#and the floor isn’t taped down

[goodbyefarewellandamen]

Started on clouds room today!!! Here she is in the forest ^_^ meeting one of her new friends, it’s diglet!

[darkbluekies]

Intruder 2024 ver

Yandere!mafia OC x reader

Summary: finding a mystical USB in your bag leads to more danger you ever could have anticipated. It leads you straight into the arms of a well respected mob boss.

Warnings: gore, kidnapping, breaking in, chains, crime, yandere

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: I thought it could be fun to remake my first one-shot almost 2 years later to see how I have improved! I hope you like the new version♡

Your hands tear through the bag, impatiently looking for the lip balm that is somewhere in the mess of papers, water bottles, wallets and receipts. Your head is pounding, your back is sore and your fucking lips are dry and you can’t think of anything else. You grab the backpack and turn it upside down, shaking it violently until every little thing has fallen out. Receipts dingle down like snowflakes. The lip balm falls out on the wooden floor and when you bend down to take it, you notice that it’s lying beside something that you can swear that you have never seen before. A white USB. Confused, you turn it around, looking for some kind of indication to remind you of what it contains. No tape, no pen, nothing. You sigh and stand up. Before walking over to your computer to figure out what contains on the USB, you smother your lips in lip balm. It gets in your mouth, tasting buttery and putting a greasy layer on your front teeth.

You sit down in front of your computer, boot it up and press the USB into the right port. If you see what is on it, maybe you’ll remember what you have used it for. It takes a few moments before a file pops up at the bottom of your screen. You press on it and are met by multiple folders, all having cryptic titles.

When have I ever done this?

Is this a Friday night drunk act? It would be an answer to why you don’t remember anything about it. You decide to press on one of the folders. Pictures and videos. Hundreds of them. You click on the first picture. What meets your eyes puzzle you. For a few seconds you can’t even process what you are looking at. A mushy red sponge-looking … something. When it hits you that what you are looking at is a dead, mangled body you gasp and shoot your chair away from your desk. A wave of mixed fear, disgust and disbelief washes over you as millions of questions bash into your head. Panicked worries about where the USB came from, who was in the picture, how many more there are like this, why you have the USB and if you would get in trouble and. If you give the USB to the police, would they find you suspicious? Would they think that you had anything to do with this? And will the ones who owns this USB kill you for it?

You find yourself pacing back and forth in your room as your heart beats in your ears. What are you going to do? You have to get rid of it. Quickly.

You turn back to the computer and pull the USB out as quickly as if it was on fire. The grotesque picture disappears. You drop the white stick into your pocket, as if it was really in flames. Just holding it made you feel dirty. You wipe your hands on your shirt, expecting it to smear blood. Nauseous, you run to the bathroom. Despite washing your hands in water and soap until your heads become gnarly and sore, you feel as if you have murdered that poor girl yourself and nothing will clear you of what you have witnessed.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom, how long you’ve tried to wash yourself of sin and guilt. Suddenly, the front door’s lock seems to click. You freeze, listen closely. Perhaps it isn’t your door? You quickly find that it is, indeed, your front door creaking open. Quickly, you get into the bathtub and hide behind the curtain. Your entire body trembled.

“Little thing”, a deep voice sing-songs in what can only be interpreted as amusement. “I see that you have something that belongs to me.”

The voice is unfamiliar, which is only for the best. You’re able to locate him in your bedroom.

The click of a gun snapping in place makes you flinch against the ceramic tub. If he finds you, you will die.

“Don’t try to hide from me.” You can hear the evident smile in his voice. “I know that you are here somewhere. I saw you on that low resonate web cam of yours just ten minutes ago! I don’t have time to play hide and seek with you. The longer I have to look for you, the less fun it’ll be for you when I find you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying that all of this is a horrible nightmare. Your chest is burning with fear. All you want is to scream and cry, plead and beg for your pitiful little life.

“Little thing, I know that you saw some gruesome stuff on that USB”, he says, his voice now drenched in false pity. “Don’t you want to get rid of that horrible filth, hm? I can take it off your hands. Just come out and give it to me and I will spare your life. What do you say?”

A silence follows. An excruciating silence that makes you want to claw out of your own skin. You prepare yourself to see him ripping the curtain away and putting a bullet through your skull.

“Oh, would you look at that?” His voice appears again, back to the amusement. “A call from your mother? Let’s answer, shall we?”

Panic goes through your entire body as you realize that he has your phone — and, indirectly, your mother, in his hands. You can’t let your family be involved in this! The more people who know, the more people will be in danger and the harder it will be to get out of this mess.

You hurry out of the bathtub, out of the bathroom. You make your way down the corridor and storm into your bedroom. The man is tall with hair as dark as night and when he looks over his shoulder you can tell that his eyes, as well, are as dark as his ruthless soul. He’s standing in front of the same computer you watched the picture on — the same computer he claims he saw you through. He smiles at you, a triumphed ‘i told you so’ smile.

“Please don’t”, you beg. “Don’t answer the call. Please.”

He clicks away the phone call before throwing the phone on the bed. He turns to you. He’s wearing a black suit.

“There you are”, he smirks and tilts his head. “You look much better in person.”

With trembling fingers you fish the USB out of your pocket and throw it at his feet. He looks at it for a few seconds, appearing clueless.

“Take it!” you shriek. “Take it and leave me alone!”

The man scoffs out a surprised laugh and lifts his eyebrows before slowly bending down and picking it up. He looks at it for a few seconds and then at you, meeting your eyes. They’re surprisingly calm.

“Please, just take it and go.” Your voice is barely audible.

The man stays silent for a few seconds before opening his mouth again. “I don’t think I can.”

“W-What? I haven’t done anything, I don’t know how it ended up in my bag, I didn’t steal it. I don’t even know when or how I got it.”

The man seems amused by your rambling. As if he’s hearing a little kid try to reassure their innocence in a sandbox fight.

“I know that you haven’t done anything”, the man calmly answers. “My man’s incompetence of carrying an USB is not your fault. But you have seen what’s on it. You know what it is, don’t you?”

“No”, you lie and shake your head.

He scoffs. “I saw you on your webcam. I know that you understood what was on it. Do you think I can just let you off the hook and walk straight to the police? Now that you’ve seen me too?”

You are going to die. Holy shit.

“I-I won’t tell anyone!” you stutter and start to back away from him. “I will pretend that I have never seen anything. No one will know. Please.”

Before you have time to run, he grabs your arm and pulls you back to him. You scream and try to fight back, but he’s bigger, stronger. He slams his hand over your mouth, forces your back against his chest. You sob and shake your head, your pleas getting muffled by his hand.

“Don’t cry, pretty thing”, he says. “It doesn't suit you.”

With that said, he pulls you out of the apartment. You can feel the gun in his pocket poking your back. You have never been this scared before, and have no idea what your body will do when it is this panicked. To your surprise, it decides to black out.

For a few seconds you're sure that you have dreamt the worst nightmare in your life, until you open your eyes and find that you aren't in your bed. You aren't even in your apartment. Quick eyes search around. A bunker or a basement. Those are your best guesses. Blood, both dried and fresh, covers the cement walls. You hurry to look around your body to make sure that none of the blood belongs to you. For the moment you seem to be unharmed. But for how long? You have chains around your wrists, ankles and throat to keep you in place. Like a dog. You repeat your name, your background and family in your head, just to not go completely insane. Will you ever see them again?

You damn that little piece of plastic and metal, wish that it would self-destruct and ruin that man's life. Such a little thing got you in such big trouble.

A door creaks open above you and your man starts to walk down the stairs to the basement. He's wearing a black buttoned shirt. He has something in his hands.

“Awake now?” he says.

You don't answer. He strolls over to where you're sitting and crouches down. He reaches out for you, removing some hair from your forehead. You will bite his fingers off if he doesn't keep them to himself.

You glare at him. You wish that your eyes could penetrate his skin and pierce his ice cold heart.

“What's your name?” he asks.

“Why do you want to know?” you ask carefully.

“It might be so that you'll have to stay here with me for a while. Telling me your name will make it easier for me to talk to you.”

“What's your name, then?” you ask.

He smiles, and the smile is almost soft. He seems amused by your counter question.

“Silas”, he says. “Achilleos.”

The name rings a bell in your brain. You've heard his name before. On the news. He's a mob boss. Your eyes widen. You really have screwed yourself beyond belief.

“My name won't hurt you”, he smiles.

“It's not the name I'm scared of”, you mutter.

“And your name?”

You hesitate. You know better than to give your name to a literal mob boss, but you also know better than to lie to one.

“Y/N”, you whisper, hoping that he won't hear and that you won't have to repeat yourself.

Silas makes himself more comfortable on the cold, hard floor. He leans on his arm.

“I have to say that I am genuinely sorry for this”, he says. “I don't like pulling innocent people into something they don't have anything to do with. Especially this kind of shit. I have more important things to do. My man stupidly dropped the USB into your bag and now that you have seen what's on it and know who I am, I can't let you go.”

Maybe you shouldn't have asked for his name.

“Normally, I would have killed you”, he says. “But I think that I'm going to keep you for a little while. You interest me.”

You lift your heavy, chained hands and cover your face. Sobbing. Silas removes your hands and lifts your chin up with his index finger.

“Let's make a deal, shall we?” he asks. “I will not hurt you … if you do as I say.”

“So I can't go home again?”

“No, because the second you put that USB in your computer, and I got the notification that someone had opened it, you’ve belonged to me.”

Beyond screwed isn't even enough to describe what you are.

“So?” Silas says. “Do we have a deal?”

What choice do you even have? You nod shortly.

“Good”, Silas says.

He reveals what he had in his hands when walking down the stairs. A small yogurt packet and a spoon. The text on the packet isn't in English.

“I used to eat this when I was a kid”, he says and opens the lid, giving it to you. “I guess that you're hungry.”

You shovel it into your mouth. It tastes like strawberry and is smooth in texture. It's first after eating it all that you remember who gave it to you and perhaps that you shouldn't have eaten it.

“No, I haven't poisoned it”, Silas scoffs. “Didn't I just tell you that I have planned to keep you alive?”

“You could have lied”, you whisper.

He scoffs again as he starts to remove the chains. The weight drops off of you like angel light. Silas pulls you up on your feet, buy your knees buckle the second you try to put pressure on them. Silas catches you and lifts you up in his arms. He carries you up the stairs, to a hall, and then up another flight of stairs. Your body aches.

Silas walks into a bedroom, dressed in modern interior design. You're placed down on a king sized bed, tucked in under heavy blankets. The crinkle of chains makes you flinch. Silas lifts an identical cuff to the ones you wore five minutes ago.

“This is just to keep you here”, he explains and places it around your wrist. “Sleep now.”

With that said, he walks out and leaves you alone. The door closes. You tug at the chain, but it's obvious that you'll stay there. Too tired to cry, you sink down on the mattress. Too alert to fall asleep you stare up at the ceiling. A thought crosses your mind, quick and easy, buy loud enough for your heart to ache. You have to get out of here before it's too late.

[ceilidho]

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

-

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment. 

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far. 

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism. 

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently. 

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say. 

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way. 

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism. 

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare. 

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you. 

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings. 

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin. 

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected. 

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this. 

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around. 

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you. 

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side. 

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise. 

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice. 

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back. 

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying. 

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake. 

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose. 

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved. 

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air. 

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does. 

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life. 

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job. 

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened. 

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically. 

“You’ve probably got more than I have.” 

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect. 

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense. 

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate. 

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.” 

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you. 

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves. 

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it. 

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on. 

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help. 

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you. 

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”  

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison. 

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now. 

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain. 

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home. 

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh. 

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits. 

He can be good every now and then. 

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch. 

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much. 

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again. 

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen. 

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. 

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure. 

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me. 

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs. 

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again. 

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees. 

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it��s said under duress. That pisses him off more. 

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches. 

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her. 

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed. 

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright. 

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick. 

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity. 

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished. 

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through. 

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open. 

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button. 

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts. 

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole. 

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw. 

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed. 

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile. 

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.  

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work. 

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life. 

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him. 

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it. 

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same. 

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to. 

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt. 

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that. 

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you. 

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though. 

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.” 

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms. 

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean. 

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life. 

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week. 

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night. 

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is. 

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do. 

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony. 

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone. 

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine. 

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate. 

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty? 

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing. 

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive. 

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls. 

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there. 

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away. 

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say. 

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you. 

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together. 

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too. 

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you. 

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas. 

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him. 

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it. 

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain. 

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would. 

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more. 

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water. 

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long. 

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut. 

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please. 

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly. 

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass. 

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills. 

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes. 

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer? 

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.  

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable. 

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps. 

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him. 

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in. 

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp. 

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun. 

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings. 

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull. 

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage. 

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound. 

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil. 

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock. 

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns. 

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out. 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain. 

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down. 

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour. 

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for. 

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed. 

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge. 

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come. 

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here. 

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it. 

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her. 

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep. 

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black. 

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl. 

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening. 

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps. 

You smile.

[hoshigray]

Request! Geto never had to worry bc reader basically never interacts with guys. That 3we until he saw her hugging her male coworker and now he has to put her in place if ykiwm😋

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oh yikesss, possessive sugu incoming, oof. lmao this is lowkey like the one i did for my kinktober, but what the hell

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - canon divergence; Geto is a jujutsu tech sorcerer - shibari; rope bondage (cross-chest box tie, frogtie) - sex toys; use of a vibrator - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - pleasure denial - mild possessive behavior - pet names (angel, baby, pretty girl, my love, sweetie) - cameo: Gojo - mention of drool/saliva.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

“Hahhh…ahhaa, Sug’ruu, I can’t…Mmm!”

“Aww, are you feeling well, my love? You look awful.”

And whose fault would that be?

Geto removes his jacket to put aside one of the chairs of the many desks. He stretches his sides and cracks his neck, releasing a massive sigh after a long inhale. He’s now relaxed that he’s back in his classroom. 

However, he isn’t the only one here. Someone he knows is here with him — waiting for him to return. And Geto’s lips curl into a smile once he looks down to see someone on the cold wooden floor.

You were in nude form, clothes sprawled to the side of you. A long red rope contorts around your body, binding your arms behind your back with your wrists tied together. Your thighs and ankles were restricted together; the red ropes tied the leg together to that of a frog-like position. And a red blindfold covers your line of sight. You were whining and writhing in this bounded position. Why? 

Geto slowly walks around you to take in the view, noticing that the vibrators he placed on your body were still where he had left it. Your nipples had a vibrator taped on to each, and the buzzing noises made Geto’s skin crawl. There was another set of bullet vibrators buzzing down south. Three white wires are connected to a remote lying on the floor, and they seem to be stuffed inside the wet entrance of your chasm. So, five vibrators are teasing your body all at once. What a hell. 

He comes down to your level, bringing you up with a hand to lie on his propped knee, and your breathing so low and hushed. “How are you feeling, angel?” He lifts the blindfold to have you peek at him, noticing your eyes are puffy and wet. Poor thing was crying for him.

“Sugu…” You called him by his nickname, a tool in hopes of getting on his good side. “Can you…please…”

Dark eyebrows raise, “Please what, pretty girl?” He shields your eyes again and slithers his hand down from your chin to your neck, and he loves how your breathing lessens when he approaches your breasts. He pulls off one taped vibrator to free the bud. For a moment before he blows on it, “What do you want from me?”

“Can I—Ohh!” His tongue flicks your nipple; it’s so sensitive and sore! “Can I please…cum…?”

“Ahh, what a dirty girl,” Geto chuckles to you as he kisses your mound, his hand now traveling further down to the three wires on the floor. He gently pulls one, a loud noise of one vibrator bumping into another. “You were doing so well being patient for me. I have one more meeting, baby; why can’t you wait after that?”

Your breathing gets shaky, leaning towards his frame to get through. “Because...Mmmm, I want you to make me feel—Ohh…! Good...”

“Is that right?” More laps around your nipple before he sucks it in. “You want me to make you feel good? Not Satoru?” You gulped at the mention of the other’s name, feeling Geto’s intense, indigo gaze on your face. 

In all honesty, Geto admits he can be a jealous man — especially regarding you, his sweet angel. The reason why you’re in this situation is because your partner saw you hug another man yesterday. Satoru Gojo, the dark-haired man’s best friend of all people! Granted, it was because you were only giving a gift of sweets to the tall sorcerer because he came back from a terrible, dangerous mission with Geto. And the white-haired fool, oblivious to personal space as always, brought you in for a hug as he thanked you for the bag of sweets you handed him. 

Putting his hands on you did make Geto unpleasant, yet this was Gojo we were talking about; the guy acts like personal boundaries don’t apply to him. However, what did upset the man more was you reciprocating the embrace with a cheerful smile — a smile only Geto was to bear witness to. It twinged his heart – cliche, but it did. You toyed with his feelings, and he had to correct you for such behavior. 

The man increases the intensity of the vibrators inside your cunt, and your body jerks unexpectedly. He then slides a finger inside your vagina to play around your walls with the toys, and you have to remind yourself not to scream as his fingertips scrape the velvet texture. “You hurt my feelings, sweetie,” he listens to your whimpers get higher and higher as he increases the speed of his finger. “You know I’m not one for sharing — especially with Satoru.” 

“Hahhh, Sugu’uuu, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ You press your lips together to suppress a moan once Geto takes your nipple back into his mouth, pushing the nub to the roof of his mouth and skimming it with his teeth. A sharp gasp escapes your frame at the addition of another finger inside you, and more tears well up from how much stimulation is happening. “Nmoohh, please, I won’t do it again…”

“You promise?” He whispers into your ear, slowly removing his fingers to increase the intensity of the vibrators inside you. Those same fingers now go to your clit where he swipes in slow circles, and you nearly choke on your spit. “Tell me, who’s my favorite girl?” 

“Mee! I’m y’re favorite…!” Despite the ropes tightening around your ankles and thighs, your lower half still jolts to his touch on your delicate pearl, trying to sway your hips to move with the friction. 

“And who’s your only favorite man in this world?”

“You, Sugu!” Oh, the way you desperately said his nickname was so pathetic to hear — so sweet. He couldn’t stop the sneer from flourishing on his face. “You’re my favorite—Mmmph! Always…”

Good girl. “You wanna come so bad, baby?” His thumb and forefinger rub against your clitoris, evoking cute squeaks to fly out your drooling mouth. You nod hastily; that’s not what he wanted, so he pinches your clit. “Words, pretty girl, words.”

“Yessh, please let me cum, my love…!” Now that’s what he wanted to hear, being all cute and pitiful for him to grant you what you’re craving. And you can feel it coming, your nerves heightened with the climb of your orgasm.

But then, you sense his fingers gone from your clit, the cold air occupying their absence. Instead, he puts the vibrator that once teased your nipple back and rests your figure onto the cold wooden floor once more. Your brows screw together with quivered lips, “No, pleaseee! Don’t leave me again!” You whined.

Too late, he was adorning his jacket and heading out for the sliding door of the classroom. “I’m sorry, angel, but I gotta get to this meeting first. Don’t make too much noise while I’m gone, okay?” God, you pulled his heart the way you helplessly laid there. “Don’t give me that look, my love. I’ll be right back when it’s done.” He steps outside and closes the door behind him, swiftly locking it while checking for his surroundings.

And it was a good thing he did, too. Because right around the corner came his best friend, Gojo, the blindfolded sorcerer, retrieving the raven-headed other. “Yo, there ya are, Suguru! The meeting’s about to start; don’t slack off before Yaga comes for our heads.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he walks alongside his companion, heading to the other side of the hall. 

“Hmm, by the way, where’s Y/n?” The white-haired man inquires while scratching his ear. “I haven’t seen them since this morning.”

Geto hums to the question, the shrug of his shoulders to seal the deal. “They felt sick all of a sudden, went to go see Shoko to check.”

The taller sorcerer tilts his head with a scoff. “Who said you were a good liar?”

“You’re one to talk.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[simonrileysfavteacup]

The Scare

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gf!reader

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: Angst (ooooo, my first time writing angst), comfort, break in, attempted kidnapping, simon in ghost mode, graves being a pussy, simon being a good bf

Summary: You thought it was Simon, he had come home early from his mission, but there were 2 pairs of footsteps walking around your home.

Everyone knew Lieutenant Riley was cold. He was ruthless, cruel, heartless, and so much more. 

But there was one thing that made him soft. One person. 

You. 

Barely anyone knew that the Lieutenant had picked himself up a hot little thing and managed to keep her. The two of you had been together for 3 years now and he was so close to proposing. He was ready to spend his life with you. He was ready to make you his and give you his last name. 

But what happens when someone who shouldn’t know about you finds out about you?

***

Graves knew. Somehow he knew. He mentioned your name to Simon, “Ghost, that is not nice. How would your pretty little (Y/N) think of that?”

Simon shivered. 

And then he realised. 

Graves was coming for you.

***

You were curled up in bed, music playing in the background as you read one of your favourite romance books Simon had bought you. The lights were off, a single three-wick Bath and Body Works candle on your bedside table. It was peaceful. Cosy. 

You were on the 15th chapter before you head footsteps and your front door opening. 

Simon isn’t supposed to be home yet.

You check your phone. 

Simon would’ve messaged if he was coming home.

There was no message. And he wouldn’t surprise you like this. 

You sit up, turning off the music. The footsteps are doubled. There’s two people. 

