#even if somebody did love him. well. why would they? hes nothing. a smear on the garden

[astoryofsuchwoe]

i like to hurt my own feelings

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 5 ]

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Back from the dead… Did you miss my loves? ;) Fair warning: this part is a bit tedious and emotional. Also, please go check out @lustylita. Their art is divine, and I'm addicted to seeing it! I bet you'll love their work, too!

WARNINGS; [ MDNI ] + [ MENTIONS & DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD & HORROR ] + [ PREGNANCY TROPE...I know but just deal with it for now... ] + [ANGST ] + [ CANNIBALISM ]

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There was so much blood; it was all you could see, painted over every surface you laid your eyes on.

It drenched your skin, trickling from your shaky hands to the void below your feet, filling the space drop by drop like an un-fillable pool.

A heavy smell of iron and decay engulfed your senses, pungent and nauseating. It was nothing like you'd imagined the color red to smell, far from the sweet scent of a blossoming spring rose or a freshly picked basket of crisp apples. The texture did nothing to offset the unsettling substance; it was lukewarm, thick, and seemingly unable to dissipate.

You tried wiping it away, smearing it on any other surface but your skin; however, more would congeal out of thin air. It was frightening, maddening even, and you became desperate to wipe it off with all your might.

Why wouldn't it just disappear?

Where was it coming from?!

Were you going to drown in it?!

An overwhelming shroud of dread consumed you, a scream of utter horror ripping from your chest as the blood beneath your feat rose rapidly, and all you could do was stumble in it: no doors, no openings, no light. Just an endless void produced a never-ending stream of horror that clung to you like glue. You'd never wanted to escape something so badly, falling to your knees as shock racked your minor form, "Let me out! Make it stop! Please, somebody, make it stop!"

Tears streamed down your face, disappearing into the sea of red, aiding nothing but your inner panic.

This had to be some nightmare. A terrible dream you'd awake from at any minute.

It had to be, or the distant screams that were emerging from the darkness would've taken shape into anything but the disfigured bodies floating around you. Each one more mangled the last, terror written over every corpse's face -what was left of it anyway- and you almost envied their deceased state. They'd long passed on, strangers to you, but ever present in these horrific nightmares that worsened the closer you got to giving birth. At least they were dead, fortunate enough to plague your nightmares and not endure this cycle of torture, but they were the sole reason you lost more and more sleep.

You knew this part of the nightmare well; those bodies would remain, but a familiar mix of voices would emerge. You recognized Alastor's sultry tone first, used to hearing it, but the childlike giggles that mingled after his words were newer to you.

"Curiouser and curiouser said little Alice…" he hummed in delight, earning another string of giggles and drawing your attention in their direction.

There he sat, an arm's length away from you, two small children nestled in his lap, their faces hidden behind the book in his hands.

"Alastor?.." you whispered, hoping to gain his attention, unsure if what you saw was real but desperate for a sense of safety. He didn't budge, continuing to read as if you'd never spoken, "The white rabbit scampered off faster and faster, leaving her to wonder and shout after him…"

The children in his lap swung their tiny feet excitedly, voices muffled as they inquired about the story, and Alastor chuckled at their enthusiasm.

What the fuck is happening?...

Anger and confusion consumed your thoughts, urging you to stand and stalk to where your husband sat. He still ignored you, eyes never leaving the book and his smile widening as you drew closer. It was then that you saw it: splatters of blood on his face, hands, and clothes.

Just the same as the night he went hunting, a memory you'd yet to forget, and it seemed your conscience refused to let it go. You tried again to gain his attention, stepping behind him to see the children he held, but he gave no answer, and their faces appeared to blur.

Two things were clear: their smiles mirrored Alastor's perfectly, and their white clothes were stained with blood. Your stomach twisted in knots at the sight, a deep unease settling over you as they reached for you, hands covered in red like Alastor's. Panic overtook you then, your horrified screams overlapping their cheery giggles and his constant reading.

It was all too much, too vivid, and scarring.

You needed to wake up, or you'd surely lose your mind.

So, you screamed, shutting your eyes tight to block out the sight and shrinking away from it in hopes of escape.

"Y/n!?.. Sweetheart, wake up. Open your eyes, come on now," Alastor sat up in your shared bed, gently shaking your shoulders and carefully shifting to hover above you. He awoke to the sounds of your sharp, frantic breathing, recently accustomed to the sounds that stemmed from vivid night terrors. This was your third nightmare of the week, a bad one from what he could gather out of your strained expression and the stray tears staining your cheeks; how he hated to see his darling wife in peril, harboring a deep resentment to whatever troubled your lovely mind but unable to console you completely.

Alastor did not care about many things, and seeing you frantic amid sleep was one of them. As beautiful as you were laying beside him, round with his children and ever so content to bear them, he knew the least he could do was soothe your troubles, even if they were his fault, to begin with.

"Ma chere, wake up. I'm right here…" Alastor tried again to rouse you, and this time, your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice. "A-alastor?…" you choked on a quiet sob, crying silently as his face came into focus, and though you wanted to feel comforted by his attentive nature, the only thing on your mind was the details of your nightmare coming to life.

Blood.

His, yours, a strangers?

It didn't matter where it came from, but the notion of how it stuck to your husband's skin and clothes that night he left your side as if he'd willingly bathed in it stuck with you far longer than anticipated.

Alastor studied your expressions carefully, not bothering to wear his glasses in the dead of night to see you when the pale moon gave enough light to do so, but oh, how it pained him to see you crying.

"My dear…shh, it's alright. You're safe and sound with me. No need to cry." He lay beside you again, sitting up just enough to caress your head into his chest. Though his words were sweet and loving, your tears only flowed faster hearing them.

It was as if you couldn't help yourself, wanting to feel secure in his arms but fearful of him simultaneously. Alastair had never treated you harshly, bad-mouthed you, or given any indication that he had anything negative to say about your character. So, why couldn't you let go of your anxiety around him, see him in your dreams as the lovely man you'd grown to love and marry, or scrub the image of that single night from your conscience?

He was hunting. He was hunting. He was hunting.

That's what you kept telling yourself, trying not to consider the other odd things that occurred that night, but it didn't prove easy. Night terrors became crying fits, and baseless doubts morphed into suspicions you weren't entirely ready to investigate.

You'd been with Alastor for too long and assumed you knew him like others since he was your husband and a soon-to-be father of your children. What kind of wife harbors unfounded fears toward their spouse? It broke your heart to consider such a fault in your character, adding to the ache in your chest as sobs dwindled into slowed buffs of breath, and after a moment of breathing steadily, you quieted down.

Alastor remained calm the whole time, humming a new tune he'd aired on his broadcast a few nights prior, but as your cries subsided, he resorted to muttering comforting words to you again.

"These nightmares won't last forever, darling." He kissed the top of your head, glancing down at your fully round stomach hidden under the covers. His shadows lurked closer as he stared at it, heightening his hearing range enough to act his habit of listening for any irregularities in the babies' or your heartbeat. Still, when he heard none, his focus returned to you entirely. "I know.." you mumble hoarsely, tired from crying and somewhat frustrated with your thoughts. The subtle flutters in your abdomen didn't help your predicament either, a prime signal that your restless dreaming had stirred a craving and, ultimately, another reason for you to be awake at an unusual hour.

So much for sleeping well while pregnant.

You thought bitterly, moving to sit up and gather your bearings before making any move to find a late-night snack in the kitchen. Alastor eyed you carefully, smiling softly at the sight of your small form emerging from the mass of covers, unable to stop admiring your delicate beauty that practically amplified itself as you got closer to giving birth. Your curves filled out the silk nightgown you wore nicely, your hair growing long enough to reach your back even while frazzled from sleep, and your skin seemed to always glow without blemishes.

What he favored admiring most was how you carried his children; small as you were, many thought twins would give you problems, but their assumptions couldn't be further from the truth. You, his darling wife, were more patient than most, and though you possessed a soft heart, your will was solid. That is why Alastor could not stand the thought of you being in turmoil. For eight months, he kept his regular life routine consistent, sparing any time he could to spend with you, but as of late, your terrors and mental state seemed unbalanced, which prompted the radio host to be home more often.

Alastor believed his constant presence was helping, comforting you in some way, but little did he know that your troubled behavior worsened because of it.

You finally sat up straight in bed with a bit of help from him, swiping away any tears left on your cheeks while catching your breath, but the latter task proved difficult as the movement in your belly doubled.

"Oh goodness…they never rest," you exhale sharply, trying to mask your annoyed tone with a flit of soft laughter, but Alastor picks up on your irritation immediately. It almost annoys you how fast he reads you, but you can't seem to tell he's the reason you've been acting off.

"Well, I'd be worried if they did, ma chere, but you seem rather fed up with it." he met your tired gaze, eyes alight with affectionate mischief, but you found nothing he said amusing at that moment.

Especially when the image of him covered in blood with the same look in his eyes crossed your mind.

"How could you say such a thing?!.." you snapped at Alastor, glaring his way before hurrying out of bed, snatching up your robe from the end of it as he tried to process your sudden outburst.

He'd never been one to be left dumbfounded, but you'd managed to leave him that way countless times in recent weeks. Unfortunately, it couldn't be prevented since the unruly nature of hormones made your gentle demeanor prickly.

He hated it, not knowing how to handle you and being very unsure of his ability to do so.

"A crude jokester you are, Al. I can not believe you!" you grumbled angrily, slipping on your robe and reaching for the door when it was secure around your body. He took a deep breath, standing out of bed, taking a moment to think. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand.

"My dear, wait-" Alastor called for you calmly, placing his glasses on with a heavy sigh, leaving his chest as you ignored him and left the room to trek downstairs.

Dramatic little thing, isn't she?

Hush up. It'll pass like all the other fits…

I wouldn't be so sure of that, my friend.

His shadows loomed in the darkest corners, embodying his hidden concerns but remaking still as he followed your path to the kitchen. He found you rummaging the cabinets, frustration peeking through your expression and flurry movements. You tried to keep from crying again as you searched for something to eat that would satisfy the lurking hunger pregnancy caused. Besides the medically recommended meals and traditional diets your doctor advised you to adhere to, you often opted for dishes Amgelique had told you to indulge in. Most included rarely done meats cooked by her, Alastor, or Rosie. She'd also given you specific fruits, herbs, and vegetables to ingest. All of which curves your appetite better than any doctor's diet.

Luckily, Rosie had stopped by earlier in the day with dishes shed prepared for you, and when the memory reoccurred, you rushed over to the fridge to find them.

There they sat, platters of food, some full of meat you couldn't quite figure out its origin, and others filled with various sweets and fruit. Alastor watched as a content smile adorned your face, returning your dark expression to its bright state. With a careful hand, you took a plate from the fridge, laying the other on your round belly while gently uncovering the platter. "One little bite, and it's back to bed," you whispered to no one in particular. Now, you were searching for a pan to reheat the food with, but your search halted, and you felt familiar hands rest on your hips.

You frowned, pouting stubbornly as his chest met your back.

Did he not understand you were angry with him at the moment?

"Al, please leave me be. Go back to bed and get some rest," you mumble dismissively, attempting to slip away from his embrace, but Alastor refuses to let you go. "No," he firmly states, peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck and stopping behind your ear, "I can't stand when you're upset with me, sweetheart. Let alone sleep when I know I've done or said something to offend you."

You try to hold a glare at the wall in front of you, swallowing an excited gasp as his lips find an overly sensitive spot on your neck, but it only takes a moment for you to cave. "Mmph..Al..," you whisper tentatively, relaxing into his taller frame as he passes a hand up and down your stomach. "Darling," he utters, voice smooth in your ear and breath cool against your neck. The endearing title makes your heart flutter, and your anger slowly dissipates hearing it. A light shiver racks your spine, bringing a coy smile to your face as you turn to face him head-on.

The dreamy look in his amber-brown eyes captivated you instantly, expressing the apology he was bound to give you -as ridiculous as the point of it was. Still, you accepted it, forgetting your hunger for a moment to hear what he had to say.

"It wasn't my intention to upset you, ma chere,"

You nodded, not avoiding the ginger kiss he placed on your forehead while running a hand through your hair.

"I shall be more careful with my words in the future. Will you forgive me this once?.." Alastor held your stare, letting the question linger before glancing at your swollen stomach. You followed his gaze, resolved to soften at the sight of his large hand lying atop yours, gently rising from the languid kicks produced by the children inside.

Your wedding rings glinted in the golden light of the kitchen chandelier, reminding you that Alastor was more than just a man who'd inadvertently hurt your feelings, but rather your husband who'd made an effort to apologize for his mistake.

Apologizing didn't come easy to him, nor did admitting his faults, so you forgave him despite feeling a twinge of unease about letting him off the hook.

"I forgive you, Al."

A tenderness enveloped your response, earning a soft smile that proceeded to a lingering kiss on your lips. Alastor leaned into your touch as your hands reached to cup his face; humming softly, you accepted his tongue into your warm mouth. You melted in his hold, trying to forget your nightmares, irrational anger, and suspicions as the kiss became intense.

His hands found your waist, keeping you close with cautious strength, trying his best to ignore the arousal he felt as your filled-out curves molded to his touch, but the sliver of restraint he had snapped when you moaned quietly into his mouth.

It was such a sweet sound, sending blood rushing to his cock faster than he cared to admit, and its effect didn't go unnoticed by you.

"I may have forgiven you, my love, but that doesn't mean you're completely out of the woods yet," you scold him playfully after pulling away from the kiss, giggling as he glares down at you, "And how, pray to tell, do I get 'completely out of the woods,' my dear?" You perk up, glancing at the plate on the counter, "Sharing a late-night dinner with me would be a good start."you suggest.

Alastor eyes the dish, immediately identifying the contents on it.

Rosie never failed to make the best meals for you, just like him and his mother, taking the time out to prepare prey he'd hunted down himself since he couldn't do it at home with you being there all the time, and trustworthy enough to not mention to you exactly what kind of meat you were being served.

After all, your children needed to be healthy, and Alastor was sure starting them off on a healthy diet similar to his would be beneficial in the long run.

He didn't mind a pair of miniature cannibals running around the house. If he played his cards right, you'd unknowingly continue to be one.

With all these factors in mind, your husband happily agreed to have a midnight meal with you,

"Well then, I have no choice but to join you, darling. I'll take care of the food, and you go lounge about in the parlor," he instructs, not leaving room for your assistance and being quick to get you comfortable until the meal is ready.

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The next day, Rosie stopped by with Mimzy, another good friend of Alastor's, but not a close one to you. After all, she had openly admitted to pining for your husband at your wedding reception. Although she was very drunk at the time, you couldn't bring yourself to get the whole ordeal. However, you were still cordial to each other most of the time, and it just so happened Rosie had run into her in town, which led to them deciding to visit.

"It's nice to see you again, Mimzy," you greet her with a tight smile, letting Rosie help you sit on the sofa next to her as the stout blonde sat on an adjacent armchair before curtly responding. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Y/n? It seems you and Al have been pretty busy," Mimzy eyes your stomach, a cheeky grin plastered on her face as she refers to your current state, but the smile drops when Rosie cuts into the exchange.

"Now, now, Mimzy, don't be bitter," she throws her a slightly playful glare, ignoring the eye roll Mimzy gives in return as she focuses on you. "How are you feeling, dear? You're only a few weeks away, right?! Oh, I can't wait to meet the little devils!" her excitement pours off in waves, and you contract it without much resistance. Smiling wide, you express your thoughts while picking up the bundle of yarn you were crocheting into a pair of matching white onesies right before their surprise arrival.

"Oh, I feel wonderful! It's hard to breathe sometimes, and they kick quite a lot, but I suppose that means they're healthy!… I'm two weeks from what the doctor told us, but Alastors mother thinks I'll have them much sooner." You laugh, nervous about the delivery process but more than ready to give birth. Rosie squealed happily, hands clasped before her chest as she gushed over the news. "That's just wonderful to hear, dear! However, I agree with Al's mother about the due date. You look as if you're going to pop any minute!" Mimzy followed her light-hearted comment with a stiff grunt, "How exciting. Don't tell me all you have for them is…that?." The blonde motions a hand at your crochet project, clearly judging your lack of baby items, but before you can give her a snarky response, Rosie perks up again.

