was a little scared by the way you made it look like you never cried.

“I’m better now, thanks Eddie. What would i do without you?” You took his hand in yours, ready to leave the room.

“Oh please baby, that’s what you deserve. I only work with princess treatment here. Now turn around, let me see you.” Giggling a bit, you did as he said “Yeah, we’re good to go, my love. After you” He gave you the space to leave the room first, extending his arm dramatically.

“I love you so much!” It was the only thing you could say now.

“And i love you more!”

*****

•for the one who would like to send me a story request, please do! my inbox is open! so feel free to send me your ideas to stories or headcannons there. :)

[kaleldobrev]

In the Cover of the Night

Pairing: Felix Catton x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Felix Catton

Summary: Felix fingering you on the steps in the middle of the night

Word Count: 939

Warnings: Cursing (5x), Smoking (Brief), Smut (Fingering - Semi-Public) & Praise Kink (Implied)

Authors Note: Semi-public sex tag as this is taking place outside | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

There was a slight summer breeze as you sat out on the steps with a lit cigarette between your fingers, looking up at the almost full moon in the starry night sky. You were severely under dressed to be outside this time of night; only wearing one of Felix's light dress shirts with absolutely nothing else underneath, as it was the first piece of clothing you had managed to find from the scattering of clothes on yours and his floor from the needy and desperate sex the two of you engaged in after yet another Catton dinner party.

As you placed the cigarette into your mouth, you turned your attention to yours and Felix's bedroom; the darkness completely consuming the space — the moonlight trying it's best to make it's way into the room but ultimately failing because of the curtains completing covering the windows.

You heard footsteps coming from behind you, and you turned to see who it could be. Your first thought was Venetia as she would usually be the one to come and spend time with you this time of night; the two of you often enjoying staring up at the moon together. But it was Felix who was making his way toward you with an already lit cigarette in hand wearing just his robe and nothing else. "Were you peeping at me before you decided to come and join me?" You asked, as your boyfriend took a seat on the same steps your feet were placed on.

“For a bit. You look very tempting like this; couldn’t help myself,” he smiled, popping the cigarette between his lips.

"I was just having a little smoke and looking up at the moon. What's so tempting about me this way?" You asked as innocently as you possibly could while nonchalantly starting to part your legs, and putting out your cigarette on the steps.

You noticed his eyes starting to move from your own to your legs as he placed a single hand on your thigh, smirking as he did so. “You’re wearing one of my shirts with no panties on, love,” he stated. As he spoke, his hand moved up your thigh slowly, stopping at the hem of the dress shirt. “And you know how much I love fucking you in my clothes,” he added, keeping that signature smirk of his on his lips.

He removed the cigarette from between his lips, and put it out in a spot next to yours before his fingertips started to inch their way higher so they were completely underneath the shirt. He brushed them ever so slightly against your clit, and you were starting to get wet from the insanely brief contact that he was giving you. You used to be embarrassed by this, embarrassed by how turned on he had made you by barely doing anything; how instantly there would be such a pool between your legs the second he even remotely looked in your direction. But as time went on, you didn’t care, didn’t care because you knew how much he loved having this kind of effect on you, because you had the exact same effect on him.

“Always so ready for me,” he whispered; two fingers running up and down your clit. “Want to fuck you just like this,” he whispered again, his fingertips still teasing the outside.

“Then do it,” you stated; and his smirk grew even wider — you didn’t think it could get any wider. He didn’t say anything in response; he simply just started dipping his two fingers inside of you, starting to fill you with the sensation you always seemed to crave. Despite having sex with him only a few hours prior, you would never get tired of the feeling of him filling you up.

Your head automatically went back and you shut your eyes; but it was so brief as his other hand went to your jaw, making you focus on his face. His fingers went in deeper, slightly curling. “Lift up the shirt a little so you can look,” he said, an octave above a whisper. “Want you to see how beautiful you look like this.”

Without hesitation, you did as you were told, and lifted the hem of the shirt more, your pussy completely exposed out in the open as you watched his fingers disappearing and reappearing inside of you — the moonlight providing the most erotic looking type of light. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, and he finally leaned in to capture your lips; which caused his fingers to go even deeper inside of you. You moaned into his mouth as you kissed; his fingers starting to pick up the pace just only slightly. Your moans were so muffled, and that's one of the things he had loved when it came to fucking you like this out in the open. He loved how you tried so hard to remain quiet, but always failed.

You started to clench around him, and he smirked into the kiss. "Does my girl need to come?" He whispered in your ear; slightly nipping at your earlobe before starting to kiss your neck.

"Yes," you moaned out, as he continued to suck and kiss your neck — ultimately wanting to leave hickies on your skin.

"Then come," he said softly, his lips attaching themselves to your chest; almost peppering kisses just below your collarbone.

With a few more pumps, your whole body started to shudder as you came; but his movements didn't let up as he helped you ride out your orgasm. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come," he praised against your skin. He always praised you.

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[magical-reid]

The Mark of Us

Paring: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 900

Prompt: 20: I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met.”

Summary: In the cold, shadowed Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy confronts his darkest self, tormented by his past and the weight of the Dark Mark. Despite his self-loathing, the reader refuses to abandon him, offering unconditional support, and declaring that even in his worst moments, he is still the most beautiful person they've ever met.

The Room of Requirement had conjured itself into a cold, dimly lit space tonight, its walls echoing the weight of the secrets it had witnessed. The usual warm, inviting glow was gone, replaced by shadows that flickered faintly with the low fire burning in a corner. You stood near the doorway, watching as Draco paced with restless energy, his back hunched under the invisible weight he carried.

He hadn’t said much when he’d dragged you here, his hand gripping yours with enough force to make your fingers ache. His silence, normally icy and calculating, was now fractured and sharp, like he was holding something inside that might rip him apart.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said suddenly, his voice rough and flat, the words slicing through the tense quiet.

“Then why did you bring me?” you asked, your tone steady despite the storm building in your chest.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn to face you. Instead, his head tilted forward, blond hair falling over his eyes. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching as if they couldn’t decide whether to curl into fists or stay open.

“Because I’m selfish,” he said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I wanted—” He cut himself off, shaking his head violently. “Forget it. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Draco.” You stepped closer, heart pounding as you tried to decipher the emotions rolling off him like crashing waves. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he barked, spinning around. The sheer anger and desperation in his eyes made you take a step back. “You don’t understand, alright? You think I’m someone I’m not. You look at me like—like I’m still worth something. But I’m not. I’m nothing. Worse than nothing.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his voice, but even more by the tears that threatened to spill over. “You’re not nothing, Draco. Why would you—”

“Because I’ve done things,” he hissed, his voice breaking, “things that you can’t fix with kind words and blind loyalty.” His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a marathon. “You don’t know what it’s like to—to hate yourself so much that you can’t even look in the mirror. To know every choice you’ve made has only made things worse for the people you care about.”

“Then tell me,” you urged, stepping closer again. “Let me help you—”

“You can’t!” he exploded, yanking up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark was stark against his pale skin, black and malevolent, twisting like a brand that refused to let him go. It seemed alive in the dim light, a cruel reminder of what he’d been forced to become.

Your breath caught, not in fear, but in heartbreak. Draco’s arm fell to his side, his sleeve still bunched around his elbow as he looked away, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

“There,” he said bitterly. “That’s who I am. A coward. A Death Eater. My father’s son.”

He turned his back on you again, his hands trembling. “Do you still think I’m worth saving now? Or do you finally see what everyone else sees?” His voice dropped, hollow and cold. “A monster.”

Your heart shattered at the raw pain in his words. You could see the way his shoulders shook, how he was trying so hard to hold himself together even as he unraveled. The boy who always prided himself on control was breaking right in front of you, and you refused to let him fall apart alone.

You stepped forward, gently placing your hand on his arm. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. Slowly, you turned him to face you. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a kind of despair that made your throat tighten.

“Draco,” you said softly, your voice steady even though your own tears threatened to spill. “I could see the worst parts of you and still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

He froze, his breath hitching. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered, his tone almost pleading, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of your words.

“I do.” You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you even as his eyes darted away, ashamed. “You think this Mark defines you, but it doesn’t. I see you, Draco. Not the choices you regret, not the mistakes you’ve made. You.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the walls he’d built so carefully over the years crumbling with every moment you held his gaze.

“I don’t deserve you,” he croaked, his voice breaking completely.

“Maybe not,” you said, your lips quirking into the smallest, softest smile. “But you have me anyway.”

That was all it took. He let out a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as he reached for you, his arms pulling you close like you were the only solid thing keeping him from drowning. His face buried in your shoulder, and for a long time, the only sound in the room was his quiet, broken cries and the soothing words you whispered in his ear.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, your hand threading gently through his hair. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on you tightened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe it might be true.

[luimagines]

Flower Petals

Another commission!!

They commissioned me right after He Realizes You like Him and died. I made this as a companion piece to Legend's since they liked it so much. They asked for Legend and to make it hurt. This was written in the chaos that was February so I have no idea if I delivered or not.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

There was a time when his life was nothing but monotony. 

Wake up. Fight the deadline. Go to his apprenticeship. Work. Come home. Go to bed. Repeat.

Sure there was the occasional hiccup where he had to leave his village to save the world and defeat the darkest known evil known to man. But that was only going to happen so many times, right?

Following his typical routine, he gets out of bed and relishes at the thought of not going into work today. Link stretches and pulls his arms over his head. His spine pops a few times- easing the constant ache in his bones for a moment before everything settles back into place.

He yawns and gets out of bed.

It’s weird, he thinks, to actually have a routine that normal people have.

There’s no coffee in the house.

Link groans loudly in the safety of his own home. He needs to go shopping.

He collects his things and slings his satchel over his shoulder. Walking outside, he’s momentarily blinded by the bright light. Not that his house is particularly dark on the inside, but maybe he should have opened up the curtains inside so the transition would be easier on his eyes. 

Too late anyway.

Link buys his food and his coffee and avoids as many people as he can until he gets back into his house to make his cup of bean juice. He… marginally successful. One elderly lady asked why he was in a hurry and another was wondering why he looked like a racoon. Both were kind ladies with little to gain from talking to him so he spoke with them, not wanting to be rude. 

His uncle would be rolling in his grave if he ever thought Link would be disrespecting his elders.

Link gets home and puts everything away, getting started on his coffee first thing. With only a minor hiccup of spilling the water before it could even go to the strainer, Link can say that it’s a strange sort of boring to be home with nothing to do.

He’s not used to relaxation.

He’s always on the move.

He’s always doing something.

It feels almost… wrong to just sit around and watch the time go by. Surely someone is in need of help around the town. Finishing his cup of coffee at last and no longer feeling like a hog troll climbing out of the bog at three in the afternoon, Link decides that he’ll go around town just to see if there’s anything he can be of assistance for.

He searches. He asks. He’s denied. Again. And again. And again.

“Oh come on.” Link mutters under his breath as he re enters his house, shaking off all the tools and items he didn’t even get to use. He doesn’t bother putting them properly away. Link shucks them into a corner and rubs little circles into his temple.

His whole center of balance has been tilted.

What good is today if he’s not doing anything with it?

He makes his way back to his kitchen. Aside from the hasty cup of coffee, Link realizes that he didn’t actually have anything to eat once he woke up. And then he ran everywhere talking to everyone and everything so he’s more than a little hungry at the moment.

But cooking? Seriously? He doesn’t want to. Can’t he just have something that doesn’t require any prep? Doesn’t he have anything that he can just shove in his mouth and call it a day?

Link opens a cupboard and starts shoving things about with reckless abandon, looking for something to eat. There’s a book that he pushes aside that opens slightly. A few pages fall out due to age and decay but that’s not the only thing. 

He sees a flower.

He pauses.

You gave it to him.

“He has everything! What do you give to a person who doesn’t need anything?!”

Link smiles and picks it up, twirling the delicately pressed and dried flower between his fingers.

He remembers that day. How can he forget?

“I really, really like him! Help me figure out what to give him!”

Link hadn’t meant to over hear your conversation. In fact, when he had passed by, he thought you were talking about a different person entirely. You certainly weren’t talking to him when he heard you say those things. It was only until later when he gave up on trying to fish that you walked up to him and handed him this very flower.

He promised himself that he was never going to lose this flower.

It is his most prized possession. 

Delicately, he takes the book out of the cupboard and picks up the papers that had fallen out earlier. It’s a cookbook, he notices as he puts the papers back in order. Once the fallen pages are in their rightful place, he picks a new, sturdier spot and opens the book to that page.

He slips the flower inside and closes the book.

It ends up back on the cupboard where it was before and Link has decided to make a sandwich instead of making an elaborate meal.

It gets the job done and he once again finds himself with nothing else to do.

His front door opens and his heart jumps into his throat. His half eaten sandwich drops from his hands onto the plate in front of him as he dashes to the entrance.

“You’re back!” He yells and all but dives towards you, crushing you in the biggest bear hug.

“I was only gone for three days.” You grit out, barely restraining your laughter as he spins you around the living room. “This is a bit much don’t you think?”

“Hardly.”

“Link, please.”

“I’ve been so booored! There is nothing to do anymore.”

“Spoil sport.” You flick his nose and dig through your bag. “I did manage to get you something though.”

You hold up a new flower.

“I love it.”

[ms-snape]

Lucius x Reader in which Draco hypes him up to court the Reader. Maybe she is Lucuis old hogwarts crush who is visiting the manor with her family for pureblood stuff, (No hating on Narcissa tho,)

Title: Old Crush

Warning: none

Words Count: 3000+

Masterlist

---

The Malfoy Manor stood tall against the waning twilight, its grand silhouette casting long shadows over the carefully manicured grounds. In the distance, the dark stone walls of the estate loomed, holding secrets—secrets that had been carefully locked away for years, only to be stirred up by a seemingly innocuous dinner invitation.

Lucius Malfoy was pacing inside the drawing room, the ornate chandelier above him casting a soft, golden glow over the room. His fingers tightened around the edge of his crystal tumbler, the amber liquid swirling inside as he tried to focus on the current matters at hand. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere—toward a time long ago when his life had been less complicated, when the future had seemed as bright as the stars themselves.

The evening had been meticulously planned. The table was set with the finest silver and crystal, each piece gleaming under the soft, flickering light of candles. The house-elves had been instructed to prepare a banquet of the highest quality. The guest list had been carefully curated, and there was one particular name that occupied Lucius’s mind: Y/N.

Y/N.

The name had not crossed his mind in years, not since their last encounter at Hogwarts. It was a memory he had buried deep, choosing to focus on the present rather than the past—on the rise of the Dark Lord, on the responsibilities of being a Malfoy, on marrying Narcissa, and eventually having a son. Yet now, with her impending arrival at the manor, the memory resurfaced in a wave of nostalgia that caught him off guard.