Simon wouldn’t come home with someone else. This wasn’t Simon walking around your apartment. 

With trembling hands, you reach for Simon’s hidden knife, concealed under his side of the bed. You clutch in it a sweaty palm, silent praying that the person walking around your apartment is a friend, not a foe. The footsteps get closer. You take a deep breath.

The doorknob jiggles. Your anxiety skyrockets. There’s murmurs before a foot hits the door. 

1 kick…

2 kicks…

3 kicks before the door finally busts open, shattering the lock. 2 men, dressed in black military uniform, hold up their guns to aim for your head. You suck in a breath. 

“That her?” The first man asks. 

“Think so. She fits the description,” the other one responds.

You shiver. They barely acknowledge you as they speak. 

One of them steps closer to you, reaching for the knife in your hand. You strike, stabbing his wrist through the jacket he wears. He yells, “Bitch stabbed me!”

He pushes you, reaching down to grab his wrist, pulling out the knife. The other one walks over while you’re distracted, talking a hold of your arms and tying them behind your back. You yell before you hear the sound of duct tape ripping. Within seconds, there’s a piece over your mouth. You try to yell. No use.

They begin to speak to each other fast, so fast you can barely catch their words. 

Help me…

The one you stabbed wraps up his wrist with a cloth, before picking up your legs. The other picks up your torso. 

You thrash around in their arms, trying to get free as you kick the one you stabbed, He holds your feet together with one hand, barking out a quick, “Stop it!”

He has an American accent, you notice. They carry you out of your bedroom as you continue to thrash around. They almost make it to the front door. 

But the door is wide open. And in the door frame stands a tree of a man, face covered by a mask of a skull. 

Simon…

Your eyes fill with tears of joy. 

Simon’s eyes are as dark as the night as he stares at the scene. 

The men immediately drop you, making you hit your head on the floor, a cry of pain dropping from your lips. Your vision goes blurry as you hear Simon step closer, fists clenched. 

You roll over onto your side, trying to get your hands out of their bonds, trying to grab your head to ease the pain. You suck in a sharp breath. Your vision stays blurry, barely making out the black blobs fighting in front of you. 

From the blobs you see, the one with the mask is bigger. And he’s winning. 

You think… 

One of the men drop down next to you, a new red blob on the ground making it’s way into your vision. You count to fifteen before the other man drops down too. 

You count to eight before you feel a hand pull the duct tape off your mouth. You let out a loud sob of relief. Simon…

He unties your wrists, gently massaging them as you roll over again, grabbing your head. You close your eyes as you let out cries of pain. 

It hurts. Your wrists hurt. Your mouth hurts. 

But the pain in your head is indescribable. It shoots from the back to the front, meeting at the centre of your forehead. It shoots back. And then back to the front again. And back again. And front again. And over and over. 

You can barely hear your cries anymore over the feeling of pain. 

A pair of arms pick you up bridal style, as if you weigh nothing. The black blob holding you takes you to the bedroom, setting you down on the bed. The blob walks away again. 

You count to thirty before it-he-returns, holding an ice pack, a glass of water, and a few advil pills. He sits on the edge of the bed, setting down the items. 

He takes off his mask, vest, gear, and everything else until nothing remains but a shirt and his tactical pants. Simon tips up your chin, placing one of the pills on your tongue, pushing it back with some water. “Swallow.”

You do as he says. 

A deep exhale leaves your body. 

He presses the ice pack to your head. “How bad is i’? Do I need to call a’ ambulance?” 

“N-no…” you blink back tears.

“You sure, lovie? ‘t was a bad fall,” he sighs, smiling sadly at you. “‘m so sorry ‘is happened to ya. Ya are the most important thin’ to me and Graves, bitch that ‘e is, took advantage of tha’. Soap and Gaz ‘re in the kitchen, gettin’ rid of the garbage. Tol’ them not to come in ‘ere. Ya need rest, okay? Bu’ don’ fall ‘sleep, ya migh’ have a concussion.” 

You nod to the best of your ability. He takes a hold of your hand, kissing your wrist. “‘M so so so sorry. Ya didn’ deserve ‘hat, okay? Ya so perfec’ and special to me…”

He looks down at the bloody knife on the ground.

“Ya try to protec’ yourself?” You nod in response to his words. “Good girl. Ya atleas’ did some damage…slowed them down enough jus’ in time for me to get ‘ere.” 

“Ho-how did you know I w-was in…” you don’t bother to finish your sentence. 

“Graves sai’ ya name to me. I took a guess ‘e was gone go for ya. Rushed here with the other three. They gone go on the mission without me. Need to stay ‘ere, make sure ya okay.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead. You smile, softly. 

“Thank you…Si…” you nod. “For everything.”

“Always gone be there to save ya,” He nods. “When ya get bette’, I gone teach ya how to properly use that knife…and a few more things, just in case.”

“Sounds good, Si,” you hold back a giggle. 

[ataliagold]

If Love Was Contagious I Might Be Immune To It

For @steddie-week day 2, prompts "hands" and "touch starved".

Title from an unreleased Noah Kahan song.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T

W/C: 1916

C/W: Referenced death of a grandparent.

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, Steve is touched-starved, Steve has bad parents, platonic soulmates Steve and Robin, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart

Summary: Steve's early life is mostly devoid of love - until Eddie Munson.

___

He’s eight years old, and his wrist is broken.

It’s the first time he’s broken a bone, but it certainly won’t be the last.

Steve cries silently in the school nurse’s room. His father hated it when he cried, always told him to man up, to grow up, to act like a Harrington.

He tried to keep the tears in, he really did, but his arm is throbbing and his wrist is turning a funny colour and he wishes he’d taken Tommy up on his offer to sit with him and wait for his mom to turn up but he’d wanted to be tough, tough like his dad, and he’d told him he wasn’t a baby and he’d be fine.

So, while he loses the battle against the tears cascading down his cheeks, he stays tight-lipped and quiet.

His mom arrives eventually. Steve sits there, clutching his wrist across his stomach as the nurse explains to Janet Harrington what had happened, that Steve had fallen in P.E, that the bone was definitely broken and he needed to go straight to urgent care.

Janet nods. Turns to Steve, expression tight and unreadable, and gestures quickly for him to follow her out to the car.

Steve quickens his pace behind her, little legs carrying him along behind the click-clack of her heels.

He reaches for her hand with his good one.

Knows he shouldn’t, knows he isn’t supposed to keep trying to touch because he’s a big boy now, he doesn’t need to be held and coddled anymore.

But he’s hurting, and he wants his mom.

She tightens her hand around his almost in surprise, squeezing sharply.

“For goodness’ sake, Steve,” she hisses, dropping his hand again like it’s something bad, “do you want all your friends to see you like this? Act your age.”

Steve snatches his hand back to his side. Blinks through the new flood of tears in his eyes, swallows thickly, keeps his gaze on the hard tiled floor.

He’s eight years old, and his mother doesn’t want to hold his hand.

*****

He’s fourteen years old when his grandma dies.

Smoking with Tommy behind the bike shed at the school, they are quieter than usual.

The funeral is this weekend. Steve’s never been to a funeral before.  His mom ordered him a suit the day after they got the news, the reality of it barely sinking in before he was being stood in front of the mirror in the store while a man wrapped a tape around him, taking his measurements while his mom tapped her foot behind him.

He wonders what will happen when his parents go away, now that he can’t go and stay with grandma. He’ll miss her. He’ll miss her like hell.

No more baking, no more helping her plant flowers in her sunny backyard, no more taking slow walks to the park with her little yappy dog.

“Sorry,” Tommy mutters eventually, stomping the butt of his cigarette into the dirt.

“Huh?” Steve asks, not looking up.

“You know. About your grandma.”

“Oh,” Steve waves a hand, cigarette between his fingers. Nonchalant. Unemotional. Harrington. “S’fine, she was just some old lady.”

Tommy sniffs, raises an eyebrow. “It was your grandma, man.”

Steve shrugs, forces a smirk. “Reckon she left me anything in her will?”

He burns as he says it.

He doesn’t want money. Doesn’t want things. He just wants his grandma back.

Tommy snorts out a laugh, shakes his head, punches Steve lightly in the shoulder. “You’re a dick.”

Steve takes a long drag on the cigarette, blows the smoke out towards Tommy’s face. His friend swears and shoulder charges him, wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and the two of them start to wrestle.

Here, with the stench of tobacco on his breath, grunting as he tightens his grip on Tommy and shoves him roughly aside, Steve thinks this is the closest he’s been to a hug for a long time.

A silent tear tracks down his cheek, and Steve wipes it away before Tommy can see it.

He’s fourteen years old, and his best friend would rather punch him than hug him.

*****

He’s seventeen years old and in love with Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy holds his hand, sometimes. She kisses his cheek, smiles shyly when he wraps an arm around her waist, lets him touch.

But only sometimes.

And that’s ok, Steve thinks. He knows he can be too much, that he asks for too much, that ever since he was a little boy all he wanted was for someone to hold him, and now that he’s older, to hold someone in return.

He had to keep that in check. Had to keep his touches few and light – just a brush of his thumb over Nancy’s hand where he wanted to interlock their fingers, where he wanted to squeeze her tight to his chest and burrow his head into her shoulder and turn himself inside out for her.

He dreams about the creature that came out of the wall, sometimes.

Wakes up sweat-drenched with his pulse galloping, feels across the bed for Nancy’s hand because he keeps sneaking into her bedroom at night to sleep because he can’t handle being on his own right now.

She wakes. Holds his hand briefly, tells him it was just a dream, rolls over, lets his hand go. Faces away from him.

Steve tells himself it’s fine. His heart is still pounding, he’s still trembling slightly, but it’s fine.

He wishes Nancy would hold his hand a little longer. Wishes she’d tuck herself closer to him, press her lips to the back of his head, hold him until he’s able to fall asleep again.

But he’s a man now. He’s a Harrington, and he doesn’t need to be held.

Nancy had nightmares sometimes, too.

She’d cry out in her sleep, and Steve would carefully wrap an arm around her, murmur into her ear, tell her she was safe, that he had her.

When Nancy woke, she’d push him away. Tell him she needed to breathe, that she needed some space.

Steve tried to give her space. Tried other ways to try and help Nancy feel better – then came Tina’s party, then came the drink staining Nancy’s top and a cold bathroom and bullshit.

Steve was seventeen years old, and his love was bullshit.

*****

Steve is nineteen years old, and he has the best friend in the entire world.

He and Robin are glued at the hip. She hugs easily, drapes herself across him, nudges him with bony hips and elbows and grabs his hand when the lights at Family Video flicker because she knows that still terrifies him.

Steve’s not used to it.

To having someone reach for him, to pull him into a hug, to voluntarily reach out and touch him like there isn’t something wrong with him.

And so, he never reaches for her first. Always lets her initiate contact, because he never wants to be too much, not like how he was with his mother, with Nancy.

She’s standing next to him at work now. Shuffling through returned tapes, letting out a bored huff, leaning back on her elbows on the counter.

The bell above the Family Video door chimes.

Steve doesn’t look up until Robin pokes him in the ribs, until she waggles her eyebrows at him.

“Look who it is,” she whispers, with zero subtlety.

He doesn’t have to look to know it’s Eddie.

Because they’ve been playing this game for a while, Robin doing her best to bring the two of them together, to nudge them from this painful will-they won’t-they situation into something more serious.

The truth is, Steve’s head over heels for the other man.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know where to put it, because he doesn’t want to half-ass anything ever again – if he’s going to love Eddie, he wants to do it with everything he has, but everything Steve has always seems to be too much for everyone else.

If he ruins what he and Eddie already have, this easy friendship, it would put a strain on his relationship with the kids too, and everyone had already been through so much, he couldn’t…

“Oh my god, dingus,” Robin groans.

Eddie’s wandered on past the counter after shooting Steve a grin, headed for the sci-fi section tucked away in the corner.

“What?” Steve huffs.

“I can literally see the little cogs turning in there,” Robin flicks her index finger against the side of his head. “For the sake of my sanity, just talk to him. Please.”

“Fine,” Steve harrumphs, tossing a case to one side. “But if this goes badly, I’m blaming you.”

Robin smiles wide, reaches for his hand, squeezes it gently, encouragingly. “Go get him, Stevie.”

Steve is nineteen years old, and he finally has someone to hold his hand, even if not quite in the way he’d been longing for.

*****

Steve is twenty-two years old, and sometimes he’s so overwhelmed by love for this man that it stops him in his tracks.

He’s draped across Eddie, the two of them on the couch with the TV quietly playing something in the background but Steve doesn’t hear it.

His head is on Eddie’s chest, ear pressed to his heart, listening to the soothing rhythm of his boyfriend’s pulse.

Eddie has his arms wrapped tightly around Steve, one hand tracing gently up and down his bare back, fingers tracing over moles and scars and the ridges of his spine.

Steve breathes him in. Presses his head further into Eddie, like he could burrow into him. Wanted to, sometimes.

Eddie’s chest vibrates gently as he chuckles.

“Y’ok there, Stevie?” he asks, and kisses the top of his head.

“Mmmm,” Steve manages, voice muffled by Eddie’s chest.

It had taken him a long time to realize that Eddie wasn’t going anywhere.

In the early days of their relationship, Steve had been…restrained. Muted, afraid to overwhelm the other man, trying to carefully seek out where Eddie’s boundaries were, work out just how long he could hug him for, just how many kisses were too many, when Steve was starting to step over into being too damn much…

Three years later, and he still hadn’t found that boundary.

Eddie took everything Steve had to give him and poured it back tenfold.

He’d smile into Steve’s mouth when he kissed him, run his tongue along the seam of Steve’s lips until he let him in, he’d trace every mole and blemish on his skin with his fingers and then his mouth until Steve was squirming and laughing under him, he’d stroke and hold and squeeze and give and take.

Steve had so much love to give, and Eddie was hungry for it.

They’d been lying here for hours tonight. Skin to skin, Eddie warm and pliant under Steve, humming happily when Steve tightened his hold on him, when Steve’s breath puffed over his collarbone.

“Stevie?” Eddie asks eventually, hand resting in chestnut locks, nails scratching gently over Steve’s scalp.

“Yeah?”

“You ready for bed, sweetheart? You gotta get up early for work.”

Steve sighs, tucks himself back into Eddie’s chest. “Little longer?” he murmurs.

Eddie smiles. Lowers his hand to the back of Steve’s neck, massaging the muscle there, feeling the moment Steve sinks further into him.

“’Course, Stevie. As long as you like.”

Steve is twenty-two years old, and he finally has someone to hold him.

___

[sook9i]

— NAKED IN MANHATTAN

⋆｡°✩ After a drunk conversation leads you to question your feelings for your bandmate and friend, Hueningkai, maybe a night together in Manhattan is just what you need to clear the air.

. . . GENRE ! Hueningkai x reader | smut | fluff | friends to lovers

. . . CONTAINS ! virgin!kai, virgin!reader, 6th member!reader, afab!reader, talks of virginity, mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption, swearing, loss of virginity, unrealistic first time? (not that i would know), no established dynamics, fingering, protected sex 🙏, some aftercare, a little too much foreplay, consent checks, kinda just porn with plot, the other members tease them about their virginity (don’t do that)

. . . WORD COUNT ! 4660

. . . NOTES ! i’ve been writing this for,,,literally ever and i’m so glad it’s finally done !! this is inspired by naked in manhattan by chappell roan however considering that it’s a sapphic love song i’m still kinda unsure if i’m going to keep the title of it for this fic. if anyone has any opinions let me know!! anyways i hope you enjoy!!

. . . ADMIN ! written by callie 😼

Bright lights twinkle across the floor like stars. You can’t see the real stars up in the sky, but you make do with the high-rises lighting up the horizon. Cars beep and blare their horns stories below you. This sweet symphony fills the cold, empty hotel room like a lullaby. However, it isn’t really empty. You’re there, staring out across the Manhattan skyline. Kai’s there, just there behind a closed door in the bathroom. Bare only for the comforting hot water of the shower he was in. He’s there, racing through your thoughts like always. Around and around; an ever-looping track of vice. This boy, your friend, your bandmate, driving you crazy just by standing beyond a wall.

This isn’t exactly how you imagined spending a night in New York City. The rest of the boys took full advantage of the free night. Taehyun had wanted to explore, last you heard he was in Time Square. Beomgyu and Yeonjun had gone out to get some dinner and god only knows where they ended up, now five hours later.

Soobin, on the other hand, was the reason you ended up in this position. Having approached you after your radio show taping and apologetically begging you to let him have the single hotel room for the night. And how could you say no? You cared for your members, and your leader especially seemed like he could use a night with just himself. He was probably spread-eagle on the hotel bed, 5-steps deep into his skincare routine right now, and watching whatever show he’s been raving about for the past week; probably having the time of his life. However, when you agreed to give up your room, you failed to think about the implications. You didn’t consider that you’d now be rooming with whoever Soobin had left behind. You didn’t even think about how he usually roomed with Hueningkai. Not a single thought passed through your head, except sweet old sympathy for your leader. Now, you were considering disavowing kindness for the rest of your life because of where that nice gesture landed you.

You heard the water shut off in the bathroom like the final clock strike right before midnight. Face embarrassingly hot, you keep your back to the door as it opens. New light slants across the floor, fluorescent and harsh. It mingles with the soft rush of humidity into the room and claws at your pajamas. Begging you to turn, to look, to face the perpetual inhabitant of your dreams. You tried to ignore the way your heart sped up simply hearing him shuffle around behind you. Still, your blood ran hotter, building up in your cheeks and neck.

You’ve had your fair share of innocent crushes over time, including the one you’ve harbored for Huening over the past 4 years. However, none ever left you feeling like this. This disoriented, this flustered, this desperate despite actively trying to dismantle your feelings for months now. He’d manage to send you tumbling back down, head over heels, in one quick night. Just the thought of his voice, the way the words came to him so easily, kept you spiraling.

The night’s high spirits had long settled down. Celebrating the start of your world tour with drinks and food had kept the mood quite energetic. Now, spread out on the dorm floor, nursing a half-empty soju bottle, you find yourself prattling off to silence.

“Sooo…what are you guys most excited for in America?”

Yeonjun snorts from the couch above you, “You sound like every American interview we do.”

“Okay, well…you can be like 100% completely honest with me.”

“I wanna try some cool food and drinks or something.” Beomgyu jumps in, “Like the themed ones from specialty bars that people always post.”

The oldest hums in agreement, “It would be pretty nice to go out one night.”

“We’re in New York for a few days, I’m pretty sure we have an open night there.” Soobin pipes in, curled up in the couch corner.

“Maybe I’ll go visit the Lego store.”

A sudden chorus of laughter erupts at your words. Struggling to sit up, you frown at all the amused faces now in view.

“What’s so funny, assholes?”

“Y/nnie, you should get out more.” The words coming from Beomgyu were almost hypocritical.

“You’re one to talk! And, yeah, that’s why I’d go shopping.”

“We mean, like, get out and meet people. A different country is a great place for that, especially for us.” Taehyun sits in an armchair taking a slow sip from his can, “Go out, have a fun night, and just make sure they sign an NDA afterwards.”

Another round of laughter strikes up and it dawns on you what they’re actually talking about. Your face feels hot and a pout stretches on your lips.

“You guys all suck! I told you, it’ll happen when it happens.” You cross your arms, almost whining like a child, “Why don’t you ever tease Huening about this? I’m not the only virgin in the group!”

Yeonjun snorts, “Damn, way to throw Kai under the bus.”

“Wait, no,” You frantically turn your head around to his seat behind you. “Huening, I didn’t mean-”

He breaks a small smile, “It’s okay, Y/n, I get what you meant.”

“We’re, like, virginity pals.” You stupidly bump your shoulder into his which elicits a very awkward laugh.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

Beomgyu is quick to the draw, immediately beginning to ramble on about his latest meet-up with Jeongin. You don’t get a chance to catch much of it as lips brush along your ear.

“You know, if you ever want to fix that, you can just ask me.” His voice is low and even, his breath leaves goosebumps along your neck. The words swim up and around your head, wiping away some of the haze; snapping you into a brief sense of clarity to process what he just said. You feel your heart almost sputter to a stop. Unable to choke out a response, you turn to look at him only to find cold air. Huening is up and away in the kitchen getting another drink, leaving you alone and flustered. Caught in his words’ web like a helpless fly.

They’ve been plaguing you since their utterance 5 days ago. Orbiting your brain like an ever-present moon. Driving you so far up the proverbial wall that, once you come back down, you will surely die on impact. You’ve never felt this confused, wondering if he meant what he said, if he even remembered it. Perhaps you were driving yourself insane over something inconsequential to him. How were you going to survive this night?

“You wanna watch a movie?”

So easily, he has you trapped. You have to face him, face this, and act completely normal. Act like your thoughts haven’t been full of him; the things you’d let him do to you and the things you’d do to him in return. Act like the way water drips from the edges of his hair, tracing his bare collar, isn’t driving you mad. Wet spots decorate the thin, white shirt stretched across his shoulders. It sticks to the vaguely visible skin trailing down his torso. A pair of sweatpants hang dangerously low off his hips, you struggle to bring your eyes away back up to his face. There his face is soft, head tilted and eyes crinkled, expecting an answer. You want to shrivel beneath his sweet gaze.

“I-um, yeah, sure. W-what movie?”