"Oh, that reminds me! Come this weekend, I will be hosting your shower, dear. Al and I arranged it some time ago as a surprise since there's a good chance you'll have them in a week. I'm spoiling it." She clapped eagerly, giggling at your shocked reaction, "I… I don't know what to say, Rosie? Th-thank you so much!" you shifted to give her a tight hug; she accepted it but pulled away to look you in the eyes.

"Al doesn't want you worrying about a thing. This party was his suggestion. I'm merely fulfilling a favor to friends…" she paused, lightly caressing your stomach with one hand before finishing her explanation. "…and my soon-to-be god niece and nephew."

You nod in agreement but raise a brow as confusion floods your features.

"Neice and Nephew?" you ask Rosie, and she sits up straight with a knowing smile. "Well, that's just my guess, honey. We can't be certain until they're out in the world."

Something about her words sent a chill up your spine, a stray suspicion creeping back into you, and curiosity filling your head as you recounted Alasror and his mother making similar comments.

They were so sure of the twins' genders that they never explained how they knew, but they were adamant that their assumptions weren't wrong.

How strange…

You peered at the onesies in your hand, fiddling with needles wrapped in yarn, in deep thought as Rosie and Mimzy chatted about the shower. More so Roise since Minzy grumbled about the whole ordeal…

For a while, you tuned them out, murmuring a response whenever they sought your input but generally reserved as they continued. Your mind was elsewhere, considering the reality of being a mother relatively soon and contemplating if your waning sanity would rebuild itself.

It was expected that you would feel fed up with pregnancy at some point; the aches, pains, and anticipation of it all would come to an end. You were grateful for it, but some ailments wouldn't easily be shaken off, and each one stemmed from an uncertainty you felt towards Alastor.

The nightmares.

The suspicions.

The guilt of losing trust in him.

The grudges cultivated from being lied to shut out of your husband's truths and treated so fragile as if you aren't already sacrificing your strength to make him happy.

You'd do anything for him. You'd done everything for him, yet in nine months, the small voice of doubt you chose to ignore for so long was now blaring like a siren.

He's hiding something from me…and they all know it.

You eyed Rosie as the thought crossed your mind, careful not to show your anger as it swelled in your chest, nearly bubbling over as the memories of her and everyone else reasonably close to Alastor doting on you for the past several months. All those smiles, the tidbits of odd advice, the cover-ups for when he was out late at night, and the absurd amount of times they'd all so clearly lied to your face.

It infuriated you…

You weren't stupid, quick to trust, but hardly a brainless woman.

Being treated like a porcelain doll, emotionally and mentally, was something you learned to endure since childhood. Your father believed it was for your good, that he was doing you a favor by sheltering you from the world's cruelty, and you hated it with a passion. Alastor was one of the few who knew this, but he'd blatantly begun to treat you just the same.

You were his wife, his supposed 'darling doe', but weren't nearly cherished enough to be told the truth?

To be a aware of whatever secret he was keeping?

He could proclaim his devotion loud and clear but shut you out in the same breath…

It hurt.

Plain and simple.

But one way or another, you'd get him to understand, make him see you as a confidant rather than a show doll to be kept in a glass cabinet, and come what may, you'd made up your mind.

You weren't weak and certainly not fond of being lied to.

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Fun fact: I finished Chapter 8 of this fic, and it's officially reached Novel level. Like 40 000 words type shit. I am beyond surprised at myself but proud nonetheless. I hope you don't mind the heavy angst in the following few chapters (including this one), but I had a purpose for this plot -not just straight smut. That isn't to say part 8 won't have any ;)... Anyway, give me some feedback on this one. I want to know where you guys think this story is headed...

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

I'm never making it to heaven if I keep obsessing over this psychotic deer demon. Credits to creator ❤️

[wannaeatramyeon]

Could you please make another unhinged reader piece but this time with her going against Charles Choi? (I really love the one you did on Vin Jin!!)

Anon, so so sorry for the delay and tysm for reading! I've been putting off Charles in the first place cos it just seems big y'know?

Unhinged F!Reader links here (or check masterlist): Gun Park | Goo Kim | Samuel Seo | Samuel Seo Part 2 | James Lee/DG | Jinyoung Park | Eli Jang | Tom Lee | Ryuhei Kuroda | Eugene | Vin Jin

Charles Choi with Unhinged F!Reader

"Huh," Charles wonders, "Why do I hear final boss battle music?"

How long has it been since Charles has felt this?

An overwhelming, crushing helplessness.

To think his downfall would come from a nobody. Somebody so insignificant that their existence was completely unknown to him.

An easy, fatal mistake.

"Elite?" the sound of your mocking tone reaches his ears despite the blood trickling out. "Elite compared to what?"

Silly boys and their silly nicknames. They're all the same. Elite, Big Daddy, Rabid Attack Dog, the Legend.

Compensating much? Pathetic.

Some little boys just never grow up, having tasted an ounce of power and thought that was all there was. Such big fishes in a tiny putrid swamp.

Your fingers scrape along Charles' once carefully groomed beard, now smeared with blood and spittle.

"What a silver fox. Guess that's a benefit of you being so past your prime."

The words should hurt, but Charles can face reality. He's no longer the young man he once was. Not sure he would even be a worthy opponent for you if he was.

How strange that in these moments it is Gapryong that he thinks about. How he wasn't really a worthy opponent for Gapryong neither, needing to secure his way to the top with underhanded dealings and James Lee.

Charles drifts in and out, thinking about the Pre-Generation, about Tom Lee and Jinyoung Park.

About how nobody has warned him about you, how he didn't see you coming until it was too late. Swaggering towards him in a deserted street with soulless eyes and a chilling grin.

"Charles Choi?" you had asked, tucking away a slip of paper into your breast pocket, "Or should that be... Elite?"

And that was the beginning of the end.

Or maybe it was the beginning of the end years ago, and now his chickens are coming home to roost.

Charles felt your first lethal attack before he could see it, remaining arm snapping and the heat of blood gushing and pouring out. Voice screaming on reflex before he could register it was his own.

Now, even with you easily in touching distance, Charles can't bring himself to move. He has nothing left to give. And was there ever a time he ever felt truly depleted? Not trying to brute force or scheme his way to the very end?

All fight has left him now.

In his delirium, words escape and leak unhindered under his breath. Some names that ring a bell with you.

You chuckle. "Tom Lee? Jinyoung Park? Oops, I got to them too."

Then you lean down, closing the gap between your bodies, lips ghosting over his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"Gapryong Kim though? I heard you got to him years before I could." You look Charles square in the eye, your words landing and his eyes widen in panic.

His final secret out.

With that you throw your head back laughing, uproariously and deranged. That is what he's worrying about now? What a wretched man.

"I'll give you anything you want," Charles pleads.

Your laughter abruptly stops and replaced with a scathing look. How fucking predictable. Ugh. This whole thing is starting to bore you.

"I've heard it all from that that twink already. Eugene or something. It didn't end well for him."

"Maybe," you think outloud, examining your hands caked almost completely in red, not remembering if you actually painted your nails that colour or if that is Charles' blood too-

"I want your other arm."

"...I see." are his final words to you, recognising any further pleas will fall on deaf ears. Tone calm yet all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

The last thing Charles see before he closes his eyes is the quirk of your lips and bloodlust etched all over your face.

In the darkness, he waits for you to decide his fate and for his empire to crumble.

[jofdiamonds]

The day after, somebody knocked on Aki's door. Who could it be? He wasn't a person who received many visitors. Maybe... ah no, but she wouldn't. Not after what he had said, offending her so much she probably wouldn't want to see him again. His heart ached at the mere thought of not sharing any more moments with her but he knew it was what he had to do. Why, oh, why, had he chosen to stay here in the first place? If he hadn't done it, then, perhaps, they would have had a chance in the real world. He was sure he would have found her, eventually, without even trying.

His room wasn't in a proper state, either. Madness had overcome him. Ripped pages of his notebook laid everywhere, stained with tears and red wine, an empty bottle of the liquor also somewhere on the floor. Like a feral, caged animal, his only instinct had been to destroy. And since, he could never harm Airi, he went for the closest thing, the cause of all this pain: himself.

Ignoring the agony possessing him, both physically and emotionally, he opened the door. And he found a girl he had never spoken to, but had seen around. Blonde whirlwind, he had thought about her the first time he had laid eyes on her. Head full of curls, huge, slanted, brown eyes, features that revealed her foreign origin. But she spoke Japanese with no accent, and Aki couldn't help but wonder what her story was. He knew, not because he had been told, but because his eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went, that she was a close friend of Airi, but also, that she was usually in the company of his Spades counterpart... Vessel.

'Hi! Name's Cass. I have something you should read.'

Straight to the point, aren't you? Aki thought after taking the note she was handing him, a spark of curiosity in his eyes, wondering what this was all about. He couldn't help but notice Cass' fingers were covered in paint. Black paint, smeared all over them, as if she had been painting, or... could it be? Was Vessel going through the same thing he was? Did this have to do with Airi? Was it a goodbye?

Cass seemed to read his mind.

'Airi wrote this and left it in my room. She said to give it to you if she doesn't come back from her next game but... well, you should know either way, whether she comes back or not. Look, I know this is stupid but...' The young woman seemed to have problems to find the correct words. As if she wanted to say something, but also had a secret she should keep at all costs. So, yes. Vessel had also fallen in love, but the masked man had been braver (or more foolish) than he was, giving in to his desires. 'If you have your reasons, you have your reasons. That's it. But at least explain them to her? Have a conversation? So she can have a certain closure? I don't know, anyway...'

'Thank you, Cass.' Aki stopped her with a nod, looking intently into her eyes. He could tell, she understood. Of course she did. Even her posture now could tell the Jack of Diamonds she wanted this to be over soon, go back to familiar arms where she felt safe, something rare in this wasteland.

He closed the door after goodbyes were said. And read the letter.

His eyes were flooded with tears once more. He thought pain and him were old friends, but turned out, they were strangers. Nothing felt worse than this. Nothing could ever.

Her feelings were so intense... so pure, so real. And that was exactly why he had to keep away. Because he had nothing to offer her; nothing that would last. She would die, or he would. He couldn't lie to her and have her find out who he was later on.

He cried, until there was nothing left. If this was who he had to be from now on, a husk of a man, so be it. If he had to be constantly in pain so that she wouldn't, so be it. If he couldn't touch her hair or her skin or kiss those lips... so be it. She was young, it would pass.

She loved him with a frightening intensity. But it would pass.

Airi stood up, not knowing how her feet were carrying her, but grateful that they were. She wanted to tell Aki… What? What could she possibly say when he’d made it clear: “How are you going to be the one comforting me if…” He’d probably meant to say “if I want nothing from you at all” but he was too kind to say anything of the sort. 

She would have liked to turn toward him and smile at him, but she couldn���t. At least she would have liked to say “good night” to Aki, but this wasn’t an option either. Her eyes were welling up with tears, she was sure her voice would fail her if she tried to speak again, and the last thing she wanted was to break down in front of him. She let her hair fall like curtains around her face and waited until his back was to her to start walking.

How she made it to her room was anyone’s guess. She was an automaton. Airi didn’t sleep at all. The soft rays of the morning were beginning to filter through her window but she didn’t feel any of their warmth. There was a dull ache in her chest, that was her only reminder that her heart was still beating.

She lay in bed, awake, unmoving. She knew she should rest, she had to join a game that night but the moment she closed her eyes she saw his face, heard his voice. 

Eventually she decided trying to sleep was pointless. Airi was torn between her heartbreak and the inevitable anxiety that joining a game implied. Strangely enough, not coming back didn’t scare her as much as not seeing him again. She needed to tell him. An idea began to take shape in her head. She sat up and began to write a letter.

Airi didn’t leave her room at all that day. She knew that if she ran into Aki again she would probably cry and she didn’t need that right before playing for her life. By nighttime, she felt calmer. 

Before going down to the lobby to join all the players that were leaving to play a game that night, she stopped a few doors down and snuck into the room of the person she’d addressed the letter to. The room was empty. Airi had expected as much. ‘I’m sorry,’ Airi muttered to herself. She wouldn’t just barge in but she didn’t want to take the letter with her to the lobby, she left it on the bed and went back out.

As she waited in the lobby she kept her eyes resolutely glued to the floor. She didn’t want to look up and see Aki in the crowd. And she definitely didn’t want to look up and find out he wasn’t there.

[heresathreebee]

Kinktober Day 12 FORMAL WEAR/ BODY WORSHIP

Dewey Finn x Reader smut

Tags: 18+ | 1.7k words | you're engaged, small angst, bad joke, self consciousness, male body worship, so many kisses guys, lipstick smears, unprotected sex, pulling out

AN: I fucking got so far into this and said “WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T I DO BEETLEJUICE FOR THIS”

You never expected to see the day. Dewey Finn in shorts made for a child's uniform? Sure. Dewey Finn in a band t-shirt and old jeans? Duh. You had accepted his engagement proposal fully aware that he would probably meet you at the altar in a zipper hoodie and sneakers. 

And yet here he is before your very eyes at a fancy dinner to celebrate Ms. Mullins' award in genuine black tie wear. Every time you look away from him, you feel like you simply imagined it, but then you turn back and see him and he's actually wearing a nice, fitted black and white suit and tie. 

"Are you ok?" Dewey tried to measure your temperature by putting the back of his hand to your forehead, smiling. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

You chirp, "Have you seen what you're wearing? I think hell is freezing over." 

You gesture with your glass of wine at his attire and he smirks. "Ooooh, your original home is cold! Do you want my jacket, babe?" 

"Fuuuuck yooouuu, Finn," you stage-whisper. 

Dewey spreads his arms out wide. "You are more than welcome to! You put a ring on it after all."  

Someone cleared their throat and you jumped– caught under the watchful eye of Rose Mullins herself. You sputtered an apology and dragged Dewey over to Ned Schneebly so he would have someone to keep him somewhat appropriate while you talk to other teachers from your school. 

A couple hours later you overhear a tipsy conversation they're having. "I can't believe you wore an actual suit! It looks good on you, man." 

Dewey blew a raspberry. "Come on, this is so not me, Ned! I mean look at me, man– I used to be somebody. A rockstar on the rise and now I'm in a real relationship with a teaching gig and soon to be married.

"Can you imagine? Me! Married! I'm falling apart," you hear him say. 

Ned scoffs loudly. "What are you talking about, man? You've got so much good going on!" 

"I know, it's crazy!" 

You're… well, you're not sure how to interpret Dewey's revelations. And you had your back to each other so he probably doesn't even know you heard him. The more you get to thinking about it the more angry and nervous you become. 

Did Dewey not want to be marrying you? But he asked! 

Was it just out of obligation? Was he just afraid that if he didn't, you would leave him? You thought he loved you and his job but it sounded like he was complaining… 

You let it boil and simmer for the rest of the night, ignoring him when he asked you questions and not responding to his attempts to joke around. You made him drive so you could attempt to sleep and see if that made you feel better, but all it did was give you a nightmare about being 50 and miserably married. 

"Hey," Dewey pokes you in the ribs after you both got out of the car, "what's gotten into you?" 

You ignored him all the way up to your bedroom while he fired off at the mouth as per usual. By the time you reached the bedroom he had exhausted his supply of gags and called your name worriedly. 

"Hey, seriously: what's wrong?" 

You plop yourself on the end of the bed to take your shoes off, clearly pouting despite your efforts. "Nothing." 

Dewey hums. "Oh it's nothing, that's why you've been avoiding me all night." 

"Just drop it, Dew, I'm not in the mood." 

"I can't!" You glare at him and he flounders around for words until: "babe if I leave it, you're not going to want to talk about it at all, and then the next time we have an argument, it's gonna come back with a vengeance." 

… ok, so you did do that once or twice before…

Dewey waited. “Ok? What did you hear?” 

You sigh and flop your head on your pillows, earrings in hand and feet aching. "I just… I heard you…" 

“Marriage isn’t you.” You glared at him. ‘You told Ned marriage wasn’t ‘you.’ So what, I’m a burden now?” 

“H-wha-hat?,” Dewey laughed, “what are you talking about? AAAH–” 

Dewey ducked as a shoe flew at him. “What? What??” 

“Dewey Finn, if you don’t want to marry me, why did you freaking propose?” 

All of the goofiness was sapped out of the air. Dewey’s face dropped and he really looked at you now. He sighed and kicked his shoes off and sat on your side of the bed, somber. 