It wasn’t just the passing of time that had changed things. It was the sudden realization that, all these years later, he would see her again, this time as an adult, no longer the shy, innocent girl from their youth. The girl who had unknowingly occupied a special place in his heart, a place he had tried—unsuccessfully—to forget.

Lucius adjusted the cuffs of his pristine robes, his long fingers brushing over the fine fabric, his mind returning to their last interaction as teenagers. He could still remember the way she had looked—radiant, graceful, the very definition of elegance. Her laughter had been soft, like the gentle tinkling of silver bells, and her smile... he had always wondered if she even realized how her smile had haunted him.

He had never acted on his feelings for her, never had the courage to tell her how much he admired her. But now, years later, the same inexplicable pull he had felt back then was beginning to return. He wondered what had become of her, what path she had walked after Hogwarts, and whether she would still remember him, or whether he had faded into the background of her life as the years passed.

There was a knock on the door, snapping Lucius from his reverie.

“Master Malfoy,” the voice of the house-elf called through the crack in the door. “The guests have arrived.”

Lucius straightened, inhaling deeply, before giving a subtle nod. “Show them in.”

It was time.

The grand double doors to the drawing room opened slowly, and there, standing in the doorway, was Y/N.

Lucius’s breath caught in his throat.

She looked exactly the same—yet not at all. Time had sculpted her into someone more refined, more poised, but the essence of the girl he had once admired was still there. Her hair, long and dark, cascaded down her back in soft waves, her eyes gleaming with that same quiet intelligence he remembered. She was dressed in a deep sapphire gown that complemented her complexion, her posture exuding the kind of regal confidence only a powerful pureblood could possess.

Her presence filled the room, commanding attention effortlessly. Lucius found himself momentarily lost in her gaze, his heart racing in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.

Behind her stood her father—an older, more imposing figure—and her mother, a woman whose face was lined with the wisdom and grace of decades spent in the company of the finest families in the wizarding world. But it was Y/N who held Lucius’s attention.

“Y/N,” Lucius finally managed, his voice low, almost tentative. “It’s been so long.”

Her smile was warm, though it held a certain distance. “Lucius,” she greeted, her voice just as melodic as he remembered. “It’s good to see you again.”

The formality of the greeting did not go unnoticed. Lucius gave a polite bow to her parents, who had entered the room behind her, before turning back to Y/N.

“I trust the journey was comfortable?” he asked, his tone polite yet undeniably genuine.

“It was, thank you,” she replied, her smile never faltering. “Your home is as magnificent as ever.”

Lucius chuckled softly, though a pang of nostalgia tugged at his heart. “I suppose I have to keep up appearances.”

It was then that Draco entered the room, his steps light but deliberate, his eyes scanning the group before landing on Y/N.

Lucius’s son, now a young man on the cusp of adulthood, had been observing the scene quietly from the corner. He had never met Y/N before—his father’s feelings for her were not something he had been made aware of—but there was something in his father’s demeanor that immediately caught Draco’s attention. The way Lucius stood a little taller, the subtle way his gaze lingered on Y/N, the shift in the atmosphere that seemed to hum with unspoken tension.

Draco’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a single detail. He could feel the unspoken history between the two, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

After a moment of awkward silence, Draco’s natural instinct to break the tension took over. He gave a slight smile and extended a hand to Y/N. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/N. I don’t believe we’ve ever had the honor of crossing paths.”

Y/N’s smile was kind but polite as she took his hand. “The pleasure is mine, Draco. I’m sure we’ve heard much about each other.”

Draco gave a small laugh, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I imagine the stories have been exaggerated.” His tone was light, but there was something calculating in the way he observed the interaction between his father and their guest.

Lucius’s expression shifted subtly, a flicker of annoyance flashing across his face before he masked it. It was clear to Draco that something about Y/N had affected his father deeply. And given that Draco had never heard of Y/N before, this piqued his curiosity even further.

As the dinner began, the conversation turned to more mundane topics—the state of the Ministry, the ongoing political shifts, and the upcoming Quidditch season. Lucius was doing his best to appear composed, but his attention kept drifting toward Y/N.

There was no ring on her finger.

It was a detail that had not escaped his notice. Lucius had always assumed that, by now, Y/N would have married someone, settled down, perhaps had children of her own. The absence of a ring intrigued him, though he told himself it was of little consequence. The years had passed, and his life was no longer the one it had once been. He had responsibilities—his son, his family, his position in the wizarding world. Yet there, sitting across from him at the table, was Y/N, and he found it impossible to ignore the feeling that something had been left undone between them.

Draco, ever the observant one, had been watching his father closely. He could sense the shift in the air, the subtle tension that lingered around Lucius whenever Y/N spoke. It was as if his father was trying to suppress some old, long-forgotten feeling.

Draco’s mind worked quickly. He didn’t know what had transpired between his father and Y/N in their youth, but it was clear that there was unfinished business between them. And Draco, ever the opportunist, decided to play the matchmaker.

As the meal progressed, Draco made several subtle attempts to draw Y/N into conversation, asking her about her travels, her work, her family. Each time, he steered the conversation back to his father. He did it casually, but with a knowing glance. Lucius, however, was hardly aware of his son’s matchmaking efforts, too focused on Y/N.

Finally, after dessert had been served, and the conversation had shifted to lighter matters, Draco leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He smiled at his father, and then at Y/N.

“You know, Father,” Draco began innocently, “I was just telling my friend Theodore Nott the other day that it’s high time the Malfoy family expanded its connections. The right connections.”

Lucius’s eyes flicked to Draco, an eyebrow quirked. “And what do you mean by that, Draco?”

Draco’s gaze flicked to Y/N, and then back to his father. “Oh, just that perhaps some old friendships could be revisited,” he said casually, but with an unmistakable undercurrent of mischief in his voice.

Lucius froze. His heart thudded loudly in his chest. Draco’s words were carefully chosen, and Lucius couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of discomfort. But Draco’s eyes were innocent, yet there was something knowing about them—something that suggested he had picked up on the tension between the two.

“Perhaps,” Lucius replied, his voice tight, “it’s best to leave the past where it belongs.”

Draco merely shrugged, but his eyes gleamed with a kind of satisfaction.

The evening wore on, but for Lucius, time seemed to stretch on forever. His thoughts were consumed by Y/N, by the memories of their youth, by the realization that life had led them both down different paths. Paths that, now, perhaps, could intersect once more.

The evening ended on a polite note, with guests exchanging pleasantries and preparing to depart. Lucius stood by the door, his eyes lingering on Y/N one last time. She was the same woman he had admired all those years ago—yet she was so much more now. There was an unspoken understanding between them, an awareness that something had shifted, though neither spoke of it directly.

As Y/N reached the door, she turned back to Lucius, her gaze softening.

“It was a pleasure, Lucius,” she said quietly, her voice filled with an emotion he couldn’t place. “Perhaps we should not wait so long before we meet again.”

Lucius’s heart skipped a beat. There was something in her words, in the way she said them, that held promise. The past wasn’t quite finished yet, and neither, it seemed, was their story.

As she walked away, Lucius found himself standing there, staring after her, unable to shake the feeling that his life had just taken an unexpected turn.

And so, as the last echoes of footsteps faded from the Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy found himself at a crossroads—one that he had never anticipated, but one that was now as inevitable as the coming dawn.

--

Weeks passed after that fateful dinner at the Malfoy Manor, and life returned to its predictable rhythm for Lucius. The manor remained pristine, his family’s reputation intact, and his position in the wizarding world unchallenged. But there was a lingering thought, a feeling that refused to dissipate, a presence that had subtly taken root in his mind—Y/N.

Lucius had tried, with all his might, to push aside the memories of their evening together. He had responsibilities, his son to guide, and the political landscape to navigate. But every time his gaze caught a glimpse of something familiar—a sapphire blue cloak, a flowing dark mane, or even the scent of lilies—it reminded him of her. Of their past.

It had been years since he had thought of Y/N with such intensity. During their days at Hogwarts, their lives had been shaped by their families' ambitions and the great conflict that loomed over them. But now? Now, after the passage of so much time, it seemed the possibility of a future, or at least a rekindling of something, hung in the air.

The moment came, unexpected and seemingly out of nowhere, one crisp autumn morning in the heart of London. Lucius had been summoned to the Ministry of Magic for a series of meetings with various department heads. The Ministry had always been a place of both opportunity and political minefield for someone like him—navigating it required a careful dance of diplomacy, subterfuge, and a very keen eye on potential allies and threats.

Lucius arrived in the Ministry lobby, his steps deliberate as he made his way past the statues and glittering marble. His robes whispered across the floor as he passed familiar faces, most of whom nodded respectfully at him, knowing his status as one of the most powerful purebloods in the wizarding world. His mind was preoccupied with the matters he had come to discuss with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he paid little attention to the mundane sights of the bustling Ministry.

But then, as he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with a figure emerging from an adjacent hallway.

Y/N.

It happened so quickly that Lucius barely had time to register the shock of her sudden appearance before their eyes locked. Her figure was as striking as ever—tall, composed, with an air of quiet authority that could command a room without a single word. But it wasn’t just the years that had passed that changed her—there was a subtle maturity about her now, a sense of self-assuredness that radiated from her, it was second time he noticed it, the first itme being during that dinner, and now...

“Lucius,” she said, her voice softer than he remembered, though still carrying that familiar warmth.

“Y/N,” Lucius replied, his voice a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something far more personal.

The moment stretched between them, brief but intense. It had been years since they last spoke, just the two of them, no one else around, but in that instant, Lucius was reminded of their time together in their youth—the secret moments shared when the world had seemed so much simpler. Now, it was as if no time had passed at all. But the world had changed, and so had they.

The noise of the Ministry seemed to fade as Lucius and Y/N stood there, as if the room itself had quieted in reverence of this unexpected encounter. But the spell was broken when a voice called out to Y/N from behind.

“Miss Y/N! We’re running behind on the schedules for today’s meeting. Shall we?”

Lucius’s gaze shifted slightly as the interruption pulled him from his reverie. The speaker was a young, eager-looking wizard, dressed in a crisp, understated suit—clearly someone in a position of power, though nowhere near the caliber of Lucius himself.

Y/N smiled politely, though Lucius could see the slight tension in her posture as she turned her attention back to him.

“I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere,” she said, her tone apologetic. “But it was good to see you again, Lucius.”

Lucius nodded, though a part of him felt as though he had just missed the opportunity to truly speak to her, to catch up.

“I didn’t know you worked here at the Ministry,” Lucius remarked, his voice smooth but tinged with curiosity.

“I’ve been here for several years now,” Y/N explained, a faint but knowing smile on her lips. “I’m in the Department of Magical Transportation. It’s... far from the more public-facing departments, but I find the work fulfilling.”

Lucius’s brow furrowed in surprise. He had assumed, given her background, that Y/N would have found herself in a position more aligned with the prominent pureblood families—perhaps a post in the Department of International Magical Cooperation or even within the Wizengamot. But the Department of Magical Transportation was far more obscure, dealing with the intricacies of portkeys, apparition regulations, and other aspects of magical transportation that most wizards never gave much thought to.

“Magical Transportation?” Lucius repeated, almost incredulously. “I must admit, I didn’t think you would be in such a... practical department.”

Y/N laughed softly, a sound that brought a flash of warmth to Lucius’s chest. “I suppose it’s not glamorous,” she said. “But it has its own importance. Not all of us are eager for a hight and important place as yours.”

Lucius’s eyes searched her face for any hint of irony or regret, but there was none. She seemed perfectly content with her life, though he wondered what had brought her to such a quiet corner of the Ministry. Had her path truly diverged so completely from his own? Or was it by choice that she had stayed out of the political spotlight?

“Well, I won’t keep you from your duties,” Lucius said, though the disappointment in his voice was clear despite his best efforts to mask it. “It was good to see you, Y/N.”

“You as well, Lucius.” Her smile was warm, but there was a hint of sadness in it, as though she, too, regretted the brief nature of their meeting.

With that, she turned, and her figure disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps echoing softly in the vast corridor.

Lucius stood still for a moment, his thoughts racing. The encounter had been so unexpected, so fleeting. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of the years between them, the paths they had taken that had led them to such different places. But in that brief moment, it was clear to him that whatever distance had grown between them in the past, it hadn’t erased the connection that still lingered, hidden just beneath the surface.

Later that day, Lucius sat in the sterile, polished offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, going over the details of an ongoing case. But his mind was elsewhere, occupied by the encounter with Y/N. He found it difficult to concentrate, to keep his thoughts fixed on the matters at hand. His gaze kept drifting to the corner of his desk, where a small piece of parchment sat, untouched—a note that had arrived earlier that day, courtesy of Y/N’s office. It was a formal request to discuss some bureaucratic matters between their departments, a rather innocuous request in the grand scheme of things. But for Lucius, it was a lifeline—an excuse to see her again.

He hadn’t forgotten the way her smile had made his heart race, how the years seemed to melt away when their eyes met. She was more than just a former acquaintance; she was a reminder of something he had long buried—a part of his past that, despite his best efforts, refused to stay buried.

Lucius sat back in his chair, steeling himself for what would come next. He knew he would have to play the game carefully—after all, Y/N wasn’t just a passing fancy. She was someone who had the potential to change everything. He wasn’t the same man he had been at Hogwarts, and neither was she. But their meeting was proof that the threads of their past hadn’t unraveled completely. There was still something there.

And Lucius Malfoy, despite his carefully curated life and responsibilities, was beginning to wonder if that something was worth exploring.

[ryuzakemo128]

How Did You Find Me?

Pairing: Duke!Poly!141 x female reader/ you cw: drug use, protestation, smut, sexual tension, your ex shows up, hinting at possible opium repeat use. Words: 627 Masterlist Divider Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics Summary: How did they find you there?

John interrupted your time with your ex, he noticed you were blindfolded and your ex’s cock was about to slide into your wet, sopping warmth when John decided to walk into your bedroom. You didn’t think he’d find out so quickly. You were mistaken when you thought you could hide this from him. 

What were you doing with your pathetic excuse of an ex? You should have gone to them instead if you were this desperate. 

What are you doing getting all hot and bothered, squirming around for a guy who would pretend your relationship wasn’t real to satisfy his mother’s concern? 

Eyes burning with a fury you could feel despite the pastel pink silk blindfold covering your eyes. You picked it out, thinking it would be a fun time to spend separating yourself from the four dukes whomst thought were losing a lover a month ago. 