“Oh, I don’t really know. I was just going to see what’s streaming, maybe order some room service.” He drops a laptop onto his bed. Crawling atop the sheets, he flips it open and looks back at you. Waiting, expectant. His hand softly pats the duvet beside him and you have nowhere to run.

The sheets are standard fare for a hotel and the mattress is stiff as you sit. You’re practically almost hanging off the edge trying to keep a safe distance from Kai. If your skin so much as brushed his, you’d be broken. You weren’t willing to risk bumping knees. If he thinks it odd, he doesn’t say anything. Looking at the screen, he’s now scrolling through a bunch of movie options. Title after title flys by. Two of his fingers push along the mouse pad. The muscles of his hand twitch with every movement; veins shifting, knuckle tucking in and out. From fingertip to wrist his hands are huge, probably enough to completely cover your face. His fingers especially, are very long, so thin-cut and delicate. It can only make you wonder just how deep they could reach. If he knew how to really use them.

You feel your brain melting into a cesspool of depravity the longer you’re around him. Squeezing your eyes tight, the thoughts barely dissipate. Although, you’re granted a small peace as he picks your mind with something else.

“How about Spider-man?”

“Hm?” Peeking back at the screen, his cursor had landed on a Spider-Verse movie. Although, you didn’t really know which one. Your head feels so cotton-stuffed, you simply nod without a thought. So he clicks on the card to play. Opening credits roll in and you fall further into the static. This movie should’ve been the perfect distraction, something exciting and enjoyable. However, the soft heat of the boy curled beside you permeates your skin like a fever. It’s no use, you can’t fight the speed of your heart. The blood rush through your ears takes up everything in the room. Eyes, laser focused to the laptop screen, yet mind somewhere far away. So far you don’t notice the sound of the movie stopping suddenly.

“Y/n?”

Kai’s knee softly bumps yours as he faces you. It’s like a lightning strike right to the chest. Heartbeat rocketing, your words get jumbled. “Wha-um-what?”

“I…Is something wrong? Did I do something?” He avoids eye contact, hands twisting up.

“N-no, no-um, Huening…what’s up?”

“I just…I feel like you’ve kinda been avoiding me? His eyes slowly drag up to your face. “Like, you won’t even look at me.”

All you can hear is the blood rushing over your chest and cheeks, it’s all you can see as well. Kai’s eyebrows are knit together in an expression that should not be nearly as hot as your overdriven brain thinks it is. The words jumble up in your throat, a 4-year confession and a week-long confessional-in-the-making. Your brain goes blank. Everything seems to spill out.

“I-I’m not…upset. I’m-Kai-it’s um, just…do…do you remember that conversation we had…like the night of the first show?” Your stomach twists, ready to eat itself up in embarrassment.

“Um, maybe…” His eyes flit around as if trying to grasp the memory from the air. Brows draw in tighter before he stills. A chill settles between you two. His face explodes in Saharan heat. “Oh god.”

The realization fills up the room with its horrible heated mortification. Your head hangs, guilt pooling in your lap.

“Oh-oh god, Y/n, I’m so sorry! I’m so so sorry! I should’ve never said that, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m so sorry-”

“No-no, you-you didn’t. I just-” You bury your head in your hands. Your cheeks burn the skin like a radiator, your heart feels like a supernova. The room is caving in on you. This wall you’d built up, a protective shell around your fragile heart, crumbled. The words taste sour on your tongue. “Did…did you mean it…what you said?”

Silence sinks into your bones, shriveling under the weight of your humiliation. You can’t bring yourself to look at Huening. You want to run, hide, jump off the roof, but you're stuck to the mattress; to the darkness of your eyes; to his sharp intakes of air.

“I did.” An angry red flush covers his face and a pillow now covers his lap. His voice and eye contact remain steady, nonetheless.

The room is too small, too hot. You need to crawl out of your skin and cool off, but the words just keep coming.

“S-so…if I wanted to-um-take you up on your offer…”

Your hands fist the sheets fitfully, you can’t meet his eyes beneath the weight of your shame. This is all you have thought about for the past week, and, suddenly living in your fantasy, you feel like a creep.

The touch of soft fingertips brushing over your jaw jolts to your already frayed nerves. He turns your gaze up to his. Something deep and unfamiliar has settled in his eyes; a darkness that bores right down into that depraved nest in your heart.

Somehow, his voice keeps calm, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please-“ You can't finish the word before you’re silenced. Smooth, honey plush lips blanket yours, like something out of a daydream. The first sensation to hit is his taste: mint toothpaste and vanilla chapstick; you have to fight the urge to bite at his lip for more. Your crossed-knees touch, bodies leaning forward to meet in the middle. Your noses knock and bump awkwardly before you settle into a rhythm. He borders an intense line between inexperienced eagerness and hesitant care. Keeping your hands firm at your sides, unsure how to move, he runs his fingers up and over your arms, coaxing them to cradle the nape of his neck. In turn, he does the same.

He unravels you. The rigid rod holding back your shoulders dissipates; fingers curl into the soft, still damp hair at the base of his neck. A sigh pulls at your lips as you lose yourself to this building heat. Slowly, inhibition slips away. You find yourself moving with an unprecedented fervor. Kai leans further into you, tilting your head back to his will, nails scratching deftly at your scalp. A conflicting pain trembles over your skin, swirling with an untapped pleasure until the two are indistinguishable. He pulls a jolting gasp from your chest. The sound which follows, you can only categorize as embarrassing. A strangled sort of noise; something long built-up, catching in your throat and struggling out in a breathy whine. Your face flares up, you wanna disappear as Kai pulls away slightly. Softly, his breath hitches. Creaking open your eyes, you’re met with a sight that almost drags the sound out again.

Kai’s eyes, half-lidded and dark, bore down on you, haloed with pink, heated cheeks. His lips are kiss-bitten red and glossy. A wet dream come true. You tug him back to your lips, a new heat building in the kiss.

You aren’t sure who makes the first move, who bites first, but when his tongue pushes up against yours, you succumb fully to this new feeling filling you up. An unfamiliar greed beats in your chest, a rabid craving for more. More and more sounds mingle between both of you, unabashedly. With every sweet whine of Kai’s, the hunger grows. Your fingers tug at his hair, his press hard into your waist. Air is inconsistent and unnecessary.

“Kai-” Lips keep moving against yours. “More.”

“Can I-”His hands fumble around your waist a bit, mouth still keeping in time. “Your shirt.”

You begin nodding without even thinking about it. Finally, you break from each other. His hands hike your shirt up your chest before you peel the rest off. You move to do the same for him but he’s already ahead of you. His shirt comes up and over his head before being tossed alongside yours. The porcelain skin of his chest lays out before your eyes. Heart beat picking up, you trace each ridge and jut and mole back up to meet his gaze, one just as entranced as you are.

As your lips meet again, they move with much more care. Something deep and unspoken swimming on your lips and stirring up your chest. Fingers drift gently over freckles and goosebumps running up both your sides. Your back melts into the mattress; Huening’s intoxicating touch burning up your brain. His hands glide up and circle your chest softly. Brushing the sensitive, supple skin, more whimpers tumble out. Your hands copy his, nails dragging faintly down his soft stomach. His lips shudder against yours, breathing groans over your tongue. Knees sit on either side of your hips, keeping Kai’s body hovering precariously over you. The tantalizing promise of his weight above you draws your fingers lower. Just a fingertip dipping into the waistband of his sweatpants. The hitch in his breath is slight.

The kiss disconnects once again as you look at each other, drinking in the sight. His hair mused back wildly and eyes blown wide, a million emotions fly between you. Keeping your eyes locked, that curious hand of yours hesitantly slips from its place. Pulling out of Kai’s waistband, it snakes atop the fabric, coming to cup the prominent bulge beneath it. Your heart stutters at the heavy feeling of him in your hand. Kai’s eyes widen infinitesimally. Your curious fingers squeeze softly and you watch as the last bits of his composure crumble. Head dropping into your neck, his moan is guttural and desperate. His hips buck further into your palm and it becomes incredibly apparent just how big he is

“God-y/n, please…” The desperation with which he speaks your name, the whine and groan and guttural need pouring from his throat, finally breaks you.

For a moment, the only thought running through your head is how quickly you can get his sweatpants off. He seems to be thinking the same as his fingers pluck at your own waistband. However, as you’re about to give in, something stops you.

“Kai…” Embarrassment floods your face, “Do you…have a condom?”

His eyes widen, jaw dropping softly. A subtle red paints his cheeks as he slowly crawls off your body.

He awkwardly shuffles over to his bag on the floor before pulling out a small box of condoms. “I-I wasn’t, like, planning on using them. Or anything…Yeonjun-hyung put them in my bag…”

“Well, thank god for Yeonjun, I guess.”

Laughter eases the embarrassed tension as he rips open the packaging. Although he hesitates to take out the latex. You eye the clothes still covering both your bottom halves.

“I-I can…take mine off first. If you want?”

He matches your gaze, moving back towards the bed, “Are you-Do you want this? Like, 100%?”

“Yes.” Your head nods before you can even think about it, “Yeah, I-I do. Do you?”

“Yes.”

Leaning up, your lips meet his in a soft, sweet kiss. You slowly take his hand in yours and move it back down to your hip, to the bare skin beneath your waistband. Then, you tug your shorts down with his fingers. Finally, fully unclothed, you muscle through the timidity to open your eyes. The pure reverence in his face nearly calms your beating heart.

“Kai, please. Touch me.”

Huening makes quick work of his own bottoms. They pool at his ankles though your eyes are glued to the way his cock smacks against his stomach. He rolls the smooth latex down his skin and your eyes follow with a shiver. Even with little-to-no frame of reference, you’re all too aware that he’s big. Standing at the edge of the bed, towering over you, he is just as entranced with you as you are with him. Any room for embarrassment melts away into an unrelenting need.

You yank him back and his lips messily onto yours; tongues mingling and meshing. His fingers wisp up your bare thighs, sparking a lingering electricity. Your mouth lands on his neck with kisses and kitten licks. The breathy groan you pull from him with a soft bite sounds like heaven. Hands move further toward the inside of your thighs, brushing over your core. He fumbles for a moment before you reach to take his hand in yours. Awkwardly, you guide two slender fingers up to your clit, starting them in a circle motion. Your back arches into the feeling, head sinking into the pillows. Huening watches your reactions diligently, slowly gaining more confidence in his movements. The fingers slip away from the nub as one of them trails down to cautiously push into you. It takes a moment for the odd stretch to settle and melt into pleasure, but as your hips buck into his hand, Kai takes the hint. He uses his thumb to keep circling your clit while experimentally curling two fingers against your walls. This foreign pleasure is overwhelming and not enough.

“I-is this okay?”

Your voice feels stuck so you nod enthusiastically, eyes screwed tight. Fingernails dig into Kai’s scalp as you frantically pull him back to your lips. You work your tongue over his lips and onto his. Running your teeth down his jaw into the juncture of his neck, you litter the skin with soft bites. Lost in the pleasure, your movements feel crazed; desperate. That ever-looming climax is so close yet so far. You need it, like oxygen.

“Need more. Need you, please-please, Hyuka-”

Emptiness only fuels your desperation. Kai’s hips shift squarely over yours as his hand moves up between your bodies. His hard cock brushes your oversensitive thighs; the fog in your mind thickens. In the haze, you take Huening’s, now messy, hand into your mouth, licking over the fingers and tasting yourself on them. They tickle at the back of your throat, freeing a pleased hum.

Kai’s poor cock twitches against your leg and his chest stutters as you keep two lidded eyes on his. The fingers slip from your lips with a slight pop. His agape mouth falls onto yours, devouring your taste on your own tongue. That spit-slick hand guides his weeping tip down through your folds. It catches on your clit and teases your entrance. A gasp breaks your mouths apart. Kai’s fluttering breaths paint your cheeks.

“I-I’m gonna…can I…?”

“Hyuka, just fuck me. Please.”

“Oh-okay-uh, tell-tell me when to move.”

With a deep breath, his hips begin pushing into yours. The stretch sets in; a fire rippling between your legs. Like being ripped apart while still getting stitched back together. A contradicting pain, spreading slowly with Kai’s hesitation. He breathes sickly sweet whimpers into your ears and cradles your hands with his. They mingle in the sheets; an echo of heaven. It’s nearly enough to distract you from the pain as he bottoms out.

“F-fu-shit-ah…you-you’re so…” His forehead hits your shoulder, punctuated with fluttering kisses. “…amazing.”

Pain subsides steadily in a flurry of sensations. The excruciating stretch melting into numbing pleasure. Kai’s touch and affection; everything about him surrounding you everywhere. His heat pressed into your skin, his breath mixed with yours, your hearts beating in tandem as you join completely. You are full of him, of love for him, of need for him. Like you’ve pushed all the air out of your body to make more room for him. Every part of you yearns for everything he has to give.

“Kai-god-” You gasp out. “Y-you can move.”

Shakily, he draws his hips back. You feel every ridge and vein run along inside you. And when he pushes back in, your chests shudder in unison; moans and groans filling the hotel room. He continues slowly; falling into overwhelming pleasure. It muddles your thoughts and weighs down your tongue. And—when Kai’s sloppy thrusts settle into an eager, consistent pace—it numbs your mind in ecstasy.

The room devolves into heady grunts and sharp whines echoing in your ears. A mantra of his name builds—a plead, an oath, a prayer—spilling from your heart, coating your lips. Huening answers the call, swallowing your desperation with his own. You lose yourselves in each other. In the heat of your skin and lips meeting recklessly again and again. You need him closer, deeper; filling up your lungs and pumping through your veins. He wants more. Fingerprints and hickeys litter their way down your body at his discretion. His teeth sink in your shoulder, your nails scratch down his back. It’s instinctual and awkward, yet perfect.

The whirlwind in your stomach grows stronger, closer and closer to imploding. You felt yourself teetering, standing on the edge of an unfamiliar precipice. With his breath and pace picking up, it seemed Kai was right there as well. His hand detached from its bruising placement on your hip. Moving his thumb over your clit in deft circles, an extra jolt of pleasure arcs up your spine.

“K-kai, there-please, please, please.” His name tumbles out in whimpers, as does to yours from his lips.

“F-fuck-close-I’m-” A shudder runs through his body, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. His finger keeps tight to your clit. Your lips clash as the bubble between you pops.

White explodes behind your eyelids. Mind-numbing pleasure fills your every limb. You’re floating on bliss like you’ve never experienced and everything else falls away. Except for Kai. He surrounds you, he fills your lungs and makes you whole. His weak whimpers and moans trail off in your ears like the sounds of heaven. His hips keep moving, stopping jerkily as pleasure seeps into overstimulation. Kai’s arms buckle trying to keep his full body weight off you. He rolls off of you, landing on his back.

Silence fills the air in the aftermath. You exchange heavy breaths, staring off at the ceiling. As the high slowly fades, so does the fog in your head. Realization settles sharp in your bones. Dread and elation stir in your stomach, brewing a dangerous cocktail of words.

“I like you.”

Huening sits up a little, “Huh?”

“I…god, I’m so sorry-” You pull yourself up and look back down at the man, turning the words over in your head until they spill out. “Kai, I really really like you…I have for the past 4 years! And I know this is probably a horrible time to be saying this, but I just…I don’t want this to ruin us or-or the group and I-”

“Y/n! Y/n…” He pulls your hands into his. A bright smile splits his cheeks, shining on your face. “I really like you too.”

Air collapses in your chest, soft and scared. “…R-really?”

His eyes shine and melt into raspberry cheeks with an eager nod. “I didn't mean for it to come out like this, but…”

“Maybe you should get tipsy more often.” Both of you spill over with giddy giggles. A brand new kind of ecstasy fills up your chest, beating in time with Kai’s heart.

“Maybe…”

Your heartbeat speeds, building with each passing second as you look at Huening. Sweet chocolate eyes you could drink in, overindulge, and just never stop. And they look right back at you with the same adoration that’s pumping through your veins.

“I’ll, uh, go get a towel so we can clean up.” Kai shifts off bed, disappearing into the bathroom to discard the condom. He returns with a warm towel, as promised, and begins to gently wipe up your thighs, staying cautious around your still-sensitive folds. The heat soothes some of the worse marks littering your skin, combined with Kai’s delicate kisses over them.

After he works his way up, he ends with your lips. You move in harmony, swapping sweet giggly pecks, fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. The way his hands cradle your cheeks—all encompassing, trapping their heat—feels like home. Neither of you can contain the joy flooding your faces with huge smiles. They remain even as he pulls away.

“Can we still finish that movie?”

“Sure, hyuka.”

Peace fills the space between you. Love wrapping around and around, building and keeping you safe in its embrace. The world melts away leaving only this room, this moment, the breaths shared between you, the heat of your bare skin melding into his. Curling together beneath the sheets, you bask in it; this revelation of reciprocated love. For a moment, nothing exists beyond you and Kai among the Manhattan skyline.

[soxcietyy]

my request is yuta finding readers toys and testing it on her the next time they do the deed 🙏🙏

Rating’s

This is embarrassingly late, I’m so sorry 😭🙏🏼

Nobara comes over to your house with a mystery box just to be disappointed with the contents inside. Yuta shows up unexpected and seems very interested in it.

"Hey! Guess who finally got the goods! Can’t wait to see what’s in here." Nobara said as she stood in front of your door with a cardboard box in her hands. It took you a second to even figure out what in the world she was talking about. What plans could of you guys made that you had forgotten about?

Ah yes last week she had mentioned that she made a new friend who owned a company. He said that he needed people to review his new products before he could launch them in his shop. Before he could reveal what it was Nobara stopped him, telling the guy that she wanted it to be a surprise. She promised to run over here once she received the package so you guys could be surprised together.

"What do you think it could be? Clothes? Food? Candy? Skincare? Makeup?!" Nobara said excitedly as she squeezed passed you. She didn’t need permission to enter because she would barge in even if you said no.

Walking into your apartment she decided to put the box on the coffee table. A loud thud could be heard as it made contact with the glass top. She took a seat on the floor as she waited for you, excited to see what was inside. She almost looked like a kid eager to open there gift. That would have to wait a second though. Walking to the kitchen you grab some wine glasses and a bottle so you guys could enjoy together. Whatever it was would go perfectly with a cold bottle of wine.

"Hurry up!" She says as she crosses her arms.

Yyou let out a sigh as you lean on the island, then you tell her to open the tape up while you poured drinks.

"I’m so excited!" Nobara says as she pulls out her keys and drags it across the tape to tear it open. While she did that you opened the bottle and poured the drinks into the glass. Once you had finished you approach her and place the cups down. Nobara didn’t want to waste anymore time, she pulls you towards her so you could look above the box with her.

"Okay I’m going to open it in three, two, one."

She opens the box to reveal what’s inside. Both of you look at each other in shock. It was a box full of toys and they weren’t the kid friendly ones. You put your hand inside and pull out a pink silicone toy in the shape of a male body part. You couldn’t help but crack a smile at your friend.

"That disgusting monster!" She says in disbelief.

"Hey now, I’m sure he was going to tell you what it was before you stopped him." You say defending the man.

She rolls her eyes as she sits back down on the floor with her legs crossed. As she continued to pout you pull out some lube that was brand new and sealed. You quirk your brow as you read the flavor of the lube, popcorn… interesting.

"Common Nobara this isn’t bad at all! You don’t get laid enough so I think this could help you out." You tease.

"Ha Ha, very funny y/n" she stood up abruptly and started to walk away.

You furrow your brows as you turn to look at her. "Where are you going?" You ask

"I’m not intrested in this kind of stuff, you’ll probably use it well. Your man probably doesn’t satisfy you enough so have fun." She says throwing shade back. As she opens the door you see someone standing in the door way. Her jaw drops when she noticed it was Yuta.

Speak of the devil.

"Uh y/n … Yuta is here."

You quickly put everything back and kick the box on the floor behind you once you heard those words fall out her mouth. You had forgotten that he mentioned coming over today. You didn’t need him finding such things in your house, he’d get the wrong idea. You scramble to stand up with the glass of wine still in your hand. Taking a sip of your drink you run to the front door. To find him with a concerned look.

"You okay? You look pale." Yuta steps inside and holds your face to examine it.

You kindly put his hands down and assure him you’re fine. Your friend on the other hand had already made her escape. Seems like she didn’t want to be apart of what might happen in he finds the box.

Shutting the door behind him you watch him make his way to your couch. Maybe he would ignore the box. You had it closed so he wouldn’t open it right? He tends to respect your privacy after all.

You stood by the door watching him anxiously walk past the box. He took a seat and turned his attention to the tv that had drama playing. You sigh in relief seeing he had no interest in the box.

"You want some wine? Nobara didn’t even take a sip out of hers, it would be a waste." You say heading towards him.

"Yea I’ll drink it but could you please bring me some cheese and crackers? You know I cant have wine without them." He asks you nicely as he sat up from the couch to take a whiff of the wine.

You make your way in the kitchen and start making him his plate. While you did that you could hear him shuffling around, most likely getting comfortable. You couldn’t help but look over him a few times as you were occupied. Eventually you got fully focused on cutting the slices perfectly that you forgot to check on him. While cutting last bit of cheese you decide to look up but when you did the knife in your hand drops. Yuta was sitting on the couch with the box in his hands wide open.

He looked at you and the box back to back until he decided to place the box down to approach you. He had a concerned look on his face as he grabbed your hands.

"Am I not enough? You could told me this, no need to resort to that kind of stuff." He says with a sad tone.