“I don’t know how to tell you I love you more than I already have,” he starts, then back peddles. “What I mean is… babe, what you heard was just a joke.” 

He looks to you and freezes under your deeply unamused stare. “Uh… Ned didn’t find it funny either, soooo I guess you could say it was in pretty poor taste. 

“Listen babe,” Dewey scoots closer and takes your hand. “You’re on the right track: if I didn’t want to marry you, I wouldn’t be! But I am so, you know, I do! I love you, babe, honestly.” 

He turns his head and gives you big puppy dog eyes. “I just… I just…” 

Being cute was easier than being real. Dewey plants fat, wet kisses on the back of your hand. He sighs and makes you scoot over to lay down on the bed next to you. “I don’t know why I… I guess I just never imagined anybody would want to shackle themselves to a guy who looks like me. Or even the other way around– I never imagined I’d be the type of guy to settle down, you know?” 

You hadn't considered it before. Sometimes people who rail against 'the institution of marriage' are also people who never got the chance to believe they could love or be loved that way… hang on– 

A thought interrupted you– "I thought you said 'who could love a guy like me.' What's this about 'who could love a guy who looks like me' business?" 

You look at him for an answer and he raises an eyebrow at you. He thinks you're not serious but when you don't back track he scoffs. Dewey shows you what he means by patting his belly firmly and making it jiggle. 

"I guess I didn't realize you were self conscious about that," you wondered aloud. 

"I am not," he pouts. "I'm fat, that's all. Nobody wants a fat guy if they can help it or– or do better." 

You shrug. "Ok so you're fat– it's not a bad word. It doesn't have to be a bad word. And I can assure you, this?" You pat his stomach. "This is very good to me." 

That's how you end up with him trembling that night, hands balled into fists at his side trying to obey your no touch command and covered in hickeys and love bites. 

It took an hour to undress him fully because for every piece of cloth you removed from his body you showered him in kisses and praise, announcing all your favorite things about him. He felt silly when you were fiddling with his bowtie, but his arousal skyrocketed with every brush of your hand over what piece you would take next and what you would say next. 

It was embarrassing. It was sexy. And it filled him to the brim with warmth at how passionate you are about him and his body. It's not a 'despite your flaws' kind of love, it's included. 

He's laying on his back and naked when you finally come back to worshipping his belly. His hard member is so close but you ignore it in favor of peppering his pooch with refreshed lipstick. Dewey has to put his hands up by his head to stop himself from stopping you. 

It's like it stings. It stings to have anyone openly notice his stomach but to know you do it out of love, your own arousal and interest, that sting is accompanied by a deep pleasure. 

"Please, please," Dewey swallows, "stop teasing, baby, please." 

"Since you asked so nicely…" 

You were planning to suck his dick but you're dripping and you need him just as much as he needs you right now. You fit your thighs on the outside of his, almost getting bucked off balance as he realizes oh shit, you're really done teasing and you sink down onto him with a gratuitous sigh. 

When your hips are pressed flush together, Dewey rocks his to feel something– anything. It's like you were made for each other. He's not going to last and frankly neither are you. His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and push and pull to get you to work. 

"Come on baby," he says. "It's all yours. Take it." 

God he looks like a dream. You start to ride him at a steady pace and watch his eyes flutter for a moment. His hair's a fluffy mess, lip swollen from being bitten, stomach arms and chest littered with lipstick marks. It's not long before he's glistening with sweat and his hips are meeting yours to push you both closer to the edge. 

"M close," you grip his shoulders and ride him harder, "fuck! Dewey." 

"Almost…" Your fiancée catches your hips in a bruising grip to gain back some of the control. He knows when you come you'll slam back down and he'll have no choice but to come inside you. He pulls you towards him, making you bend and he captures a nipple in his mouth and drives his hips up, up, up until he feels you clamp down with a scream. 

You're too much and he barely pulls out before he's coming too. His pearly ejaculate paints your lower lips, your ass, and the last of it paints his own stomach. 

You're panting together in the moonlight, hugging each other fiercely to try and make the moment last just a little longer. In this crazy, fucked up world you managed to find your person and god help the world you should ever be parted again. 

[unloved-cadillac]

Levi’s little girl is a young lady at 21. She’s strong, capable and beautiful. She’s also a top soldier in Mike’s squad. That said, both men are very protective of her, ESPECIALLY Levi. Also Reader should be taller than him now lol. One night Erwin sees her coming out of a room that isn’t hers. In fact it’s a GUY’S room. She has messy hair, smeared lipstick and ruffled clothes... “Please for the love of God don’t tell them, Uncle Erwin”. Up to you how it ends!

C/n: oh Y/n. Whyyyyyy? Lol. Thanks for requesting and I hope that you enjoy🤍

——————————————————————————

Caught. (Levi x Reader; Uncle Mike; Uncle Ervy)

If you wanted real life proof that you were becoming old, look at your kid.

Y/n was already 21 and all of her protectors hated it. Especially Levi. Not that he wasn’t happy that she’s a strong, young woman who can fight just like him, she just wasn’t his baby anymore. Although she was a great fighter, the Levi squad was filled so she went to her Uncle Mike’s squad. Needless to say, Mike got an earful from Levi the day before she got registered with him.

“You don’t let her out of your sight, you giant. If she gets hurt under your command, I’m coming for you. This isn’t the Underground anymore, I’ll make sure I kill you this time.”

Mike wasn’t scared, he would rather die then let anything happen to young Y/n, but Levi’s words did sit on his mind for a while. Even though Y/n was in Mike’s squad, she always had dinner with Levi. She’s talk about her day and tell him all the things she did while he listened to her.

During assemblies, Y/n stood next to Levi and he absolutely hated how tall she had become. To think she out of all people would betray him like this. She was so tall, she sometimes rested her chin on his head. “Get off, Y/n.”

“But you’re so comfy. A perfect height to rest.” She smiles and closes her eyes and he scoffs but lifts up a hand to ruffle her hair.

It’s been a full six months since Y/n was in a squad and she was doing amazingly well. Top of her squad and if she worked a bit harder, she’s make second-in charge. Erwin was reading her file and smiled. Little girl Y/n wasn’t a little girl anymore. Sighing, he gets up to stretch and heads out to get a warm cup of coffee before heading to bed.

He walked into the kitchen, made his special sleepy blend coffee and headed back to his office. But as he did, he saw a figure, similar to Y/n’s, come out of a room and walk towards him. Weird. Y/n’s room was in the other side next to Levi’s. When the figure came into view, it was definitely her. But not normal.

Her hair was all messed up, her lips bruised and purple marks all on her neck. She was too busy fiddling with her shirt and she bumped into his chest. “Oof. Sorry about tha- Uncle Ervy!” She shouts and quickly covers herself. “Y/n. What are doing here?” He asks as he inspects her face. “Did you get hurt? Why are your lips bruised? And what are these marks?”

Y/n bites her lips and turns around to look at the room she came out of. “Oh please let a Titan eat me right now.” She mumbles to herself and faces Erwin. “I..have been kinda..seeing somebody. I just came out of his room.” She shyly says and Erwin’s eyes widen. “Oh.” He says and Y/n looks up at him.

“Please don’t tell them, Uncle Ervy. They’ll kill me!” She begs and holds onto his shirt as she cries. “No. Oh dear. Y/n, hey don’t cry. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. Look at me.” He tilts her chin up and wipes her tears away.

“It is completely normal for this to happen. Yes, it’s weird seeing our little Y/n all grown up but that’s life. And I won’t tell Mike and Levi, especially Levi, but you are going to have to tell them some day. What if Levi wants to talk to you and finds that you’re not in your room? He’d turn the whole castle upside down!” That finally made Y/n chuckle.

“And listen to me. Remember that talk we had when you were younger? About…sex and consent?” She nods. “Make sure that whoever this guy is respects you. Don’t forget, Y/n. I’m the commander and I’ll make him magically “disappear”.”