You never thought they’d find you this fast. As you were always careful about who was looking at you, who saw what part of you and where. How did they know to find you in some dingy little brothel on the coast of Somalia? 

The thought of you getting yourself caught in such a compromising position. Both terrified you and aroused you at the same time. 

But the voice cutting through the fog is unmistakable. High from the opium you took to take the edge off. Thinking, ‘They’re not going to know. They won’t find me down here’ and ‘I’ve done a little prostitution work for the guy. Who says I can’t do it again?’.

It wasn’t until you were carried off the bed by someone else completely, it wasn’t until the blindfold is ripped from your face that you see someone other than John. Simon’s glare through the bright sunlight, sun rays spilling through from outside peering through the windows. The sudden bright light making you squint your eyes. 

Was your ship that recognisable in the dark, gloomy skies? What urged them to find you like this? Who told them to look for you? Why did they look for you?

The low groan from the depths of your throat as the room spiral, just enough to make you sick if you opened your eyes again. The nausea building inside your stomach. The combination of gin and opium. 

A dreadful idea on your part. One could also say it was a godawful one. A careless action to undertake.

“Who do you think you are? Recklessly endangering yourself in a…..place like this?” Simon hissed into your ear.

You tried opening up your eyes again, “I can explain everything.” 

The four dukes weren’t having any of it. They spotted you after months of trying to find you again. “I’d rather not hear your excuses right now.” John wiped the opium from your nose, his anger palpable, clearly appalled with the state they found you in. 

Your creamy nectar all over the centre of your thighs like a begotten, exiled son, a symbol of your lost innocence to a man who didn’t even bother to remember your name after he’d had his fill. 

The desperation mixed in with the opium, the sex, the lust and the carnal need to be taken like you were some kind of thrill seeker. Seeking out new tastes only to forget them as soon as you have taken the first bite. 

It wasn’t the first time you tried opium. As you so drunkenly state on the way to your lovely Defiant. Leaving your ex behind. Right inside the brothel’s room, heart pounding inside his chest. Fuming with rage at their interference. 

By the time you were awake again or conscious again, you were inside your bedroom heaving, vomiting into your bucket. 

How did they find you there?

[httpkaulitz]

crawling back to you

PAIRINGS: Tom 2010 x Female reader

CONTENT: Angst

SYNOPSIS: You and Tom have a complicated relationship and don't know how to get out of it.

WARNINGS: none I think

A/N: sorry, I was in the mood for it I guess

You woke up, the darkness of the room swallowing your senses. Blinking in the darkness, you could just make out a figure sitting next to your bed, dark hair and brown eyes shining through the moonbeams filtering through the closed curtains. You would recognize this face anywhere.

"Tom." You whisper, and both anger and relief flood you, amplified by desperate need. The pain hits your heart like lightning. Even though you know he's a lot busier than you, you don't generally think of him as the kind of person who would break promises, and he promised to stay here all day the last time you saw him, which was a few weeks ago. As if he could sense your thoughts, he reached towards you, cupping one of your cheeks.

"Sorry darling." You hear his silky voice murmur. “I know I said I would be here all day. I'll make it up to you."

You bite your bottom lip softly in anxiety, running a hand through your hair before letting your fingers rest on top of his hand. You really worried about your relationship with Tom sometimes, he was always distant and somewhat avoidant, and of course he was very difficult to reach.

And you knew you weren't the only one. In fact, he always made a point of making this clear. Sometimes you felt your heart burn when you think about it. But even knowing that, you couldn't help but fall in love with Tom every time you saw him again. Even though shame burned inside you every time you undressed for him or moaned his name in desire, you would do it all again just to feel his physical love.

You feel the mattress shift under a new weight while Tom lay down next to you. Your heart wins over your mind again and you can't help but move closer to him, snuggling into his chest as his arm covers yours.

“Oh Lieb, I know you’re upset. But I can change that.” Tom whispers softly into your ear, his warm breath fanning against your face.

Even though you fight your mind and your desires, you feel a tremor run through your body, desire and anticipation as the images of you two fucking flash through your mind once again.

''We need to stop this.” You whisper, trying to ignore his hand running down your body.

''I can't do this anymore, Tom.” You said pushing his hand away before it reached your thigh, even though you knew you would give in in the end.

''That's cause you hate me.'' It wasn't a question but you felt the need to answer.

''I hate you." You said, placing emphasis on each word.

''Yes, but you still love me.'' He whispered in your ear and bit your neck.

You sigh softly and give in to your desires once again, though you know it won't be the last. He's so charming and attractive in a way you'd never fully understand, you think as you lean forward and gently cup his face in your hands, forgetting everything and plant your lips on his. He kisses you back before his hands are suddenly on your torso as he rolls you onto your back, sitting on top of your thighs, running his fingers down your chest lovingly.

''Believe me, I try to stay away from you, I try all the time.'' You shudder a little before he leans in and kisses you, and soon your lips are moving together in slow harmony as his hands slowly knead and massage your breasts, his fingers occasionally playing with your nipples, already hard and sensitive.

His lips parted from yours briefly to trail down your jaw and the soft skin of your neck, planting light, flighty kisses that left faint, tingling goosebumps every time, a sharp pinch occurring every now and then as he left delicate kiss and love marks over your body.

''I always end up finding my way back to you.'' He murmurs against your collarbone as he kisses his way down.

''For some reason I don't understand, I can't stay away.'' Tom purrs as he plays with your nipples with his tongue. The coldness of the night sends more goosebumps all over your body, and you let out a low moan as he continues stroking your other nipple with his fingers.

''You don't know, but sometimes I come here just to watch you sleep.'' Tom sits down and his hands goes to the inside of your thighs, running his fingers lightly and slowly over your skin. The tickling and teasing gently makes you feel the desire and sensation as you spread your legs.

“But I shouldn’t come here anymore.” He says getting up.

You choke in anger. He was just leaving again and leaving you wanting and needy.

''I'm going to go, I have some things to take care of.'' Tom said as he picked up his coat that was on the chair next to your bed.

''Are you going to come back?'' You asked, walking towards him like a puppy that was being abandoned by its owner. It's pathetic, but you can't help it.

''Probably.'' He said and continued walking to the door without even turning to look at you.

You knew this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him. You two didn't know how to stay away from each other and you didn't know how to be together. It was torturous.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just a Girl 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible cheating, low self-esteem, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you move in with your sister when your luck turns for the worst.

Characters: Walter Marshall, possible Andy Barber

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You stand in the open garage, gangly and out of place. You hear the back door snap again and sense Walter as he strides through the open gate. He comes up beside you and presses his arm against yours. 

“Here,” he holds out the stemless glass of wine, “figure one of us should enjoy it.” 

“Oh, thanks, I...” you stifle the complaint that you don’t drink. You suppose one won’t hurt.  

“Not much for wine,” he wiggles the can in his hand. You can smell the hoppy beer from there, “so, I was thinking shelves right across the back wall,” he spreads his fingers in a gesture across the breadth of the garage, “what do ya think?” 

“Right, er, what kind of shelves.” 

“I got storage in the basement. Mostly beer glasses and the like. Some car models. It’s gonna be a little bar or whatever. Need somewhere to chill,” he nudges you with his elbow, “’specially since I’m making lots of new friends.” 

You glance over at him from the corner of your eyes and step forward. You go to the wall and touch it. They’ve been newly put up and finished. Sturdy. You knock on it so you can hear where the anchoring is. 

“Could do,” you mutter, “when did you do these?” 

“Just finished them. A regrettable winter decision,” he chuckles, “don’t forget to try the wine. I’m sure your sister wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you shift, standing on an angle to him. You raise the glass and take a sip, your face scrunching up at the acrid but sweet flavour. 

“You really don’t drink, do you?” He scoffs as he nears. 

“Never really saw the use in it,” you shrug. 

“Should be clearer after living with the jackass Barber,” he snorts, “you seem like you could use the escape. Must be awkward pent up with the newlyweds.” 

“I guess...” you rub your neck. “So, the shelves, how tall--” 

“We can talk business tomorrow,” he interrupts, “I’ll get dinner on. How about you come hang on the deck while I cook?” 

“Sure, er,” you turn to him stiffly, “I could help.” 

“That’s sweet,” his eyes flick up and down, “but I invited you. You sit back and relax and enjoy the wine. It gets better the more you drink.” 

You clamp your lips shut and follow him back through the open door. He hits the button for it to close and directs you through the gate. You head up onto the deck and look around as you clasp the glass in both hands. 

“Sit,” he insists as he points to the cushions on the wicker frame. “I’ll get this going...” 

You take his command. You sit in the very corner of the patio couch and cross one leg over the other. You have a habit of trying to make yourself as small as you can. Next to him, it's easy. 

You sit and shrink as he moves around. He lights the barbecue then disappears inside once more. He brings out a plate of burgers and some veggies to grill, along with foiled potatoes to bake. He returns one more with the bottle of wine. 

“In case you want a top up,” he winks. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. 

He picks up his beer and sips as he goes to work. He puts the potatoes on first and closes the lid. He turns to lean on the railing and watches you. You drink to keep yourself busy. 

“So, you hear Jack White is coming to town?” He asks. 

Your eyes flit to him then away, “yeah.” 

“How about you tag along?” He offers. 

“Oh, I can’t--” 

“My treat,” he interjects. 

“It’s nice but...” 

“But what? You’re a fan.” 

“Sure, but er, it... would be too much.” 

“Hm, who says so? Seems like you got too many people in your ear. I wanna take you out. We can get some dinner too.” 

“Oh, would that... are you... asking me out?” You blanch. 

He guffaws, “uh, already did. You think I brought you over for your thoughts about shelves? It’s a bonus.” 

“Uh. I didn’t think... oh.” 

“Oh? I thought I was pretty forward. Why are you here if you’re not into it?” 

Because you told me to. Because you made me. Because I can’t go back. 

You shrug, “guess I misunderstood.” 

“You’re cute, you like good music, and I like you.” 

“You do?” You frown. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” he scoffs and nears the couch, he sits next to you. Close. Too close. “The other women around here, they talk too much. You’re calm, quiet. I’m too old for all that. I know what I want.” 

You nod as your throat tightens. 

“And you need a man, not a boy,” he tickles your side and swigs from his beer. 

You fidget. A chill ripples over you. You’re reminded of another instant, another touch that made you unsure, another man who told you what you wanted. 

You wince at the sliver of a memory and the glass slips in your hand. You garble as it tips before you can right it and it splashes onto his shirt, soaking the sleeve and down the side. He retracts in surprise. 

“Sorry,” you squeak, “I’m sorry, Walter, I didn’t mean to.” 

He stands and puts his beer down. He chuckles and you squirm, preparing yourself for his rage. You stare at him as you straighten the wet glass. 

“I’m really sorry, I don’t know what happened.” 

“It’s good, just some wine,” he peels his shirt over his head and your eyes widen at the reveal of his thick torso. You gulp as you can’t help but notice the thick muscles and dark trim of fur. “You get any on you?” 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” you look down, thankful for the excuse to tear your gaze away from him. 

“I’ll go grab a fresh shirt,” he says. “Can I get you anything?” 

“N-no,” you stammer out and stand up, “I’m sorry.” 

“Relax,” he nears and rubs your shoulder, “it’s adorable when you get all flustered but I’m not mad. Pour yourself another glass.” 

You keep your eyes down and nod. He brushes by you, too close for your liking, and you go to the round glass table. Adorable? You don't know if you've ever been called that.

You take the wine and pour from the long neck. You don’t know what else to do. You’re so nervous. Maybe the alcohol will help. You’ve heard it called liquid courage. 

You pick up the glass again and go to the railing to look off into the green yard. You didn’t notice the hot tub before. His yard is just as well kept as any. As you try to distract yourself from what he said, your mind resists. 

He likes you? You’re not that stupid that you don’t know what’s going on. You’re only unsure. He’s moving so fast and you hardly know him really. He doesn’t really know you and yet he acts like he does. 

Even so, you don’t feel like you can deny him. You try, over and over, and he just bulldozes over you. Still, you can’t name one thing he’s done that’s been so wrong. 

The back door snaps again as Walter appears. He pulls down a tee shirt and smiles as he shakes out his hair. He combs his fingers through his curls. 

“Thought I got this mop under control,” he chortles as you watch him over your shoulder. He grabs his beer from where he left it and approaches, “so... you checking out the hot tub?” 

“Oh, uh, no, just... the flowers--” 

“My daughter deals with those,” he says, “you wanna hop in after dinner? Get in a soak?” 

“Erm, I don’t think so. I don’t have a suit.” 

“And?” 

You blink at his suggestion. Naked? You look down at the wine and gulp another mouthful. 

“You keep drinking that wine and think about it,” he taps your butt and backs up, “I should get those burgers going.” 

You keep your eyes ahead of you, staring off across the lawn as your heart races. What do you do? You can’t go back to your sister’s house, not after your run-in with Andy. You’ll just have to stick it out and hope he forgets about the hot tub. 

[abarbaricyalp]

If you’re still taking mini fic prompts, I’d love to see your take on “things you said while we were driving” for Sambucky!

Hi!!! The temptation to make this a Twisters au was so great but, no, it's a minific, have some self control

From this ask meme

The drive from DC to Delacroix was somewhere between 16 and 19 hours, depending on how badly they were tearing up the road along the way and what time of day it was. Bucky could usually get it down to fifteen or even fourteen, if it was dark and he had a scanner running. Still, it was always easier to fly.

But, between the way him and Sam looked at the moment, the fact that the wings and shield weren't exactly checked items, and they were ferrying some suspect files, some kind of liquid the color of hell rot, and something called a landshark, the plane wasn't really a viable option.

So they had dragged themselves out of a safe house, argued about who got to drive, and set off. (Sam had lost. His left arm was broken in two places and he had a cast and brace on, two new pieces of metal in the bone) (Bucky had made a joke that now they matched and waved his left arm around, to make Sam smile. It had the opposite effect, with Sam scowling and ignoring him for the first hour of the drive) (Sam was a terrible patient)

At some point, he'd shoved his face against the window, trying to sleep, and Bucky had nearly veered off the road in his haste to stop the truck. "You can't do that," he fussed as he dug out a coat from the back seat. The landshark creature growled at him when Bucky accidentally smacked its side. "You have a concussion."

"I'm fine," Sam groaned. "You're not gonna bruise my brain any more by hitting a pothole."

Bucky still shoved the coat at Sam, balled up and ready for use. Grudgingly, Sam used it as a pillow against the window and tried to lay his head back down.

A few minutes later, the landshark climbed over the console and took up residence in Sam's lap to join in on the nap. Typical, Sam was a friend to animals everywhere. It would track that even the fake ones would like him.