You couldn’t help but stare blankly at him.

"N-no! Yuta you have the wrong idea. Nobara came over to drop thoes off so me and her could test them out." You say panicked.

You watch as his jaw drop from disbelief. Of course you worded it wrong. "Her friend owns a company and they have these new products! He needs a review before he drop it. Of course we’re not going to test them out together! Apart because we’re not like that."

He drops your hand feeling at ease with your answer.

"I’m relieved but you’re going to use these on your own? I doubt you would know how to use them." Yuta said as he walked to the box and pulled out a rose toy. Turning it in different directions so he could get a good look at the weird contraption.

"I’m more than capable of figuring it out." You roll your eyes.

He stalks back towards you as he held a wand vibrator in his hands. Bringing it near him mouth to use it as a microphone. "Two reviews are better than one." Yuta says as in the "mic" .

Putting the wand down next to the cutting board he pulls out the rose, clearly being interested in that one the most. He lifted you up and sat you on the counter you down on the counter. Pulled your night gown up as he tried to figure out how to turn on the flower.

Grabbing it from his hand you slowly direct your finger towards the power button so he could see. Once you pressed it, it started to vibrate in your hands letting out a humming noise. He quickly grabbed it to feel the vibration in his hands. A small smile appeared on his face as he put it against his hand.

"This has power." He says as he felt how strong and fast it was. Bring his hand down he tried to put it against your privates but you stopped him by covering the area.

"You’re not going to wash it first?" You looked at him.

He quickly turned on the faucet that was next to you and washed it with soap and water. He came back immediately to not ruin the mood. He then brings up the toy to his mouth and begins to lick it.

You were in disbelief from his actions. He was licking it and swirling his tongue on it as he pulled your panties to the side. He then pressed it on you once he was satisfied with the wet coat he had just created it. You jolt at the sudden vibration it created. You bite your cheek as you grab into his shoulder for support. You never really used something like this because there was no need. Yuta managed to satisfy your needs easily so this was entirely new to you.

Yuta would gradually go fast and faster until you were at your climax but this toy got to the point. It didn’t take long before your legs are shaking and your grip on him tightened. You begged him to not press it up your bran to hard but he didn’t listen. Instead he studied your facial expressions and mocked you when you would open your mouth from pleasure. Asking if you like this better than him.

You would shake your head but he didn’t stop. He was clearly trying to teach you some sort of lesson but it wasn’t getting quite through. Not even ten minutes passed and you were orgasming in his hand.

"Five stars" he says as he walks away.

While you try to catch your breath you find him Infront of you once again. You were surprised he came back so quickly. He saw your struggle to get down so he helped you down with one hand. You lean onto him as you try to regain your composure but he gave you little to no time as he bent you over the counter and shoved something in you.

You gasp at the sudden familiar feeling of being full. It wasn’t as filling as you were used to taking but it still felt amazing Turning back at him you see Yuta with an intrigued look. He pulled out the object out of you and slammed it back inside. You let out a loud cry from pleasure. He then pulls it in and out in a steady pace as he watched you squirm. You beg him to slow down In between moans.

You try to grip onto the counter as he pounded you with the toy. Hitting the right spot over and over again.

"This mouth was so hungry for something huh? Look at her drooling all over this toy." Yuta says as your juices run down his hand. You close your eyes out of embarrassment. Your legs loosing the will to support you in the process. Yuta was quick to catch you before you could fall.

He ended up paying on the couch While resting your body on his chest. You relaxed in his embrace until you felt the toy go back inside you. You look up at him with an annoyed look.

"What? We need to rate this toy. Won’t be possible until you finish." He kisses your head as continued were he left off. You grip his shirt as he started slamming the silicone toy in you. Body jolting everytime he dug it deep inside your body. Was he really planning on testing everything out on you? There was no way anyone could go through such a box. That’s at least twenty five orgasms in one go.

Another orgasm rippled through your body. You moan out his name as you grab his arm that was helping move the toy in and out of you.

"Seven, took you way too long to orgasm. Even I can do it in less time, it got the job done though. 3 stars."

"No more" you croak out in desperation.

"Why not? We just got started." Yuta sits you on you couch.

You pull your dress down with a flushed face.

"I can do the rest in my own with my own pace. Plus these toys are usually meant for self pleasure. It wouldn’t be fair to rate them together." You say hoping that wound stop him from continuing.

"Oh" he says "then masturbate with them."he says.

"I will, eventually." You say as you grab the toy Yuta was using as a microphone not too long ago.

"Do it right now, Infront of me." He tilts his head.

You look at him shocked.

"I couldn’t possibl-"

He grabs your hand with the toy and pushes it down there. You swallow hard as he looked into your eyes.

"I won’t touch you. I won’t bother you." He smiles as he sits on the couch opposite from you. "I’ll just sit here."

You bite your lip as he tells you to go on. You have no choice but to listen. Pulling your panties down you put your legs on the couch. Spreading them apart until he had a full view of everything. You watch as his hands roam on his pants. Caressing his member that rested under those pants.

Closing your eyes you turn on the device and put it on your bud. You let out a shameful moan out immediately because you were already so sensitive. You rubbed it up and down your area. Hips rolling back and forward from pleasure.

It felt so good but something was missing. You couldn’t think of what it could be. Maybe more of a stronger vibration? A faster speed? A better shape? Or maybe it was the man Infront of you.

You let out whimpers as you open your eyes too look at him. He was sitting down watching you pleasure yourself from afar. Eyes not looking away from you even for a second. You couldn’t help but wish for him to touch you and to do more.

"Yut-a" you flutter your eyes at him.

He tried his best not to respond since he said he wasn’t going to bother you but the look you were giving him made him turn on his words.

"Yes baby?" He asks.

"I want you to do it form me." You say.

Yutas leg jolted from excitement but he knew he shouldn’t. Still he stood up and approached you. Sitting on the floor right in front of you.

"Common baby you can do it." He says moving your hand a bit lower so you could get a better position on it. The small movement made a huge difference. You were now squirming like crazy. Legs twitching uncontrollably. All that came out your mouth now was your moaning and small profanity’s. Yutas name coming out time by time which he loved.

"Such a good girl, come for me no?"

He said as he kissed your thighs up and down, trying not to intervene too much. You cry out his name once more as you came. Body completely shutting down on you. Yuta was quick to move the toy out the way and bury his face in between your legs.

"Y-Yuta!?" You squeal

You tried to push him away but he was not moving until he decided he was. He ended up eating you out until he left you clean.

"Sorry I couldn’t help myself."

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon Fucks a Human Sacrifice (epilogue)

Mom gets fitted for dentures next week 🎊 🎉 🦷 💝

Epilogue (Promises)

You had meant it when you said it so long ago. A promise. One you intended to keep

「Warnings/Promises: Alastor x Fem Reader, Valentino x Fem reader (just TRUST ME), nipple chain, Val exists too much, Kaiju cock, pussy wet??, aphrodisiac, Alastor shade, fanatic sinners, misleading porno covers, Angel Dust is perfect as always, blood, stabbing, filming sexy things, Val in a thong, licking, hair pulling, why bad man have big dick, Alastor isn’t horny but he is possessive, pussy in the ether」

Part 1 smut 💦 Part 2 smut 💦 Side Story Part 3 smut 💦 Part 4 smut💦 Epilogue sexual

***Spoiler for people that need Val warnings*** Val dick touches reader pussy. Val explicit scenes are purple. if you skip the purple parts you will still understand the story and still be in the scene, interacting with him. Reminder, reader is there intentionally and consenting.

minors omg look over there! (🏃‍♀️💨Dni)

“I will admit, I was surprised to get your message.” Val exhaled, one hip out as he rest his weight on his right foot. You hadn’t planned on seeing him again, but as you became comfortable in hell you found yourself remembering the promise to yourself. One you made that day you met Alastor. On the floor of that studio. Your eyes scanned the room. The space was different, the set no longer your cursed cabin scene.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You took a deep breath, you’d practiced this, “Well I’ve been in hell for a while now… and I see you everywhere. I’ve been thinking,” your eyes caught on the door you were confident led to the room that held you. To the bed. Another shaky exhale, you never were much of an actress. “I really missed my chance with you. A powerful overlord… a celebrity.”

A dark chuckle from the moth, his ego fluttering, “Ooh, you’re a little celebrity in your own right. My best seller in ages.”

Oh, right. The tape. You hadn’t watched it yet. Alastor set the VHS copy on the bookshelf, an agreement made you could revisit that memory together if you ever wanted to. Not that you hadn’t heard it before. Nearly two years after its release and still people played it in public. Your first visit to Rosie started with you red faced and sputtering, having had someone on the way there thrust a DVD in front of you. 

The stranger asked for an autograph, but as soon as you saw the cover photo the entire thing had been knocked into the street by Alastor’s microphone. He had been trying to shelter you from interacting too much with the movie.

“Was that—is the cover—?” You were frozen as the sinner ran off, mind trying to process the image.

Alastor hummed, “Not what I’d choose, but I signed away all rights when I made the deal. A little misleading of a photo if you ask me.” He watched with glee as a car pulverized the disc and case. 

A blood red demonic seal splattered with a white liquid and a slender hand scraping into the wood.

“But that’s the Vees for you!”

Indeed, that was the Vees. Val gestured at you with his cigarette and its dramatic holder, “Aren’t you still with the radio demon? Not that I care.” He took a few steps towards you, getting you into arm’s reach before grabbing you by the back of the head and pulling you into him, “Just cuz there's a goalie doesn’t mean I can’t score.”

With how your head was angled back as he had your hair tightly wound in his fist you could see the TV. Always Vox News, you assumed. The time was displayed in the corner. “I am but— he doesn’t, ya know… he doesn’t know I’m here. But he’ll be looking for me soon.”

He stared down at you, pupil-less eyes without emotion. Your scalp began to burn and after a few seconds you had to shift your weight to relieve some of the pull. It made your upper stomach rub against his crotch. Not at all your intention. But you knew you’d have to touch him eventually.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t do shit at anyone else’s speed.” His hand released your hair, “Could be fun though…,” Valentino traced along your jaw with his tongue before squeezing your cheeks in his hand, “fucking Alastor’s woman.”

He was off you as quickly as he had pounced, makeshift jacket swirling behind him as he spun around and walked to the door you’d seen before.

Another glance at the television. You had 10 minutes before Alastor would be calling. A small panic that you didn’t have enough time. 

Alastor rarely called on you, because rarely were you very far away. He didn’t have you on a leash, you just enjoyed his company. You’d scroll on your phone while he worked in his radio station  or read a book while he enjoyed his breakfast in the morning. 

Also, well, going out alone could be intimidating. People swung from two extremes when they saw you— excited fan or terrified sinner. 

The fans knew you were with Alastor. 

The other sinners knew you were with Alastor. 

The DVD incident had spooked you, not helped by the fact it had been your first outing. Alastor had been eager, even if he didn’t say it, to introduce you to the cannibal overlord. 

Having you back in his presence brought a deep seated sense of calm to him, one best compared to the feeling he had when gossiping with Rosie over coffee. Naturally he wanted his closest friend to meet the soul who’d stolen his attention. And Rosie was delighted to meet you, evident with the extravagant tea (and a singular coffee)  she set up and her litany of questions.

But every time she asked something she also seemed to answer it herself.

“Are you happy to be together again in your body?! I’m sure you are.” She offered you a finger you had to decline. 

“I bet you two have been busy.” A wink, “Though you must have been for it to take so long to get down here.”

Alastor shrunk a little as she smacked at his shoulder. You hadn’t seen him allow others to touch him before. Had that been Angel, the second one of his many arms cocked back Alastor would have stepped away or disappeared. Just a hit and you could see how close they were.

You made a point of befriending her, coming often after that initial meeting to her shop for gossip and advice. As time went on, you began to learn about Alastor’s normal. It was nice to have a mutual friend to discuss your worries and ideas with. 

“And oh! That video. Talk about hot under the collar!”, a petite laugh, “Did you see it?” Rosie waited for you to answer this time. When you shook your head no, she waved her hand, “For the best. The climax was totally unwatchable!”

You turned to Alastor, not sure what that meant, but he didn’t meet your gaze and instead slowly blinked out of sync at the bookshelves behind Rosie’s shoulder. 

“Did you know he’s not into all that?” She took a sip, “You better be patient with him ya got it?”

That question caught you off guard. Apparently for him too, Alastor coming back to life at the change of tone, “This isn’t really a tea topic, dear friend.”

Rosie hummed, “Where are my manners! I was just so relieved he didn’t up and leave for another seven years.” 

What’s a scowl shared between friends?

But shared between whatever you and Val were…?

Valentino’s wings unfurled revealing long fishnet covered legs. You watched as he swayed his hips side to side on his way to the bed. The same bed as before. You remembered the shape and purple comforter that you could see down your blindfold.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to already be undressed.” Where were his pants and button up? This was moving faster than you’d anticipated. 

He turned back to you as he plopped down onto the bed, “What I wear isn’t any of your business. Though, speaking of business.” He pointed to the corner, a part of the room you’d never seen before. A camera on a tripod stood there. “Turn it on.”

Your grimace was immediate. “You sure you wanna film this one?”

Impatient, he crossed his legs and leaned back on two hands, “Did you think you could just come in here, ask to fuck me and … what? It’d be all on your terms?”

Yes. 

You’d worn a dress expressly for ease, and slipped off your panties before going to the camera. For some reason you didn’t want that recorded. It seemed embarrassing. More so than what you were about to do.

Val’s turn to gawk, “You’re seriously not planning on staying dressed.”

“What I wear isn’t any of your business.” You opened the view screen and hit record.

His laugh was dark and deep, “Ooh, I forgot how feisty you were. Maybe this can be a recurring thing.”

Ignoring the comment, you tried to take in the details of the room, checking the walls and small bits of furniture. But you were immensely distracted by the moth demon, who had taken to spreading his legs open and running a hand down his barely contained bulge. Tiny, little, itty black thong, fishnets, nipple chain and… well, the hat. 

Two arms pulled you by the waist, hands gripping the flesh of your ass through the dress. 

“Why are you dressed like you’re off to teach Sunday school?” His hands slipped under the fabric and dug into your bare skin. He glanced at the camera and its small monitor to make sure he was in frame.

Your knees were brought to either side of his legs before he began to open his stance wider and wider. The action lowered your center more and more until your naked heat was resting on his package. Things were speeding up, he was moving you around so effortlessly. A problem, an absolute problem.

“Ya know I haven’t had a believable good girl to break in awhile.” His hips rose of the bed suddenly and made you bounce on his growing erection. Val groaned, a sound that made your skin crawl. 

In the reflection of his glasses you saw the white face of a marble clock on the wall behind you. 

“Could we—- can we do this lying down? Missionary? It’s been awhile and I’m feeling insecure.” The thought of the overpowering demon towering on top of you and pinning you down was… a tad terrifying. But you needed to see the clock, you couldn’t keep turning around. 

A brief thought, maybe just turning around on his lap and staying facing away from him would work, but then you remembered the camera. Didn’t need your now-rising dress to give the Vees anything exploitative to keep.

Not that everyone in all nine rings hadn’t already seen you spread open and screaming on camera.

“Actually maybe it’s okay, I can,” turn around? Your suggestion was cut short.

Val lifted you like a toy and flipped around. Your head hit the bed hard, brain jostling in your skull. One hand instinctively came to his chest to keep some distance. “No, I like this better.” A wide grin as he settled between your legs.

You leaned to the right to see the clock past his shoulder. Five minutes.

Why didn’t you wear a watch? Fuck.

He dropped his lower half onto you until his full weight was pressing his half hard cock into your stomach. Your breath tightened, running out of moveable space to expand your lungs and diaphragm.

“I wanna see you squirm.” Pink smoke was blown directly into your face, catching you off guard. But, where was the cigarette? You didn’t see it…

Your muscles went loose, the stress of the moment washing away. Both of your hands came to the center of your chest and pressed down. Security. Readiness.

Four minutes.

Alastor didn’t like you having a phone but he didn’t stop you from owning one. You had assumed you’d be on the set where you knew there would be some way to keep track of the time. Or else you’d have just worn a dress with pockets to carry a cellphone. Maybe set a timer.

You weren’t sure about Alastor’s disdain for tech until you witnessed it yourself. That square headed stalker flitting from screen to screen, riding the wires and the radio waves. He had warned you about the Vees, about Vox in particular. He didn’t have much to say about Velvette, and somehow that was better than the nothing he had to say about Valentino. 

As Val’s tongue slid up your neck, you thought about Angel. A confidant. You wished he had asked Alastor to kill Val, as a thank you for his efforts in reuniting you two. And, now that you remembered, uniting you at all. 

Instead he asked for a bigger room. Large enough for two to comfortably cohabitate.

Alastor maybe couldn’t kill Val, but he could try. When you brought it up with him he was upset. He didn’t like his name being spoken at all unless absolutely necessary 

An inadvertent moan you didn’t realize came from you until Valentino chuckled at the sound.

“Feeling it?” He cooed. You weren’t sure which it he meant. This wasn’t going quite to plan. 

Three minutes.

So much could happen in three minutes. Too much. He slid down his underwear, sitting up and letting you see him in his full glory.

Why did he have to be such a bad man?

Many men who carried big sticks were unkind. Between their legs or between their fingers. 

Alastor was an exception to the rule. 

Things did calm down for Alastor after you returned, eventually. Alastor’s desperate need was soothed with you in hell again. His appetite dying. But he hungered in new ways. Ways you hadn’t anticipated to fill your cup so full. Long and intense kisses where his hands dragged down your body and he sighed into your cheeks. You were often pulled into his side and under his arm when sharing the sofa. Soft pets to your hair as you fell asleep. 

And when you felt the need, and if he wasn’t feeling up to it, he’d lie beside you and whisper into your ear. Talking soft and low about all the ways you stole his heart and mind while his hand pumped those long fingers in and out of your own needy pussy. He’d grin into the nape of your neck when you were incapable of keeping your voice down any longer. A feeling you’d come to need. 

You didn’t need a cock to be full. And by the look of Val’s twitching monster, you’d be broken before he bottomed out.

His thumbs pulled apart your bottom lips, “Ready to spread you open so wide you won’t even feel that lanky fuck in you.” 

His third and fourth hands pushed your thighs open and back, hands you could swear felt familiar. Alastor? Or before him?

You struggled to regain focus, your fingers feeling at your bra.

Two minutes.

Legs suddenly too weak to resist, or perhaps Val too strong. Or, a third option, you weren’t trying so hard. Behind his fingers was left a burn on your skin.

“Closer.” Your lips were tingling, it felt good.

“I need you closer.”

His wide chest grew prideful, “Oh? If you’re looking for love you’re in the wrong bed, princesa.”

“No love. Chest. I can’t reach your chest.” You struggled to sit up, but managed to grab the chain connecting his pierced nipples before falling back into the bed.

A screech, a squeak, “Fuck! Watch how you handle that.” His voice rose several octaves. God, you hated him. 

You gripped the chain tightly, the feeling keeping you a little grounded. “Oops.” A whirlpool was behind your eyes, all five senses mingling and amplifying. This was dangerous. He hadn’t used this aphrodisiac on you before…maybe he had liked how much you thrashed when he tied you up and mocked you.  

His length ran up your core and you jumped. He was so hot. So…. Firm.

No. Too close.

One minute.

You had told Alastor you wouldn’t let it go too far. He said he’d not stop you, because you had said you needed to do it. But you could see the conflict behind his own gaze. What would he do if you returned smelling of Val? Dripping of him? 

Almost. Just a few more seconds. His body rolled into you, rocking you with the motion. Every passing had his cock from slit to balls sliding between your wildly wet folds. 

Timing was key for your safety. Though Alastor had made it clear you could always just bail and wait for his call.

The more Val rubbed and pressed against you you felt your mind melt a little more. Surely it would slip down your spine at this rate. 

A brief worry in the pleasurable fog, what if later on you remembered the pleasure and felt guilty? Guilty to Alastor but most importantly to yourself, for gasping and sighing under the abusive trash that dragged you to hell to begin with.

And what if you didn’t? 

Which was worse?

Which would be easier to live with?

He prodded your inner thigh. He was getting closer and closer to actually entering you.

30 seconds.

“Do you remember my promise?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His head was hung as he stared between your bodies. He didn’t see you reach between your breasts into your bra and pull out the Carmine angelic dagger Husk had recommended to Alastor. You hadn’t been quiet about your plans.

“Odd, it’s on recording. Maybe you didn’t realize I was talking to you.” As you moved the dagger from your right side to bury it into Valentino’s chest you remembered the man in the woods. The young man at work. Angel. Here you were again. But if this ended the same as the woods, where would you go? Would Alastor be able to reach you?

“My promise to fucking kill you.”

Valentino keeled back, hand raised to slash your throat out when a green light momentarily blinded him. The sound of chains filled the room as you disappeared into nothingness underneath him. He was left slashing at his own duvet while he tried to slow the bleeding.

Alastor caught you as you fell from the portal he summoned you with. Two feet barely touching the floor as he set you in the reading chair in front of his fireplace.

He nodded at the drops of blood staining your cornflower yellow dress, “Was it a success?”

Your body slipped down the chair, dress getting caught in the friction and riding up. He leaned over and tugged it back down to hide your exposed sex.  You were too far gone to feel deja vu.

“No, I think he’s alive. He drugged me with that smoke.” Your legs were spread wide, trying to keep your weight from slipping off the chair. “I was too weak.”