“Uncle Ervy!” She giggles and Erwin hugs her. “Now go to bed. You got a big day tomorrow.” He kisses the top of her head and sends her to her room while he goes to his office. “Just why does Y/n have to be so grown?”

~~~~

The next day, Y/n told Mike first. He was understanding and gave her some life lessons. Typical. But Levi. He was a whole different situation.

She sat with him in his office, waiting for him to finish with the paperwork he got earlier. Once he finish write, he dropped his pen and looked at her. “What is it, brat? You look constipated.” Levi notes and Y/n chuckles softly, Levi seeing the tension disappear from her shoulders.

“I’m not. My bowel movements are quite fine, thank you very much.” She says back and he smiles. “Now what’s been having you so tense lately?” Y/n rubs the back of her neck.

“Caught that huh?” He nods.

“Well, Levi. I…” she sighs and thinks. “I..have been seeing someone. He is in Hange’s squad and he’s really nice. Uncle Mike and Uncle Ervy already know since I wanted to tell you last. But, he’s a really good guy. He likes me and I like him too. I- Levi?” She stops to see him get up and go to his door.

“Where are you going?”

“What’s this boys name, Y/n?”

Y/n widens her eyes. “No, Levi. Don’t do anything! See this is why I was scared of telling you.” She sighs and looks away. Levi looks back at her and leaves his hand that was on the door-handle. He walks over to her and hugs her, placing her head on his chest. “Sorry. I overreacted.” He whispers and kisses her head. “Yeah, you did.”

“Levi, I’m not a kid anymore. I can handle myself. But I have respect for you so you needed to know. Trust me, okay?” He sighs and holds her tighter. “Yeah. I do trust you. But if that boy does anything, I swear-“

“I know. You’d kill him.”

“Not so easily. Gotta get Hange involved too.”

“No!”

——————————————————————————

“Sing me a lullaby.”

🖤🤍Thanks for reading🤍🖤

-Caddy.

[katyasrussianaccent]

somebody else (corpse x reader)

So I got the prompt "Why cant it be me" from @stylistiquements writing prompt! This is just angst lmao, I dont usually write angst but hopefully its okay. Based on Somebody Else by The 1975

TW: Alcohol and unresolved angst

There’s too many people at this party for Corpse’s liking. When Loey had invited him, his first thought was to say no. But, it’s her birthday, and while he’s out of his comfort zone, he’s trying at least.

The music playing isn’t to his taste; some pop singer that’s wailing about heartbreak. His fingers are wrapped around a glass that he hasn’t even drank out of yet, the ice that was once in it is just liquid now. It’s more a prop than anything - if he already has a drink, no-one will ask if he wants one.

The crowd in front of him disperses as the song changes to something else; a more upbeat pop number. His eyes immediately zero in on the couple opposite him, their limbs tangled together on the couch. So it was true. You had found someone else.

His fingers grip the glass harder, and he downs the drink, his throat burning as the liquid goes down, but it’s nothing compared to the white hot anger he’s feeling in his stomach. He watches as you laugh; it was his favourite thing about you - your laugh. You’d laugh at something like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard; all full bodied with your teeth showing. He remembers when you used to laugh at him.

Deciding to put a stop to his masochistic tendencies, Corpse goes to get another drink, making it more alcohol than anything else. He stands there for just a second, the lyrics of the song ringing more true than he realised.

Our love has grown cold, you’re intertwining your soul with somebody else

It wasn’t meant to be like this, not really. It should’ve been him sitting by your side, his hand on your upper thigh. Are you wearing the perfume he bought you? He remembers when he gave you it; you threw your arms around his neck and for the first time in his life, he felt safe. Sitting back down, he drinks as he continues to watch. He doesn’t know why he can’t draw his eyes away from the scene in front of him; guess he’s always been a glutton for punishment.

I don’t want your body, but I’m picturing your body with somebody else

The petty part inside him says he got there first. He saw you first; anything you do with somebody else - you did with him first. He wonders if you’ve went grocery shopping together yet.

“Corpse, you can’t just get sweets. You need to get some fruit,” you had scolded, your face the picture of a disapproving mother.

His diet was terrible now; the days of home cooked meals had went out the door when you did. Some days he forgot to eat at all, not consciously; he just worked a lot and there wasn’t anyone there to actively check up on him.

He continues to drink, each glass containing more alcohol than the last. He doesn’t get drunk but there’s a warmth to his cheeks and the edges of his vision are blurred slightly. You stand up to dance, there’s a slight sway as you walk to the middle of the floor and Corpse can tell you’re wasted. You’re a cute drunk luckily, and he looks away as you pull the guy close to whisper in his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek. The guy is good looking; all tanned with perfect hair. You loved his hair; your fingers would run through it while you watched a movie. You couldn’t do that with Mr Perfect’s hair; it’s too short.

Jealousy and bitterness go hand in hand with Corpse, and while he hates feeling like this, the alcohol in his system wins out. You’re dancing with the guy and Corpse smiles to himself as you flail your arms without a care. The guy pulls you in close by the hips and he watches as your face drops a little, your movements no longer free but restricted.

It pisses him off and he clenches his jaw as he watches on. You don’t dance like that; you’re a self-admitted awful dancer, but it’s incredibly endearing to him. It makes you happy to throw your limbs about, and it makes him sad to watch you shuffle awkwardly to the music. You go off to get a drink, and he can’t stop himself from following you.

He hangs back for a second, his brain trying to work out whether this is a smart idea or not. It isn’t and he knows that, but he just needs to talk to you. Just because.

“Straws are over there,” he says from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. Your eyes widen at the sight of him.

“Thanks,” you reply, grabbing one and sticking it in the glass. “You look well.”

“So do you,” he says. And you do, you look amazing, but you always did, even first thing in the morning with your hair sticking out, he thought you were beautiful.

“I see you’re wearing colour,” you joke, pointing to the grey t-shirt he has on. You’re nervous, he can tell by the death grip you have on your glass, the whites of your knuckle showing.

“Yeah, I tried to break the black up,” he replies. It’s silent as you take each other in and he wants nothing more than to take you in his arms and hold you close to him.

Your mouth opens for a second, before closing again. “You’re wearing the…” you trail off and he nods, his fingers automatically reaching to touch the necklace you had bought him for his birthday.

“I never take it off,” he replies and your eyes meet his. Your lips are pulled into a tight smile as you look down, and his fingers twitch, he wants you to look at him, he wants to tilt your head up so he can see you. He stops himself as you look back up, a familiar scent hitting his nostrils. “You’re wearing the perfume I got you.”

There’s surprise on your face, and something else that Corpse can’t register. Is it embarrassment?

"Yeah,” you whisper. “I should probably get back.” You go to leave, and his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist. You look down at the contact, and his mind screams at him to let go, but your skin is warm under his touch, and it’s been so long, too long since he’s felt you. You don’t pull away, and his fingers press a little against your skin.

“Why can’t it be me?” Corpse asks, and you stiffen at the question, your face no longer soft. You yank away from him, your cheeks flushed with anger.

“Because you broke up with me,” you hiss at him, your tone full of venom. “Or did you forget that?”

“I didn’t forget,” he replies. “I made a mistake, I - “

“Over text message, Corpse, fucking text message,” you say, raising your voice, causing the people around you to glance over their shoulders at you.

“I know - “

“No. You don’t know. I love; loved you, and you took the cowardly way out. That’s why it isn’t you,” you reply. Your eyes are filled with tears, and he sniffs a little at the sight, his own eyes beginning to burn. You blink and a single tear falls down your cheek. You wipe it away, smearing your mascara a little. He reaches out to your cheek, wiping the black smudge away. You close your eyes, and he hears the slight shaky breath you exhale before opening your eyes, your face unreadable as his hand hovers over your skin. His hand stays there, it’s like it’s stuck, like his brain doesn’t want it to move and break the moment.

There’s a moment between you as you both look at each other. He takes in every detail of your face, memorising it for safekeeping. He thinks you’re doing the same, your eyes meeting his. The room is filled with people, but he doesn’t hear anything but white noise as he looks at you. He will only ever see you. Your hand reaches out to meet his, your face is almost confused as your finger tips touch his but before you can touch him properly, your name is shouted from the other room and the spell is broken.

There’s a sad smile on your face as you put your hand down and you walk away, leaving him to stand there. You don’t look back at him as you turn the corner and disappear out of sight.

[little-diable]

Greasy Hands - Spencer Reid (smut)

Written by @playboysbunny​ and little-diable (that’s me - in case you were wondering). Thank you for writing the fluff and letting me have my fun with the smutty part. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: a soft drabble about a broken down car, a confused Spencer and some lovemaking in a garage

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

“You don’t understand,” she complained, “my dad used to fix everything! Dishwashers, washing machines, radios - anything that broke, my dad could fix!”

Spencer nodded, trying to calm her. 

“I just don’t see the issue in sending it to the mechanic.”

She threw her arms in the air, releasing a frustrated sigh. 

“It just doesn’t feel right!”

Spencer let her emotions settle. (Y/n) paced her apartment, back and forth, his eyes watching her from his leather reading chair in the corner. He kept his eyes on her with a patient expression, as she slowed eventually she stopped in front of the window. (Y/n) held a hand at her jaw as she watched the sunset; she didn’t want to admit what Spencer clearly already knew.

He didn’t push her, waiting for (y/n) to come to her own conclusion. She spoke in a whisper without turning to him.

“It just feels like he’s really gone,” she said. “He’s not here to fix my car and now it’s real. He’s really gone.”

(Y/n) didn’t cry as she had through the months. Her father had passed in the fall and the green of the trees now brought her some sort of hope and solace; things would get better. It wasn’t the changing of the seasons that brought her peace, though. No, that was Spencer. 

She turned to him then and sighed, his expression was understanding and sympathetic.

“We’ll figure something out,” Spencer said, getting up from his chair. He walked across the room and took her in his arms, placing his chin on the top of (y/n)’s head.

They spent the evening together, since she was lucky enough to have him home for a rare occasion. He unfolded the team’s latest case for her over a bottle of red wine, sparing the gorey details, but giving them to her bit by bit as she begged for them. They made dinner together, danced to music she liked, but Spencer detested, but he went along with it anyway, spinning her around the kitchen and reciting all the words to her as he memorized them instantaneously.

Over dinner, she told him the downfall of her day; on the way home from work, her car suddenly started overheating and she ended up in a strange neighborhood she’d never ventured into before. It was an industrial area without a lot of foot traffic. Every window had a set of accompanying bars. (Y/n) felt oddly isolated and out of place. She was uncomfortable and nervous and then she had to walk away from her car to get a signal to call a tow truck.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Spencer scolded her from across the table. “If something had happened to you…” he couldn’t finish the thought.

“What choice did I have?” (Y/n) countered. “Should I have stayed there and waited for you to come and rescue me?”

“I would have,” he replied. “I will always find you.”

He looked at her over the candlelight, his eyes glistening with truth. His words filled her with exultant joy.

They went to bed together, finally reuniting after weeks apart. Spencer fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the case he’d just returned from. He held her in his arms as she drifted off to sleep.

(Y/n) woke up alone and felt the coldness of his absence, frantically searching for a note; he’d always leave a note if he was called to a case and she was still asleep. She patted her hands around in the dim morning light, finding nothing.

She launched herself out of the bed and threw on whatever she could find. (Y/n) ran into the living room in his boxers and his button down from the night before.

“Spencer?”

The hollow echo of the empty apartment made her heart drop. She scanned the room quickly, looking for him. His go-bag was still sitting by the door, his keys and badge on the table beside it. A cup of cold coffee was resting there too, under the faint light from the floor lamp that Spencer had left on. In his leather armchair, there was a thick book she hadn’t seen before.

(Y/n) picked it up and read the cover aloud. “Haynes Repair Manual based on a complete teardown and rebuild?”

It was for her 1969 Chevrolet Camaro, though she was positive she didn’t own the manual. Why would she? She had no idea how to fix anything. 

(Y/n) grabbed the only pair of shoes she had left at the door - an old pair of tall, yellow, rubber rain boots - and ran into the hallway of her apartment building. She rushed down the stairs with the manual still in-hand. (Y/n) ran out to the back alley, where her car and others were in a long string of garages; of course, her garage door was already open.

“Damn!” Spencer yelled, clattering around under her car.

The hood was propped up and the car was up on jackstands. Spencer’s legs dangled out from underneath and tools and parts were scattered about the garage floor.

“Where did you get all this?” (Y/n) shouted.

Spencer rolled out from under the car and propped himself up on his elbow. He was in ratty blue jeans she’d never seen before and a plain white t-shirt. He was covered with splotches of black grease like a child that had been dabbling in finger paints. 

“All of what?” he said, incredulously.

(Y/n) waved the manual in the air above her head. 

“Spencer!” she laughed, “What are you doing?”

He stood up then, tossing the bolts he held in his hand to the floor. He ran a hand through his messy hair, stopping to pull on the roots. 

“You need your car fixed and that’s what I’m going to do! It shouldn’t be this hard, really,” he huffed. “It’s simple mechanics and mathematics, you’d think someone with a Ph.D in both would be able to do it!”

He continued rambling on, kicking the bolts he had scattered, waving his hands as he struggled to explain to her how his brain and his hands seemed to have a disconnect. Spencer carried on like that for a while and she knew best to let him have his soliloquies. But (y/n) didn’t miss a single drop of sweat that ran down his slightly heated skin. 

She couldn’t help but stare, forcing herself to stay calm, trying to drown out the needy longing for her man.

There was something about the way the frustration spurred him on that made her lose her focus. His intensity and passion had (y/n) biting her lip in anticipation. She couldn’t control the feeling that arose in the pit of her stomach. 

He moved back to the car and attempted to refocus himself, reciting the steps of the manual he had memorized as he got back to work. How easy - she thought - it would be to let him bend her over the car, to allow Spencer to run his oil covered hands all over her body.

“You’re staring.” 

The change in Spencer’s tone recaptured her attention, though he didn’t lift his head to make his remark; his eyes were focused on his task, his expression strained from stopping his smirk from spreading.

For a profiler, Spencer had never been very aware of her advances, to the sly glances she’d cast his direction. But now - with her thighs pressed together, her teeth pierced into her lower lip, the soft humming that she trilled while she was lost in her fantasies of him - he knew all about the heat that took over her senses. 

He didn’t need to be a genius to understand her, to know the arousal that was dripping from her folds, about the way her nipples were beginning to harden, uncomfortably rubbing against the material of his button down shirt hung over her body.

She stumbled over her words, nervously pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. 

A small “sorry” left her slightly parted lips, coaxing a chuckle out of him. Spencer rose from his kneeling position, hand reaching for hers, pulling (y/n) in for a messy kiss, tongues meeting, teeth clashing - clearly projecting the lust that kept them both distracted. 

He pulled her in close, resting himself on the side of the car.

“Maybe I should get cleaned up first,” Spencer said, putting some distance between them, very well knowing that he’d lose control soon. 

But the pleading whine that escaped her held him frozen and gaping as she fell to her knees in front of him, reaching for his belt loops. He braced himself on the car behind him. His usually busy psyche suddenly emptied, thoughts instantly leaving his mind as his tongue wet his lips, enjoying the feeling of her warm hands on his clothed bulge as she rubbed him through the fabric.

“Somebody's excited,” (y/n) teased. 

He turned down to her, a wide smile on his pretty face, his eyes glazed over in ecstasy. Slowly - teasingly - she undid his trousers, kissing up his thighs as she toyed with the elastics of his boxers. Her touches burned on his skin, pushing the genius into a dangerous headstate; the blood was quickly rushing down to his hard cock. 

He couldn’t remember his own name, and best yet, he didn’t care.

As her hands grasped his length, Spencer gasped her name - relieved to finally feel her soft skin pressed against his sensitive one. (Y/n)’s thumb circled his tip, smearing the drops of precum that bearded his skin. She couldn’t help but have a taste, lips parted, allowing him to thrust forward, cock disappearing down her throat.

Every moan that left her vibrated on his skin, pushing him closer to his release - but it was much too soon for Spencer's liking. He wanted to fill her up, claiming her, his lover, in the most sinful way, with his seed spilling out of her as she’d cry out for him.

“(Y/n), I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll-” he moaned, she cut his rambling short as she added more pressure to her movements. 

She couldn’t deny the effect his words had on her. (Y/n) loved to hear his dirty talk and the promises he’d make as waves of euphoria would clash upon him. 

It was no secret that he was close, tightening his grip on her hair, unevenly panting her name. She was eager to push him over the edge - oh, so eager to please him - but he pushed her away before he could reach his peak.

A few moments of silence engulfed them both, the only sound echoing through the air came from the heavy breaths spilling from his lips as he tried to calm himself. 

As if he had heard her thoughts, he reached down, yanked her up by her biceps and turned (y/n) so that she could rest where he had been on the side of the car. His hungry lips grazed her neck, leaving wet trails on her skin as he snapped the hood of the car down with a forceful crash. 

Wordlessly she positioned herself for him, ripping the boxers she had thrown on down her legs, exposing her glistening wetness to his wide eyes. She leaned back as he lifted her onto the car’s hood. 

(Y/n) pledged to take him on a wild ride as she’d beg for her release.

Spencer took in every word, “let me taste you first. I bet you made quite a mess, didn’t you?”

Two fingers of his ran through her slit, spreading her slick on her folds, on her clit. She was addicted to his touch, completely at his mercy. 

(Y/n) was putty in his hands, would do anything he’d asked of her if it meant that she could cum on his fingers. He enjoyed watching her moan for him - she was begging for more, so lost in the fantasy that her words became nonsense.

As he pushed his fingers into her, pumping them in and out of her tightness, her head fell back against the hood as she arched herself off the metal. She was so close, too close, plagued with the wish that this moment and feeling would last forever.

“Feels so good Spence’,” she cried, slurring his name, eyes squeezed shut, her breaths falling short. 

Though just as she wanted to let go, he stopped, smirking at her with the special glint in his eyes. He was toying with her, using her body for his pleasure. Watching her beg for him turned him into a touch-starved, hungry man.