They slept for four hours straight, Bucky reaching over to rub the back of Sam's neck every half hour. Sam still woke up with a crick in it.

"Almost halfway there," Bucky told him as he stretched and the landshark climbed back into the backseat with their gear and bags.

"Let me have a shift," Sam muttered. He rubbed his eyes, squinted out the windshield, then rubbed them again.

"Yeah, you seem like you're in great shape for it," Bucky agreed sarcastically. "This is hardly the longest I've been up for. I'm fine."

"It's getting dark," Sam argued. "We should stop for food at least. You need to stretch."

"You're forgetting who you're dealing with."

"Maybe you're forgetting who you are. You don't have to push yourself to the brink all the time."

"But you ought to use that broken arm and concussion instead?"

Sam shrugged, then grimaced when it obviously jostled his shoulder. Bucky made a noise without looking over again.

"You're gonna exhaust yourself," he muttered.

"And there's a beach chair with my name on it at the end of this, so I'll recover quickly."

"It does not have your name on it," Sam grumbled. "It literally has my name carved in the arm."

Bucky knew that. He'd traced the old, worn letters many times. "I could add my name," he suggested.

"Don't you dare. That's my chair."

The landshark made a reappearance before Bucky could really neddle in. It sat on the center console and kept looking between the both of them. Sam put his hand on its head, having to move his whole casted arm to do it.

"Can you pet a shark?" he asked.

"One direction, yeah. Don't drag your hand up from its tail."

"Why not? Aren't sharks smooth?"

"Wilson, I swear to God--"

Sam squeezed the inside of Bucky's thigh. He had to use his right arm to reach, which meant he'd had to turn in his seat some. If Bucky's alertness had flagged any (it hadn't) he was certainly fully awake now. He kept his eyes very firmly on the road.

"Relax, old man, I was just messing with you."

Sam probably would've kept his hand on Bucky’s leg for a while longer, except that he was turned in his seat. He let go and raised both arms enough for the landshark to get back into his lap.

"Are you hungry?" Bucky asked eventually.

"Yeah, I could eat," Sam answered, which meant they had about twenty minutes to get food in him before he got snippy.

Bucky passed over his phone (he had all the routes to Delacroix memorized but he liked to know about construction) and told Sam to find some place.

Sam chose some burger joint eight miles down the road and passed the phone back. He turned his attention back to the window, rolling it down and putting his hand out into the warm night air. He rested his chin on his bicep as he glided his hand through the air currents.

Bucky watched him, the one singular, focused spot against a blurry background of stars and trees. Sam was usually his one focused spot in a world that seemed to be nothing but tumbling, out of control speeding blurs, so that was nothing new.

But the moonlight and scarce freeway lights splashed across Sam's face, and the idle way he kept trying to pet the creature in his lap without moving his arm, and the quiet concentration he'd fallen into were all very overwhelming.

He'd meant to say, 'put your arm back in the car before you lop it off on an exit sign.' What he actually said, breathy and endeared, was, "I'm so in love with you."

Sam startled upright and he pulled his arm back into the truck, so at least that part worked. "What?" he asked.

The creature in his lap was annoyed by the sudden movement, but it just turned in one circle and laid back down in the other direction.

Bucky's face felt like it was on fire. It was definitely hotter than the air coming in from outside. Hell, he was blushing so bad, he was beginning to feel it in his left arm. "Whatever, you should know," he mumbled. It's not like he could take the words back out of the air or pretend he'd said something else. Those were pretty distinct words.

Sam didn't respond right away. Bucky very much so considered jumping out of the cab.

The exit for the burger place came up and he took it without really thinking about it, or really anything that wasn't the shocked span of Sam's eyes.

When Sam did say something, it was, "Don't rip the steering wheel out."

"What?" Bucky asked in exasperation.

"Your knuckles are so white, I thought it was bone. Relax your hands."

Bucky did. The material of the steering wheel creaked with the release. "One day, you're gonna stop thinking that joke's funny."

"You said you loved me," Sam countered. And he definitely meant it as a counter argument.

"It should've been obvious."

Sam startled a little again, like a violent shiver. "How long should it have been obvious for?"

Bucky shrugged. "I dunno. Obvious? Since Latvia, at least."

"Latvia?" Sam half shouted, strangled. The landshark vacated his lap. "We didn't start... dating or whatever for months after that! What do you mean, since Latvia?"

Bucky shrugged again, felt his fingers tighten around the wheel once more. "I don't know, Sam. I haven't been hiding it."

"Oh, bullshit!" Sam argued. "You disappeared right after that again."

Bucky's jaw tightened. There was no argument for that. He had. "I didn't know what to do with it. How to hold it, where to put it, how to show it. It's been a long time. And you're... It felt like diving straight into the ocean. The deep part of it. And I've been learning how to swim in the middle of a hurricane ever since."

Again, Sam didn't immediately reply. Bucky was beginning to hate that. The burger joint came up from between a thick line of trees and Bucky almost missed it, but the parking lot was long enough that he could pull into the far side of it. He killed the engine and tried to dash out of the car. This would be less painful than jumping out on the freeway.

Sam nabbed his sleeve before he could grab the door and Bucky froze because Sam was using his left hand. The last thing Bucky needed to do was aggravate his splints.

"Don't run away again," he said.

"We're literally going into the same diner," Bucky pointed out, playing at dumb because that was easier than accepting Sam's metaphor.

Sam just stared at him. For a man with as many injuries as he was sporting, his face was remarkably clear. Bucky was the one who looked like he'd gone three rounds with a rock 'em sock 'em robot. There was one gash across Sam's eyebrow and his nose was a little swollen, plus the bruise at his temple that made Bucky's heart stop every time he thought it had changed shape. But he was still perfectly Sam. Still staring at Bucky, waiting for him to respond like an adult.

"I'm not running away," he breathed finally. "You're the one who looks like he's ready to bolt."

"I'm not bolting," Sam said. He let go of Bucky's sleeve, but took his hand before Bucky could go for the door again. "But don't drop that on me in the middle of a seventeen hour drive while I'm concussed and on pain meds."

"You do need to take more meds," Bucky said.

Sam looked unimpressed.

"I'm not gonna be sorry for loving you," Bucky added. "I'm not apologizing for saying it. But... don't tell Sarah that I did and you didn't like it."

"I didn't say I didn't like it."

"Sam," Bucky sighed, his turn with the unimpressed eyes.

"I didn't. I just...wasn't expecting it."

Bucky squeezed Sam's hand and let go of it, finally shoving open the door. "We should get something for your new friend. What do they even eat? License plates?" he asked, stalling and distracting as he got out.

Sam sighed from inside the cab, but he followed Bucky out of the truck. "I'm sure a few extra burgers will do the job."

Bucky scrubbed at his face, willing his blush to go away or for any of the bruises that still pulsed beneath his skin to hide it. He looked up at the sky, the stars so damn bright in the middle of Fuckall, North or South Carolina. And for just a second, they were still and warm and Sam was the blur in front of him.

But Sam grabbed his sleeve again and pulled him onto the porch of the diner. The stars tilted away as Sam put two fingers to Bucky's jaw and kissed him.

[milksuu]

Hello! What do you think about a scenario where Aphelios and reader meet in OSU or another game?

Like reader creates maps and uses songs that aphelios actually likes and so he ends up being the player that she always sees on her stat map charts with almost always being top 1. And one of them gets curious so they reach out on the app/netsite and they get to know each other?? Like kinda how they met and how their relationship would evolve over time. I'm not good with words but yeah!

❥ prompt: You were a revered OSU! map creator. He was a map farming legend. Especially your maps. He was always at the top of the stat charts. Praised or scrutinized, he was the daily hot topic in the /osu subforums. His username was the only thing you knew about him : m00ncake. You had no idea he would end up being Aphelios from the band Heartsteel. That's until he showed up at your job by accident, and you connecting the dots. Oh, did you forget to mention you worked at a maid café? ❥ content/warnings: fluffy fluff, mild hurt/comfort, minor angst (?) ❥ characters/pairings: Heartsteel!aphelios / f!reader

This was it. Your magnum opus! Once your song map hit the platform, thousands of players immediately clicked to dominate it. It wasn't going to be easy for them. You'd taken special care of making it more challenging than your previous maps....especially for one certain player.

m00ncake had a history of over-taking any map within the first try. After every song, there he was: placed at number one. With astronomical stats that would take days of practice for any top streamer to compete with. It's what made the whole scene that much more competitive.

But every gamer had their weakness. And you made this map specifically to exploit m00ncake. You had analyzed his replays. Over and over again. In the darkness of your room, till the desktop screen stung your eyes dry.

He was exceptionally good with rhythm, timing, and anything technical. If you could throw him off, even a little, you'd consider that a flawless victory. This time around you would delay the kick sliders, just by a fraction, before the uptick. The rhythm theoretically the same, but the minuscule margin of delay would throw any muscle memory built up from your previous maps alone.

You waited with baited breath. m00ncake played and finished your map. The stats were posted. Yet again, he proved to be the legend he was considered to be. Despite your best efforts. With the numbers alone, there was no way another player could possibly over-take him.

A few moments later, you received a direct message:

m00ncake: nice song. also fun map. can i ask a question?

You heart thumped inside your chest. Gulping, you allowed your fingers to type back:

mcreader: oh, thanks! and sure, go ahead. m00ncake: did you purposefully slow down the kick slider at certain parts? if you did, it was actually pretty challenging for me. i'm usually on auto-pilot so that kind of threw me off. haha

After that message, your friendship blossomed. Frequently messaging each other on the platform, to then adding each other on Discord. Whenever you posted a new map, m00ncake would call you, and have you listen to his insane key-board clicking sounds. The most intense ASMR one could experience, really.

It was always great to get feedback from him after he would finish. Being the professional OSU! player that he was, it was nice to get insight on possible map formations, songs, to just general technical suggestions. To no surprise, you both enjoyed the same style of music. It explained why his play history consisted of mostly your maps. Even your least popular ones.

But he never spoke. Not even a whisper. And you never pressed it. If he was just generally shy with speaking, you could understand. You didn't mind doing all of the talking, and him replying with short text, emojies or tts.

mcreader: i found a great song for a new map. but i have work now, so i'll probably do it later tonight. maybe post it if im not too sleepy. m00ncake: sounds good. i'm excited to play it when it comes out. i'm usually up at night so if you need some company, let me know. have a good day at work. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

mcreader: will do! and tysm! have a good day too! ttyl! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

You pressed your phone to your lips. m00ncake was always so sweet, supportive, and always a treat to talk to (Well, text to). You just wished you knew his name. Or anything more about him, really. He was always very secretive. It made you wonder why.

When you made it to work, you dressed and fitted into your maid outfit along with the rest of the girls coming in for shift. You heard giggles and whispers, "Hey, did you see that guy that's at that one table? He looks just like Aphelios from Heartsteel!" Another girl wiggled excitedly, nodding her head. "Totally. But it's so hard to tell. He's got his mask on and has his hoodie up. No, there's no way it's not him. As a die-hard fan, I can tell!"

"That's enough, girls." The manager clapped her hands at attention. "Everyone already has their table assignments. And there will be no switching. Whether we have a special customer or not, we always provide excellence in our service. Understood?"

After learning your table assignments, you were ready for your shift. And looked like you were assigned the very table everyone seemed to want. Whines erupted around you. "How come she get's to serve Apehlios? I bet she doesn't even know who Heartsteel is." The mass of complaints silenced as the manager clapped her hands once more.

They were right. You weren't too knowledgeable on the up and coming band. But if they were right, then that made you all the more nervous. It wasn't everyday you served someone of musical prestige. You usually served single college guys, the occasional cute couple, or a group of high-school girls on a fun after school date.

"Welcome back, Master! It's an honor to serve you again today." You sang your rehearsed spiel at the customers table. 'Masters' were always treated as if they had come home from a long journey. "I'm glad you're back safely. You must be tired after being away from home so very long. Please, let me recharge you by taking your food and drink order."

What on earth? You almost broke character. You watched as the young man had his phone out, playing OSU! in the most casual way imaginable. He rolled his blood-moon eyes to acknowledge you, expression veiled. He placed his phone on the table, but his fingers continued to tap his screen while he scanned the heart-shaped menu.

D-Did he memorize the whole song!? The whole scene was out of this world. So distracted by this detail, you almost didn't realize he was trying to communicate. You looked down. He pointed and tapped a finger at his order. A lavender latte and dessert combo.

"Wonderful choice, Master. I'll let the fairy's know right away. Your dessert and drink will be out shortly."

You scurried away with the order. When you returned with a tray, you sought to investigate your customer a little more. It was customary to draw art on the latte foam. You smiled sweetly, drawing the shape of a rabbit. "I'm so happy you returned home, Master. I was so worried because it had been so long. Once I heard you were coming back, I couldn't help but be excited for today. The day when we would finally see each other again."

Honestly, you were just trying to ramble and waste time. He never bothered reacting to your whole gimmick. That gave you security to scan your eyes over his phone screen. Your breath hitched. His username...his username...his username...

m00ncake

You practically squirted the whole bottle of chocolate sauce on the table. Recovering with an innocent laugh, and wiped the table dry, and ran away to take cover in the employee's only section. You pulled out your phone and opened Discord:

mcreader: hey! super weird question, but um, what're you doing rn??????? m00ncake: ...me? just out and about. having something to eat. why ( ° - °) ??????? mcreader: i was just wondering, and im sorry if this is random but...is....is your name aphelios by chance?

After pressing send, you peeked around the corner. You watched as the young man tapped on his phone. After a pause, his eyes snapped wide. Panicked, he looked around the space. As if trying to find a proper response to your question.

It is you, you pressed your lips firmly together. You went back to his table and took his wrist, encouraging him to follow you. "Oh! Master, let me guide you to the restroom." You announced loudly, leading him away. You dragged him into the dressing room. Since next shift wasn't for a few more hours, no one would bother walking in.

"m00ncake, Aphelios--whoever you are. What're you doing here?" How embarrassing. If you ever decided to meet in person, you didn't want it to be like this. With you and your silly frilly outfit and cringey maid character (even though you did enjoy it). But this was way over the top than you imagined!

Aphelio's backed up slowly against a locker. He didn't say a word. Blinking wildly at your question. You pulled out your phone, revealing your Discord and OSU! conversations with him.

"You see this? That's you! And now I know that it's you...you're m00ncake...and Aphelio's from Heartsteel...and I-I'm..."

Why? Why? Why? Why couldn't he have been anyone else than a supposed famous idol star? Why couldn't he have been some normal guy with an obsession with online rhythm games? Someone weirdly normal, like you.