Alastor sat in the chair opposite and took in the scene. Hair messy, legs open, face flush. Bloodied and breathless.

Pride ran a shiver up his spine. His doe’s second murder attempt. While he has despised the idea he couldn’t pretend he didn’t love the initiative. 

“Hey, I know you said you wouldn’t ask.” You crossed your legs at the ankle, which did nothing to stop the way the air that was rising up your dress and cooling your core. “But I didn’t fuck him.”

Alastor shrugged, “As they say, all is fair in love and war. I would understand if you did for the sake of killing him. What’s a little sex if it helps murder?”

Your hand slipped down your chest, a ghostly trail in its wake like your touch had an echo. “What a terrible way to confess you love me.”

A choked cough from the radio demon.

Your eyes slipped close. Relaxed. “I feel good.”

He hummed.

“Not from the stabbing, from the stuff in his smoke. My body is thrumming. Is my heart pounding?” You tried to stand but ended up on your knees, cheek coming to rest on his inner leg. As he leaned forward to let his hand enter your dress and rest above your heart, his face got close to yours.

“It’s frantic.” A low whisper into the shell of your ear. Pulling back he paused at your face to lick an errant drop of blood. “You reek of him.”

“He did lick me a couple times.” You watched Alastor sneer, “And he was naked, like, immediately. Oh! Oh fuck,” your head popped up with a renewed clarity, “He recorded it.”

Alastor stilled, he wasn’t thinking about the recording aspect. He was thinking on your heart, on how flushed your skin was, the sweat dripping down your neck. On the thought of Val’s tongue over your skin. “The medicine— or drug you were exposed to,” a deep breath in, “What does it feel like?”

A topic change you hadn’t expected, your body slouched into his leg, arm over his thigh for support. His eyes on your face as they always were when you were in the room. 

“Like my body is… illuminescent. Every time my clothes or something touches me, my skin lights up and my brain gets so quiet.” His palm stayed on your heart. 

“Hmm,” His hands slipped under your arm, lifting you up. Your feet were entirely off the ground now as he carried you like a dirty cat on its way to the bath. Gently, you were set onto the bed. A lovely juxtaposition.

“Every time I touch where he did, tell me.” Alastor kneeled beside you, deft fingers unbuttoning your dress. A sharp claw popped under the center of your bra and sliced through the fabric.

Your body was humming again, Val’s powerful aphrodisiac lifting up from your senses like dust under heavy footsteps. 

Goosebumps formed up your arms as the back of his fingers traced along the outside of your forearm. As he curved up your shoulder and reached your neck you breathed out a low, “There.”

You watched him lean down, warm lips kissing at your skin. A series of kisses as soft and needy as the ones he often placed on your own mouth. A shudder turned nearly violent as his hot tongue ran up your neck to your jaw.

His nose slid up your cheek, “There.” Kisses to your face, across your nose and to the other side.

He pulled back, eyes lusty and heavy lidded. He didn’t say anything, but his grim smile asked you something. You nodded, running your hands down your chest and to your thighs.

A growl you hadn’t heard in so long rumbled in his chest. He rolled you onto your stomach and pulled the dress off entirely, nails raking along your spine until they dimpled the soft fat of your ass.

“There.”

Alastor straddled you at the back of your knees. You wanted to squirm but your muscles had gone weak again. He nipped at the mounds of flesh, massaging and squeezing after every particularly sharp bite. What little part of your brain could form coherent thoughts was trying to piece together an alarm— his face was so close to your still soaking wet entrance. 

Images bubbled up where words were failing. Val’s large cock head smearing precum up your slit.

His hands roamed down your legs and feet before turning you back to face him. When you could finally see his expression again, you were surprised to see a look he hadn’t given in so long.

Needy. Desperation screamed through knitted brows, hazy eyes, and a weak smile threatening to fall flat.

As his hands slid down your stomach and reached the junction of your thighs, you started to register the little moans you were making.

But it was getting harder to hear past the radio static and pounding heartbeat in your ears.

Soft fingers traveled between your closed thighs, you hesitated before offering what you thought was a quiet, “There.”

You couldn’t hear yourself think let alone speak as the sounds both in and outside your body grew louder with every signal he’d found a new spot to cover up.

His knees pushed open your left thigh, then your right. Lowering himself, he hitched your knees and lied flat on his stomach. A bite to your inner thigh, nearly the back. A suck, sharp and strong, that ended with a pop as he released.

Nose inching closer and closer to your core, Alastor could see your hole clenching. A dribble of the evidence of your arousal being forced out and down the cleft of your ass.

You heard and felt his breathing quicken, when a finger slid down your folds you couldn’t stop the raise of your hips.

“There.”

The lights went out with a pop. Shaky breaths as his tongue swiped from entrance to clit. Lick after lick to your center like he was trying to make you clean again. Another moan you were only sure was yours cut through the now biting static that filled the air around you.

Your mind tried to piece together a sentence, “Crazy stuff… it had me so horny”, your hands ran up your chest without thinking, “I was almost hoping Val would put it in before time was gone.”

The static cut. Not even the sound of the fireplace or the crickets in the swamp portaled into his room were present anymore. 

“Isn’t that insane? Have you ever heard of such a drug?” Your eyes had closed, feeling his breath wafting down your saliva coated lips. “Alastor?”

He was being honest when he said he’d not hold it against you. But he hadn’t even considered a situation where you wanted more to happen. Than had been discussed. The very idea of Valentino mixing with you brought bile to his throat.

The drug was to blame and he could understand that, as a man. But as an overlord, as something more akin to animal in some aspects, he had the clawing urge to reclaim you. To write over even the thought of wanting to feel Valentino.

“My darling little doe, I think you need a reminder of just how much of you I possess. And the parts of me you own in turn.” 

You looked down to see glowing eyes from between your legs, his fingers snapped and while you couldn’t see what was happening past the light of his eyes, you could hear the VHS player click and then a small, “Aunt Sara….” whispered in a familiar voice.  

“I don’t understand what’s happened….”

It took a moment to register it was your own voice you were hearing from the darkness. 

“Aunt Sara isn’t here.” 

Alastor’s acting debut crowing from the old TV beside his bayou door. His eyes shifted with a blink from glowing red to black, just sharp dials visible in the shadow of his face.

“She’s made an exchange, she gets extraordinary power….and I get your soul.”

The prongs of a buck ready to clash over his territory creaked past your open thighs.

“But I want more than that. I need more than that.”

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[atzloverr]

Alphabet with CHOI SAN PLEASE

NSFW alphabet - Choi San

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’ll immediately check if you’re okay, or if you need anything. “Water? A bath? Anything baby,” he’ll promise as he caresses your hair carefully. It’s such a contrast from how he’s like 10 minutes before that, harshly thrusting into you at a quick pace.

“I’m fine San, I promise,” you’ll tell him, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Okay baby.” He’ll cuddle you for as long as you want, making sure you feel loved.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

San is obsessed with your neck, and will always make sure to gently massage it or just have a hand there. He’ll kiss your neck as often as he can (maybe even bite it). Other than that he loves your waist. Snaking his hands around it and pulling you into his embrace, just to feel your warmth against him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves the feeling of coming inside your warm mouth (or throat). He can’t help but grab your head when he explodes inside you, not being able to control himself when the pleasure washes over him like that.

He wants you to cum on his fingers, just so he can lick the excess of your juices off of his hands.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to make a sex tape with you. He doesn’t have the guts to ask you, but all he wants is a video of the two of you together. He wouldn’t want to post it, but the thought of having it as your dirty little secret turns him on beyond belief.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t. When the two of you met, he had only done it with one or two people before. He felt ashamed at his inexperience, but you made sure he felt comfortable no matter what.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s obsessed with taking you from behind. He’ll ravishingly thrust deeply into you, as you moan into the pillows. (He also loves the view of you bending over in front of him)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think he’s pretty serious in the moment. He’ll of course smile, but he’ll leave humor and jokes for when you’re done.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn’t always keep himself cleanly shaved, but tries to keep his hair pretty short down there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I think San can be pretty rough in bed, and he likes it that way, so he’ll be intimate but not exactly lovey-lovey during sex. At times though, when he feels very lovesick, he’ll be romantic and smother you with kisses and gentle holding. That’s usually when the two of you haven’t met in a long time, and he just wants to show his undying love for you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He loves the lewdness of filming himself as he pleases himself. He’ll set up the camera on the floor, get on his knees and rut into his hands. He’ll make sure to not hold back on his sounds, wanting you to really hear how good he feels when you receive the video.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s a huge brat tamer, and he’s definitely up for a challenge. His smirk only grows when you refuse to do as he says, and he’ll be so satisfied when you finally give in and let him do as he pleases.

At times, he enjoys being the brat. Nothing gets him going quite like the stubborn fight for dominance between the two of you. He doesn’t only enjoy it when he’s the one who ends up on top ;)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He loves doing it in the shower. Pressing you against the wall and slowly thrusting into you as he feels the warm water dripping down your bodies. He also likes that he doesn’t need to clean up afterwards.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you tease him by whispering in his ear, or slowly dragging your hand up his thigh, god it drives him crazy. He’ll smirk as you try to be a brat and take control over him, knowing what he’s going to do to you the second you step foot at home.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t want any other people being involved in your sex life. He believes it’s only between the two of you, and the thought of someone else getting to see you in such an intimate moment fills him up with jealousy and anger.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Don’t get me wrong, he’s definitely a munch, but he also can’t deny how much he loves it when you take him in your warm mouth. The feeling of your tongue against his sensitive tip is enough to make his eyes roll back in pleasure. He’s made sure to teach you all the ways to make him weak in the knees, so you’re a professional when it comes to giving San that double hand twist gawk gawk 3000

(I’m sorry for that last part)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Whether he’s at a fast or slow pace, his thrusts are always deep. He’ll make sure you really feel him. He usually starts slowly, getting you used to the feeling of him inside you, but then he suddenly picks up the pace, going fast and hard.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

time to time, he’ll indicate a quickie between the two of you, but only if there isn’t enough time for you to go all out. However, he has a hard time keeping it quick with you, so if he feels horny before the two of you are going out, he’ll just make you an hour late if he tries something.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s a big experimentalist, and is up to try almost anything, as long as the two of you are comfortable with it. You wanna be tied up? sure! You wanna tie him up? sure! He’s not really into public stuff however, he values his and your privacy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

After being with san, you’ll believe his stamina is never-ending. He’ll gladly keep going for multiple rounds, switching positions and pace. You yourself might feel tired after only one round with San, but he’s far from done with you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don’t think he owns any toys tbh. He never really felt the need to buy any.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s a huge tease, and will gladly leave you hanging, begging for more. He loves the look on your face as you frustratingly try to control the situation, maybe move his hand just a centimeter closer to where you need it, but he won’t budge.

“San please!” you begged as his hands roamed closely to where you needed him. His featherlight touches tickled you slightly, making you squirm around in discomfort. “This is what you get for acting like you did,” San said lowly, an evil smile on his lips.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

When this man cums, the neighbors will hear it every time. He tries to muffle his moans with his hands, but can’t help but almost scream in pleasure. He’s not very loud otherwise, just grunting and whimpering as he ruts into you, but the second his orgasm washes over him, he can’t hold back his loud moans.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

As mentioned earlier, he loves experimenting, so you curiously ask him a question one day as you lay with your head in his lap, watching some drama on the TV.

“San,” you smiled, looking innocently into his eyes. “Yeah?” he answered, still keeping his eyes plastered on the screen. “Would you… Let me peg you someday?”

San choked on air and started violently coughing in shock at your sudden requests, laughing at your bold question. “What? I just wanna know!” you reasoned. As he finally calmed down, he looked at you with a smirk on his face.

“Why not? You wanna try it tonight?” he asked. This time, you were the one laughing at him. “What!? You asked me???” he said confused, pouting slightly.

“Good to know that you’re up to the idea, but I was just wondering if you were into that, not if you wanted to do it tonight,” you said, still laughing. Your boyfriend chuckled before placing a kiss on your forehead. “Well, now you know.”

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I think he’s big and most importantly thick down there. It’s pretty long, but it’s the thickness that’s impressive.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He doesn’t have a necessarily high sex drive, but it’s not exactly low either. It’s almost the highest when he’s away from you, the thoughts of you making him miss you so. When with you, he has a very high “cuddle-drive” if you can call it that. It’s not sex that he wants the most, it’s just being close to you and loving you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep

He’ll need a while to cool down before he can fall asleep, still feeling caught up in the moment after he’s done. He likes to take a cool shower afterwards, just to get his mind off of things, off of you, otherwise he might just get horny again.

my masterlist

Here you go!!! Hope you enjoyed! <3

Please leave requests or feedback it’s very appreciated! (which member next?)

[mooooonnnzz]

HIIII I THINK REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN! in that case can I have something about celebrating your birthday with the pines and co :3 LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! It inspired me to start writing my own gf things, thank you!

Mable's Surprise Birthday Special

Platonic! Pines Family x Reader

★ BIRTHDAYYY!! FANFICC!!

★ its funny cuz u requested like a day after my bday and then a day before the twins bday like what a perfect timing!!

★ tw: fiddleauthor im kidding i love them sm i had to put fiddleford here

★ 4,5k words

★ gn!reader

★ a silly cute fic!!! i hc soos is a really good baker

★ req r still open!

“Welcome to Mable’s Birthday Special!” Mable noisily raved directly into the camera that she set up on a stand. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. Mable, it isn’t your birthday! And you’re correct on that. But it’s a special someone's birthday!” She plopped herself on her pink chair, pulling out a large colorful book from below and slamming it on the table. Clouds of glitter powdered the air, a fit of coughs spewing out of her mouth. “Agh, glitter attack!” She croaked out, swatting away the sparkling glitter with her hand. 

Now covered in rainbow glitter, she broadly smiled at the camera. “Now, what was I saying?” She pondered out loud, tapping her chin as she looked up. “Oh!” She jumped up, looking back down at the book that was labeled ‘[Name]’s Birthday Ideas’. 

“My siblings birthday is today!” She opened the book, flipping through an assortment of pages before stopping and striking her hand down on a certain page. “Believe or not, this is all the data I collected on [Name] so I can properly throw a birthday party extravaganza!” She leaned forward, passion flowing out of her. “And today, we are going to throw the best party ever.” 

The footage unexpectedly cuts to another shot where she, Dipper and Wendy were decorating the living room and kitchen. “Hello, my fellow Mabelins!” She feverishly waves at the camera. “We are in the living room!” Dipper peeks his head into frame, his eyebrows furrowing. “Mabelins?” He repeats slowly. “Yeah! Mabelines. That’s what I call my fans.” She motions to the camera. “Mable, no one is going to see this.” Dipper blankly said, rearranging the party streamers in his hand so they wouldn’t get tangled. “Dude, don’t say that. That’ll totally ruin her spark!” Wendy tittered, taping individual letters one by one on the wall. 

“But it’s true. Who’s actually going to sit down and watch Mabel’s videos?” Dipper remarked, taking a measured step up on the chair then onto the table. “[Name] is definitely gonna see this after the party.” Mable leaned in closer to the camera, whispering: “Brothers, am I right?” 

Grabbing the camera, she aimed it at Dipper who was jumping up from the table, trying to stick up the party streamers on the ceiling. Zooming in on him, she spoke in an Australian accent. “And now, we have an orangutan in his natural habitat.” 

Dipper grumbled, stomping his foot down on the wobbly table. “Mab–Ahp!” Dipper fell, taking the table along with him. Mable howled out in laughter, running towards him and capturing him twitching painfully on the floor. “Woah, dude. Are you okay?” Wendy got on one of her knees, helping up Dipper from the ground. Dipper quietly fussed under his breath, sending a deadly glare to Mable who wasn’t even paying attention, too wrapped up in her laughing frenzy. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks, Wendy.” He dusts himself, picking up the discarded party streamers from the floor. “I’ll hang these up for you, dude. Don’t worry.” She takes the streamers from Dipper’s hand, much against his protests. “I can do them, Wendy. It’s okay!” He watched enviously as Wendy grabbed a chair and stood on it, taping the streamers randomly around the ceiling. “There!” She hops off the chair, putting her hands on her hips and admiring her work. “Now Dipper won’t have to be sent to the hospital on [Name]’s birthday.” 

Dipper sighed out, grabbing a bowl of confetti and sprinkling it all over the floor to make a confetti runway. “Thanks so much, Wendy.” A glum look fell on his face and Mable couldn’t help herself and zoom in on his face. “Poor Dip. Too short for his own good.” Bringing her hand in front of the camera, she waves at it. “I’ll see you in the next part!” 

The footage cuts off to Ford in his red turtle sweater and black jeans, an apron that says ‘Kiss the Chef’ adorning his waist. She aims the camera up at his face. “Say, Grunkle Ford. What are we making today?” 

Uneasily smiling at the camera, he hurriedly stirred the batter. Some splattered out of the bowl and landed on the counter. “We are making a cake!” He tried to sound chipper but he couldn’t hide the distressed look on his face. Oblivious to his stress, she backs up, showing the messy countertop. Batter dripped from the counter and onto the floor where a little goopy pile had been ever so slowly festering. And upon further inspection, Ford had clumps of batter and flour stuck to hair. The white powder was dusted in streaks on his face and clothes. 

“And who’s we?” She spun around for dramatic effect, making her own drumming effects. “Pumpkin, what are you doin’?” Stan walks in, walking past the spinning Mabel and peering his eyes over to the cooking cake in the oven. She stops nowhere near Stan and has to turn back around to show Stan in the frame. “This is my Grunkle Stan! Twin brother of my Grunkle Ford–,” She zooms in on their faces. “--If you couldn’t tell!” 

“Ford, the cake isn’t risin’.” He grabs a mitten and opens the oven. A blast of black smoke wafted into his face. “What?” Ford drops the bowl onto the messy counter, walking over to Stan who was coughing like a maniac while waving the mitten around to disperse the cloud of smoke. “How is it not rising? We added baking powder into the cake, didn’t we?” He snatches the mitten from Stan and slips it on. Grabbing the steaming pan, he placed it on the counter. “Is it supposed to be that color?” Stan grimaces at the muddied charcoal black cake. “How is the consistency still the same an hour later!” Ford scooped the slimy goo and watched it grossly plop back down on the pan. “Who’s taste testing the cake?” Mable curiously asked. Ford and Stan looked at each other before sticking their hand out, yelling, “Not it!” 

The clip cuts to Ford and Stan violently spewing out the cake into the sink or trash can. “What are we doing wrong!” Stan forced out through gags. “I don’t know!” Ford heaves out into the sink. “What’s goin’ on?” Fiddleford saunters into the chaotic kitchen with Soos following behind him. “Hey, dudes!” He waves at Ford and Stan who are still coughing into the sink and trash can. “Hey, Grunkle Fiddleford! Hey, Soos!” Mable turned the camera over to the newcomers. 

Fiddleford stepped into the kitchen, careful with where he put his feet down and went over to Ford’s side. He put his hand on Ford’s back and moved his hand up and down in a comforting manner. “Darlin’, what in the hell happened here?” 

“Me and Stan tried making cake.” The mention of cake has Ford’s stomach churning once again. “Oh, yikes.” He breathes out, teeth bared. “Hun, why don’t ya sit down with Stan? Me and Soos can handle this, right Soos?” Soos’s head perks up at hearing his name. “Yeah! We can make a pizza cake out of real pizza with like, ten layers!” Stan cringes. “That doesn’t sound right.” 

Stan sweetly smiles at Fiddleford. “Thank you, my love.” Fiddleford matches his smile, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Ewww!!” Mable shields the camera with the palm of her hand. “Cover yer eyes, Mable!” Fiddleford laughs. “You don’t have to ask me twice!” 

Another clip plays and it's Mable marveling at a beautifully made and decorated tall 8 layered cake. “Now this is how you make a cake!” She dips her finger towards the cake to snag a bit of frosting when she was scooped up by Stan. “No, you don’t!” He moves her away from the cake, placing her back down on the floor. “I feel like out of all the people here, I thought you’d be so strict on not letting anyone touch or eat cake.” 

“I just grow weak in the knees when I see a cake as beautiful as that one.” Mable stared at it starry eyed. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” His hand flop around the camera as he attempts to find the turn off button. “Okay, so how can I turn this o–” 

The next clip is Soos delightfully munching on cake with Mable beside him. “We just couldn’t resist!” Mable says with her mouth full of cake. “I just wanted some cake, dude!” 

Footsteps approach the kitchen and both Mable and Soos look at each other with fear stricken on their faces. Jumping off the chair, she grabs her plate of cake and shoves it into her sweater. Soos shoves the whole piece into his mouth, smearing the frosting and cake crumbs all over his mouth. 

“Grunkle Ford, have you seen my–” Dipper stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide at the marvelous cake. “Is this the cake I heard Grunkle Fiddleford talk about?” He whispers, his eyes looking over to Mable and Soos who were rigid statues. 

“This thing?” Mable jabs a thumb in its general direction. “I have no idea what this is!” She nervously laughs out, pieces of crumbled cake sludge out of her sweater and plops down on the floor. “Righhhtt…” Dipper takes a step back. “I’ll leave you two alone.” He sends a cautionary glance at Soos and Mable before walking out. “Phew!” Soos wipes his forehead with his forearm. “That was close, wasn’t it?” 