“I will fuck you so good, you won’t remember your own name,” Spencer moaned. 

His words sounded more like a command than a promise, cock ready to rip her in half, to fuck her till she’d cry heavy tears of pleasure. 

Her lips met his in a rather passionate way, tongues fighting, teasing one another, distracting her from the feeling of his cock pressed against her entrance. As their bodies connected in the most intimate way possible, she called out his name, pulling him close, holding onto him for dear life.

Spencer kept his gaze focused on her heat, watching his length split her in half, glistening with her arousal clinging to his skin. She was losing herself in waves of pleasures, slowly forgetting about the world outside, only caring about their love and the pleasure that ran through their bodies.

His pace was ruthless, bruising, keeping her lungs from letting any air flood through them. She was too distracted by the feeling of his cock buried deep inside of her. Sounds of praises left them both as they felt themselves climbing higher and higher, ready to reach their peaks.

“I’m so close.” 

Her words didn’t get a reply. He was focused on making her cum, adding more pressure to the speed of his thrusts as her body moved against the hood. Sweat dripped down her skin, pooling on the small of (y/n)’s back. Their lips connected once again all while she tumbled over the edge, fingernails piercing into his shoulders, as she cried out his name.

The way she looked - sweaty, hair in tangles, makeup smudged - pushed him into the arms of his own orgasm. His release spilled out of him, painting her walls white, claiming (y/n) as his.

She laid her head down and let her body collapse onto the hood of the car as he bent himself over her to rest. Forehead to forehead, they gazed into each other’s eyes as they struggled to catch their breaths. They both shared sloppy, quick kisses and murmurs of “I love you’s” as they laughed breathlessly together in the afterglow.

Spencer pushed himself off the car and straightened his pants again before handing her the boxers she’d stolen. She hopped off the hood and redressed herself as they heard nearing footsteps.

”Hey, pretty boy,” Derek chanted, announcing himself before he walked through the wide open door of the garage.

(Y/n) covered her mouth to hide her wide smile, admired Spencer as he struggled to keep himself composed. 

“Hey, Derek, thanks for coming,” Spencer answered, still struggling to breathe evenly.

“(Y/n), you can go back to bed and rest easy little girl,” Derek laughed. “I’m here now, I’ll take care of you.”

Derek’s taunt was entirely directed at the difficulties Spencer faced with fixing her car, but she couldn’t let the moment pass.

She smiled brightly in Derek’s direction as she walked past him on her way out of the garage, “Oh, Dr. Reid has already taken care of me, Derek. Don’t you worry.”

(Y/n) heard Spencer laugh as she sauntered off. She imagined the look on Derek’s face as the realization hit, but she didn’t look back to see it.

“Pretty boy!” Derek yelled in surprise.

She basked in the sound of Spencer’s laughter.

Criminal Minds Taglist: @huntheimpossible​ @23victoria​ @jensenackles512​ @trickassmotherfucker​ @miraclesoflove​ @shrekboobies​ 

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[mypoisonedvine]

Closer | Bucky Barnes x reader

I wrote this for @mariessecretfantasies’ 500 follower challenge, took me forever but it’s done!!  congrats on 500 love, although I bet (and hope) you’re well past that now.

my ‘prompt’ was a song, specifically Closer by Nine Inch Nails… so it’s filthy.  purely filth, no plot.  don’t say I didn’t warn you.  special thanks to @evnscvll​ for the proofread!

warnings: SMUT of course, mild(?) dub con, d/s dynamics, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, anal sex (and the prep is...not that good), ass-to-mouth (i’m literally blushing as I type this oml i’m so sorry), mentions of blood, slapping, spitting, degradation, semi-public sex, pain kink, and some other generally unhygienic behaviors…  this isn’t a dark fic per se but it’s got 0 fluff.  not even one ounce of fluff detected.  definitely no aftercare lmao.  ain’t nobody got time for that.

word count: a bit under 3k

He couldn’t drink anymore-- well, he could, but he couldn’t get drunk, so there was no use.  Couldn’t get high on any drug, either.  Pain didn’t affect him the way it did other people.  But everybody has their vice, their way of hurting themselves to feel something when they can’t feel anything else.  You were his, and he was yours.

You couldn’t even remember now how it started.  There was definitely alcohol involved, but past that you weren’t sure what had compelled you two to stumble into bed together.  Even at the time you had realized it was irresponsible and probably not worth the trouble, but it seemed inevitable in some weird way.

That was how it always felt, actually.  Like tonight, when he met your gaze from across the bar.  His eyes were so dark, demanding-- it made you shiver even though it only lasted for a moment before he looked away, pulled into conversation with Bruce.  But you knew what it meant.

Didn’t matter anyhow; it was a big party, the whole crew and nearly all of the Tower staff were crawling the halls.  There was no guarantee of privacy at a time like this.  

You were chatting with Wanda when you felt a hand slip around your arm, pulling you back into somebody’s form-- of course you knew it was him, you could tell by the roughness of his skin, the smell of him, the way he pressed against your back…

“Can I speak to you privately for a moment?” Bucky requested with poorly-suppressed irritation, his lips almost pressed against your ear.

“S-sure,” you stumbled over your response.  You got the sense that there wouldn’t be much speaking, but you couldn’t turn him down in front of these people without giving yourself away.

And that was how you ended up in a broom closet, pressed against the wall with his tongue dominating your mouth and his hands somehow feeling like they were touching you everywhere all at once.

“Buck, wait,” you managed to murmur against his mouth as his lips crashed into yours.

“Tired of waiting,” he growled in reply.  “Turn around.”

You didn’t even think to question it, just obeyed his command blindly as he slammed you into the wall and began pushing your dress up, pulling your underwear aside.

“Not here,” you groaned.

“Shut up,” he hissed.

The absolute second that his cock was free he was shoving it between your legs and fucking you with unmatched speed and ferocity.  It nearly burned, the way it forced you open, but it was exactly what you needed.  You arched your back to accept his length more easily, your head falling back in pleasure.  He responded by grabbing your hair and pulling it until your back arched even more.  

“Oh god, Bucky,” you whimpered.  In response, he slammed his hand over your mouth and fucked you even harder, as if it were punishment; he didn’t like when you said his name in times like this.  He didn’t want to think about who he was, or who you were, or what the two of you were doing.  He just wanted to feel you and nothing else.

Funny how a man who’d been unwillingly brainwashed actually craved the chance to forget.

His other hand moved from your hair and slipped down between your legs, roughly rubbing your clit as your hips bucked and thrashed in response.  He held you still through it, biting down on your neck hard enough to make you worry about the skin breaking.  But he knew by now that you liked the threat of pain, which is why he slipped his left hand down from your mouth to your neck.  The sound of your breath halting to silence was so perfect that he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

Already your vision was spotting into darkness, starting at the corner of your eyes and moving in.  As you lost your connection with the visual aspects of your reality, everything else became stronger, and it felt like you were somehow seeing better than ever.

He stopped thrusting and leaned closer to your ear.  “When I let go of your neck,” he explained quietly, his voice dark and rough, “get on the floor on your hands and knees.”  

He released his grip and your lungs sucked in air faster than they could handle, making you cough and sputter a little.  Still, you turned around to begin following his instructions.  You got a better look at him than you had before.  His eyes were so blown out that they were nearly black, watching you with hungry rage.  Or maybe it was raging hunger.  

You felt his gaze follow you as you stepped around him, bending down and getting on the floor.  It was cold and a little bit gritty, both of which made you shudder.  You became aware of the wetness which had leaked from your opening, smeared over your thighs and made an uncomfortable patch on the edge of your panties.  You didn’t have to worry about that much longer, though, as he kneeled behind you and ripped them off.  

“Buck, I need those--”

He slapped your ass, with the vibranium hand.  It was so hard that you perceived the sound before your body processed the pain.  As you lurched forward, your squeal of pain tore and cracked in your throat, so much that you could barely recognize it as yourself.   

One hand slid your dress up further, admiring the warmth and smoothness of your skin, two fingers running along your spine; the other guided his cock to your pussy again.

You weren’t quite ready, not exactly wet or warmed up enough for this angle.  You were sure this was the most your body could take, if not a little bit more.  The way he pushed into you-- ignoring the resistance of your inner walls, your skin breaking out into goosebumps, your arms and legs quivering-- put you entirely at his mercy.  Just as you were about to cry out in response to it all, he roughly shoved three fingers into your mouth: flesh, sweaty and dirty, tasting slightly of scotch and gun oil.  They pushed your cheeks out from the inside, stretched your chapped lips until they cracked and you tasted blood.  You swirled your tongue around them anyways, ignoring the way it caused drool to lewdly drip down his hand and your chin.  

He smiled, in a twisted way, as he looked down at you.  “You need it so bad, don’t you?”

You nodded feverishly, groaning around his fingers and letting your eyes flutter shut.  

He used the hand on your back to guide your movements, watching your body as it swallowed his length to the base.  He could tell you were struggling with his size, and he was almost impressed with your fortitude.  Unfortunately for you, it only made him want to push you further.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he grabbed your arms at your elbow and held them behind your back, using them to keep you upright as he slammed into you.  Each thrust made your knees scrape on the concrete, and your shoulders were twisted into an awkward position that made your muscles burn, but you didn’t care.  All it did was add tinder to the flame of pleasure.

Tears stung the back of your eyes.  You always cried when he fucked you like this, and he either didn’t care or didn’t notice; it was just so intense, you couldn’t stop yourself.  You would probably be bleeding when he was finally done with you, and you would definitely be sore (on the outside and inside) tomorrow.

“Gonna cry, bitch?  Can’t take it?” he hissed.  You always got wet when he talked like that.  Then again, you got wet whenever he talked at all.

Your voice came out hoarse and cracked when you spoke.  “Harder,” you barely managed to grit out through your teeth.  

Instead what he did was pull out and flip you over, slapping you straight across the face.  There was nowhere to hide from him now, with your legs spread and your clothes torn to shreds, so you didn’t even try to suppress the moan when he hit you.  He grunted and hit you again, spinning your face the other way.  You wanted to ask him to hit you again but he just shoved himself inside you again, putting his weight on your neck as he wrapped a hand around it.  You couldn’t moan but you could arch your back; he pushed down on your stomach until you couldn’t do that anymore either, and it forced your g-spot to push right into his cock.  You would’ve screamed if you could; it felt so fucking good, too good, too much all at once.

Who could say how long that went on for?  It didn’t feel subject to time or space, it all just felt like sensation-- sensation which washed over you until you didn’t know how to experience anything else.  So often our bodies feel like machines, slaves to routine.  A body which must rise in the morning, rest in the evening; a mind which must toil over the past and worry for the future.  Now, you didn’t even know your own name-- you didn’t even understand what a name was for.  Your only purpose now, and your only goal, was to feel.

That was what you craved about this: the chance to forget about everything else.

At some point you were pulled back into reality by the way he was manhandling you, tossing you back onto your knees and pulling your body flush with his by your hair.

“Beg me to let you come,” he growled, but you couldn’t even think long enough to put a sentence together, let alone actually get it out.  He bit down on your shoulder and you whimpered in pain.  

“P-please,” you sighed-- it came out so quiet that even you could barely hear it.  His teeth sunk in deeper; you tried to say it again but it was caught in your throat.

He pulled your head to the side by your hair, and slapped the half that was exposed.  “Beg me to let you come,” he repeated, slower, “you dumb fucking whore.”

“Please… please, let me come,” you mumbled.  

“Louder.”

You hesitated, about to remind him that the hallways outside probably had people passing through and someone might hear you, but your hesitation was rewarded only with more violence as he hit you again-- even harder than the last time.  You yelped and bit down on your lip.

You hadn’t realized how weak you were until he let go and you instantly fell to the floor, your hips held up by his hands but your face pressed against the cold cement.

“You can come,” he decided, almost flippantly, as he fucked into you deeper and harder.  It seemed like he knew your body better than you did: he made you come faster, for one, and he saw it coming sooner as well.  It was slightly embarrassing, but then again, you were on your knees in a broom closet so that was sort of beside the point.

It seemed to hit you all at once, and with no sign of stopping.  You reached up to claw at the wall but it did nothing to keep you stable as shocks reverberated through your body.  You were about to space out again when you felt the metal tip of his thumb press against your tighter rim.  

“W-wait,” you gasped, but he pressed in further and your words were lost to a whimper.

“Oh, you can’t play innocent with me, sweetheart.  I know you want me to fuck this little ass.  Go ahead, say it.”

“F-fuck my ass, please,” you begged.  It sounded shameless, but there was certainly shame (and fear) tingling in your gut.

The thumb pushed in all the way, and before you could deal with the way that felt, it was replaced with two fingers.  You hissed from the sting, but willed your body to relax as you fell back into that headspace and simply let everything happen to you.  

The transition from two to three fingers was barely noticeable.  But you definitely noticed when he pulled everything out of you, guiding the head of his cock higher up.  He moved your hips closer as you went limp in his grasp-- a drooling, mindless fuckdoll who, apparently, spread your legs for him whenever he wanted.  It was some undefinable mixture of demeaning and liberating.

His cock pressed against your opening, and when it finally pushed past the tightness with a nauseating pop, you bit your lip.  

You almost felt prideful when you heard him moan; he was usually pretty quiet.  How you managed to feel any sense of achievement or value when you were face down in a broom closet getting fucked up the ass… that was a different issue.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust as he picked up his speed, fucking you so much gentler than he ever did but still rougher than you were expecting, somehow.  Each time he was buried all the way inside, you felt like you were miles beyond your body’s limits, fuller and wider than was possible.  It made you wet, uselessly.

When he moved faster, his balls slapped against your pussy and you could hear how much you were loving this, even as disgusting and painful as it was.  He leaned forward to push your face into the ground and fucked you harder.  The new angle pushed him even deeper, opened you up even more brutally, and you couldn’t suppress a cry of pain.

“How’s it feel, huh?” he taunted.

“It hurts,” you told him with a voice much whinier than you intended, but you weren’t exactly complaining.  And you definitely weren’t asking him to stop.

Not that you were worried that he would.  If anything, it only inspired him to push you further as he grabbed your hips tight to slam you back onto his cock.  

He didn’t announce that he was close, but you could just barely tell based on the way your hazy brain couldn’t ignore the rapid increase in his thrusts.  A broken growl was your signal that he was filling you with come but you were too numb to feel any difference.  He kept fucking you through it, only stopping once every drop was inside you.  When he slowed to a stop you sighed with relief, wincing a little as he pulled out and trying to ignore the lewd way that your hole flexed and constricted.  You felt his come leaking as it dripped down over your pussy, down your thighs and onto the floor.  

The smell in this cramped space was inescapable, and putrid, and only now did you really become aware of it.

“Don’t just lay there,” he scoffed as he stood up, “come over here and get on your knees.”

At this point, you were so well-trained that you were obeying his words before you’d even processed them or taken the time to question what his intentions were.  

You looked up at him with watery eyes as he stroked his cock right above your face.  He was looking at you with the most uninterpretable expression… cold eyes, tightened jaw, lips curled into a grimace.

“Clean me off,” he demanded, shoving his softening length into your mouth, “come on, clean my cock off.”

You grimaced but did as he asked, sucking and licking as it slid down your tongue and back into your throat.  Didn’t take much of him for you to start choking, considering his size.

“Breathe through your nose,” he offered as a solution, but you had been trying to avoid smelling or tasting it.  You didn’t even want to think about it.

You even took the time to lick his balls clean, too, and they tasted like your own arousal, bringing back some memories which managed to disturb you in spite of their recentness.  When he was satisfied, he pushed you back onto the floor by your throat, and you swallowed thickly.

As per usual, he said nothing as he stuffed himself back into his jeans, or as he made a hasty exit.  When he shut the door behind him, you were left there used up and tossed aside; dress ruined, mascara smeared, panties torn, come seeping out of you, gasping for breath.  You had no plan for getting out of here without everyone seeing you; you had no plan for getting out of this sick, addictive cycle with him.  In the meantime, you would sit in the empty room and wait for the blood flow to return to your numbed extremities, wait for the aftershocks of arousal and orgasm to subside, and let yourself bask in the comfort of the dark.

[inkdemonapologist]

Jack had a long day after session 10.... Sammy’s gonna let him sleep.

[batim call of cthulhu masterpost]

(and a bunch of out of context quotes under the cut!)

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Sammy] Despite last session being PRIMARILY planning, we do not actually have a plan!!!

[Joey] How quickly... can Joey Drew learn... a time control spell... so that we can try ONE of our plans, and if it doesn't work, we can just go back in time and-- [Sammy] Joey, don't-- don't start that, Joey. That's not going to end well. [Joey] IT WORKED BEFORE! [Sammy] YEAH, I KNOW, but I think it's a bad plan! You're gonna have, freakin, "This cartoon didn't do as well I wanted, let's back up! Let's back up, and see if we can make some small changes! BENDY MUST BE PERFECT!" [Joey] This is how Sillyvision actually comes about! [GM] Are you saying... are you saying you aren't comfortable with Joey Drew trying to loop time? [Sammy] YES! That is what I'm saying! I don't think that should happen, I think that will end poorly for those of us who have to participate in Time!

[Sammy] Sammy would not be against bringing it up, but if Jack's like "UH I don't even know if that's possible for me to do, I did it by accident" then he won't, like, push. [Joey] Joey's not going to push, but he's going to be very supportive that you can do anything you set your mind to!

[Jack] Sammy has guns! Just not those ones. [Sammy] Correct. Yes.

[Joey] Prophet did not seem affected by it, at all. [Sammy] *sarcastic laugh* Alright. Fantastic! [Joey] So, I guess I'm letting you know this, not just if you accidentally come across some paint, but if you find yourself having trouble dealing with things, you might be able to use that-- [Sammy] Sammy is GLARING. [Jack] Jack is also giving Joey a look at this! "If you're having trouble, just try drugging yourself!" That sure is, a coping mechanism!