So why....why did you have to like someone so out of your league?

Girlish talk and laughter bounced outside the changing room door. Fearing the worst, you dragged you and Aphelio's into your clothing locker. You made shushing gestures to your lips, which was ironic, since you knew at this point he never said a word.

A couple of girls walked in, laughing to one another. "Wow, I can't believe I lost one of my hair ties. Thanks for letting me borrow yours." The other then replied, "No problem! I always keep spares in my bag. Hey, look. Whose headphones are these?"

In the frantic mess of your actions, Aphelio's lost his headphones. The pair continued to laugh and talk, wondering exactly where the headset even came from. You shifted your gaze upwards. And your heart squeezed horribly inside your chest.

Aphelio's had his eyes half-lided, almost closed. Breathing laboriously through his mask. He looked as if he was in pain. Flinching whenever one of the girls giggled too loudly, or the other raised their voice in excitement. In the condensed space, he had no room to move his arms and cover his ears.

Your eyes widened at the realization. This...this is all my fault. Carefully, you squeezed your arms up, cupping his ears in your hands. In this angle, your cheek condensed into his chest. You felt the erratic thumping of his heart. Slowly, it settled to a steady rhythm. The heaves of his chest dissipating to normal breaths.

When the girls finally left, you uncovered his ears, both slipping out of the locker. You picked up his headphones, adjusting them against his ears. You then fitted the hoodie over his head, wearing a sad smile, "I'm so sorry. About all that. About everything, really. Can...can you forget about today? And don't worry about paying for your meal. I'll cover it."

You didn't let him type or gesture a single word to you. Resuming character, you escorted him out of the maid café, with a take-home box in hand for his troubles.

Your shift dragged on. You didn't bother sending any messages to m00ncake. Or actually, Apehlios, you should say. And no messages came from him, either. Good...it's better this way. The two of you living in two separate worlds.

When end of shift came, the sky had darkened. With your dress bag slung over your shoulder, you left the café. When you stepped onto the sidewalk, someone familiar stood at the side.

"A-Aphelios, why did you..." before you finished, he messaged you on Discord. You opened the message:

m00ncake: i didn't want to forget about today. in fact, do you want to ride the train together?

You paused. A smile then formed across your lips. With a nod, you placed yourself at his side. In a comfortable silence, the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder. Your phone buzzed. Another ping:

m00ncake: i shouldn't probably say this but, i actually have a thing for girls in maid outfits. you can shove me in a locker and call me master anytime. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

You blushed furiously, grabbing his arm and shaking it with a whine. Thinking maybe, just maybe, two totally different notes could be part of the same song.

an: omfg what a cute idea this was! honestly, im not versed in rhythm games, but i tried my best. maybe i went overboard too. thanks so much for the request @timetoeatthebread-blog!

[unicyclehippo]

touch

‘you know i’m like this all the way down, don’t you? it isn’t - it isn’t an act, i do laugh it off sometimes dear, it can be terribly funny but. i am like this. forever. and it’s—could you—do you think you might be able to withstand that for a long time? i should like to be with you for a long time but it would depend on - on when you get exhausted, you see, because i must live with this or - ha - not live with, i suppose, but survive, contend, with this for however long i shall live but you, well.’ laudna’s twists her face into graceful acceptance. soft, understanding, hardly sad at all. it’s very easy to do, once you have the trick of it. ‘you needn’t. deal with this. the bark and the hair and the nails. the popping joints. the ichor, the aches, the smell, the stares, the rot.’ the word drops between them, gross, embarrassing, like she’d spat by accident. her teeth are hatesharp in her mouth. ‘the teeth,’ she adds.

imogen looks up from the book she studies with such careful, wonderful intent. so smart. she quirks a brow, amused. ‘i know what you are, laud. you forget we’ve been travellin’ together awhile now?’

‘no, no.’ her stomach twists, her hands twist, knot, roots. so is she, rooted in place. ‘i know, dear, i only mean to remind you—should you need a moment to yourself, or, or should something in particular sicken you—‘

‘laudna.’

she sinks low. imogen isn’t listening. of course not. she is kind. she lo-hmm. yes, well, laudna can surmise imogen likely loves her. which is, well, lovely! but they haven’t been in love for very long and laudna has never done it before, romance, love, but she knows herself. how she clings to things. she knows herself. love to her is like…tar. sticky and black, bubbling and pouring up and up around their ankles their calves their knees her beautiful knees. if imogen doesn’t know that now then gods help her, what if she drowns her—them—in it? and she would, imogen would stay with her she would be pleased by it, even, because she loves her, but there is something wrong with it. impossible to know if it has always been this or if it’s all the death and the accessories she’s obtained through it—lady d, trauma, blah blah blah—but she thinks she has a capacity for love like a pyre, grease-fire and rising choking smoke; like a hungry dog, snapbite shut around the hand outstretched. and she knows what she wants for imogen, the kind of love she deserves, and how far it is from what she has to offer.

‘what are you afraid of, honey?’

laudna nibbles at her bottom lip. she takes up the bone she has been carving and turns it between her fingers, not wanting to see the moment imogen sees her, maskless, exposed.

‘i want to hold you until we both die,’ laudna says, sad and sweet. ‘i want to lay down in a grave with you side by side and i shall never move again and every worm that comes to eat us up will be little versions of us, because they’ve fed on us, and they will be in love and they’ll feed all the farms and chickens and we’ll be a thousand souls in love. i want to open up your scars and see what is under your skin, what your magic does under there. i want,’ she says, and folds her elbows close to her rotten chest, folds herself small, words small, so not a page stirs, not another soul could be stirred by what she admits. ‘i want to taste it. i want to grow into a tree and grow around you like armour like a second skin so you are always safe and maybe grow taproots, grow into you. through you. i want you as part of me forever. i want to touch you, i want to always be touching you, i want you to never be able to move without feeling me beside you, i want you to crack me open and see how vile it is inside of me and plunge in neck deep and when you struggle to get out, i want to hold on.’ she pauses. ‘i want to dislocate my jaw.’

imogen sits very still. her eyes very dark. she lets out a slow breath, pink tongue flicking out to wet her lips. ‘what-‘ she clears her throat. ‘what does that last one have to do with me?’

‘it doesn’t really. but. i’ll always be quite horrible to be around and i want you to be with me anyway.’

[gyuuberryy]

break the ice

pairing: tsundere!sunghoon x reader

summary: sunghoon shows that he dislikes your presence most of the time, but secretly he really appreciates your kind gestures. maybe he should’ve reciprocated it instead of pushing you away completely, because the aftermath was not pretty.

genre: tsundere and sunshine trope

warnings: lots of angst, fluff, mean!sunghoon, yelling, crying, toxic family relationship, slight mention of violence and divorce, very very very little swearing, lowercase intended

note: my first enhypen fic!!!!! i’m so excited to share this with you guys. this went a bit different than the prompt i made the poll on but it’s basically the same thing. enjoy! (also i might sound desperate but PLEASE interact with me i really need more friends here AHAHAhhhh)

word count: 3k ish

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

a hand slammed on top of the wooden table where sunghoon’s head rested atop his arms. he slowly looked up, already knowing who it would be since you were the only one who ever approached him. 

“hi hoonie!”, you beamed at him in excitement. your nickname for him made his eyebrows furrow slightly, but he didn’t let his annoyance completely show on his stoic face.

“it’s early morning, why are you so happy?”, he grumbled.

you completely ignored his unenthusiastic response and placed a brown disposable box in front of him.

“i made some simple fried rice, i was running a bit late today.” you smiled and slid the box towards him when he didn’t react, “i hope you don’t mind!” 

when he realised that you weren’t going to move if he didn’t take the box, he sighed and stuffed it inside his schoolbag. your smile widened at his gesture but immediately fell when you looked at your watch.

“oh no i’m running late for my next class.” you waved at him, “i’ll see you at lunch!” 

sunghoon’s eyes followed your figure as you pushed past the people crowding at the entrance of the classroom and dashed off. his eyes glazed over in thought as he contemplated about why you even put up with him everyday, afterall you were a really jolly person who’s loved by everyone. and he, he was just loner with no emotions everso.

you both had met each other at the beginning of high school. you had approached him when you found him sitting alone at lunch on the first day. you mistook it for him being lonely but he pushed himself away from everyone on purpose. since then you’ve always been around him, constantly playing the part of a friend he didn’t ask for but secretly appreciated. he still remembers how upset you were when you found out he started skipping lunch in senior year, so you started making lunch for him everyday.

he sighed once again when his phone’s screen lit up with your text message. 

y/n:

hiii

i’m so sorry i won’t be able to visit you during lunch today TT

i have the club meeting for robotics

enjoy your lunch&lt;333

and don’t forget to recycle your lunchbox!!

Read:11:20AM

his lips turned up slightly at the cheery tone of your text, brightening his mood a bit.

the soles of his worn out shoes crunched on the fallen leaves as sunghoon sluggishly walked on the pavement. the cool january breeze blew gently, leaving a trail of goosebumps on his skin. he looked above him and watched as the sun sunk into the sky, lighting up into flames of orange and yellow which set the wispy clouds ablaze. he was broken out of his peaceful gazing by the shouts of his name. he paid no heed to it and continued walking towards the bus stop. stiffening when a hand grabbed his arm, he turned his head.

“hoon did you not hear me?”, you gasped out, panting for breath. falling into step with him you giggled, “i need to start running, i get tired so easily.”

sunghoon gave no reaction and continued to walk in silence. you noticed that he hadn’t made any attempt of moving your hand away from his arm and cheered mentally at the progress. observing his features, you frowned in worry becauset his eyes had dark circles under them and his lips looked really chapped. 

“did you not sleep well last night?” you jogged up in front of him and grabbed his face, “gosh your eyes are swollen.” 

sunghoon’s cheeks slowly turned a light shade of pink at the gentle way you were holding his face. he immediately pushed your hands away and resumed his walking, slightly increasing his pace so that you would not see him blushing. you eventually caught up with him and handed him a beige coloured lip balm stick.

“use this for your lips. i swear they’ll become smooth and soft overnight, just like they were!” you attempted to make a serious face but it looked more funny, “and drink lots of water, this is a sign that you’re dehydrated.”

sunghoon watched you carefully as you babbled on about some home remedy to get rid of dark circles, the ever present blank expression etched onto his face. he felt something bubble up inside of him that happened every time at the fact that you noticed even the slightest change that he went through. he felt cared for.

“thank you”, he spoke out softly.

you stopped in the middle of your sentence and your eyes widened at his words. this was probably the first time he ever said the words ‘thank you’ to you. you felt like you had achieved some sort of big accomplishment and your face immediately broke out into a wide smile.

this feeling lasted like a warm blanket over you both the entire day.

you had to miss out lunch once again the next week due to another robotics club meeting, which you were the vice president of. you had a free period currently so you decided to look for sunghoon since he was in the same class. after you found him missing from the classroom, you decided to go look for him at the benches he usually has his lunch at. maybe he decided to stretch it a bit longer?

you stopped on your way at a vending machine and got him his favourite cold coffee. smiling to yourself, you resumed walking. the school dance was coming up soon and you really wanted to attend it with sunghoon. so, you were going to do everything possible to get him to like you enough to be your date. and recently he had been slightly reciprocating your advances.

your face lit up when you found sunghoon right where you thought he would be. you were just about to call his name but stopped when you saw him holding the bento box you had given him today. you decided to watch secretly to see his reaction after eating the food cooked by you. he had never really given you any feedback about it, only taking the lunchboxes from you with a small huff.

your smile dropped when you saw him walk towards a dustbin and roughly throw the box in it. was the food not good? are you not hungry?

“do you do this every day?”

it looks like you voiced this thought out because sunghoon turned around and looked at you like a deer caught in headlights. this was probably the most noticeable expression you had ever seen on his usually blank face.

“are you okay? your eyes look really red.”

sunghoon remained quiet and just looked blankly at you. why did you still care about him when you clearly caught him throwing your food away. why were you the only one who was nice to him? he was trying really hard to control himself from lashing out on you but he couldn’t help it when you reached out to grab his face.

“will you stop this”, he yelled out in frustration.

“calm down hoonie-”

“stop it, just stop it!” he spat out in anger, “my name is sunghoon.”

just when you were about to open your mouth to say something, he cut you off once again.

“i’m so sick of everyone and everything. sick of you.”

a look of hurt momentarily flashed across your face as he pushed your hand away, but you immediately replaced it with a look of concern.

“what's wrong sunghoon? you never behave like this.”

“what’s wrong is that you won’t leave me alone.” he threw his arms in the air, “you’ve been constantly glued to me like a leech and i’m so damn sick of you.” 

you felt as if your heart was being run over by a bulldozer at his exclamations. you tried really hard not to cry in front of him but you were sure he had noticed your glossed over eyes. 

“you don’t mean that-”

“yes i do”, he gritted out. “and yes, i throw your food away everyday. i don’t want your meaningless pity.”

he watched as streams of tears rolled down your cheeks. 

he watched as the girl he cared for cried silently in front of him.

you bit your lip to prevent an ugly sob from bursting out, “i’ll leave you alone then, if that’s what you think about my feelings for you.” 

looking down at your shoes you walked towards the dustbin and chucked the bottle of cold coffee you had bought for him inside it. “might as well throw this away since you don’t want my pity do you.”

tears blurred your vision as you looked at sunghoon one last time and walked away, muttering about how it was a good thing you didn’t ask him out to the dance.

but this did not go unheard by him. 

once you were gone, he dropped to the hard floor on his knees and covered his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater as he sobbed. he had done it once again. he pushed away one of the few people who truly cared about him.

his tears dropped to the floor, creating wet patches. and his heart felt like it was being ripped apart.

once again.

today was a very happy day for sunghoon. he had finally gotten rid of what was troubling him the most. 

now he had finally decided to apologise and make it up to you. 

the past few days had been torture for him. he deeply regretted acting out like that the other day. he felt like he was going crazy without your presence and whenever he saw you around school, you turned the other way and avoided him, making him feel even worse. he finally understood your importance. and maybe even about his feelings for you.

people looked at him in shock as he weaved through the crowd at the corridors with a bright smile on his face. the park sunghoon, who was always depressed was smiling today? this was shocking for sunghoon himself, but he couldn’t stop imagining what your reaction would be when he would ask you out to the dance.

he walked into the class where your first period took place and found you looking out the window with your chin on your fist. you were silently gazing outside, lost in your thoughts while your friends were excitedly talking about the dance. 

their chatter immediately died down to whispers upon sunghoon’s arrival. his figure loomed over you, blocking the sunlight, but you made no effort to look up. he cleared his throat awkwardly when you remained unmoving from your position.