“Super close.” She grabs on a piece of cake that was in her sweater and munches on it. She offers one out to Soos who happily takes it and shovels it into his mouth. 

The clip choppily jumps to the entrance door to the gift shop. “Stan went out to grab [Name] cause we kinda left them alone in the mall. Sorry not sorry [Name]! But he’s getting them over here, so any minute they’re going to come in here!” Mable whispers to the camera. She’s hiding behind a can of monster eyes, the camera very obviously on top of the canisters. “Dipper is hiding in a box full of plastic peanuts. Soos is behind the counter with Wendy, they have party poppers in their hands. Fiddleford and Ford are in the living room. They’re act two.” She brought up two fingers and wiggled them. 

Distance voices could be heard coming from outside the shack. “They’re here, they’re here!” She loudly whispers. 

“Who’s idea was it to leave me in the mall?” Mable you ask. She snickered quietly and pointed at herself, the culprit of the idea. “We didn’t leave you at the mall? We were there with you.” Stan terribly lied and you saw right through it. “Grunkle Stan, I don’t know why you lie so much.” 

The knob of the door jostles a bit, altering everyone that they were here before it opened. “Why is it so dark–” 

“Surprise!” Popping noises came from Soos and Wendy and clumped up colorful strings fell on top of your head. Dipper tripped out of the box full of peanuts, running over to give you a self-Mable made birthday sash. “Oh!” You grab the sash, slinging it around you with a chuckle. “What is all of this?” 

“Happy birthday!” Mable popped out from behind the cans, camera in hand. “Say hello to the camera [Name]!” You gave a shy wave. “Was this the reason why I was left behind at the mall?” You remove the colorful strings off your hair and throw it at Stan who sputters in surprise. “Yeah! And there’s one last surprise.” 

“Happy Birthday!” Ford and Fiddleford jump out of the living room doorway into the gift shop, blowing a party horn into your face. 

“OH MY–” 

The frame freezes on you midway screaming for a second before it switches to a whole new piece of footage where Ford is covering your eyes, blindly leading you into the kitchen where your eaten cake resides. “Okay, ready?” Ford looks at you, a huge excited smile playing at his lips. “No, not really.” 

Ford ignores you and peels back his hands and bestows you the beautiful sight of your unnaturally tall wobbling cake. “That’s a really tall cake.” You watch it dangerously wobble to the side. “Is the cake supposed to be wobbling?” You ask, looking around to see everyone’s mortified faces and two stray guilt stricken expressions. “What? That’s ain’t supposed to be happenin’…”  

Fiddleford approaches the cake and oggles it, his eyes landing on a certain spot on the backside of the cake, a wave of fury flashes on his face before he calms himself down and very sweetly smiles at the little crowd gathered in the kitchen. 

The camera catches Mable’s nervous gulp. 

“Who was takin’ big chomps of the cake me and Soos made?” His voice betrayed his sweet smile with how snappy he sounded. 

“Wasn’t me. I was with Dipper decorating.” Wendy coolly said. “Y-Yeah! We were.” Dipper solidifies his alibi, eyes locking with Mable’s anxious ones. “You can’t point any fingers at me! I was real busy gettin’ [Name] back from the mall.” Stan lifted his hands up defensively. “Again, out of all the options, why mall?” You grumbled under your breath. 

“I was with you the whole time, Fidds.” Fiddleford smiled at Ford, his voice sickeningly sweet when he spoke to Ford. “I know, hun.” Then he changes back to finding the culprits who ate his cake. “He’s really serious about that cake we ate.” Soos spoke into Mabel’s ear loudly. Fiddleford’s gaze locked down onto Mable and Soos.

“Mable, sweetheart. Could ya quit recordin’ just for a quick second.” 

The footage cuts to a somber Mabel sitting in a cold desolate corner with Soos on the other end. “I got put in the naughty corner! What is this joke!” Mable threw her hands up in the air dramatically, having them flop down to her sides with a loud melodramatic sigh. 

“It’s only just for a bit, pumpkin! After we set up the table you’ll be back here! Same goes for you, Soos!” Stan’s gruff spoke from the kitchen.

“Okay, thanks Mr. Pines!” 

“Ugh, we shouldn’t have ever eaten that cake.” Mable dragged a heavy hand down her face, pulling at it. Soos’s stomach roared in hunger. A laugh leaves Soos, his attention turning to Mable. “Do you still have some of that cake in your sweater? I’m kinda hungry.” 

“I think so? Let me check.” She digs her hand into her shirt and pulls out a clump of cake that had strands of hair and sweater fuzz on it. “Our last one.” Mable whispered dejectedly. 

“Mable, do you have your camera?” Ford peeks his head out of the kitchen to see Mable handing a mysterious ball to Soos, the camera in front of her. “You’re not supposed to have this, missy.”

“I know.” She frowns deeply when Ford snatches up her pink glitter camera. Ford fumbles with it a bit, the last shot before the scene switched was Soos taking a hearty bite of the ball of cake.

“Is this thing working?” Stan’s voice spoke from behind the camera. “Yeah, it’s working.” Wendy confirmed, tapping at the blaring red light to signal its recording. “Today is [Name]’s birthday! Right, sweetie?” He accidentally shoves the camera right at your face.

“Woah, okay!” You giggled, carefully pushing Stan away from you. “It is my birthday. I think you all are more excited about it than me.” 

Wendy walks over to you with a party hat in hand. “It's like you’re asking for us to forget it.” She hands you the hat. “If any of you ever forget my birthday, you will not hear the end of it!” You glared at everyone, pointing at them in a smooth motion with your party hat.

“They’re not kidding, guys.” Dipper’s eyes have a distant traumatized look to them. “I have seen it firsthand.” Stan added, flipping the camera to his traumatized face before flipping it back onto you. 

You snap the party hat on you with a smile. “I feel stupid being the only one with a party hat.” You walk over to the box full of party hats and grab an armful of party hats. “Tune in and find out if I’m able to put party hats on everyone!” You make a swooshing noise as your hand descends on the camera, palm covering the lens. 

“Stan, that’s when you stop record—“ 

The next set of footage had everyone, even the ones who were grounded for a short while, all huddled up in a group, party hats on. “I got them to all wear party hats!” You cheered, picking up Waddle’s who innocently trudged into the kitchen. “Even Waddles has one.” You cooed at the pig before putting him back down on the floor. “Okay, everyone disperse! Time to start singin’ happy birthday.” Fiddleford announced. 

Everyone surrounds the decorated table with the wobbling cake. Each shove and push to the table had Fiddleford sucking a nervous breath in.

“Okay, ready?” Ford held up three fingers and started counting down by three. 

The whole room erupted into singing the second all of Ford's fingers were down. “Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy birthday to [Name]! Happy birthday to youuuu!”

“Make a wish! Make a wish!” Mable thrummed her hand against the table. The cake shook and trembled and everyone watched with bated breath. 

The cake stills and everyone lets out a sigh of relief. “Welp, wasn’t that close? Am I right?” Stan laughs, slapping his hand on the table. “Stanley!”

The cake plunges down, splattering everyone with its frosting and filling. Silence filled the room. 

Waddles squeaks happily at the delicious treat, feasting on the piece of cake on the floor. You lick around your lips, grabbing a taste of the cake. “Mmm! This is good. Fiddleford, Soos, you guys really did a good job on making the cake!” 

“Thanks [Name]!” Soos is wolfing down a piece of his own cake that had showered all over him. “Glad ya like it, sweetheart..” Fiddleford sighed out, plopping his head on Ford’s shoulder. 

“My camera!” Mable cried out, darting over to her camera that was weighing down from heavy frosting. She fortunately caught it in her hand, wiping off the icing with the sleeve of her sweater and accidently turning off the camera. 

The footage clips to the last video Mable took of the day. You were sitting down on a chair, a table full of gift bags and hand wrapped objects filled the table. “We are now opening presents!” Mable exclaimed, chucking a fist full of glitter in the air. “Ah, my eye!” Stan screeched out, sprinting into the kitchen to run water over his eye, bumping into the camera in the process. “Grunkle Stan! Be careful.” Mable held the camera stand, keeping it still. After a few minutes of hearing running water, Stan walks out with an irritated eye. “Open, open!” Mable chanted. 

You pluck a gift from the table, flipping it on its back to read the name sharpied on it. “Okay, the first gift is from…” You squinted, reading it out. “Grunkle Ford!” You show the mysterious gift to everyone. Curious questions left their mouths as you opened the book shape gift. Shedding the last piece of gift wrapper, you saw what you had gotten. “A book on quantum physics?” You let out a pensive ‘hm’. 

“You could never go wrong with math!” He proclaimed, sticking out a finger into the air. You awkwardly laugh. “Yeah, thanks Grunkle Ford.” You look under the table to see Waddle’s resting on his belly. “Here, Waddles. I got a new toy for you.” You whisper, waving the book in front of his face. He brings his snout to the book, sniffing it before letting out a snort. He grabs the book with his mouth and places it down on the floor, he pads around it for a minute and flops down on the book, snuggling into it. 

“Next gift!” You pop your head out from under the table and grab the next gift by its handles. You stuck your hand inside and latched onto something. Pulling it out, you came face to face with a Mystery Shack coupon. You didn’t even need to guess who this was from. “Really Grunkle Stan?” 

“Oh, shut it. There’s one more thing left in there!” 

You place the card on the table and dig your hand back into the bag. You grabbed onto a bottle and took your hand out, your eyes widening at the wine bottle. “Um?” You warily look at Stan whose jaw is dropped on the floor. “Who put that there?” Stan marched over to you and took the bottle of wine from your hand. A few quiet snickers came from Dipper and Mable. “That’s my bottle. You get your own.” 

“Uhm?” You look back down in the gift bag and flip it upside down. A wad of neatly folded cash plopped down on your lap. Your eyes brighten and you look over to Stan who’s smiling proudly to himself. “Is this real cash?” You grab the cash from your lap and inspect the dollar bills. “How in the world would I ever give ya fake money? Put some more faith in your Grunkle!” 

You gleefully put the cash back into the side and place it beside you. “Up next is…” You grab a hold of a large square wrapped in Christmas wrapping. The name Soos was elegantly written on the wrapping paper. “Soos!” 

“Yes!” Soos pumps his fist in the air. “You are going to love it, dude!”

Peeling off the wrapping paper revealed the gift to be your favorite music artist vinyl. “Soos! These are expensive, how did you get this?” 

Soos glanced over to Stan and looked back at you. “I have my ways!” He smiled. 

You put the vinyl in your bag with the cash and moved to the next present. Fiddleford’s gift was next and he had given you a beautiful heartfelt note accompanied with a photo of you, Fiddleford and Ford. You thought that was it when he told you to shake the envelope with a wink. A few couple hundred bucks fell out that had you gasping for air. 

“There’s no way you just copied me, Fidds.” Stan pointed an accusatory finger at him. “We just had the same idea, Stanley.”

“Grunkles, Grunkles! Please, no fighting.” Mable stood in between them, her hands flat against their stomachs. “My gift is next and [Name] needs their full attention on it!” 

Mable’s gift was a conflicting mess. You couldn’t decide if it was cute or oddly weird. She had given you a scrapbook, innocent at first, but opening the book showed that she had been harvesting everyone’s hair and gluing them in the book, crudely making a heart full of hair with your name spelt in cursive on the inside. The pages following had copious amounts of glitter, stickers and the strong scent of glue, but they were pretty normal enough, sharing memories of you, her and Dipper in some pages and then others had the family all together. Then there was a page that had you sit back and question your sister's mental wellbeing. She had a whole page dedicated to candid photos she had snapped of you while you weren’t looking. 

She had a photo of you sleeping, brushing your teeth, talking to Stan, playing ddnmd with Ford and Dipper, etc. And to make it a little more weirder, she had made everyone write little comments of what was their favorite thing in the picture. At least what everyone wrote was normal…

“Mable, thank you very—“ 

“—Go to the last page!”

You flip to the last page that was blank. A puzzled look formed on your face and you opened your mouth to ask Mable what was this when you were pelted with a wave of confetti, glitter and sprinkles. A drawing of everyone holding hands launched out of the book and harmoniously started singing happy birthday. Mable started singing along, busting down her own moves, satisfied with the gift she gave you. 

You were coughing up glitter and confetti for the next few minutes. Stan came up behind you to pluck the stray sprinkles that got caught in your hair. Waddles made the gracious effort to clean the floor by eating the sprinkles and a bit of the confetti.

Dipper’s gift was more sentimental. In a rainbow colored envelope, made by yours truly Mable, was a letter that Mable and him collaborated on and wrote together such a nice letter that you doubted if your younger siblings really had made this themselves. With teary eyes, you opened your arms wide and they didn’t waste a moment to run up to you and jump in your arms. 

“That really sweet, thank you guys.” 

You held them in your arms for a minute or two before they let you go and went back to their spot. 

Wendy’s gift was a nice way to top everything off. Seems like she had roped everyone in it and made this whole poster board full of their favorite moments that you had shared with everyone. Branching from embarrassing ones that some were unfortunately captured by Mabel’s trusty camera to unforgettable beautiful memories.

“Who came up with this idea?” You ask with a laugh, looking at a pinned photo where you were mid horrified face when Stan was cannonballing into the pool. He was halfway in, water already sprouting out and ready to splash you and drown Dipper and Mabel. 

“It was a mix of Grunkle Ford and Mable. They’re surprisingly creative when put together.” Wendy said, jerking a thumb over to Mable high sixing Ford. “You guys really went all out for this, didn’t you?” You smile softly. A mix of playful scoffs and ‘of course!’ filled the room. “Who wouldn’t want to go all out for you?” Stan wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you in a side hug. “I think we might need to drill that into yer head. Yer jus’ full of sugar, who wouldn’t want to give ya such an amazin’ birthday?” Fiddleford affectionately ruffled your hair. 

Ford hugged your other side, slipping a note in your hand. “Is this another sappy note that’s going to make me cry?” Ford chuckles, nodding. “Group hug without us? What is Mable going to say?” Wendy joked. “She’s probably going to kill them.” Dipper laughed. “Who’s killing wh–” She turns around and gasps loudly. “Group hug!” She grabs Soos’s hand and practically hurls herself into the hug. “Dipper, Wendy. Get in here!” They join in on the hug. 

“Happy Birthday [Name].” Dipper tried his best to at least give you a slight hug but everyone was so jumbled up together, all he could do was pat his head against your upper stomach. Everyone else joined in and told you happy birthday. Snuggling further into the hug, you smiled. “Thank you guys.” 

A warning beep rings in the air. “What is that?” Soos asks. Another final warning beep. “Oh my god! My camera!” Mable shuffles out of the hug and darts over to her camera. The frame freezes on Mable reaching out for her camera with everyone staring at the cameras with wide owl eyes. 

Pink glitter mixed in with blue plain text faded into the screen saying ‘Happy Birthday to the best sibling in the world!’ and the video ends. 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz, @katharine3000

dm or comment if you want to be added/removed!!

i also posted my first fic on ao3!! it's a fiddleauthor drabble cuz i just love them sm. so if anyone wants to check it out the title of it is Amore Mio Aiutami (Main Theme) n my username barbatoz!! :p i'll only post fiddleauthor and billford over there :3

[theonotti]

THAT FINAL NIGHT | OS | t.n.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader!Riddle

Word Count: 8k

Summary: Ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Theodore Nott is out of Azkaban. And after years and years of being apart, he's finally ready for the reunion he's been waiting on.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, kind of angsty, kinda fluffy, pining, Modern AU where i moved up the battle so 10 years later is more present day

Notes: This is my first full Theo fic, please let me know what you think!

“Guess who’s in town.”

Theo hums thoughtfully while he sets the heavy box in his arms down on the counter, ripping the tape off.

“Oprah.”

Mattheo rolls his eyes.

“Try again.”

“The Queen.”

“The dead one?”

“Right. Forgot about that.”

Mattheo laughs, shaking his head as he grabs a rag and a spray bottle to wipe off the bar top.

“Got any other foolish guesses?” He asks. Theo pauses, feigning thought before shaking his head and resuming his work.

“Fresh out, I’m afraid.”

Theo grabs a pair of bottles from the open box then turns towards the shelves behind him. His back aches from the amount of moving he’s had to do. Running heavy boxes from his truck to the stockroom. Bending down while doing inventory. At the ripe age of 27, his back just isn’t what it used to be, and is in far worse shape than most men his senior.

Mattheo glances down at the bar briefly, the humor slowly fading from his expression, before he looks back up at his best friend.

“My sister.”

The bottle shatters as it hits the floor.

Theo jumps, not realizing one of the bottles had slipped from his hand until it was too late. Mattheo stares as Theo begins to clean up his mess, although if he notices that it happening right when his sister was mentioned is more than a coincidence, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Erm… What's she doing in town?” Theo asks casually as he kneels down with the broom and dustpan.

“Her and that rat, McLaggen, are finally getting divorced. She’s staying with me for a while.”

The room starts to swelter. Theo nods, trying to play off his sigh as one of sympathy rather than relief. Standing with the dustpan full of glass, he dumps the remains of the bottle into one of the other empty boxes he made while stocking before putting the cleaning supplies away. His hands slide into his pockets to wipe the sweat from his palms.

“How… how’s she handling it?”

This makes Mattheo pause. He glances up at his oldest friend, his look a mix of thoughtful and confused.

“She’s weirdly… calm about it,” He explains in a slow voice. “I think their marriage ended a long time ago, and she’s had time to mourn it before actually sticking the knife in it.”

The thought of you being miserable for that long before taking the plunge to leave sends Theo’s heart into a sadness he can’t explain. He looks away from Mattheo, trying to rationalize his thoughts before speaking again. Fortunately for him, Mattheo pipes up again before he has the chance.

“She’ll be at Malfoy’s party on Saturday. She can meet a new bloke there.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Theo’s mouth, but not over his friend’s cheeky remark.

“You’d rather her hook up with someone who aligns with Draco Malfoy?” Theo dares to ask as he looks back at the curly haired man next to him.

A beat passes.

“You’re right. She’s actually banned from the premises.”

A hearty laugh escapes Theo’s mouth as he turns away from Mattheo, although he could hear the seriousness in his friend’s tone behind the joke.

“Remind me… what did she see in McLaggen again?” Theo asks as he begins to fill the shelves behind the counter with the bottles he managed not to break. Mattheo sighs in exasperation, slapping the towel against the top of the bar.

“Fuck if I know,” Mattheo mumbles. “I asked her over and over how she could marry that creep. I think that’s why she stopped phoning, honestly.”

Theo raises his eyebrows only briefly, although with his back to Mattheo, it’s a look only expressed to himself. Mattheo Riddle, for as long as Theo can remember, has always been the over protective brother first and foremost. The relationship he holds with you is still his most important one, and Theo knows better than anyone how seriously Mattheo takes that. Their entire tenure at Hogwarts, Mattheo watched over you like a hawk, keeping the dusty boys who dared to crush on you in their place. The fact that McLaggen, of all people, was able to slip through the cracks the second Mattheo and Theo were gone was a pain that haunted Mattheo for years. And though it was for completely different reasons, it haunted Theo too.

“Are you going to punch the first man who talks to her? For old times sake?” Theo asks, trying to bite back a smirk.

Mattheo laughs loudly, shaking his head.

“I’ve grown since our time at Hogwarts,” He defends himself. “I won’t punch them if they just talk to her…” He pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. “Now, if they look at her? Dead man walking.”

Theo shakes his head.

The room grows quiet as the two men continue to work. Theo’s mind wanders as he puts the stock away. When was the last time he saw you? Damn near a decade ago. It was the night of the battle. A few bottles of fire whiskeys had been procured, thanks to Mattheo and his mysterious ways of smuggling contraband into the school. It was the first get-together like this that they’d had in a long time… and, unbeknownst to them, it would be the last.

~

“There’s not enough fire whiskey in the world to make me go down those stairs with Theo.”

“You worried you’ll fall in love with him, Riddle?”

“I’m worried he’ll actually try to kiss me, is what I’m worried about.”

Theo laughed as he took another swig from the bottle, before saying, “In your dreams, Riddle.”

The group erupted with laughter as they sat in a circle on the upper balcony of the Astronomy Tower. Blaise, Daphne, Astoria, Pansy, and even Malfoy were all taking part. It was pretty late, but with the Death Eaters having their hold on Hogwarts, the Riddle heirs were given free reign, subsequently meaning their friends were given the same treatment. Which is why it was so easy for Mattheo to procure two bottles of fire whiskey, one of which already completely gone.

Theo’s stoic nature had been greatly diminished by the alcohol, his head swirling just enough to make him feel light and calm. Despite the juvenile feeling it gave him, the game of Seven Minutes in Heaven that started once the first bottle had emptied was quite entertaining, and had grown even more so when Mattheo took the last turn, and the bottle landed on none other than Theo.

“You know the rules, Mattheo.” Your voice sounded like honey when you chimed in from across the circle, sitting next to Pansy with your legs sprawled out in front of you. “You either have to go to the lower level with our friend Teddy here-“ Theo looked down at the ground, trying to hide his reaction to your nickname for him. “-Or you have to drink.”

Mattheo didn’t hesitate before snatching the bottle that still had liquor in it right out of Theo’s hand and putting the end to his mouth, dramatically throwing his head backwards. One, two, three giant gulps went down Mattheo’s throat, not a flinch in sight as he set it back down with a pleased look on his face.