[GM, speaking for Bendy] He does think the Prophet can be a little overzealous, but he's definitely good at getting stuff done! Maybe not the best stuff, but... stuff! [Sammy] Are you sure? He's been trying to sacrifice somebody to the Masked Messenger for like, a year, and it hasn't been working!

[Joey] He could've started trying to fall asleep on the drive over! [Jack] Yeah but then he's going to end up astral projecting on the road! Halfway there! Just watching his body drive away!

[Jack] He's technically gotten the information he was looking for, which is: there are still people in the building, not very many,... He also gained the information: more than Moonlight can see people who are astral projecting,... he gained: Pain, [Jack] All in all I think this was a successful trip!

[Sammy] I'm just so pleased that Sammy is foiling Moonlight all over the place, and generally being very obnoxiously in the way, and Sammy can't even come out that much. [Sammy] Like, he's only existed in his Prophet Form like three or four times! If he could be here as much as Moonlight is here, he would-- tHE MASKED MESSENGER WOULD BE HERE ALREADY. [GM] *laughs* The only thing holding him back. [Sammy] Yes. The only thing holding him back: sometimes he turns into a much more reasonable person.

[Sammy] (Sorry for being so enthusiastic about this, but I'm really enthusiastic about this.)

[Joey] Now that he has a description of the kinds of runes, does Joey know any way to disrupt it? [Henry] I know of a way to disrupt it. [Jack] Last time Henry tried to disrupt something he actually strengthened it, so, [Henry] Okay but this--! But-- okay, yeah, point taken.

[Henry] Basically what happened is, I smeared my blood on one of the symbols-- [Sammy] WHY

[Sammy] You could write "found this," or, if you have room-- [Joey] "We know how to get your family" [Sammy] Y-, mm, that sounds, a little bit ransom-note-y,

[Jack] "Place $1000 1 Slick Stone in an unmarked package under the third tree if you want to see your family again" [Sammy] I think you mean 75 dollars

[GM] Norman is picking through the room; he does find a freaky bone whistle thing, and a weird cold crystal, and some chalk, and a blooodyyyy knife??? Question mark??? [Joey] Well, might as well grab that, [Henry] Yeah, Henry wants that back! [GM] --and a jar with yellow paint in it-- [Joey] ...you can leave the jar with yellow paint in it. [Jack] But the Prophet wants that back!

[GM] He does pretty quickly go "Hey, I know this model!" and some tinkering noises ensue. [Joey] Okay, yeah, take that too! [GM] "I... I can't carry this," he says, "not without a handcart." [Joey] I mean, if he---.... wait, what. [Sammy] (Projector.) [Joey] OH I thought he found the gun. I forgot there was a projector in there. [Joey] Norman, focus!

[Sammy] If Joey would take it, go for it. [Joey] Joey is more interested in Moonlight's stuff than Fowler's stuff. He's trying to get Fowler on their side. [Jack] As a counterpoint, I, personally, as a player, am very curious!

[Henry] Moonlight and Sammy play duelling banjos at each other. [Sammy] That hasn't been written yet, they can't! [Henry] Moonlight and Sammy accidentally invent duelling banjos.

[Joey] Okay, Joey's going to continue to hide in the closet. [Henry] Didn't we say we were going to flicker the lights when we got up to this room? [Joey] Oh yeah. Joey said he was going to do that but he's... not going in there. [Henry] He's not out of the closet yet.

[GM] Norman got a very good mechanical roll and gets the set-up going quite promptly! [Joey] We should hire this guy!

[GM] No, it doesn't look like it helps Jack. [Sammy] No healing for Jack :( [Joey] No healing in Wonderland. (several players start yelling) [Sammy] And now we've discovered everyone in this group who has listened to The Adventure Zone!

[GM] Norman probably makes a joke about "Oh, so you do sleep!" [Joey] When we can. [Sammy] Not often. [Jack] *laughs* Animation, amiright? [Jack] Anyway, so do you wanna work for us?

[Jack] Jack's just getting all of the insanities. [Joey] I want some too! Stop hogging them!!!

[Sammy] So has this just all... come to you? [Henry] Some of it! [Sammy] *narrows eyes* [Henry] Some of it I know what I'm doing! I can use my blood in runes and stuff, but other stuff like blasting the angel, that just... happened. [Sammy] You're as bad as Joey. [Henry] (He looks a bit sheepish at that.) Honestly? I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get told off. [Sammy] Not sure I have the energy tonight. Let’s rain check on that.

[Sammy] *suspicious* Are you alright in there? [Bendy] Joey did somethin' dumb, but I think we're okay! [Joey] You didn't need to tell him that. [Bendy] Well, we are okay, right? Henry was doin' this yesterday and he's okay! [Sammy] ...what [Henry] What? [Joey] DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT! [Bendy] It's okay when it's just a little, right? [Sammy] WHAT ARE YOU DOING? [Joey] I found a cool rock... [Sammy] BENDY, WHAT IS HE DOING [Bendy] Washin' blood off his face! [Sammy] Hm. [Joey] (There's just the thunk of Joey letting his head hit the sink). [Sammy] Sammy has decided not to ask any more questions.

[Sammy] I love the idea that Prophet's like SO LASER-FOCUSED on his hatred of Doc Moonlight, that that's all that Sammy can remember. They're summoning an elder god's avatar in the background and all Sammy can remember is BOY, I HATE THAT GUY!

[Sammy] I think he's going to focus on trying to remember as much as he can, because Joey's gonna give him the Joey version, [GM] You can make another POW roll if he's trying to remember. [Sammy] Oh.... *starting to roll dice* I don't know if you should do this, Sammy... [Sammy] .....96. No. [Jack] He fumbled, [Joey] He fumbles and forgets more??? [GM] No, no, you remember the things you don't want t-- OKAY NOW YOU REMEMBER THE RITUAL!!! [Sammy] OH!! GREAT!!!

[Henry] *coming back online after the session is done* I have something important to share! I got home and got on as quickly as possible to share! [Sammy] Uh huh? [Henry] I realised that Norman should ABSOLUTELY be having out of body experiences too. Because I mean. HE IS THE PROJECTIONIST! [Joey and Jack] *start laUGHING HYSTERICALLY* [Sammy] Oh My Gosh

[Jack] I can't believe that Jack's next Astral Projection Dream is going on a date with Norman. Add to the boyfriend collection! [Sammy] When do I get to astral projection dream date Jack??? [Jack] You were busy astral projection dream dating Joey! [Sammy] Yeah, he looked nothing like his profile picture.

[giorno-plays-piano]

hey!! i love your writing sm💕 idk if you’re still taking requests or if you’re comfortable w a like platonic or father figure yandere. But how about yan! Steve Rogers where he kidnaps a teenage girl to be his daughter then shields her from the world to “protect” her kinda like rapunzel. if you don’t want to that’s no problem at all tho💕

Hi, sweetie! This is a very peculiar request, and I really, really like it! I guess I’ve made Steve a little softer than I expected, but here he is. Hope you’re going to enjoy this!

The one he cares about

Pairing: adoptive dad!Steve & Reader, Peter Parker x Reader (if you squint)

Warnings: yandere, obsession (non-romantic!), stalking, kidnapping, death of minor characters (but nothing too scary).

Words: 1870.

P.S. Just to clarify this is NOT an incest story, Steve does not harbor any romantic feelings for the reader, he loves her like a parent does.

__________________

Pacing up and down nervously like a caged tiger, Steve threw a glance at the clock on the kitchen wall, ready to take out his cellphone and give you a call. It was just 10 pm, but he felt something wasn't going quite right. Was everything ok at that party? Were you enjoying yourself? Did you finally confess to that silly guy Steve didn't like at all? What if he had already got you, Steve's precious little daughter, into bed?

Breathing in deeply, the man tried calming himself down. You were an adult. At one point you would start dating people, and it was perfectly alright, Sam reminded him the other day. You weren't some princess locked in a tower with Steve guarding you like an angry dragon. You had the right to love and be loved, create your own family, for God's sake. When he thought of you leaving him Steve was ready to break that kitchen wall.

No, no, no, it was alright. You loved him with all your heart, and no stupid guy could take it away from Steve. He was your father. Adoptive father, of course, but he did everything he could to make you trust and love him as much as you true family. You were calling him dad, after all. And even if you eventually married someone, Steve would always stay close to help and support you - and your kids, if you ever decide to have any. At the thought of him kissing the cheeks of his cute little grandchildren Steve had finally relaxed.

Oh, was it the sound of the front door opening? As much as he wanted to rush to meet you, the man quickly put on his apron he ironed this morning and turned to the heated stove to put a meat pie in it. Alright, alright, you were already home, it was perfect.

But why so early? Steve was really generous this time and gave you till 1 am - of course, if you took a taxi, not go walking the streets in the night. Did something go wrong? Did the guy reject you? Did he take advantage of you? Did he... do something he shouldn't have?

Steve felt his blood boiling. In a second he was ready to storm out of the kitchen to beat the shit out of that bastard who was stupid enough to hurt his child.

"Hi dad! I'm home!"

As you walked in, carrying your beaded clutch in your arms and yawning tiredly, Steve put a smile on his face momentarily, assessing whether you were hurt within a couple of seconds. No, apparently, you were alright: you moved just like before; your hair wasn't ruffled, and your makeup wasn't smeared eather. He had overreacted again.

"Welcome back, sweet pea." Steve moved closer to you, giving you a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead as you giggled softly, throwing your arms around his broad back. "How did it go?"

As your face turned gloomy for a fleeting second, he knew his sixth sense wasn't lying to him: something didn't go well.

"Nah." You brushed it off as you sat on the chair, carelessly leaving your clutch on the table and stretching your legs with a loud sigh.

"What is it, sweetie?"

Furrowing his brows, Steve sat across from you, his hands folded as he stared at you with worry. Shit, did this guy try doing something funny? Did he offend you? Oh, Steve was going to have a nice talk with him, a moron who thought he could do this to his little girl and it would never come back at him. Should he call Natasha? Maybe Bucky? He knew they were still in town. No, no, he would take this matter in his own hands and go have a nice talk with that stupid ungrateful ba-

"It's alright, I swear." You muttered and forced a smile, drawing his attention back to you. "He just... well, just didn't return my feelings."

"Did he reject you?"

For a second Steve felt both relieved and ready to go murder that kid in a cold blood. Rejected you? The prettiest and smartest girl in the town with a heart of gold? Who did that little shit think he was, rejecting Steve's precious daughter?

But it was better than him forcing you to do something you didn't want. At least that asshole didn't do anything inappropriate to you, probably too scared to face your angry dad who could crack his skull with one hand.

"Not like reject in the full sense of the word, but... um, I feel like he was a little scared of me." Your smile turned bitter, and you leaned onto Steve, pressing your forehead into his chest as you exhaled loudly.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time it happened. Everybody around knew you were the daughter of retired Captain America, and people were treating you with such caution as if you were some time bomb, clearly unwilling to make the world's first Avenger angry. Partly, it was a good thing since no one tried messing with you. However, you were also left pretty much alone, ignored by the majority for the sake of their own well-being. Although you had found several friends, dating someone was a completely different thing: guys were running away from before you even spoke to them.

"I'm so sorry." The man said quietly, rubbing your back and gently caressing your head with his other hand. "This is my fault."

You sighed, lifting your head and looking at Steve so tenderly he suddenly felt like he was the happiest man in the world. What, weren't you upset?

"Come on, dad." His heart sped up when you called him that, and he was ready to lift you up in the air, kissing his little girl's nose. "I thought he's different, but he's just a chicken like all other guys. I'll get over him soon."

"Hard to live up to our standards, I guess." Steve smiled and pinched your nose a little, making you laugh again. "But you need to know I am really sorry, sweat pea. I swear I wouldn't stand in your way if you decided he was the right guy for you."

Actually, Steve pretty much would, but you wouldn't know about it. Happiness of his only child was the only thing that mattered to him now: what was the point of being a parent if you couldn't make your kid happy?

"It's okay, really, dad. I wouldn't change the things as they are now. When I think what could happen if you didn't see me on the street that night... uh-huh." You didn't finish the sentence, not that you needed to.

If Steve didn't find you that night desperately searching for food on the streets of New York, you'd probably be dead now.

You were born to a good family, and you spent the first 11 years of your life in a nice place, having loving parents, the roof above your head and food on the table. You were just one more happy kid among thousands of others, neither better nor worse than all of them. It all changed when your parents were killed by two robbers who had broken into your house, and soon you ended up in an orphanage - you still had nightmares about this place. You spent a year there before you escaped, choosing the streets over an orphanage. Silly you, thinking it would be better.

When Steve found you, you were 13. Dirty, always hungry, acting like a little wild animal, you were no more pitiful than any other homeless child, ignored by the majority of people, but Steve saw you. He took you with him - forcefully, of course, because you fought him like a little angry cat, frightened to the core he was going to take advantage of you like all those people pretending to help you. But he didn’t. He was the one who had truly cared.

It took him months to get you accustomed to living in a house again with someone close to you. Steve spent even more time trying to make you trust him, make you believe he was your friend, somebody you could rely on, trust, see as a parental figure. You couldn’t even name all those people he hired to help you: countless psychologists and psychiatrists; doctors and nurses of all kinds; visiting teachers and tutors. Despite liking to live alone, Steve brought so many strangers to his house it felt like living in a royal palace with tons of court attendants. All of this was for you, the only person he cared about, his little child.

When you were 15, you started calling him dad, and that was the day neither Steve nor you would ever forget: he scooped you up and kept swinging you around till your head was spinning while he laughed and shouted how much he loved you, the best daughter he could ever had. 

You never knew the extent to which Steve cared about you, following you secretly when you finally agreed to leave the house - he needed to know you were safe and sound. Of course, he was always there when he supposed someone wasn’t treating you right, and he did everything he could to keep his only child happy. Unfortunately, you were lonely until Steve found a couple of good friends for you, but it was alright. You were perfectly okay now.

“I love you too, sweet pea.” He smiled, caressing your head gently. “But you know what? Don’t worry about that guy. I actually have someone who I want you to meet, and he’s a really sweet kid.”

“Whoa, what? What kid?”

“Well, you know. Kid from work.”

“Dad, what work? What kid?” You rolled your eyes at him, giggling. “How old is he, at least?”

“A little older than you, but he’s alright. He’s been wanting to meet you for some time.” But before Steve wasn’t sure kid was the right guy for you, considering that he was still very much an Avenger and was involved in all kinds of dangerous situations. 

“Dad, what kid? Are you talking about your superhero colleagues or something?” 

“... yeah? I promise, you’ll like him. Peter’s a good kid.”

“Peter? Peter goddamn Parker?!” You exclaimed loudly, realizing he was talking about Spider-Man. “Are you joking?!”

“What did I tell you about swearing, sweetheart?” Furrowing his brows, Steve shook his head in disapproval, but laughed in the very next second, watching your guilty expression. “Alright, alright. I’m not joking. If you’d like to meet him, I’ll ask him to come tomorrow for dinner, ok?”

“Yes, please!”

As he took the pie out of the oven with you waiting at the dinner table, Steve thought about giving the kid a big lecture about what he was and wasn’t supposed to do to you, but he was more or less sure Peter knew what was right and wrong. Steve could spot that familiar glint in kid’s eyes when he was looking at your photo that Steve had been showing him proudly. 

It would turn out alright. Your father was ready to do anything it takes to make you happy.

___________________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @iheartsebastianstan @lovelydarkdaydream @sarge-barnes-sir

[vassiensupremacy]

first kiss 💋

VASSIEN WEEK | DAY SIX | PROMPTS

Vassa merely smiles supportively as she tries to hide the hurricane brewing inside her. She has learnt how to be politically correct and put on a facade all her life. It isn't the act that is hard, it is the pain inside her. It has always been courtly and political connections that she has wielded her facade for. She has never had to conceal her pain and put on a nonchalant facade in front of someone she cares about. Someone who is the world to her. But she has mastered the art over years and she won't let the cracks in her heart show, not even now. Not even if it hurts.

Lucien sighs as he winnows back to the manor with Vassa after attending a party at the Night Court. Usually, he is skilled at handling events like these but this one was hard. Lucien had to dance with Elain because it was tradition for all mates to dance together in the ballroom. It was a painful experience to say the least. Because neither Lucien nor Elain is interested in keeping the bond when their hearts are no longer theirs. Elain's heart was stolen by Azriel while Lucien's belonged to Vassa. Lucien wasn't a huge fan of traditions but he respected them regardless. It was this one that infuriated him the most. What was the point of forcing two people together because of a mating bond that neither of them wanted? Despite the exhausting event, Lucien was happy about the decision they had taken. He sighed as he watched Vassa go upstairs to her room, but couldn't stop himself from asking her how she felt. Vassa paused in her tracks and turned to face him. The smile on her face said enough but she added, “I feel great, it was such a fun party. Thanks for taking me along.”

This was not the answer Lucien was expecting. He wanted to know if she cared, if she felt the same as he did for her. The fact that Lucien's dance with Elain didn't bother her one bit just went on to prove that she didn't feel the same way. Sadness crept into his heart as he saw her turn away and up the rest of steps to her room.

It was only when Vassa shut the door to her room that she allowed herself to break down. Tears streamed down her face as she thought of Lucien holding onto Elain as they danced. Mates, they were mates. Of course they would choose to be together. Why did she even let her heart hope otherwise? Vassa had met plenty of men in her life, matches from dukes to princes and yet none of them had ever mattered to her. It was only when she met Lucien that she even realized what it felt like to fall in love. She knew he was the only one for her. And knowing that he would never be hers hurt way more than she could explain. Images of Lucien and Elain came flashing back into her mind, giving way to rage. The vase kept on top of the drawer felt like the perfect thing to break and so she did. It broke into pieces and Vassa felt her anger reduce just a little. The pieces felt like a representation of how she felt, broken. Vassa bent to pick up the pieces but one of them was sharper than she'd thought. It cut through her hand and—

Vassa froze when she heard his footsteps. She hurriedly wiped her tears away and quickly hid the pieces under a jacket. Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Vassa walked to the door, maintaining her earlier poise and opened it to see Lucien standing in the doorway looking troubled and wary. He peeked into her room.

“I heard something shatter and rushed as fast as I could. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah of course, everything is alright,” Vassa replied as she held her hand behind her back.

Lucien's eye zeroed in on it and he asked, “Why are you hiding your hand? Did you get hurt?”

“It's okay, it's fine. Let it be.”

“Let me see,” Lucien said as he guided her arm in front to inspect her hand.

Vassa's throat welled up at his soft touch. She didn't want him to know how much this pained her, how shattered she felt.