“what?”, you grumbled out.

sunghoon felt something pull at his heart when he saw you turn around. he noticed how puffy your eyes were and how your face had red irritated scratches from constantly rubbing it. a wave of guilt washed over him as he realised that he was probably the cause for it.

“hi”, he spoke out meekly.

you were surprised to find him standing in front of you because you did not expect him to talk let alone even approach after what he did last week. you were even more surprised at the fact that he had a shy expression on his face. he did not look like the cold boy he usually was.

you scowled, “what do you want sunghoon?”

he flinched at the lack of your use of his nickname and your cold tone. your usually bright and cheery persona took a complete turn today. it wasn’t your fault though, he expected this reaction after what he did to you the other day.

a perplexed look overtook your features as you watched him place a glittery, yellow, heart shaped box in front of you. this emanated giggles from your friends, making sunghoon rub the back of his neck nervously.

“i’m really sorry for the other day.” he gulped, “i baked some cookies for you. i don’t know if they’re nice since it was my first time so..” he trailed off at the blank look you had on your face. 

“you really remind me of the colour yellow so i-”

“sunghoon please stop.” you sighed, “you told me i was clingy so i stopped approaching you.”

“i didn’t-”

“i really don’t understand why you’re doing this now”, you cut him off. “just go away.” with that, you turned back to the window.

sunghoon was just about to reply when the ringing of the bell interrupted him. he panicked as everyone moved around to settle in their seats. he had no choice but to leave now. 

with a heavy heart, he walked out of the class

you were filling your bottle at the water cooler when someone tapped your shoulder. you were kind of hoping it was sunghoon, but when you turned around you were met with jake. he was the president of the robotics club you were a part of.

“hi y/n”, he gave you a toothy grin.

you smiled back, “hey jake! what's up?”

your eyes widened when he grabbed your hand and placed a big bar of chocolate. 

“i really like you and want to take you to the dance.” his grin widened, “will you go with me?” 

before you could comprehend what was happening a voice laced with poison spoke up behind you.

“no she won’t.”

the voice belonged to sunghoon who grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you away from jake. you shook his grip off of you when he stopped at the benches where you would meet up with him at lunch.

“what the hell sunghoon? why did you bring me here?”

he didn’t respond and only stared at you with a furious glint in his eye. his face was twisted up into an angry expression as he questioned you.

“were you going to go with him?”

you scoffed in disbelief, “why do you even care? aren’t you sick of me?” 

sunghoon’s face fell at your words that repeated what he said to you the other day. he remained silent and just stared at your face. you closed your eyes and shook your head.

“just stay out of my business if you don’t care about me”

you had just turned around to walk away when a pair of hands snaked around your waist and pulled you back into a warm chest.

“i’m sorry, please stay”, sunghoon’s voice came out muffled as his face was buried in your shoulder. 

you were sure that your heart was going to explode any moment now from the intimate position you both were in. sunghoon had barely ever even held your hand and now he was back hugging you. you couldn’t stop yourself from blushing like a beet.

“w-what are you doing?”

sunghoon panicked and immediately removed his hands from you, assuming that he was making you uncomfortable. you frowned at the loss of contact and turned around.

“sunghoon, you’re really confusing me.”

he froze for a few moments then took a deep breath and began his explanation.

“that day..” he looked you in the eyes, “i didn’t mean anything i said.”

you looked at him intently, urging him to continue.

“you know how my parents got divorced last year right?”

you nodded. his mom was really toxic and controlling and used to emotionally abuse sunghoon’s dad. she was an alcoholic and sometimes lost control of herself leading to her showcasing violent behaviour. with the support of their friends and family, sunghoon’s dad had finally gained enough courage to divorce her.

“yeah so my mom has been fighting for custody of my little sister.” his voice cracked, “and at that time things looked good for her.”

he sniffed and looked down at his feet, “neither my sister nor did we want her to live with my mom. she would’ve ruined her life as well.”

“i took my anger out on you instead and i feel really horrible about it. you’ve been nothing but kind to me since day one, even after how coldly i treated you.”

his eyes welled up with tears and turned red as he tried to stop himself from crying. he looked so broken and hurt right now, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. and so you did.

wrapping your arms around his torso you tried to calm him down by rubbing his back. he slowly reciprocated your gesture

you spoke softly, “i’m so sorry you had to go through this hoon. you and your family deserve none of this”

he sighed in relief at your reuse of his nickname and tightened his grip around you. your words were simple, but comforted him like no other.

“it’s okay, everything is fine now. my dad won the case and i finally feel relieved for once.”

you pulled back from him at the revelation and smiled in glee.

“really? that’s amazing, i’m so happy for you!”

you were back to your normal, jolly personality which sent a surge of joy through sunghoon, making him give you a full smile. you gasped in surprise.

“oh my god, your smile is so pretty!”

sunghoon’s cheeks turned rosy at your compliment and shyly buried his face in the crook of your neck, making you giggle. who knew a boy who behaved so coldly was such a softie.

“i never threw out your food by the way, except for that day because i had no appetite”, he stated guiltily. “you are an amazing cook.”

“thank you sunghoon, but”, you paused. “i don’t think we can be friends.”

sunghoon pulled away from you in alarm. did he mess things up that badly?

“not after those amazing cookies you gave me.” you pecked his cheek softly, “you have to promise to be mine.”

sunghoon chuckled in relief, “you really got me there.” 

“i promise to be yours, love.”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

Fall little Wendy bird fall - Chapter 1? (Please watch video first if you haven't seen it) - Discontinued

TW: Mentions of child death (I added Wendy's brothers in here just for extra angst)

Peter couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even look away. He wanted to. Needed to. But the shock prevented him from doing so. Tears fell down his cheeks as he saw her lifeless body atop of the rock. The blood flowing from her skull and painting the rock a sickeningly dark red color.  

“Wendy…” he wanted to scream it out but his throat…his body…he didn’t know what to do with himself. What was this feeling? What was it called? He was in so much pain but couldn’t describe it. 

His first and last true love…dead. Died the most horrific and tragic death without even knowing why. Hell, he doesn’t even know why. The other lost boys were being put on land by Tink and the other Faes. confused and scared they were. What the hell just happened?! 

Vidia was still holding him in the magical bubble, and she saw that hurt look in his eyes. The look of grief. The very first stage. She knows that feeling all too well. And she felt bad but…what had to be had to be done. And he’ll get over it soon enough…hopefully. 

All the boys were taken back to the treehouse to rest. They were explained the situation but…with lies and the half-truth.  

Tinkerbell and the others informed them that Wendy was going to take them to a horrible place. A place filled with monsters and people only wishing to harm them. Not only that, but she was going to make them forget the fairies. 

“She was going to hurt you and us. We couldn’t let that happen, we had to protect you.” Tinkerbell touched the cheek of nibs and wiped his tear away. 

As children do, they believed them. somewhat. There was a small feeling inside them that told them she was lying but they didn’t want to say anything. 

“Come on boys. It’s been a long day, how about a bedtime story? Afterwards, you sleep” Rosetta said softly. The boys always loved bedtime stories. One of their favorite things. 

The boys all cuddled in their signature sleep spot near the window. Peter was sat down next to the lost boys and let out of the bubble by Vidia. But he wasn’t mentally here right now. He was still picturing the lifeless body of his true love. The blood…that color. He for sure despised the color red now. 

Tears still ran down his cheeks as he sobbed. He hasn’t stopped crying since the incident. He didn’t even hear the cover story. Not that he would’ve believed it. Wendy was a kind soul. Peter noticed that. No lie would or will tarnish his perception of her. 

Tinkerbell noticed his mental absence and flew up to his face. She looked into his eyes. The once brown and hopeful ones were devoid of color. Barely a light brown. Tink knew she messed up with this one. 

She never experienced true love before so she couldn’t empathize with that part, but she did love her friends. She loved those friends of hers, but they all died the more children started to lessen their belief in them. 

She knew the feeling of grief very well so she could empathize with that. 

“Peter…come on now. Everything will be alright. Wendy was only trying to trick you” 

Don’t do it Tink!

“She didn’t love you, it wasn’t real” she tapped lightly on his nose as a small way to bring him to reality. 

Yep…she just had to say it. 

Peter had memories of him and Wendy having fun together. How she looked at him and made him laugh. How she made his brothers laugh and experience what having a mother was like. Even if it was small. 

Her kindness. Her gentleness. There’s no way that was a trick or a lie. 

“What?” he said quietly. His eyes zeroed in on her in less than a second. He stopped crying. 

“She didn’t love ya pete.” Rosetta flew up next to tink. Some part of her knew this was wrong but had to try to get him to understand. 

There it was again. That word, love. The way Wendy made him feel…there’s no way…

“We had to do it. There was no other choice” Vidia said with a stern tone but it was a little soft. 

They had to do it?! Why?! What reason could they have to kill AND lie on an innocent girl?!

“You…killed…her” Peter said slowly, his fists balled up. The rage was seeping through. One more wrong word and he might snap. 

Cubby sniffled and tugged at Peter’s short sleeve. “Tink said she was going to take us to a horrible place peter. The faes saved us”. Cubby wasn’t sure to really believe the fairies but…surely they wouldn’t hurt Wendy for no reason. 

Peter snapped his head over to Cubby. The look in his eye was evident that Peter was…not okay to say the least.

“What?!” He barked

Tink knew what was about to happen. Seems like he’s going to be hard to get through to. 

“Peter please! We did this for you, all of you” she flew up to his face again and looked into his eyes. Searching for any sign of him believing her. In an instant. In less than two seconds. Peter smacked her away from his face. Smacked her hard enough for her to hit the ground. 

“For me?! You did this for me?! You killed her! The only person that…that..that I LOVED! She was kind to me. Not a monster!” Peter seethed as he looked down at her. 

The other lost boys stood there in shock. Peter would never hurt Tink or her friends. Sure, he swatted her away when she was annoying but never a full pledged smack. Pete basically did the equivalent of smacking your aunt in the face. 

The other faes were shocked too but instantly got into action. Iridessa constrained Peter back with vines. Rosetta and Vidgia helped tinkerbell off the floor with concerned expressions. 

Peter squirmed and thrashed relentlessly. His rage boiling over big time the more he was tied up. 

“Let me go you monsters! You killers! Let me go, you bugs!” Peter tried to get away but he couldn’t. Some of the lost boys began to cry and hug Peter to calm him down.

“Peter stop!” screamed skunk

“Peter please” said nibs

The boy of discussion wasn’t listening to them at all. His main focus was tinkerbell and the other faes. Peter has never felt this much anger in his entire life…which is a long time. The color came back to eyes but it was the same color as Wendy’s blood but with a brighter more glowing hue. 

“I’ll kill you Tinkerbell if that’s the last thing I ever do!” Peter fumed as he still tried to get out of the vines that were wrapped around his arms and legs. Tinkerbell looked into his eyes. There was real truth and intent in them.

This made her angry, but she stayed composed. Vidia was about to smack Peter, but Tink flew up behind her and put her hand on her shoulder. “Vidia, Rosetta, Iridessa…take the boys further up the tree. I need to have a talk with peter” 

The Faes did as she asked and took the boys out of sight. Rosetta was a little hesitant, so she added an extra layer of vines around him just in case, then she left with the others. 

Tink flew up to Peter’s face…and smacked him. Not as hard as she pushed Wendy but hard enough to leave some pain. It hurt. It really did. Tink wasn’t one for physical discipline, that was Vidia and Rosetta’s job but a lesson needed to be taught. 

Peter let tears fall down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the physical pain of the slap or the emotional pain of Wendy’s death. Either way, he was hurting. 

Her face was composed but eyebrows furrowed. “Peter…you know what happened to my kind. We died off one by one. Because little brats out there stopped believing in us. You and those boys were going to leave us behind and forget…I couldn’t have that.”

Peter's eyes widened at the realization. He forgot all about tink and the others while he was on that ship, the boys did too. But still…Wendy didn’t deserve that…wait..her brothers. Where were her brothers?! They were on the ship to…oh sweet neverland. 

“John…John and Michael. Where are they?!” Peter asked with fear but anger in his tone. 

Did this boy not hear her? Did he just blatantly ignore what she just said?! This angered Tink further. So much so that…she wasn’t mindful of what she’ll say

“Dead! Their dead peter! All three of them! They drowned and died just like their sister!” Tink yelled at him. And she regretted it as soon as she said it. The hurt look in Peter’s eyes was all it took for her heart to sink.

“No…no. You're lying…please tell me you're lying!” Peter begged as more tears left his eyes. 

Tinkerbell wanted to lie, to tell him all of it was some big joke. But how could she?  He already saw Wendy die and she already yelled that her brothers were dead. Wendy’s death was already an indication that she couldn’t even lie if she wanted to. 

Her silence was loud, loud enough for him to know the answer. The dam broke further and he bursted out in full uncontrollable sobs. It hurt Tinkerbell to see him like this but she had to do what she needed to do. 

“I hate you” Peter breathed out as he sobbed, “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you, you monster!”

Those words shocked Tinkerbell. Off all things that was the last thing she would ever expect him to say to her. That hurt worse than the slap he gave her. No, she couldn’t show weakness. Not at a time like this. 

“You ungrateful little brat. I gave you this home! I gave you brothers and the chance to never grow up! You have every child's dream yet you dare speak to me that way?! I gave you everything” She reprimanded. 

“I DIDN’T ASK TO BE HERE! You could’ve taken any other kid yet you took me! You ripped my life away once and did it again! I was going to have a life with-.” Peter felt sick as he saw the dead body of Wendy in his mind again. Not to mention her brothers bodies are at the bottom of the ocean by now “you took their life…you killed them”

How could he not see that this was not necessary?! 

“ We would’ve died if you left!” 

“You think we would’ve forgotten you?! We care about you as much as you do for us. How could we possibly forget you?!” Peter sobbed louder as the pain in his heart grew bigger each second. 

“Why didn’t you just come with us?” his voice was small and faint, the crying was making him lose his voice. 

Tinkerbell was caught off guard by that question. 

“What?” she didn’t need to ask him that. She understood the question very well-

“...you could’ve left with us…”

Tink didn’t think of that. Not at all. You mean to tell her she didn’t have to kill three innocent children? No, that’s not possible. 

No, all of it was for a reason. That’s final.

“You killed them” Peter repeated as his mind and heart continued to shatter into pieces. 

“well…I didn’t bring them here. The only person to blame here is you” more words she regretted as soon as they slipped out of her mouth. Did she really just say that?! Take it back, take it back!