“Don’t drink all of it, Matty,” Astoria pouted, reaching over and snatching the bottle from his grasp. Theo looked over at you, meeting your eyes at the exact moment that you looked over at him. Raising your hand, you pointed to your mouth and made a puke face. He bit back a smile before looking away from you.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Nott,” Mattheo said, ignoring Astoria’s comment as he nodded towards the empty bottle in the middle to indicate his friend’s turn at the game. Theo rolled his eyes as he leaned forward.

“I’d snog sandpaper before I’d let your cracked lips anywhere near mine.”

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the bottle spinning. The look on Theo’s face read nonchalance, but that didn’t match up with the pounding in his chest. It felt like he could hear the second hand of the clock tower ticking in the distance, though he knew it was too far away for him to actually hear it. As the bottle began to slow, Theo bit the inside of his cheek, and when it came to a stop, his teeth almost clamped down entirely.

You.

The universe and Merlin himself came together and had the bottle land on you.

Theo could feel his cheeks burning, not moving a muscle as his eyes trailed to Mattheo. The humor had completely drained from his curly haired friend’s face.

“Re-spin, Theo.”

Theo didn’t even have time to process Mattheo’s words, let alone answer, before you were already turning to face him.

“Why ask me to play if I can’t participate?”

This made Theo’s cheeks burn more, though no one could notice, their attention being on the altercation brewing between Mattheo and you.

“Because you’d bitch about it if I didn’t.”

“And you didn’t think I’d bitch about you bitching about me participating?”

Mattheo said nothing to his sister, instead turning his fierce gaze back to Theo.

“I’ll cut your fucking eyes out if you even think about it, Nott.”

As Theo opened his mouth to respond, you pushed yourself off the floor. The look on your face could be read as many different things; Defiance, anger, annoyance. But one thing was clear- you were not allowing Mattheo to have the final say.

“Come on, Theo.”

You put your hand out towards him. The conflict in his chest was rising rapidly as everyone stared at him, waiting for him to make his decision. Only two of those sets of eyes brought him the anxiety that coursed through him. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off Mattheo.

But he knew his choice before he even knew he had to make one. As soon as the bottle came to a stop, the deal was signed.

Reaching up, he took your hand and allowed you to pull him to his feet. Mattheo’s face was filled with a mix of rage and surprise as he watched you lead Theo away from the group.

“You better keep your fucking hands to yourself, Nott.”

“No promises, Matty,” You sneered without looking at Mattheo, as your foot hit the first step down. Theo’s eyes drifted to look over the railing that paralleled the stairs as the two of you began to descend, overlooking the castle and the Black Lake in the distance. His heart was in his throat once his feet reached the wooden floor.

The lower level of the balcony was used as storage. Surrounding the outer edges were fixtures covered in sheets that were held down with rope, presumably statues and pieces of furniture. Other miscellaneous things were also scattered around, such as a two seater bench that was split in two, a random assortment of stools, and abandoned cauldrons. In the middle of the ceiling was a glass globe fixture, the bottom half on the lower level while the top was displayed on the upper level. Along it was a metal lining that didn’t quite reach the walls, meaning there was enough of an opening for people to look down. When Theo looked up, he saw multiple sets of eyes staring down into the lower level, one of which was accompanied by angry shouts at him to Know your place, Nott and Don’t even think about it. Not a word could be said about it before you were flicking your wand in its direction. A flash of light flashed through the room, and suddenly, Theo couldn’t look through the openings anymore. Turning, you did the same to the staircase.

Theo looked at you in awe.

“Since when can you cast spells without speaking?”

You shrugged, as if it were a completely benign thing.

“I’ve been practicing.”

Theo stuffed his hands in his pockets as you sat down on a spare table off to the side. It was impossible for him not to look at you like you had just put the stars in the sky, but hell did he try not to.

“Maybe you should’ve been in Ravenclaw,” He commented, causing you to roll your eyes.

“You think I’d ever hear the end of it from that one?” You pointed to the ceiling, where loud footsteps and even louder voices could be heard from the other side. Theo laughed at this, his head craning backwards.

“I think you’d have killed him before finishing out first year, if that were the case.”

The tension in the air was palpable. Was it from Mattheo’s anger? Or Theo’s feelings? It was hard to say, but he found himself wondering if you felt it too. Before he could think too much about it, you spoke again.

“Sometimes I wish I had gotten put in another house, though. Instead of Slytherin.”

Theo froze. Of anything you could’ve possibly said, he never would’ve suspected… Well, that.

“Why?” He asked, tone soft.

You looked down at your hands, mindlessly pinching at your skin.

“It would make me think I was made for more than what my family has planned for me.” You sighed as your gaze met Theo once more. “I never wanted any of this. The special treatment from the Death Eaters and the constant fear. I don’t want it.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, Theo mulled over your words.

“Why would you, the daughter of Lord Voldemort, have anything to fear?”

You sat up a little straighter, pressing your lips together in a thin line.

“I know you’ve been working for him.”

Theo swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

A beat passed.

“Didn’t I?”

You scooted down the table so now your feet touched the floor, more leaning on it than sitting, folding your hands in front of you. Theo’s eyes never left you as he studied your every move. The heat from your stare was making his palms sweat.

“You promised me you wouldn’t,” You reminded him. He closed his eyes. How could such a quiet part of the castle suddenly feel so loud? He couldn’t do this with you. Not right now. You wouldn’t understand.

“My father wanted me to become… acquainted with the family business,” He explained slowly. This didn’t seem to appease you.

“You could’ve talked to me. I would’ve figured something out,” You said. Was that annoyance in your voice? Or something else? “Maybe my father doesn’t take Mattheo seriously but he would’ve listened to me if I asked him not to send you on errands.”

Theo shook his head, his eyes drifting to the floor just briefly. “It’s too late now.”

The words hung in the air for a moment too long. Theo watched as a thought seemed to pop into your head, the expression on your face changing from mildly frustrated to downright terror. You slowly pushed away from the table. There was something about the way you were looking at him, with your lips slightly parted and your eyes filled with confusion, that made him feel sick.

“Theo… did you take the Mark?”

~

The Christmas party is too reminiscent of one of the Slytherin common room parties. The music is too loud. The people are too drunk. And Theo is too fucking old for this.

He squeezes down a random hallway of Malfoy Manor, narrowly missing Blaise Zabini and Luna Lovegood as they make out against the wall. Try he does to not give them a passing glance, albeit a confused one, but radically does he fail.

Time really is a funny thing, He thinks to himself. Changes people in ways no one could ever understand.

Theo’s arrival at the party was as anticlimactic as he wanted it to be. In the hour since he walked through the door, he can count on less than ten fingers how many familiar faces he saw, and he only needed one hand to count how many people he’s spoken to.

Though Draco is the only Malfoy living in the mansion now, save his wife, it still looks exactly the same as it did when they were kids. Theo remembers the summers away from Hogwarts spent roaming these halls with Draco, Mattheo and you. The weeks and weeks at a time spent here after his mother died and his father made it clear he didn’t understand how to be a father. If it weren’t for Narcissa Malfoy, Theo can’t imagine the man he would be now. He feels it in his heart every time he walks by a picture of her, her tender eyes and sweet smile looking back at him. The closest thing to a mother he ever had.

You should write to her more, He thinks to himself.

Theo enters the kitchen, with his hand almost on the knob of the back door, when a voice stops him.

“Theodore Nott! Hi!”

He turns to find Astoria Greengr- Malfoy looking at him with a wide smile. It hasn’t been too long since he had last seen her, although it’s enough time for her to have a swollen pregnant belly this go around. Her wedding to Malfoy was small and rushed, as it wasn’t long after him, Theo and Mattheo had returned from their time away, but her smile is the same now as it was that day.

She waddles up to Theo, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he plants a quick kiss on her cheek.

“You alright, Tori?” His voice is gentle in a way that it never was with Astoria. It has to be the pregnancy causing him to be nicer. The fact remains that he and Astoria historically never got along, and while he would never outwardly be mean to her, especially now as the wife of one of his best mates, he didn’t go out of his way to be nice to her, either. Which is why at the wedding, he didn’t intentionally avoid her that entire evening. He just simply didn’t go out of his way to speak to her. The wad of cash he left in an envelope on the gift table that evening spoke for itself, in his humble opinion.

Astoria shrugs casually, before saying, “Just running around, as usual. What have you been up to since-“ She cuts off, swallowing as the smile on her face falters ever so slightly. It’s obvious to anyone what she was about to say and even more so that it was meant to remain a thought in her head and never pass her lips. But it’s too late for that now, as the ghost of the words unsaid still hang in the air above them. Theo sighs as he turns to the kitchen island, which is buried in alcohol bottles, and begins to pour himself a drink. A strong one.

“You can say it, Tori.”

She still hesitates before it comes out in a barely audible whisper.

“Since Azkaban?”

There it is.

Theo doesn’t even blink. The word is so casual to him now, so recurrent in his daily thoughts that it’s almost chronic. Though, his teeth still grow cold as the memories of the brutally cold air flood through him.

“Oh, you know,” He manages to answer. “Mattheo and I started the bar in Hogsmeade. I’m sure you heard all about that. Have a cottage now, not too far from there.” He hums in thought. “Got a cat. She’s a bloody shit, but I love her.”

All of this seems to surprise Astoria, and Theo didn’t blame her. He wasn’t the same boy she knew back at Hogwarts. He never would be again. All of the fire and fight that he had back then was snuffed out in the years he was locked away. Now, some days it feels like he is a shell of his former self.

“What’s her name? Your cat?”

Theo smiles brightly, as if he was being asked about his own child.

“Crisp.”

Astoria stifles a laugh.

“Crisp?”

“She’s a black cat, so she looks like she’s... burnt to a crisp.”

Astoria pauses for a second before breaking into a smile and laughing out loud, the sound filling the kitchen. It gives Theo deja vu, reminding him of the days in the common room where he’d hear it and cringe. The thought makes him feel a little bad. Only a little though.

“That’s funny,” She remarks, still coming down from the high of it as she carefully wipes her eyes. Theo smiles politely, glancing at the back door before turning back to Astoria. What the hell does he say now? He already knows what’s going on with her. It’s popping out of her dress.

“Erm… Is Mattheo here yet?”

Astoria perks up at the sound of his best friend’s name, her eye developing a twinkle that wasn’t there before. Something about it makes Theo a little sad. Though her love for Draco was true, Astoria always held a torch for Mattheo. Everyone knew it. Even Draco, who still ended up marrying her in the end. Mattheo just never felt the same pull to Astoria that she felt for him. And though he never talked about it with Theo, he couldn’t help but wonder if that thought ever made Mattheo feel guilty.

Just as quick as it came, the spark in Astoria’s eye disappears and is replaced with… something Theo can’t quite place.

“They’ll be here any minute,” Astoria finally answers with a slight smirk. Theo feels his heart swell. The use of they instead of he was not lost on him.

Nodding, Theo turns his body toward the back door, his gaze still on Astoria.

“Good talking to you, Tori.”

She gives him a look, another one that he just can’t read, which is starting to frustrate him, before smiling softly at him.

“I’ll send erm… Mattheo your way when he gets here.”

He nods once more, giving her a final half cooked smile before letting himself out into the back courtyard.

The circular courtyard is centered with a large fountain, the centerpiece being a dragon. Shrubbery and flowers of different shapes and sizes line the edges. Theo walks the pebbled pathways with the same familiarity that he would walk the Hogwarts grounds. He knows every turn, every bench, every scuff mark on the brick walls like the back of his hands. As he sips on his drink, he finds himself reminiscing on the reverie of being a young kid, running down these same paths with his closest friends. So many memories made on this very plot of land. Mattheo falling and cracking his head on the side of the fountain and Draco trying to use a spell to fix it, only to make it worse. Theo picking the roses off one of the many rose bushes to give to you, then the scolding he received after. All of the cigarette butts that he and Mattheo were forced to clean up when Narcissa would discover them. Probably thousands of cigarette butts between the two of them. But they never learned to find a container for them. It seems like it was a whole lifetime ago. Maybe it was.

Theo passes beyond the shrubbery to walk the trails that line the estate. It never gets old, walking through the pine trees. Muscle memory carries his legs towards his favorite spot on the whole lot. He tries to remember the last time he’d walked this route, but he can’t. Which means it’s been too long.

The bench comes into view, the huge oak tree still standing guard behind it. If the sun was out, it would provide the perfect shade, regardless of the time of day. Surrounding it are multiple rose bushes, a Narcissa Malfoy addition. Theo used to spend many hours at this bench, reading or losing himself in thought. It has always been a sanctuary to him, even now, after all these years.

Sitting down, he inhales slowly before letting it out in a long drawl. Being here again feels like coming home for the first time since his release from Azkaban. There’s only one thing that could make it perfect…

Damn, I wish I had a cigarette, He finds himself thinking.

Okay, maybe two things could make it perfect.

“Thought I’d find you out here.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight.

He would’ve never expected the sight of you to be accompanied by the smell of cigarettes, yet here you are, slowly walking down the path with a freshly lit smoke in your hand. A slight smile fills your cheeks as you look at him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The word runs through his brain like a news headline on the television. It never occurred to him that you could get more stunning. The familiar feeling of his palms growing sweaty hits him, and he instinctively wipes them on his jeans.

“Since when do you smoke?”

You take a long drag, holding your breath before blowing a cloud into the air above you. In the back of Theo’s brain is the sound of you relentlessly nagging him to quit, a treatment you curiously only saved for him and did not share with your brother.

“D’you want to hear something silly?” You ask him. He shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes jumping up to the night sky. “I found myself missing it. The smell. Can you believe that?”

A laugh bursts from Theo’s chest.

“No,” He admits. “With the way you went on about it? If you weren’t smoking in front of me right now, I would never believe you.”

Shaking your head, smiling, you slowly make your way towards him.

“Mattheo was so angry when he found out,” You say. “And he, apparently, is smoke free now. I’m not even allowed to smoke near him. After all the years he was perfectly fine with giving me secondhand lung cancer!” You roll your eyes. “I only smoke every once in a while, though. Nothing like the two of you did, fucking chimneys.”

Theo stands as you approach the bench, his hands in his pocket. You waste no time before you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. As he snakes his arms around your torso, his eyes flutter shut. You smell exactly the same, save for the new addition of the cigarette smoke. And you still make his stomach turn with every touch. He kisses the side of your head before pulling away, unable to contain the smile that forces its way across his cheeks.

“You weren’t at the wedding.”

Pursing your lips, you look away from him.

“I, unfortunately, was otherwise engaged.”

There’s something cryptic behind your words, and it doesn’t sit well with him.

“What does that mean?” He asks. From his recollection, even Mattheo didn’t know why you had bailed on such an important event. Being one of his longest friends, Draco was distraught by your absence.

“It means that I don’t want to tell you why I couldn’t go,” You inform him. His eyes narrow slightly.

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’ll be angry. And I’m not interested in starting our reunion out that way.”

A cool breeze blows through the air, but Theo isn’t convinced that it’s the cause of the chill that flows through him.

“How do you know I’ll be angry?” He questions, although hesitantly. You give him a look.

“Because I know you. You’ve been my brother’s best friend for as long as I can remember. I could be blindfolded and still pick you out just by the sound of your breathing. And I know what will make you mad.” You take another drag of the cigarette, the smoke filling the air with your sigh. “This will.”

The debate in Theo’s head is intense. On one hand, with how cryptic you’re being, he wants to know what the reason was. Just the way you said it has a fire flaring in his chest. But on the other hand, you're right. He’d rather not plague the reunion that he’s been thinking about for the last decade with anger. Not when he doesn’t have to. Not while you’re looking at him like that, with a warm smile and even warmer gaze. Before he has the chance to decide how to go forward, you make the choice for him.

“Let me take a look at you,” You say, taking a step back and looking him up and down. Internally, Theo prays that his cheeks don’t reflect on the outside the heat they feel on the inside, as your eyes trail from the top of his head to his feet.

“You still look like my Theo. Except for this.” Stepping forward, you bring a hand to his left cheek, your fingers resting on his jaw as your thumb grazes the beard growing on his face. Theo holds his breath, because he knows if he exhales, you’ll hear the shudder. When you let your hand drop, left behind is the feeling of ice where your warm fingertips had been. You shake your head. “Certainly don’t look like an ex-convict.”

Theo’s next words leave his mouth before he has time to think them through.

“You certainly don’t look like a newly divorced woman.”

As soon as the words enter the atmosphere, Theo’s face falls, and he wants to insert his foot in his mouth. It wasn’t meant to be the insult it sounded like when he said it. But to his astonishment, you just smile, looking up at the sky as you shake your head.

“It was never going to last with Cormac,” You tell him. “Our divorce was written in the stars. I knew that. I don’t know if he knew that, but I did.”

Theo’s gaze drifts to the ground before looking back up at you. The question he wants to ask is running on repeat in his mind, as he goes back and forth on whether or not to even say it.

Fuck it.

“Why did you marry him?”

You flinch slightly, to Theo’s dismay. The last thing he ever wants is to hurt you. At the same time, he went all these years wondering how someone like you could be with someone like Cormac Fucking McLaggen, the same Cormac Fucking McLaggen that you and him spent hours and hours collectively making fun of back in school, and he couldn’t go without finding out any longer.

“He was there and-“ You stop abruptly, closing your eyes briefly before opening them again. He can practically see you rearranging your thoughts. “And no one else was.”

Theo raises an eyebrow.

“You didn’t think you deserved or could find anyone better?”

You laugh suddenly, confusing Theo, before you respond.

“I knew I could find someone better,” You say. “He was just intended to be… a placeholder. Just to pass the time.” You sigh. “He ended up being a shitty placeholder, and more work than was necessary. That was my fault. I got complacent.”

The more you explain yourself, the more Theo grows confused. He wants to yell at you, to tell you to just say what you mean. But he doesn’t.

“A placeholder?” He asks quietly. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

For a moment, you don’t say anything, taking another drag from your cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air. Theo watches you, so tempted to ask you for one, but he’s so wrapped up in the conversation that he can barely breathe, let alone speak.

“It means he was there, I was lonely and I was waiting for something better.”

Theo’s eyes are fixed on every move you make, his whole body turning to watch you sit down on the bench. As he tries to sort through his racing thoughts to find a coherent one, you take another drag of the cigarette, looking around at the roses. He takes a seat to the right of you.

“What were you waiting for?”

You don’t answer as you turn to look at him. Just the look on your face drives Theo crazy. Not once would he ever say that you remind him of your father, but your ability to move through a conversation with ease and manipulation is uncanny. He’s convinced that the word discomfort isn’t in your vocabulary. If a topic comes up that you don’t want to talk about, you simply twist the conversation back to exactly where you want it to be. And Theo, a person who knows you better than most, can tell just by the way you’re looking at him right now that you’re about to do what you do best. And he’s going to let you.

It’s the way you do it this time around, however, that comes as a surprise.

Your gaze drops to his left arm at his side, his hand resting on his knee. With a delicate touch, you reach over and take it between your fingers, slowly rising the sleeve up his arm as Theo, once again, forgets how to breathe entirely.

~

“I won’t ask you again, Theodore. Did you take the Dark Mark?”

The sound of his full name coming out of your mouth made his heart stop. Theo swallowed hard, whispering your name under his breath so quietly that a gust of wind could’ve drowned it out.

You charged towards him, grabbing his arm and yanking up the sleeve of his hoodie before he could even process that you had moved. There, in its glory, was the fresh mark, branded so recently that the skin surrounding it was still tender.

A strangled whimper escaped your mouth before you forcibly threw Theo’s arm away from you, as if it had burned you. Covering your mouth, you turned away from him, taking a couple of steps towards the table you had been sitting on only moments before. Nausea overwhelmed Theo as he stared at you. He followed your footsteps and reached out for your arm, only to have it yanked back the moment his fingers curled around your bicep. The gesture sent a ripple of pain through Theo’s chest.

“Please let me explain-“

“How could you do this!?” You shouted, whipping around to face him. The sight of the tears streaming down your face shredded his heart more than your words ever could. “We talked about this, Theo. I told you not to take the mark. Not to waste your life. How could you do this to yourself? Hell, how could you do this to me?”

I can’t do this, Theo thought to himself. I can’t.

The way your eyes were a careful mix of anger and devastation was too much for Theo. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to make you stop looking at him like that, and it was very rare for him to want you to stop looking at him at all. But he knew that the one thing that could make you relax once again was the one thing he couldn’t give you. He took another step towards you, saying your name again. When you took a step backwards, he felt like the floor was going to open up and swallow him whole.

“This is more than getting acquainted with the family business!” Your chest heaved as you spoke. “This is getting integrated.”

“I have just as much ability to say no to my father as you and Mattheo have to say no to yours!” He shouted desperately. “There was nothing I could do. You, of all people, have to understand.”

You vigorously shook your head. “No, Theo. I don’t. I would’ve done anything to stop this from happening.” The pain that dripped from your words was splattered on your face. Theo wanted to throw up just looking at your expression, each word feeling like another punch to the face.

“What would you have wanted me to do?” He asked, his voice now level but strained while taking another step forward. “Tell me. Tell me what you would have had me do.”

Your eyes were wide and filled with fear. Another cold breeze came through the cracks in the balcony walls. Instead of taking a step back when Theo stepped forward, you stood still, staring up at him as your chest continued to heavily rise and fall.

“Anything.” Your voice was a coarse whisper. “Literally anything else.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” He didn’t mean to shout at you again, but his head felt so foggy from the whole thing, he couldn’t think straight. The sadness in your eyes was destroying him in ways he would never understand.