“Vassa you're bleeding,” said Lucien panicked after seeing the trickling blood.

“It's just a cut, not that big of a deal.”

“Whether it's a cut or a scratch, it will always be a big deal to me.”

“No it isn't a big deal to you. Just let it be.”

The worry on Lucien's face only increased. “Vassa, just let me heal it. How did you even—”

Rage flooded Vassa again. Why was he making it even harder? Why couldn't he leave her alone?

“Why do you even care?” she shouted.

Lucien stepped back, surprised. “What do you mean? Why won't I care? I—”

Because I'm not your mate, Vassa thought.

Vassa broke down, her knees giving out as she thought of Lucien with somebody else. As she thought of her own life without him by her side.

“Vassa, what's wrong? Talk to me, please.” Lucien asked kneeling next to her.

Vassa couldn't look at him, couldn't face him as a storm of emotions flooded her. Lucien guided her face towards him. He wiped her tears away and Vassa broke even further at how tender his touch was. For a moment, just a moment she let herself imagine him being there with her at every stage of her future but then—

“You shouldn't be doing this,” Vassa said bluntly pushing Lucien's hand away.

“What— Why?” he asked confusion clouding his beautiful tanned face.

It was then that Vassa locked her eyes with him. “Because you have a mate and it's not me.”

Lucien stared at her for a moment, the silence washing over him like a strong wave.

“Elain and I—”

Lucien stopped abruptly as Vassa turned away, tears starting to form in her eyes. She couldn't bear to look at him as he talked about his love for someone else. She just fucking couldn't.

Vassa covered her face with her hands as the sobs shook her body. She felt Lucien pull her into himself, one of his arm wrapping around her while the other held her face.

“Why?” Vassa whispered against his chest.

“Vassa, listen to me.” Lucien said cupping her face and sliding his hand in her fiery red hair.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes as her hands gripped onto his jacket. Looking at him only made her realize what she was losing. What she never really had to begin with.

“Elain and I have decided to reject the bond.”

Vassa's sobs came to a halt as she absorbed what Lucien had just said. Stunned silence gave way to a million questions.

They had decided to reject the mating bond?

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Vassa couldn't believe what she was hearing, couldn't understand if this was real or something she was imagining.

Lucien smiled hearing her curse, “That's right, Vassa. We decided to reject the bond. Neither of us wanted it after all.”

“But why?”

“Because I'm in love with someone else.”

The silence returned with double force. Vassa couldn't blink, couldn't breathe, couldn't wrap her brain around this information. A thousand questions rushed through her mind again. With the questions came the sinking feeling. What if the female he loved wasn't her?

Vassa took a breath as she realized that despite the mating bond being no longer an obstacle in their path, there was another thorn in its place. Vassa could feel her heart breaking again even though she tried to compose herself. Looking back at Lucien, she smiled, “Congratulations. Looks like your happily-ever-after isn't far off. I'm so happy for you. You deserve the world.”

And even though her heart broke to picture him with someone else, she did mean what she said about him being happy. She would do anything for his happiness and if this was what it took for him to be happy, so be it.

“You don't look very happy,” Lucien remarked.

“Oh it's nothing. I am happy for you.”

“Are you sure?”

Vassa looked at Lucien then, wondering why he sounded so relieved. As if he had just realized something that he wasn't aware of earlier.

“Totally, she is really lucky. I hope she makes you feel like the happiest male,” she replied, her voice cracking despite trying to keep it stable.

“She does.”

“Well that's all that matters,” Vassa said as tears threatened to fall down her face again. “And I cannot wait to see you two—”

Unable to hold it in anymore, Vassa broke down again. She couldn't stop herself from leaning on him as she sobbed. So close, yet so far.

Flashes of their time together rushed through her mind. The smiles, the laughter, the banter, the arguments, the happiness.

She couldn't let him go without telling him what he meant to her. She didn't want any regrets.

“Lucien, I—”

“Yes?” Lucien implored as his eyes shone with an emotion unreadable to her dejected mind.

“I just wanted to say— I mean I—”

Lucien just tilted his head, waiting.

“Ugh, fuck it.” Vassa groaned.

Lucien smiled in amusement as Vassa locked eyes with him, her hands cupping his face.

“I love you,” she declared.

Silence, utmost silence and then pure joy went through Lucien. He had waited forever to hear Vassa say this. He couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on his face as he let her words sink in.

A laugh escaped Lucien's mouth, his happiness knowing no bounds. It wasn't until Vassa talked about the bond that he realized that his feelings were returned. That she was miserable about it and that she felt the same for him.

“Say it again,” Lucien whispered.

“Wh—”

“Just say it again.”

“I love you, Lucien.” Vassa repeated, her pain giving way to confusion.

“I've waited forever to hear you say this.”

“You've what?”

Lucien couldn't hold it in anymore. He had to tell her that he felt the same. He wanted to see her smile and let go of the pain. He wanted her.

“And I love you.”

Silence again and then, “You do?”

“Of course I do. How could I not? You're strong, beautiful, smart, fiery and—”

Before Lucien could complete his statement, Vassa's lips were colliding with his.

It was like a flood of joy, it was heaven on earth. As if the universe was healing. It was pain and yearning and passion. It was contentment and need and want and hope. It was like magic and dreams fused together. It was everything that Lucien could have wished for. When they finally parted, tears smeared both their faces. The two looked at each other breathless, their foreheads touching. Vassa's cerulean blue eyes had such emotion that Lucien's heart couldn't believe it.

“Are you sure about this?” Vassa asked.

“Never been more sure about anything.”

“What will rejecting the bond—”

“It doesn't matter. What matters is you, what matters is us. Now and forever.”

Lucien stroked her red-gold hair softly as he said, “I love you, Vassa. I want to be with you.”

“But Lucien—”

“Not now, I just want to be in this moment right now. I have you by my side, it will all be okay.”

Vassa smiled at that and Lucien's heart buzzed at the stunning sight, the familiarity.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Vassa said kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his scars, his jawline and then his scars again.

Lucien laughed contentedly, his eyes closed. Finally, finally, finally, he thought.

“Say it again,” Lucien whispered.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“I can't believe the wait is over. Again.”

“I love you, Lucien. Now kiss me,” Vassa said, grinning widely and his heart flipped with joy.

“I'd be more than happy to.” Lucien said lifting Vassa off the ground, their lips entwining, their love flowing through the room.

[fics-n-stuff]

Secondhand Sofa

Pairing: Willie x Alex

Summary: Alex and Willie need to buy a sofa for their new apartment, domesticity insues. (Alive AU)

Word Count: 1097

A/N: There is nothing that actually connects them, so you don't have to read it, but I wrote this in the same universe as my previous Willex fic Really, Really. It's like a few years in the future from that.

Alex felt like he was dreaming watching Willie dance around the kitchen, but he couldn’t be because he had just woken up not five minutes earlier. Therefore, it had to be real that he and his boyfriend had moved into an apartment together, and said boyfriend was currently the cutest thing on the planet while they made breakfast.

“Morning.” Alex said softly, a fond smile on his face. Willie spun around to look at him, a grin spreading across their lips at the sight of the sleepy blonde. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.” Willie chirped, turning back to the pan. “How’d you sleep?”

Alex hadn’t expected to sleep well that night, it being their first night in the new apartment. Technically they had started moving in almost a week ago, but they had only gotten a bed yesterday and still didn’t have a sofa. But, to his surprise, he had gotten a full night of sound sleep and he was pretty sure it was because he’d had Willie sleeping beside him.

“Pretty good actually.” He answered, coming up behind his boyfriend to watch the pancake making process over their shoulder. Completely predictably, both the countertop and the stove were a mess. “I am not helping you clean this up.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Willie chuckled. They reached back to grab Alex’s arms and quickly wrapped them around their own body, smiling when he tightened his hold and rested his chin on their shoulder.

The two of them stood there silently while Willie finished making the last few pancakes, and then Alex grabbed some toppings and plates and they moved through to the living room. The area was sparse – they didn’t actually have any furniture to sit on – but they did have an old table that Ray had gifted them and a slightly ugly rug that Alex had stolen from his parents' attic. They had ordered a TV that should have arrived already but seemed to be delayed in it’s delivery.

“There’s a pretty good sofa at the second-hand store a couple blocks away, if we buy it before noon they’ll deliver same day.” Willie said as they sat down on the rug. “Before you ask, it’s not an ugly pattern and there are no mysterious stains.”

“That sounds pretty good. Is it yellow, orange or green?”

“No.”

“Can we afford it?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go after breakfast.” Alex smiled, making Willie giggle and they leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You have to clean the kitchen first.”

“Ugh, why’d you have to ruin it?” They sighed.

“Because you have a habit of making messes and I need to get into the habit of making you clean them up.” Alex answered. “If I don’t start enforcing the rules early then you’ll never listen to me.”

The two of them finished their breakfast, chatting and joking while they ate, and then Alex relented to washing the dishes while Willie cleaned the kitchen surfaces. He really struggled saying no to Willie.

The walk to the second-hand store wasn’t very long, and when they arrived Willie pointed out the sofa through the window before they went in. It was a plain grey, fabric three-seater without any stains, just as Willie had said.

“You know, I didn’t expect it to actually be so alright.” Alex teased, earning himself a light punch on the shoulder from his boyfriend.

“Come on, let’s go pay for it.” They smirked, pulling Alex into the store by their joined hands.

Not only did they get the sofa, but they also came away with a couple of blue tie dye beanbags; Willie’s eyes had lit up when they saw them and Alex didn’t have the heart to say no. The sofa was set to be delivered that afternoon but they carried the beanbags home on their backs, earning a few amused glances from the people that they passed.

“Now we’ll have space for guests!” Willie beamed, dropping their beanbag onto the living room floor. “See, perfect!”

“Yeah, perfect.” Alex smiled fondly, setting his down too. “Two steps closer to having a fully furnished apartment. We have about three hours until the sofa is delivered, what do you want to do?”

“Cookies, cupcakes or brownies?” Willie’s eyes shone so brightly with excitement that Alex almost didn’t think about the mess that they would make baking. “Please?”

“Willie, I love you, but I cannot deal with you constantly making messes in the kitchen; the kitchen that I also have to use.”

“Yeah, and that means you can make the mess with me.” Alex wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Willie look so mischievous, which was saying something. He pursed his lips, trying so hard to resist giving in to his adorable boyfriend. But, alas, he was a weak man.

“Okay, fine, let’s make brownies.” He sighed, and Willie’s smile widened.

“I love you.” They cooed, grabbing Alex’s hand and dragging him through to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but feel that the words were some type of precursory apology for the mess that was about to be made.

+ + +

“I hate you.” Alex huffed, looking at the mess of flour and chocolate around him. “I love you, but I hate you.”

“You helped me make it so you gotta help me clean it.” Willie grinned teasingly. They had somehow managed to get brownie mix smeared across their cheek, and Alex couldn’t help but move his hand up to wipe it away.

“You tricked me. It was entrapment.”

“No, it was baking with your very pretty boyfriend.”

“The prettiest.” Alex smiled, placing a light kiss on the tip of Willie’s nose. Just then, his phone started ringing where he’d left it in the living room. “Start cleaning.”

“You got it, hotdog.” They chuckled, and Alex scoffed as he went to answer the phone.

The caller ID said it was Julie, but when he picked up he heard Luke talking to somebody else – probably Reggie - on the other end.

“What do you want?” He asked, in lieu of a greeting.

“Do you guys have furniture yet? We’re still waiting for a housewarming party.” Luke said, and Alex could just picture the smirk on his face.

“Who said we were gonna have a housewarming party?”

“Bro, Willie definitely wants to have a housewarming party.”

“And so do all of us!” Reggie called from the background.

“So, do you have furniture yet?” Luke questioned again. Alex let the silence drag out for a moment before he sighed loudly.

“Our sofa arrives in an hour and a half. We still don’t have a TV but if you wanna come then tonight works.” He answered flatly.

“Awsome!” Luke cheered. “See you tonight.”

“We’ll bring takeout!” Julie managed to yell before Alex hung up. He rolled his eyes, stuffing his phone into his pocket and going back to the kitchen.

“What time should we expect them?” Willie asked with an amused smile, wiping down the counter.

“I have no clue.” Alex shrugged. “But we don’t have to cook dinner.”

The two of them finished cleaning the kitchen while they waited for the brownies. It was so utterly domestic, and Alex couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face the entire time. Once the brownies were out of the oven they settled on the beanbags with Willie’s laptop to watch some Netflix while they waited for the sofa to be delivered.

The delivery guys were nice when they arrived, getting the sofa into the apartment and not complaining that the building’s elevator was broken and they had to carry it up five narrow flights of stairs. Now, finally, they had an almost fully functional living room. And to top it all off, the sofa not only looked good in the space but it was also comfortable.

“This place is really starting to feel like a home.” Alex said, taking a moment to stand back and take in the room.

“It’s always gonna feel like a home as long as we’re here together.” Willie replied sweetly, grabbing his hand and dragging him with them to sit on the sofa. “I definitely think we could use a few plants though.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say such sentimental things and then immediately follow them up with a throwaway comment.” Alex explained. He'd never brought it up before but it was something that Willie had been doing a lot for quite a while, and it made Alex’s chest feel funny. He wasn’t particularly good at verbalising heartfelt sentiments – it had taken him a while to even get comfortable with saying “I love you" – but Willie didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

“Because I love you.” They shrugged in answer. “And I love you all the time, even during the most mundane moments. Sometimes I love you and it’s a really big deal and it’s a special moment, but sometimes I love you during super casual moments like getting our sofa delivered.” Alex just stared at them, his brain struggling to process what Willie had said beyond how fuzzy it made him feel.

“Okay.” He mumbled after an unnecessarily long pause, not knowing how else to respond. Willie giggled, adjusting the laptop on the table and hitting play before curling into Alex’s side.

“You could say it back.”

“Oh, I love you too.”

“I know.” They grinned.

They sat together on their freshly delivered sofa for hours, watching Netflix and chatting about random things. Their apartment was turning out to be actually quite cosy. They’d been sitting in silence for a while when all of a sudden Willie spoke up.

“You know what we need to buy?” They asked.

“A set of shelves for all of our miscellaneous stuff and more storage for our ridiculous collection of socks?” Alex suggested, practical as always.

“Well, yeah, but not what I was thinking.”

“Of course not.” Alex chuckled. “What were you thinking?”

“We need fluffy blankets.” Willie smiled excitedly. “And pillows to put on the couch.”

“Why?”

“So that, when our TV arrives, we can have movie nights on the couch and be all warm and comfy.”

“Hm, maybe that’s a good idea.” Alex smiled. He pushed a piece of hair away from their face and tucked it behind their ear, leaning in.

“Yeah, I think so.” Willie replied softly.

They were both smiling, faces only centimetres apart, when they were interrupted by very loud knocking at their door.

“FBI, open up!” They heard Flynn call from the other side. Alex groaned.

“Our idiots are here.” He said flatly. “What incredible timing.”

“We’ll have plenty of time another day. Go answer it, before we get complaints.” Willie replied as the knocking persisted. They pressed a very quick kiss to Alex’s lips before pushing him off of the sofa towards the door.

“Stop knocking, I’m coming!” He yelled, then lowered his voice to a bitter mutter, “I swear to God, this better not become a regular thing.” Willie laughed, and the sound warmed Alex’s heart.

He finally had his own space away from his parents and he shared it with the most perfect boyfriend he could have ever imagined having. He reveled in the feeling for a second before he opened the front door and his rowdy friends destroyed the quiet domestic moment. But that was okay, because this was his family and, although he acted like he was mad, Alex wouldn’t want it any other way.

[hanibalistic]

#59091D | LEE FELIX.

genre | angst, faint fluff, friends au

word count | 1684

warning | injury, blood, domestic abuse, suicidal ideation / dead dove do not eat

note | i have been meaning to write this for a long while, after i realized where my fascination with being alone in the bathroom came from. it has been a while since i was in a situation like this.

you finally got yourself a breather when you locked yourself in the bathroom.

there had been no hands around your neck this time, thankfully, but there may as well have been considering the lack of air you inhaled during the long consequences of your father's unreasonable and short temper.

you grew up learning not to cry. you were conditioned to not show a single hint of discomfort whenever you were met with the unfortunate results of your father's ill behavior, but also never forget to be scared! that was what he wanted—for you to cower, for you to be timid, for you to be afraid so he could loom over you like the devil himself and feel the authority consume him.

you learned all that for the past sixteen years; crying makes you annoying, being annoying gives you red cheeks and choked necks and big purple bruises, so never cry. not being scared makes you bratty, being bratty makes your legs give away and your body flinch and your nose bleed, so always be scared.

condemn yourself enough to feel the horrid of hell, but never cry for mercy in the face of the devil because you will get none, because you deserve none, because everything that happens to you is your fault.

sitting on the cold marble floor of the small bathroom, the bright light flickering and dimming because of your clear yet in-and-out consciousness, you extended your legs until your feet touched the bathtub and you leaned against the lower cabinet to rest your battered torso.

your nose was bleeding.

you knew the first time when your mother gasped but did not dare to interfere; it was ironic, it was hopeless, and it was infuriating that she didn't try harder to save you, but you understood why she couldn't. you watched her from the wall you were pinned against, her face distorted with tearful concern, and she stayed where she was while your father never let go of you.

you knew for the second time because you could feel it dripping down your cupid's bow, and when it got down to your lips you could taste it between your teeth.

you cared not for it. you just wanted to rest. maybe you would finally bleed out this time, and it would because you deserved it.

because you shouldn't have clipped your toenails away from the trash can, and you shouldn't have coughed too loudly when your father was on the phone, and you shouldn't have expressed your opinion when you aren't asked to and not expressing enough when you are asked to, and you shouldn't have dropped the doll in the living room floor when you are just making your way back to your room—why did you drop the doll? if your fingers are that useless, maybe you should just cut them off for good.