“No wait I’m-”

“My fault...MY FAULT?!” Rage settled over Peter again as tears flowed. 

“No, Peter please”

“I just wanted to give them a better life YOU KILLED THEM YOU MURDERER!”

The argument went on back and forth until Peter refused to listen to anything she had to say. All words that came out of her mouth fell on deaf ears as he had one thing set on his mind. 

He wasn’t even looking her in the eye. Just at the floor as tears dropped onto it. He spoke his final words “....count your days Tinkerbell”

Tinkerbell stopped trying to get through to him. That was a threat. Not an empty one either. Tink decided it was best to leave Peter alone to cool off because right now he wasn’t in the right space to talk to. And she was a little bit scared of his presence. 

She flew out of the window and sat on top of a tree branch. 

“He’ll come around Tink, everything will be fine and go back to how things used to be” she told herself with a smile. She actually believed that. 

For the following days, weeks, and months, Peter wouldn't talk to any of the Faes. Hell, he wouldn't even speak. Not even to the lost boys.

He did a couple times, but to only tell them the fairies were lying to them. After that, Vidia banned the boys from ever going into Peter's room.

They were only allowed to visit him when it was feeding time. Peter wouldn't take food from the fairy girls, so the boys were the best way to ensure his health.

At these times one of the boys would be accompanied by a fairy to make sure Peter wouldn't tell any lies. Or put down any belief in them if he did manage to say something.

Tink was the only fairy who refused to see him. She couldn't bare seeing him in that condition. That pure hatred and intent to kill in his eyes.

It hurt all of the fairies honestly, to the very core of their being. It hurt to lie. It hurt to see the boys being unsure and skeptical around them. They never wanted none of this to happen. But it did...and they were paying for it internally everyday.

They didn't want to treat Peter as if he was some prisoner who did a heinous crime but if they let him go their lives would be at stake.

And Peter didn't know is that...he would remain in that room..,for a very long time.

-

To pixie hollow/Tinker bell fans I'm letting you know now that I only watched Pirate Fairy and Secret of the wings in the entire franchise. So, I don't know that much about the characters. I'm basing half of my knowledge off of the Peter Pan movie in 1953.

If you want to drop some info in my inbox, go ahead and if you have any questions drop them there too.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 9[***]

A/N: idk even know what to say about this one. I think I traumatise myself a little more with every chapter (in a good way…?)

Warnings: blood—like a lot of blood, obviously unsanitary but ✨magic✨, biting, blood play, smut, 5.7k words

-Part 8- -Part 10-

He’d breathed power into you. Power that your human body is not meant to carry. And while you can feel the tips of your fingers, the nails pressing onto your toes, and every tooth in your mouth, you know it won’t last. The sun is setting within you, and when the last ember of his magic dies in your womb, you’ll go with it.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, padding quietly over that stone floors of the dormitories, hidden deep within the temple’s nest. Crypt is more like it.

He’s still wreathed in shadow, appearing no clearer than a reflection in muddied waters. His form ripples as he moves, keeping his gaze ahead—knowing you’re following on his heel. He’s keeping an eye out for something—someone.

That someone is waiting for you at the steps that lead out from beneath the holy building.

Robed in white and pale blue, silver circlet perched on her brow, Elain watches you with hard eyes. No—she’s staring at Azriel. He stops a little way from her, just out of reach of the carved, wooden thyrsus. Slender, pale fingers tighten around the staff, knuckles pressing out beneath the constraint of skin. “You have made your choice, then.”

It’s no question, but you nod. Cold, hollow eyes flick to you, “remember what I told you,” she says quietly, that strange glow appearing about her again. Brown melts to cocoa, mouth softening from its hard line. “You will always have a place here, remember that,” she says to you, “no matter what form you take. Do not forget yourself. Do not forget the human woman inside of you.”

————

Elain’s words are little more than a low buzz in the back of your skull as Azriel brings you to an outcropping on a weathered mountain ledge.

There’s no light in the sky tonight, the stars seemingly taking shelter within the darkness. The air is still, humid, but you’re on the wrong side of tepid. Your temperature has been rising gradually, in almost unnoticeable increments, but sweat is dampening your hair, trickling down the notches of your spine.

Azriel prowls forward to the flat rock face, canines slipping out as you hear a distinct ripping sound. He presses his taloned hand to the hewn stone, and lightening crackles in the air, fizzling in your ears, sizzling your skin. The mountain rumbles in response—Ramiel, Elain had called it—and strange symbols glow on the stone, as if lit by the light of a forge. A mix of runes and sigils that are too old to be recognised by any of your kind—perhaps even by his.

Then the wall gives way. Simply disappears. Revealing a looming passageway, sinking downward.

He turns toward you, eyes the colour of the descent that’s patiently awaiting. Why would it be eager? It know you’re going into its mouth one way or another, there’s no need for hurry.

A warm breeze licks up your spine, reminding you how your night robe is sticking uncomfortably to your skin, suctioned on by sweat. A shiver wracks your stomach, muscles seizing and spasming in the night. You take a shaky step toward him, toward the cave mouth, waiting to step foot on its cold tongue, but he stops you.

Instead, he takes you by the jaw, a razor-sharp claw presses in your mouth, a metallic liquid flowing across your tongue followed by a dull warmth. His canines press into his thumb before he pushes its pad to the incision on your wet muscle, blood mixing in your mouth. Your senses go dim, the cold biting into your feet little more than a slight pressure, the sweat on your skin little more than a light brush of misty fog, the night a little more than varying inky splotches.

A deep shadow towers over you, leaning down as you’re lifted from your feet. “Hold your breath,” he orders, softly. You follow the command, rasping in a ragged huff of night-warmed air. He steps into the rock’s mouth, and the mountain seals.

Cocooned within the damp passages, you curl into yourself, keeping air tight in your lungs. The walls press in, smelling of mildew and tilled soil. You keep tucked into him, instinctually recoiling from the passage way, the darkest grabbing at your ankles; tugging at your hair. Shadowy nails rake down the bloody chambers of your heart, eyes squeezing shut as Azriel pulls you tighter to himself.

“Release it.”

You exhale softly, feeling dizzy with the strain, like your torso will collapse with the slightest breeze. Like your ribs are full of cobwebs and dust. You head pounds the deeper he takes you, the temperate dropping steadily until you’re shivering. “Azriel…” you whisper weakly. He shushes you, fingers gently squeezing your skin, “a little longer.”

You swallow down the whimper, nestling closer, delving into his warmth as silky shadows encase your bare legs, wrapping over your arms; flowing over your chest like a thin blanket. Elain had warned you of this, had told you what to expect; how to prepare yourself for the crushing intensity of Ramiel’s stomach. How to cope with the insane pressure that’s strangling your bones of life.

Taking in a breath, you cast your mind back to the conversation, recounting the description she’d given you of her own Ritual.

————

“What happens in the Ritual?”

The tea is piping hot, almost scalding your throat as you swallow your first gulp. You gasp for air to cool your mouth, and Elain smiles softly, offering a glass of water which you take gratefully.

She sighs, leaning back in her chair, eyes going a little cloudy with memory. “It wasn’t…I struggle to speak about it,” she begins, hands cupping her mug as she peers into the milky tea. The edges of her mouth droop, shoulders sloping, “even with Lucien, it’s difficult.” She raises her head a little, meeting your gaze, something sad and remorseful flitting through her cocoa eyes.

“I thought I loved him at the time. Azriel, I mean. And I think he thought he loved me, too.” Her brow wrinkles, lips pursing as she tightens her hold on the cup. “They have a sacred mountain. It’s the only place the Ritual will work, though I never learned why. Something about a build-up of power, every Ritual performed requires a small sacrifice which infuses the mountain with magic. I don’t— I don’t know much about it, nor do I have an interest in learning.

“Even under his thrall, I knew there was something wrong with it. Like Ramiel was rejecting the very essence of my humanity. It was a discomfort deep in my bones, like something ancient and unseen was pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.” She sucks in a deep breath, straightening, taking a sip of her tea. You don’t miss the shake to her delicate hand.

“I have no time frame to offer you; everything was so distorted I have no hope of untangling it. I’m not sure what happened, just that my mind was scrambled the second he took me inside. I can recall vague impressions: some runes on the passage walls, pathways leading away—deeper into the mountain, fractals spinning in the damp rock. What I’m trying to express, is it’s unlike anything created by man. Entirely other. As if fashioned with darkness in mind; forged for the occult.

“After the descent, the narrow passage opened into a vast cave that smelled damp. Musty and unused. I can’t remember the cave in great detail—it was very dark, you see. So dark only a creature like him would be able to navigate the chamber.

“I do, however, recall being set on a raised, stone platform. It was circular, and had no end I could feel within my immediate reach. That being said, I didn’t have much control left in my body at that point so my area of mobility was severely limited.” Her eyes are milky white.

You don’t dare speak, in case it washes away the last scraps of memory she’s dredging up.

“The Ritual… As I said before, it’s not something I care for. I have no interest in understanding how it works—I’m not entirely sure any of them know what happens, or how it was set up. I remember my younger sister telling me what she knew, but it was all rumour and myth passed on tongue, predating written language.

“He warned me it would be unpleasant. He gave me a choice of how it could happen, just two options.”

You hold your breath, tea forgotten.

“I could endure it as I was, experience the change on my own. Or I could…” she stammers, features becoming a little paler. A hint of colour dusts the crests of her cheek, though she refuses to lower her head. “Or he could relieve the intensity by taking it with me.”

Your brow furrows, “what do you mean, taking it with you? I thought the Ritual…” you trail off. You don’t really know what you thought. “You said something about becoming stronger? I thought that meant being changed into one of them,” you say, swallowing. “One of you.”

She nods. “The Ritual will make you immortal, so you can live like them; exist in the Underworld and the Holy Lands.”

“What’s…? That sounds…good.” You say, slowly, considering your words. “What’s the… I mean, I can’t see an obvious reason why not to take it?” Her brow narrows slightly, and you worry you’ve said something wrong. “Living forever is not as wondrous as you might think. Watching those you love grow old while you remain young? Watching their bones crumble with the weight of the world while yours stay strong? It is not a pleasant experience.” Her voice is sharper, terser than before, and you realise this might still be an open wound for her.

You open your mouth, “exactly how old are—”

“You’re getting off topic.”

You snap your mouth shut.

She releases her grip on her teacup to take a sip, drinking daintily. “He will most likely offer you a similar choice. It is up to you which path you take. I most certainly will not fault you for either.”

You wait, fingers fidgeting in your lap, but she doesn’t continue. You shift, “is there anything else?”

Milky eyes begin to darken, returning to their colourful state of warmth. Elain shakes her head, “as I said: I remember very little. Though I would advise you to take his offer, when he gives it to you.” She shivers, but there’s no breeze. “I imagine it would be quite unpleasant without the distraction.”

————

He takes you down further, runes decorating the rock wall.

He carries you by winding passages that seem to have breezes blowing inward, as if trying to suck in wanderers. He remains steady. Fractals spin at the edges of your vision, disappearing when you try to look directly at them.

Stairs wind down, going deeper into the mountain, until you’re surely below ground level. And still you go deeper.

He carries you down until the passage opens up, revealing a vast cave, a flat stone altar at its centre. The place Elain spoke about.

You’re here.

Azriel takes a step forward, then halts. Even with your poor eyesight, you can feel the weight of his gaze. Goosebumps prickle over your skin, and you nestle into him, greedily sucking in the warmth and power that’s humming around his person.

“Isn’t this it?” You croak, feeling like death. Sweat beads on your brow, perspiration slicking your already damp skin. His eyes narrow on you, judgement weighing heavily in your stomach.

Then he turns from the altar, grip tightening on you, lips pursing.

Desperation trickles down your spine, fingers trembling as you hold him tighter. “Azriel…” you rasp, “what…? Where are you…?” Breath catches in your throat and you manage a weak cough. Shadows swirl over your torso, wrapping tighter, as if keeping you together.

“You’re weaker than the others,” he says quietly, a soft growl dragging form his throat. Shame tightens in your gut at the reminder, and you look away from him. “You’re going deeper. Where it will be more concentrated.”

Darkness writhes at his back, building over his wings as they flare, magic crackling in the air. The rock trembles, then gives way, revealing another passageway. Leading down.

You whimper, pushing into him, away from the opening. “Azriel…” you pant, “please…I can’t—” Another round of wet coughs bubble from your throat, barely enough force to dislodge whatever’s getting stuck there.

His dark eyes flick down to you, then he shifts you in his arms, lifting and moving you so your legs are tucked around his waist, arms guided gently over his shoulders. If you had the energy, you could purr. Nestle closer into him, feeling the firm press of his chest against your own, the strong muscle lining his body, the soft, silky locks at the nape of his neck.

“Hold on,” he murmurs to you, one arm beneath you to keep you up, the other around your back, pressing between your shoulder blades then trailing down to grip your waist. Your spine arches, dipping as his forearm brushes the bone, holding just above your hip.

“I just want it to be over,” you whisper onto his skin, head resting on his shoulder, tears blurring your vision. “It will be,” he replies quietly. “Just a little longer.”

Tremors skitter over your skin, limbs going limp in his arms as you weigh onto him, relaxing into his strength. Feeling each smooth step as he takes you deeper. Darker still.

The air grows thicker; more stagnant. As if previously untouched.

You shiver in his arms, only focusing on where you’re connected, the shadows soothing your skin. “How much did she tell you about this?” He asks into the darkness. You know who he means.

“A little,” you rasp, feeling weakness sink into your muscles, turning them to mud.

He nods, probably for your benefit. “This is going to be different,” he murmurs, and his hands might have tightened on you just there. You have no energy to inquire, so you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“You’re going to be fine.”

It doesn’t reassure you like you had hoped.

Silence swallows your senses, and you’re pretty sure you pass out for a little, because when your eyes next open, things have changed.

No longer in the passageway, but within the mountain’s stomach—wide and cavernous. A quiet splash sounds as Azriel moves, a faint metallic smell wafting about, a suggestion of iron. Light flickers on the walls, dimly registering in your eyes as he continues forward. Carrying you to your end point.

“You’re doing this with me, right,” you whisper. Your voice breaks at the end, betraying your quiet terror. Muscle stiffens beneath you, but he continues moving.

“Yes,” he says at last, equally softly, coming to a stop. His hold lessens on you, giving you the chance to pull away. You try and sit a little straighter, weary and tired. A fatigue that’s settled into your very bones. Even sleeping forever wouldn’t get rid of it.

You peer at him through the darkness, his arms supporting you as you do so. “What’s going to happen to me?” You whisper again, tongue trembling in your mouth, feeling at once dry and like lead. Your lower lip wobbles, but you bite down, keeping it stiff. Eyes flick across his features, searching for a hint.