“There’s always a fucking choice!” You shouted back.

“I-“

Theo was quickly cut off but your rapid speaking.

“We could’ve run. We could’ve fled together. Just you and me. Anywhere. Maybe to Italy so you could be close to the memory of your mother. Or to somewhere totally new, like Brazil. Or Japan. We could’ve escaped this together if you had given me the chance to help you. To save you.”

It would’ve hurt less if you had actually cut his chest open and ripped his heart out with your bare hands instead of doing it figuratively like you just had. He let out a shaky breath, his entire body going stiff.

“You don’t mean that,” He said quietly. “Just leave Mattheo? And your fam-“

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean, Theodore.”

He flinched at the subsequent use of his full first name.

Theo stood frozen as he watched you press your hand over your eyes, inhaling deeply before letting it out just as hard. Your warm breath turned into a cloud of steam dissipating in front of you from the cold air. He took another step towards you, the distance dwindling.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” He said softly. The pleading in his tone could be heard for miles.

You stood silent for a long time, your hand covering your eyes. With every passing moment where you didn’t speak, Theo grew more anxious. The silence between the two of you was just as loud as if you were screaming at the top of your lungs. But if Theo was being honest with himself, he’d rather you scream and shout at him. That's what he was used to. But the stunned silence? This was something that, in all the years of knowing and learning everything he could about you, he had never seen. It was too much for him to bear.

When he whispered your name again, you shook your head. The motion caused a pain in his chest so severe that he worried his heart would stop entirely. In a daring moment, he took a step forward, delicately pulling your hand from your face and tilting your head upwards to look at him.

“Please.” Theo did nothing to hide the pain and desperation in his tone. His hands moved to cradle your cheeks. “Please tell me what to do. And I’ll do it.”

Your eyes were wide as you stared into his. The world seemed to screech to a halt at this moment. The wind that had been haunting the balcony for the entire night stilled. The crickets went dead quiet. Theo’s thumbs stroked the skin of either side of your face.

Against his better judgment, despite the severity of the situation he and you find yourselves in, the proximity to you caused his eyes to instinctively jump down to your mouth.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw you do the same.

As you opened your mouth to speak, an overwhelming pain radiated through Theo’s left arm. His hands dropped from your face as he stepped backwards, blowing out a hiss through his teeth as he gripped his forearm tightly. Your mouth pressed into a firm line, as you understood before he did what was about to happen. The noises from upstairs picked up again at the same moment, and in the distance, Theo could hear his name being shouted.

You quickly turned with your wand, removing the barrier you had created around the stairs. The shouting instantly grew louder, and suddenly, Mattheo appeared at the top of the steps. The anger he previously had was gone, replaced with another look that sent chills down Theo’s spine.

Fear.

He didn’t regard you at all. His eyes were focused on Theo.

“We have to go.”

Theo swallowed hard as Mattheo stared down at him.

“He’s here.”

~

The deja vu hits Theo hard as you roll his sleeve up.

Though your expression doesn’t change, he can feel the way your fingers relax against his skin when you find that the Mark is nowhere to be seen. Seeing his bare arm brings him great relief as well, even though he’s seen it this way every day since its removal.

“They removed it when we got to Azkaban,” He explains quietly. “They thought we could communicate through it or something.”

Your thumb trails up and down his skin in the same area the Mark had been. Theo’s eyes are glued to the motion, following your movements.

“That night haunted me for years.”

Your words send a chill up his spine so intense that he can’t hide the shiver that ripples through him. Swallowing hard, his eyes jump back to your face, studying your features.

“Me too.”

The sound of the crickets chirping fills the night air, along with the very distant music coming from the manor. Your eyes find Theo’s again, although your hand doesn’t let go of his arm.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” You say, voice quiet, yet not quite a whisper. “If I had known what was about to happen, and that it could’ve been our last interaction, I wouldn’t have acted the way I did.”

“If anyone should be sorry, it should be me.”

You give him a look.

“Please. Don’t. I didn’t understand then, but I understand now.”

Theo glances down at your hand on his arm, pulling away so he can in turn take your fingers in his. The two of you look down as Theo turns your fingers around in his hands, as if he’s examining them.

“If you knew then what was about to happen…” You asked slowly. “What would you have done differently?”

Theo’s face grows warm.

“Honestly?”

Though his gaze stays cast downwards, he can still feel the warmth of yours as it jumps to his face once more.

“Always.”

For a moment, no one moves or speaks. Then, Theo entwines his fingers through the spaces between yours, curling them down so the tips press softly against the dorsal aspect of your hand.

“I would’ve kissed you.”

If your breath didn’t hitch in your throat, Theo would think you didn’t react at all. He glances back up at you, his eyes meeting yours, his thumb running up and down the smooth skin of your hand. What a perfect night for a party, the night of the full moon. The moonlight dimly hits your face but it’s still enough to make his heart flutter.

“I would’ve let you.”

It takes everything in Theo to not kiss you right there. The moment he has been waiting all these years for is finally here, dropped in his lap. But he can only kiss you for the first time once, and it has to be perfect.

Theo glances down at your mouth. It’s just a moment away, and he’s counting down the seconds.

“I would’ve told you that I was in love with you too.”

The shock breaks through your face this time, as Theo squeezes your hand a little tighter.

“I would’ve said the same.”

Nights of dreaming of this moment in his Azkaban cell seem to fill his memory as your words hit Theo like a monsoon. He raises his free hand and brushes the free strands of hair away from your face.

“What about now?” He asks in a soothing whisper. “Would you say the same now?” What shocks him is when you laugh, but he tries not to let it falter his resolve.

“Theo,” You say, the laughter gone but the genuine look of amusement still present. “Why do you think I needed a placeholder?”

A beat passes.

Theo’s lips crash into yours.

And despite having been out of Azkaban for a while now, despite his reunion with his sanctuary at Malfoy Manor, he’s finally, completely, come home.

Every repressed feeling Theo has ever felt in the last decade is surged through the kiss and into you. All of his desperation, his yearning, the fiery love that never got snuffed out. It felt like his heart just knew that he’d see you again, and the love he felt was carefully packed away in a box, left to grow until the reunion had arrived.

The cigarette you had been holding is now forgotten on the pathway. Your hands weave through Theo’s hair as he has one hand on your cheek, the other firmly placed on your hip. The world around you and him is still. Did the crickets go home? Is the party over? All sounds have gone mute, minus the sounds of your quiet hums as Theo’s tongue searches your mouth. You scoot closer to him, your knee going between his in an effort to get as close to him as possible.

“Fucking despicable this is.”

Theo and you jump away from each other, shocked to see Mattheo approaching with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“Out of everyone in this party, you pick him?” He goes on. “In my opinion, you could do better.”

You scoff.

“Name one person that you’ve ever met who you thought was good enough for me and I’ll chew my wrist off.”

Almost a whole minute passes before Mattheo speaks again.

“Touché.”

Theo bites back a smile. You point at Mattheo before saying, “Wait a minute. You said you don’t smoke anymore!”

Mattheo shrugs as he blows a plume of smoke into the air.

“This party killed that.”

“You arsehole. You gave me such a hard time for doing it.”

“Your excuse was a bloody weak one. ‘I miss the smell’. Shut the fuck up.”

“Forgive me for missing my brother and wanting to feel close to him!”

Mattheo’s gaze slides to Theo, then down to his fingers entwined with yours.

“Yeah. I’m sure you were thinking of me when you

took your first drag.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to Theo as you try and fail to hide the smile on your cheeks. Just the sight of you alone was sending Theo’s heart into overdrive.

Mattheo plops down in the space next to you, letting out a deep sigh.

“Just try to give it some time before you rush off and get married, yeah?” Mattheo says before taking another hit. “Don't come off desperate like our lovely hosts in there.”

“Oh, you’re actually going to keep your mouth shut about me being with a guy this time?” You challenge him. Even Theo looks at his best friend curiously, semi shocked by his response.

“Yeah, I don’t have the energy to give a rat’s fart.”

Your hand still in Theo’s, he feels you give his a squeeze.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

His heart flutters.

He knows what you’re saying without a single word passing your lips.

He repeats the gesture back to you.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Mattheo and you continue to go back and forth as Theo sits by quietly, his thumb stroking the top of your hand. Eyes fluttering closed, he takes a deep breath, soaking in the cool evening air.

This is it.

Home at last.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 31: "I've got you"

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Imagining Spencer as the unit chief drives me feral, and this is kinda hurt/comfort, but I hope you like it.

I'm sorry it's been a few more days, but I needed a break from everything urgently. Anyway, here it is! Thanks for making it this far, see you next year ;)

For weeks, Spencer Reid had been temporarily filling the role of unit chief. He still felt a bit uncomfortable in this position, more accustomed to contributing his knowledge than leading. However, with each new case, his responsibility towards the team—and especially towards you—became clearer. He wasn’t just your mentor in an academic sense, but also in a professional one, and he felt a connection that went beyond mere work. Spencer had become someone who wanted to protect you, not just guide you.

That’s why, when the preliminary analysis of the case indicated that the victim they had just found at the crime scene was someone close to you, he felt an uncontrollable urge to keep you away from that situation. He remembered all too well what it felt like to lose someone dear in such a violent way and didn’t want you to have to face that same shattering reality.

You were already walking toward the yellow tape, ready to help decipher the modus operandi of the killer you were chasing, when he quickly approached you, his expression grave and full of concern. He wasn’t going to give you the chance to resist; he had decided that the best course of action was to pull you back, to shield you from the pain before it was too late.

“You’re off this case,” he said firmly, his voice carrying an authority he rarely used with you.

“What? Why?” you protested, frowning. “Why are you asking me this, Reid? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

He shook his head, his face serious, his gaze trying to persuade you without words. The idea of letting you see that was unbearable to him. He already knew it wasn’t a guess; it was a hard truth, difficult to digest and even harder to accept. He felt his fingers tense, his hands fighting the urge to physically hold your shoulders, to restrain you with the strength he needed to keep you from facing that devastating sight.

“Listen to me. This isn’t something you should see. The victim… it’s someone you know.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to process what you had just heard. The air grew thick, your breathing heavier as a wave of disbelief and fear began to take hold. Yet, you resisted. Ignoring his words, you pulled away from his side in a desperate impulse, determined to confirm the truth for yourself.

Spencer tried to stop you, but it was no use. The scene unfolded before you, and your eyes landed on the lifeless face of someone you deeply loved. Reality hit you hard, and all your strength collapsed in an instant. It was as if the world crumbled around you, and you were paralyzed, trapped in that endless moment of pain and desolation.

Spencer watched as you broke down. The shock in your face, the trembling in your hands, the emptiness in your gaze… it was all a blend of emotions he knew too well. Seeing any corpse was hard, for sure, but seeing someone you knew lying on the floor was heartbreaking.

As he looked at you, he recalled his own experiences of loss. Those nights when he had desperately wished for a hug, a refuge, a promise that things would be okay. His heart broke seeing you so vulnerable, and without thinking further, he crossed the distance between you and wrapped you in his arms.

The warmth of his embrace shattered the emotional blockade you had been submerged in, and suddenly, you found yourself clinging to him with all your might, seeking in his presence a comfort that seemed impossible.

You felt the weight of your emotions overflowing, the pain pulling you down with an unstoppable force. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, and you buried your face in his chest, as if you were trying to disappear in his embrace. Spencer felt each shaky breath, each tear that fell onto his clothing, and he held you with the same intensity, as if he too depended on that contact to stay whole.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice barely breaking, as if those words could somehow shield you from reality.

In his mind, Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about all he had wished for in his worst moments. No one had been there to hold him in the same way when he faced his own tragedies. He remembered the loneliness, the deep pain that threatened to consume him, and how he had learned to bury his feelings just to keep going. But now, at that moment, he felt a desperate urge to be for you everything he had never had.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, with a conviction that brought you a faint sense of calm. His arms were like a barrier against the world, a shield that offered you protection amidst the chaos around you. In that moment, nothing else mattered; only the warmth of his embrace, the firmness of his hold, and the words he whispered like a mantra. He wasn’t promising that the pain would go away, but that he would be there to hold you through it.

Around you, the crime scene continued its course: the patrol lights illuminated the night, agents went on with their work, and the murmur of voices mixed with the ambient noise. But for you, all of that faded away; there was only Spencer and the refuge he provided in that moment of weakness.

The trembling in your hands began to subside little by little, though the pain did not disappear. Your breathing became a bit steadier, and you dared to look up, meeting Spencer’s eyes. There was something in his expression, a mix of empathy and determination that made you feel understood. He wasn’t just there as your boss or your mentor; he was there as someone who understood your suffering in a way no one else could.

In his mind, Spencer repeated a silent promise. He wouldn’t let you go through the same things he had. You couldn’t know it, but each gentle rub on your back, each softly whispered word, was charged with a silent resolve, a promise that he would do everything he could so you wouldn’t have to face the pain alone.

“We’re going to get through this,” he finally whispered, his voice steadier than he actually felt. And as you nodded weakly, you clung to that phrase as if it were an unbreakable promise.

Spencer kept his arms around you for several minutes, ignoring the passage of time and the murmur of the other agents. He was aware that you’d have to face reality eventually, that you’d have to process what had happened. However, he was willing to hold you as long as necessary, because he knew that in moments like this, support and company were the only things that could mitigate the pain, even if just a little.

To him, holding you was more than an act of comfort; it was an act of redemption, a way to heal his own wounds by offering you the support he had never received. And in that instant, you both shared a moment of intimacy and understanding so profound that it transcended words.

When you finally pulled away, he kept a hand on your shoulder, a gesture of support that anchored you to reality. Your eyes met, and in Spencer’s gaze, you found a silent promise that you would be okay, that he would be by your side for as long as it took. And although the pain hadn’t vanished, you knew that, at least for that moment, you weren’t alone.

[ddejavvu]

can I request a James potter version of him having sex tapes/nudes of the both of you on your phone <3 and James is similar to Remus in that he isn’t too worried about the marauders accidentally seeing because he trusts them LOL but anyone else is a hard no lmao

Thanks x

"Remus," James calls from the kitchen, apron around his waist and curls flopping over his face, "Would you check the recipe, and tell me how much tomato paste I need? I screenshotted it."

"Yeah, mate," Remus groans, "Just gimme a sec."

"I don't have a sec," James prods, stealing a glance over at the living room, "Can you just get off your arse and do it?"

"I'll look," Marlene offers, and suddenly James is no longer tied to the stove.

"No! No," James lunges for the device that's balanced on the arm of the couch, a song playing through the speaker that's setting the ambience for the room, "Uh, I can do it."

"What's on there," Marlene's eyes narrow, "Mary...?"

"Right behind you," Mary grins, and as a pair, the girls lunge for James, "Now!"

He screams, shrill and panicked. They tackle him, but he tosses his phone across the floor, praying it hasn't shattered as it slides over the kitchen tiles.

"What's on there?" Marlene digs her knees into his waist, smirking down at him, "Embarrassing mirror selfies?"

"No!" James huffs, only straining harder against Marlene as he sees Mary step back into his line of sight, phone in hand, "Don't look!"

"I'm looking," She cackles, and James finally uses all of his strength, not concerned anymore about the way he shoves Marlene to the side. If she hits her head, that's her fault.

"Absolutely not," James snatches the phone from her hands just before she can click on his photos app, "No one gets to see m'girlfriend's tits but me, thank you very much."

"I could have seen a titty picture?!" Marlene's mouth falls open, "No fair!"

"Hey! If she wanted you to see 'em she would have shown you by now." James huffs, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to add the tomato paste."

"She has shown us," Marlene snickers, watching as James stands stiff, frozen in place, "What do you think we do at sleepovers, Potter?"

[regressionschool]

Julie lingered in the doorway of her room, hands fidgeting with the hem of her oversized pajama top. Her cheeks were already turning pink as she glanced at Nanny, who was tidying up her bed for the night. The gentle rustle of the sheets made her heart flutter—she knew what she needed to ask, but it was hard to say it out loud.

Finally, Nanny noticed her hesitation. She paused, giving Julie a warm but slightly curious look. “Is there something you need, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice gentle but with that ever-so-familiar hint of knowing.

Julie shuffled a little, her blush deepening. “Um… Nanny, I… well, you know…” She trailed off, pressing her lips together as her cheeks practically glowed.

Nanny raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently but not letting her off the hook that easily. “I’m not sure I do know, darling,” she replied, a playful glimmer in her eye. “But you can tell me.”

Julie’s heart pounded, and she took a small, shaky breath. “It’s just… um… it’s bedtime, and I think… maybe I should… um…” She dropped her gaze to the floor, twisting her fingers together. “Maybe I should… wear a diaper?”

Nanny’s face softened, but a small, teasing smile played on her lips. “Oh? Maybe you should wear a diaper?” She tilted her head, watching Julie squirm a bit more. “I think you and I both know it’s a little more than ‘maybe,’ don’t we?”

Julie gave a little nod, almost hiding her face behind her hands. “It’s just… I know I need it. Because, you know, the bedwetting and all…” Her voice trailed off again, her cheeks as pink as could be.

With a chuckle, Nanny stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on Julie’s shoulder. “That’s right, honey. We wouldn’t want any soggy sheets, would we?” Her tone was sweet, but there was a hint of playfulness that made Julie’s cheeks flare even redder.

Julie shook her head quickly, her voice barely a whisper. “No… we wouldn’t.”

Nanny gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Well, I think it’s very responsible of you to come and ask for what you need, Julie. Asking for a diaper before bed isn’t so hard, now, is it?”

Julie could only manage a tiny smile, still blushing furiously. “It’s… just a little embarrassing,” she admitted softly.

Nanny reached over to open the top drawer, pulling out one of the thick, crinkly diapers Julie wore each night. She held it up with a smile. “Maybe so, but look how cozy and snug you’ll be! You’ll sleep so much better knowing you’re protected.” She patted the diaper lightly, her grin turning mischievous. “Besides, it’s not like this is your first night in one, hmm?”

Julie’s face turned even pinker, if that was possible. “I know… but…” she hesitated, glancing shyly at the soft, puffy diaper in Nanny’s hands. “I just… didn’t want to ask.”

Nanny chuckled, unfolding the diaper with care. “Well, you asked perfectly,” she said with a wink. “And now that you’re here, let’s get you all cozy and ready for a nice, dry sleep, shall we?”

Julie gave a small, bashful nod, shuffling over to the bed and lying back, her heart fluttering with both nerves and a strange comfort. Nanny hummed softly as she slid the diaper under her, tucking it carefully and taping it snugly around her waist. With each gentle touch, Julie’s blush gradually faded into a feeling of complete warmth and security.

As Nanny finished up, she gave Julie’s diaper a little pat, smiling down at her. “There we go—one snug, sleepy little one all set for bed. I think you’ll sleep like a dream, don’t you?”

Julie managed a little smile, nodding as she snuggled into her blankets, feeling safe, cozy, and thoroughly looked after. “Thank you, Nanny,” she murmured softly.

Nanny brushed a gentle hand over her hair, her voice warm. “Anytime, sweetheart. Sleep tight.”

[miiyas]

sunarin & smiskis… wc: 486, fluff, cussing and foul language, it’s js abt smiski hippers lol, drabble, not proof read

“rintaro, you bitch !”

there’s a ring in your voice as you held onto your smiski delicately between your fingers, a morbid look on your face as your boyfriend held his own green figure with an unamused look. he raises a brow and shifts his eyes to you, large hands holding the hipper.

you’re currently in rintaros bedroom and the two of you sit on the edge of his bed, the package and wrapper from the figure thrown on his floor haphazardly.

his room’s cold and the fan’s constantly spinning which would always result to you wearing his zip up, the one that remains buried between lines of clothes just so it smells like him a little more, a habit suna had unconsciously formed after a few months of being with you.

your smiski hipper was the one with the butt out and splayed out, the stomach being the adhesive tape that was just calling to be stuck onto your phone. rintaro, however, had gotten the special, the one with a big pair of headphones on its stupid little head — the one you’ve wanted so, so desperately.

it took a moment for rintaro to figure the core reason of your outburst. as it clicks in his brain, he laughs and leans closer to you, poking the rough butt of the smiski with a cheshire grin.

“it’s so ugly.”

“yeah, like you. fake ass bitch.”

“at least the gyatt level is—” at this, rintaro received a good smack to the head as he whined dramatically at the pain. your body melt down onto his lap with the smiski resting in the cup of your hand.

“this isn’t funny, rin.”

a snicker escapes his lips, gentle hands brush over your forehead and ridding the stray strands that cover your face. his fingers pull the ends of your lips to form a makeshift smile on your pouting lips.

“it sure fucking is.”

in the end, you’ll sigh and shift your body around on his legs before he moves you to a more proper position on the bed with your head resting on his pillow. his legs would hooks around your waist as the both of you scroll through your phones, his soft heartbeat echoing in the shell of your ear and lulling you to sleep.

and in the evening when you wake up from your nap, you’ll find your phone newly decorated with not your smiski, but the one rintaro had unboxed. the one with stupid headphones and wide, emotionless eyes.

it’ll have his initials tattooed small in english on the arm of the glowing figure with a thin sharpie and when you shift over to look at his phone, dark and plain (spare for a single photo of the both of you), you’ll see your smiski taped onto the top of his phone, it’s whole body glowing brightly next to your phone as yours does the same.