Something passes through his gaze, but it’s gone too quickly for you to read. Instead, one of his hands cup your cheek, pushing away the damp hair that’s plastered itself to your skin. “I’ll make sure it feels good,” he says.

Then his mouth slants delicately over yours, and you recognise the feeling it brings in.

It’s like that first time with him all over again.

Heat sings in your blood, making it boil and bubble. Scorching your skin. His name whispers through your mind, lips forming shapes of letters you’ve forgotten.

The cave is vast, a dark liquid coating the floor, and he’s taking you deeper. Red washes the stone, fire burning in tall stacks at five different points within the chamber. Humid air washes down your throat, filling your lungs, smelling faintly metallic but everything’s so dim and dark it’s impossible to tell. How bright is the flame for your eyes to pick it out?

Heart pounds in your chest, and you curl into him, needing to feel his skin. Need to feel his touch, the soft dust of fur grazing your thighs and stomach, the scratch of claws through your hair. A small sound drags from your lips, sweat beading on your brow, head twisting to bury into him.

His hands tighten around your legs, pressing your shoulders closer, tucking you into his heat, his scent wrapping around you. If you had the energy, how wonderful it would be to have him. Taste, lick, swallow, gulp. Take, need, have, own.

“Azriel…” Letters rasp from your tongue and he’s doing something—moving you. “Azriel…I need you.”

Sweat slicks your robes, dampening further as he sets you down, breasts dragging over his chest, body dragging against his own, until your feet touch that wetness. Up to your ankles. Up to your calves. Metal and iron.

Blacked out eyes find yours and breath whooshes away at the raw sight of him. Some kind of veil has been ripped off, fire and shadow burning in his pitch black gaze, an intensity thrumming beneath his skin like a heart beat, loud and clear to your ears.

The flames burn hotter, glowing brighter, pale bones holding the massive fire bowls. Blood bubbles around your feet, the cave floor flooded with the dark liquid, the vastness of some past slaughter vaguely dawning in your mind. How much life is contained within the dark lagoon, the immense strain of power that’s glittering just beneath it.

“This isn’t…?” You look at him weakly, his hands on your hips, keeping your pressed to his front. “…where am I?” He blinks, and you catch the thin layer of film that slides across his eyes just before his eyelids snap shut, and open. “Undress.”

You stare at him, too sickly to muster up a reply. You just stare. “Where am I?”

When he leans down, fingers hooking in your robe, making to pull it off, you don’t have the will to protest. The scrape of his talons up the backs of your thighs setting the liquid heat in the pit of your belly bubbling. A reminder of his touch, how it feels to have his hands on you. How it feel to have him on you. It’s what you’re craving.

So you melt.

Eyes roll to the back of your skull and you stagger, shadows winding up your legs, sliding up your spine, bracing your torso as the arousal slams your mind into a stone wall. Hands grip onto him, nails stabbing at his tough skin as you cling for stability. “Azriel…” you pant, panic twining with your plead.

His eyes gleam in the ruby light, orange and gold flickering across his skin, “yes?” Fangs glint under the flame, catching the sparks on the white enamel. Grinning.

Your vision tilts, and your grip tightens, skin pressing onto him, arms winding around him, fingers dragging over him as you begin to push yourself into his body. You nose at him, taking in his scent and you can feel him shifting beneath your finger tips. Liquid arousal gathers between your thighs as leather dissolves to soft fur, the constraint of clothing turning to nothing. Warm, sturdy muscle surfacing. Should you look up you would be met with a beast. Fangs to slice into your throat, talons to dig into your flesh, eyes to pierce into your soul.

A moan spills from your lips, breaths becoming shallow as that incessant itch becomes deeper and deeper and you need him, need him, need him.

He laughs, deep and dark, tipping you upward by a hand to the throat. Feels you swallow. “Want me?” He asks. The ghostly brush of his lips over your own. Your brows curve upward at the cruel question.

Of course you want him. Can barely think of anything else.

Eyes flutter shut, tilting toward him. Elongated fangs graze your lips. Press closer, and they slice.

You tip over the edge.

Hands slide up over his shoulders, hooked talons wrap around your waist, trapping you against him. Mouth opens up, teeth slicing at your lips but blood tastes good. Thick and rich. Aches blossom on your tongue, stinging dulling and healing then reopening as his saliva heals and his canines create those delicious incisions as you kiss him. Tongue flicks out, pressing up the razor-sharp canine, hot, spiced liquid bursting between you, dripping down your chin.

You moan loudly into his mouth, his name playing on repeat in your head as you plead for him, arousal thrumming and humming and buzzing across your sin, zapping the sensitive space between your legs.

Nails drag through his hair, pressing up onto your tiptoes to be closer. His hands slide down over your rear and you moan into his mouth, blood and pleasure mixing and his claws rip through the white robe. Skin is bare and wonderfully free. Fur soft and silky and you could cry at the sweet sensation.

Azriel snarls into your mouth and you want to give him more, want him to bite into your flesh and take you apart in the most appetising way possible. With great control, you pull away, only in favour of moving his hot lips to the soft expanse of your throat. Urging him to bite, to drink, to feed.

The wet muscle laps out, pleasure and pain singing down your spine seconds later as he buries himself in you, hot, thick blood spilling down your shoulder, saturating the remains of your dress. Head tips back, lips parting in silent euphoria. He growls at the taste, pushing deeper, drinking more and more, until you’re swaying on your feet.

Hands release you, blood swallows you.

Falling back into the sanguine pool.

You moan as the rich liquid warms your skin, coating you, bathing you in power. Darkens your hair with wetness. Spine arches at the sheer immorality of the scene. The darkest depravity as you bathe yourself in blood. Gleams on your teeth, colouring your lips as you smile, tongue flicking out as you stare up at him.

His grin is like none other he’s given you. Pure beast, pure animal. Too wide, and too eager to be anything remotely human. You don’t care.

He steps forward, and you move back, pushing away from him slowly—teasingly. It’s never a good idea to taunt a wolf, but here you are, a lamb wandering into the butcher’s hands, trotting up and pleading for the carving knife. Bowing her neck for the severing slice.

The rock shifts beneath you, blood growing shallower, beast drawing closer. Herding you to the butchering block. You follow his guide, moving to be atop the hewn stone, where the hot liquid laps at your sides instead of swallowing you whole.

Dark lines pulse beneath his skin, veins of blackness thrumming beneath the fur lining his stomach, mapping a pathway down his abdomen. He reaches the foot of the slope, and begins prowling upward, slowly closing in on you. There’s not a single part of you that’s afraid of him, every inch of skin craving to be adored and devoured. Absolutely massacred.

His clawed hand encases your ankle roughly, pulling your leg toward him, blood dripping from your calves down into the pool. Teeth open over your flesh, bitting and kissing his way up as your spine arches at his own form of worship.

When you have fangs like his, you’ll return the favour.

Dark eyes pierce into you, your legs bend at the knees, flickering with interest. Your grin doesn’t belong to a lamb. He know that, too.

Starving hunger blazes in his gaze, a quiet moan exhaling from your lips as you open wider for him. Lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl, and he pounces. One hand slams down on your shoulder, rock biting into your back as he snarls, low and viciously. Blood drips off your chest, nipples peeking beneath his ravenous attention. Teeth bite into your neck, and you know he’s hitting that first scar mark, setting it deeper, making sure it sticks.

Rough stone slices into your skin, but you don’t care. The blood from the cave seeps into your skin, but you don’t care. Something powerful and wicked, ancient and entirely malevolent claws at your insides, rendering you anew, and you just. Don’t. Care.

You moan louder when you feel the weight of his length over your slick heat, a growl rumbling through his chest, and you could swear deep whispers fill the vast cave. Chanting, speaking in tongues. He pays them no mind, so neither do you. Not even as the blood really does begin to bubble, or as the fire drips from the golden bowls, beginning to form a ring.

Nails dig into his back, wings flaring in a display of dominance and ownership as the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. Your hips wind against him, begging for him to push in, to fill you so full there’s no room for anything else. Until everything is out of you, and you’re left empty and gloriously silent.

Azriel’s fingers thread through your hair, thumb smearing the blood across your cheek, and you catch the tip of his talon on your tongue. He groans at the action, pressing the plushness of your lower lip, angling the digit so his claw can slide inside. The wet muscle flicks over the pad of him thumb, eyes latched onto his as you slice and carve yourself upon him.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your eyes roll back with pleasure, knowing what’s coming. So caught up in his web of sin you don’t notice as the sickness burrows deeper, curling within you, painting you in his self.

“Azriel…” you pant, “deeper.”

His eyes gleam with satisfaction and something far more sinister but you have no care to examine it in detail. All you care about is how big he is, how he’s filling you up as he presses in, keeping you pinned to the bloody floor of the dim chamber. His lips twist into a hellish smile, teeth slicked in red as they gleam with golden firelight. Fire that’s still spilling from the bowls, tightening the ring until it’s trapping you both inside.

Slowly, they begin to carve a five-pointed star through the pool.

The two of you at its epicentre.

His hips press tight against your own, and whimpers ebb from your lips, flowing to his ears as your iron-tinged scent wraps around him, keeping him locked in a haze of pleasure. He basks in the wet heat of your cunt, the soft press of your thighs tightening around his hips, urging him to move. He dips down once more, mouth opening over your own in a messy kiss—messy from the razor-like teeth. A mouth filled with tiny blades.

The world spins a little as his hips drawn back, then push in.

The dark cave pool heats, steam rising from its surface as the fire blazes brighter, finally completing its symbol. Trapping you within. No matter this is nothing like what Elain described. This is so much better.

He slams in to the hilt, and fire crackles in your heart. Lightening sizzling your bones, scorching your skin. Cooking you from the inside out. Pain blares in your marrow, inner lips stinging as your gums ache from tiny lacerations, splitting.

Splitting as fangs force their way through your flesh, ripping at tissue as teeth grow. Teeth matching his. Two canines protruding from your upper lip. You can hear his hearts beat, tripping in a triple rhythm of three.

You open your mouth over his shoulder, still pounding into you, and you bite.

He howls, the roar sending ripples through the bubbling blood, making the flames flicker. He coats your tongue, spilling into your mouth, filling your stomach as your bones and muscle shift. Tighten over one another, bonding to become stronger. Other.

The cave becomes lighter, snapping from blinding colour to pitch black, until they finally settle. The smell you’d be veiled from finally hits you, and you gag. The metallic stink shoves itself up your nostrils but magic crackles in the air and it’s gone. His magic.

Azriel pulls away, and pleasure tightens in your belly as you mark the puncture wounds stamped onto his shoulder. His hips slam up against yours and claws rake down his back.

His pupils dilate, and he’s shoving you down into the pool, one massive paw splaying across your chest, talons hooking you in place. A scream rips from your lips as the transformation passes over your lower body, unimaginable pleasure crashing into you, bludgeoning your brain as it’s sizzled and scorched. Vision blurs as euphoria rips at your skin, head tipping back, saturating your hair in the liquid magic.

There’s hardly time for breath before your muscles are acting for you, guiding you to what you need.

Claws dig into him, sinking into flesh as he’s flipped onto his back, allowing you to straddle his hips. You snarl down at him, revelling in the pulse of power that’s gliding through you, filling you with life and energy and anger.

So much fury that had the cave not been cast in red before, it would become bloodied to your eyes. All the repressed rage that had been slowly building, every snap of jealousy, every burn of envy. Everything gloriously sinful, awakens.

The mountain trembles as ire glitters in your blood, keeping Azriel trapped beneath you as you finally take. You take, and steal, and rob, just as he had done to you.

He snarls in fury but there’s so much power within you now, binding and raging at the sight of freedom he remains floored.

Your hips wind over his, cock buried deep inside of you, and the snarl cuts to a blissed out moan. Hands grip your hips, talons unable to slice your leathery skin as he helps lift you up to his tip, then slam you down. He bucks upward simultaneously, spurred on by the sharp jerk of your hips as you grind onto him. Pleasure sings and your head falls back, allowing him to use you—to give you the world.

Snarls and growls rumble in your chest, tongue flicking over your blood-coated teeth. His blood. And you smile.

Wild. Feral. Unhinged.

You look down at him, the red, toothy grin on your lips as claws slash out from your fingertips. Moans flow as you bring them down upon him, slicing into his skin, crimson droplets beading in their wake before the lacerations heal.

His eyes gleam with pride as you raise your nails to your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste him, pleasure buzzing in your head, fluttering between your legs. His satisfaction curls deep in your chest, sharpening the edge you’re riding.

Your hips swirl over his and it’ll only take a few more…

A few more and then—

You scream.

An otherworldly, beastly howl.

His eyes widen with hunger and awe as your head tips back, and you come on his cock, nails stabbing into the muscle of his stomach, burying in the soft fur that trails to his abdomen.

Words once again rip from your mind, leaving only feeling and wonder as he continues slamming up into you. Overstimulation wracks your body, but you can’t summon the will to order him to stop. Spasms tense your muscles, everything going taut then supple, Flashing so quickly between the two that it’s absolute heaven for him. Pounding up into your heat as you flutter and tighten around his cock, urging him to spill into you.

Your hips move of their own accord, as if able to sense how much he wants to fill you up, how desperately he needs to pump you full of is cum until you’re unable to move or breathe without some spilling.

You urge him on as you squeeze him, hips winding and bucking even as your mind goes blank, world spinning and tripping with the overload.

The pentagram flares with power, zapping your skin until you’re tingling all over and he roars. Hot, thick cum spurts into you and you moan. Vision blurs with pleasure, fangs biting into your lower lip until blood trickles down, dripping from your chin onto your breasts, splattering across his stomach.

The muscles flex as his hand slides into your hair, dragging your mouth to his as your fangs collide, carving up one another in the frenzy. You groan as his cock shifts inside of you from the movement, body answering as you grow, fur dusting the soft skin between your legs in luscious, thick swirls.

His lip pulls back from his teeth with pleasure, matching your shift, cock widening beneath the base as you continue roughly winding over him.

You’re still so dizzy and so dumbed out—tunnel vision leading you to the next high.

You grip him back, hands brutally gripping his silky, blood-slicked hair as you eagerly devour him, breasts dragging over his chest. Nipples grazing his skin, bodies pressed so tight against one another you could pass for one single, hellish creature.

Soft snarls bounce off the cave walls that had been previously untouched for centuries, smelling slightly damp but now filled with arousal.

Claws click together as you grip and grab.

Teeth and talons snap, biting and scraping over skin.

Humanity shredded to pieces.

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