the empty bathroom made your thoughts spiral into a headspace nobody could enter. if you were less unhinged, you would have realized it was not the place for you to be loving it so much that you could find peace next to the toilet.

but it was a safe space, it had always been a safe space where you could bleed dry and nobody would say a word to you. the lights sent in by the gods through the window shone on you every time and you could simply sit and let yourself be.

"[name]? are you okay?"

you blinked up urgently at felix's concerned voice.

"i... i heard glass shatter from my room... i thought maybe–please let me in."

he found your hiding place.

you carefully stood up, your legs still bruised but you managed. you pondered if you wanted him to see you like this—weak, useless, humiliated. but there was truly nobody else you would rather see than him at this vulnerable moment.

he would understand. you knew he would. you have made mistakes in trusting someone on their ability to hold back judgment, but he would understand. he always has.

you unlocked the door and opened it slowly, revealing felix in his pajama standing just outside.

"hey," you greeted casually as you reached up to wipe your nose, smearing the blood across your cheek.

he breathed out a sharp gasp when the light-flooded onto your face. it was horrendous. you looked horrendous! he has never known messy red like this!

careful not to awaken anyone's senses, sparing a fearful glance at the closed hallway door, he immediately but gently pushed you back into the bathroom. he shut and locked the door behind him before he urged you to sit on the toilet.

"oh... oh, um, okay, uh... tissues, i need tissues."

he scrambled about, opening drawers and cabinets in hopes to find something he could use to treat your bleeding nose. from the looks of it, with his shaky movement and teary voice, he was even more concerned about your injury than you were.

"okay, okay, water," felix muttered to himself as he placed the curled tissue under the faucet and rinsed it with running water, then he turned to you.

he got on his knees, his neck arched up at you and his hand reached up to your face. hesitant could be felt in his movement when he got closer to your face, but even then you flinched when the cold water touched your burning cheek where you carelessly rubbed the blood over.

"what happened?" he asked.

"you knew what happened," you replied, and he shut up for the rest of the procedure.

he cleaned you up carefully. he wiped away the blood and helped to stop the bleeding. it took more tissue papers than expected, and he grimaced at the bloody pile in the trashcan before he closed the lid by letting off his feet against the lever.

"how did you get in here, felix?" you asked when he sat down on the ground.

"i climbed over to your balcony when i heard the noises, but it took me a while to pick the lock of your balcony door," he replied as he looked up at you, panting as if he just ran a mile.

his heart sure has, though. seeing you the way you were a second ago, he swore he could whisk you out of this house and keep you with him forever so he could properly protect you. but, like always, he was left with the broken pieces to deal with when he wanted to keep the pieces unshattered in the first place.

"you do know this is the tenth floor, right?" you said, nudging his thigh. "i know our balconies are super close, but you will die if you slip and drop."

"you would do it for me," he whispered. "you would do it for me if i was in your position."

you shrugged. "maybe."

he eyed you carefully, unsure what he should proceed with. he wondered if he should send you to sleep; he could tuck you in bed and wait until he feels that you would be safe for the night before he leaves. but there was something else he also wanted to talk about, something he was probably not qualified to handle but wanted to chat with you about as a concerned friend.

"but you are very keen on dying, so maybe you would drop before you get to my room," he commented, "and that would probably be more of a choice than chance."

you gazed down at him. felix was never one to be so straightforward. he was too considerate to be honest with people, and he knew a handful of people who couldn't handle the truth unless it was gentle. he was one of them.

but not all truths can be gentle. no matter how easily you lay them down, they'll still cause an earthquake somehow. and nobody should have to hold the tremors in their body to save somebody else.

sometimes you have to ensure tragedy to understand.

"it would, but i won't," you said. "i won't die. i am afraid of it."

he frowned. "you're not convincing. you were letting yourself bleed and not doing anything."

his frown engraved even further into his face when you laughed. there was nothing funny about the situation, but if anybody got to laugh about it, it should be you.

"you just came a little early! i do clean myself up after a while, i'm too scared to let myself bleed out in a bathroom," you explained, waving your hand dismissively before leaning back against the cold toilet.

"you think for a second you want to, but when it might actually happen, you get second thoughts about it. if i'm going to be numb about the world, i want it to come from me, not death."

that way at least you chose to be numb, not because death yanked the tear ducts out of you.

"that's..." felix exhaled a big, exhausted sigh. he covered his face with his hands, trying to will his frustration away. it wasn't his place to be. "that's fucked up."

you smiled. "it is. there is nothing i can do about it."

he nodded. he understood. you both were all too young; rebelling was not an option, neither was running away. all you two could have was time, endurance, and each other.

"i just wish i could help more," he uttered out under his breath.

you could hear the tears in his eyes. felix always sounded like he was going to cry when he was, he does nothing to hide his fragility. you loved that about him.

sliding down the toilet, the skin of your legs hitting the soft fabric of his pajama. you sat close to him, borderline on top of him, and you leaned yourself against his body. he accepted you, his hands placing themselves on your ankle and knee.

"i let you in my hiding place." you only said.

and felix knew that was enough. that was all he could become—a person you let into your hiding place, and that was more than enough.

[savebatsfromscratch]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 11 - Everything happened all at once.

-

Prompt: Adrift / drowning / dehydration

-

Jimmy f___ing drowns.

Read the Ao3 version please! (Under my same name.)

Possible "Dead Dove: Do Not Eat" due to suicidal themes.

Really short again oops. (But it's more "poetry" than it was the last r e a l l y short one, so, whatever.)

Bit 'How to Train Your Dragon' books at the end there but oh well.

X life smp spoilers if you haven't already watched it I guess.

-

If you are having suicidal thoughts, seek help with a professional. (Which I am not.)

You are genuinely loved by someone, even if you do not know it. Somebody in this world loves you. (Most likely more than one!)

If you are feeling suicidal I want you to know that you can ALWAYS get better, you can ALWAYS ask for help. You are not alone, and if you struggle with these thoughts I recommend highly that you call a hotline near you.

You are loved.

-

Tws: Death, drowning, cult mention, suicide (SERIOUSLY BIG WARNING ON THAT LAST ONE)

Words: 1,006

Is this over?

Jimmy peered into the dark lake of the lagoon, his own bruised face reflected back at him and making the scene all the more terrifying.

Am I really over? He wondered, even as he toughened himself to answer his own question.

He inhaled shakily, reaching one gloved hand up to wipe away a single tear. The glove was burned, and left a small smear of ash on his face as a result of it’s previous abuse. (The resolute feeling of anger left after was also still reserved inside it’s owner.)

I knew this would end like this. He thought. I knew that things would go wrong.

They were true, those thoughts that floated through his head. (Now left empty in the darkness of this last life.) He had known it would end like this. From the very moment he had left Evo, the very moment he had heard of this place. He had always known what would happen.

So why did I stay? He mused, new tears now washing away the tracks of the old. (Of course, he knew why he had stayed. Friendships, new experiences, and friendly games of death.) It had felt so fake, the fact that they would really die.

But now…

Now that Jack was dead, what could he do? What could he do to deny the fate that would eventually fall to all of them? Nothing could have been done to change this. They had all learned of the laws of the land, choosing to settle anyway. (For whatever reason that settling had been for.)

He had traveled for many reasons. In hopes of finding his friend (or at least someone new who he could call a ‘friend’ again), of curiosity in what this dangerous life would be, but most of all, to remind himself he was alive.

But look at him now. Smudges of ashen black reminding him that he wasn’t going to be alive much longer, no matter how hard he tried. Was it better to just make his own end to the story? He knew it wasn’t. He knew there was no way that was right. He knew there was a way out, he knew he was loved, but could he prove it to himself?

Could I have escaped this? Jimmy wondered, painful memories bouncing off the words as he thought them. He was on his last life, the scrape of ash on his arm signifying how permanent this could be. How could he have known that it wouldn’t carry over if he left the nation? He couldn’t. Which is why he decided to stay there, gathering dust and memories made to be forgotten.

It had happened so fast.

All this life, so much that was lived. He had met so many new people, so many interesting characters. (Even if he now feared for their lives.) He had come here in search of beauty, and he had found it, in the embroidery on the carpet he had once flown, and in the sun shining off flowers he had never known. So many new things he could never have even imagined in his old nation, so many which existed here. He even made a few of them.

…But why did he want to end all that for the others? Why did he want to escape from this horribly tainted dreamland? How had it come to this so quickly?

Jimmy sighed and squatted down, toes dipping into the water as the lily pad path shifted with him. (And though he knew he may never experience it again, he wished that they would stop making his socks wet.)

Was it time?

He gazed up at the sky, regret already filling him, even though he hadn’t washed away that awful mark yet. He felt alone, the emotions that had been waiting on the sidelines finally getting their turn to play as he heard the news that his friend was dead. Now, they were out to play, rummaging about his mind and pulling out the worst of him to kick around and jump through.

And suddenly- he did not know when it happened- he was under. At first, it was sort of nice, cool, clear water washing away the blood and tears and moving through his hair the way hands may have before. He spun in it, looking up through the warped surface to the world he was leaving, and noticing the way the light bounced off of it, sending sparks of hope to him as he fought the urge to grab for it.

But as soon as it showed itself, the feeling of joy was gone.

His air was running out, but, as Jimmy realised with horror, his armor seemed to be weighing him down. Why had he done this? This wasn’t right, this wasn’t the sort of end he wanted, he still had so much to do!

He reached a hand towards the surface, the glove warping strangely against the brightness of the prison he had escaped. His eyes were beginning to blur as he took in water, kicking with all his might to rise, but not moving no matter how hard he tried.

He sobbed, agony shooting through him as he truly and really ran out. And, with the darkness surrounding him on all sides, he was choking away from the little urge he had left to swim.

It had all happened so quickly.

One moment he had been a bright ray of light, swooping gleefully over a cottage of his own, and the next he had been a rotted (yet markless) corpse, floating freely in it’s old armor. The blur of life had sped past him, picking up speed until it had hit a wall, legs breaking on impact to send him spiraling down to the bottom of a lagoon.

And now, as his last breath fed the sea grasses and lily pads, his eyes went dark like the smashed windows of a cult’s holy place.

But his soul… Well, that never truly leaves a hero.

[mcwerewolfblack]

Yule Ball: Part III - Professor Snape x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You and Professor Snape sort out a poorly written examination in his classroom, but somebody sees. With your reputations at stake, only magic can save you now... and a little of something else too, at a time most inopportune. 

Notes: Sorry this is three days late, but I wanted to edit it to perfection, since it’s been a year since the last part! Enjoy, I love all of you so much. Happy holidays x

@fandom-puff​ (sorry I know there are so many more ppl who asked to be tagged but I lost track!) 

Part One

Part Two 

Part Four

The soft bubbling in his classroom late at night was comforting to Severus. He found it helped him think... and grade test scores, as per what he was currently preoccupied with. The moon is full outside, shining through what little window Snape had left uncovered. He ignores the squawk of Hagrid's distant Hippogriff (that thing takes pleasure in ensuring he never got any peace and quiet as of ten o clock at night) and gets back to the paper. He scowls.  

"What is it with these twits?" he murmurs to himself, using his wand to mark a large "fail" on Ron Weasley's test, flopping it onto the pile of Fred and George's equally dismal efforts. Just then, he flips to one with your neat, flowery handwriting on it, and stops.

Well, what's the problem? Just mark it as you would any other student. Besides, this will be nice and quick. (y/n) always gets a perfect score on my examinations.

Beginning to read though, he finds himself beginning to frown. Wrong... another one wrong... He looks up at the ceiling, and clenches his jaw. Of course. Why should he expect any less, when you'd been all over him for the past month?

----

The next afternoon, you’re wiling away potions by watching your quill spin in its inkwell. Wandless magic, along with perfecting the art of apparition, is something you’d been trying your hand at for years, and the fruits of your labor are just starting to manifest now.

“Miss (y/l/n).”

Your attention moves up to Professor Snape, at the head of the potions room.

This your last class of the day, before a much needed weekend rest. You're supposed to get the test grades back this afternoon, and you have to say you're excited-- you studied long and hard for it, attempting to make Snape proud of a little more than your talents of bewitchment.

"Miss (y/l/n). May I see you after class?"

You smile to yourself. "Of course, sir." You expect he'll reward you, calling you his good girl, telling you all about how much you deserve him tonight. Snape was rarely pleased with anything, but you're sure he'd find exception in your astounding work.

After class had finished on the note of homework and groaning, you stay in your seat, assuring your friends you’d catch up later. Once the rest of the unassuming students had filed out, you move to get up and join him by his desk, but he strides over before you can, thwacking the test down in front of you.

"What… is this?"

You look down at it, and give him a charming smile. "The best damn exam you'll ever grade."

Snape makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan, sarcasm dripping as he says, "I insist you take a second look."

You frown, and look down at your work, flipping through. As you do, you become more and more frustrated. "But-- but I knew this one! This is... this was clearly draught of the living death..."

"Was it?" Snape asks patiently, staring at you with his arms folded, "I pray you never need to brew it, then."

You huff, glaring up at him. "Do you know, I studied for hours for this--"

"Don't lie to me," he hisses, "I know what you're doing. Fail the exam, get called up to see me when everyone else is safely in their dormitories and get the punishment of a lifetime.” He leans in, glowering. “I know how your mind works."

You balk. "You actually think I'd sacrifice my grades in potions to have sex with you?! You have more of an ego than I thought, professor!"

Snape sputters. It does sound quite far fetched the way you put it, but...

"Perhaps your exams are a little too hard," you raise your eyebrows, and push the test away from you.

"Perhaps. Perhaps I was mistaken as well..." He holds his frown. "I want a perfect grade next time, do you understand me?"

"Oh, perfectly. It's just I've been so preoccupied with extra activities, like the frog choir, that whole tri-wizard competition-- I mean the tournaments are bloody thrilling! They'll be leaving soon, anyway, with all the visitors. Also McGonagall's lessons..."

"There's nothing Professor McGonagall can do that I can't do twice as ruthlessly."

"Yes. I know," you smirk.

“Do not let it happen again. My class takes precedence… you should know that by now.” Snape waits, and when you don't get up to leave, sighs. "That will be all, Miss (y/l/n)."

“Will it?”

He turns back at your teasing tone, and already feels a headache coming on. He fell right into your trap… which wasn’t even a trap in the first place. He brought this on himself, truly. Perhaps he should just forget how to feel guilty. After all, how many times had this happened?

"I'm not wearing anything beneath my robes."

Snape gives a tight lipped smile. "I was never foolish enough to believe you were."

"Proved it a bit difficult in class..." you begin to shrug the robes off, "Malfoy was hanging over my shoulder the whole time, it's a bloody miracle he didn't get an eyeful.”

"Perhaps he did," Snape muses, "We'll never know." You watch him closely, parting your legs. He still looks hesitant, even after all these times.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," you bite your lip, starting to undo the robe, "But Professor… I want to."

He puts a hand on yours to stop you, and you look up in surprise. Maybe this is really where he would take a stand... you were wondering when he would.

But he smacks your hand away, giving you that look. "Don't touch." He turns you around, and slots himself behind you, dark hair falling against your cheek. "That's. My. Job."

You grin, and he slowly opens your robes, admiring how your tie falls between your breasts, perfectly centered.

"This will have to come off," he murmurs, taking the tie with the tip of his fingers, then stops. "Unless..."

"What?" you breathe.

He hums thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps I ought to make sure you receive what you deserve. It was an abysmal examination score, after all..."

A thrill runs through you. "What do you mean?"

"This is the third time we've done this, and somehow I doubt it will be the last. You believe I'd let you get off without a punishment for your dangerous behavior?"

"I believe you'd let me get off.”

"Silence." Though he maintains most of his stern expression, you can sense his impulse to smirk. He takes the tie off, and ties it around your wrists behind your back, laying your back on his desk. He then begins to slowly tug the robes off, and groans when he sees your breasts bare to him in full. You moan, stretching your arms, and bite your lip, blinking up at him.

"You don't deserve what you have in mind," he whispers, "You deserve my lips on you, teasing you, bringing you close until I deny you what you need. That is what you get when you don't take my class seriously."

You whimper, rubbing your thighs together. "But Professor... please, I haven't touched myself all week."

He narrows his eyes. "Why? Preparing for something, were we?"

You avert eye contact, blushing. "I..."

"Go on."

"I expected a good grade. I thought you would reward me, daddy."

Snape inhales sharply at the name, and you see his hips start to slightly shift to rub against the desk. "Well, we both saw how that turned out. Knickers, off."

Just as you're reaching down, you both hear someone mutter an 'alohamora.' The door swings open on you and Snape. There, a boy your age stands, eyes a fraction wider.

"Krum," you breathe. He seems caught, and slowly backs away. Snape's eyes widen slightly, and you pull your robes back on. Before you can run after the visiting student though, your professor grabs your arm, tugging you back.

"He'll tell Karkarov," you protest desperately.

"He will," Snape nods, "Let him. There is little he can prove. It will just seem like dirty sportsmanship for the Durmstrang visitors to try and smear the reputation of one of Hogwarts' best teachers.”

Still... it was unnerving.

---

The next day, you're far more on edge than usual. A meeting had been called, as Snape had relayed to you, and you’re both so sure it’s about… that.

You lay on your bed, flicking your wand about as a feather dances atop you. It floats up, down, with each unspoken leviosa of your wand, and finally, you let it fall against your chest. You would much rather be practicing your apparating—it was a little harder, and would take your mind off the possibility of your getting expelled.

You try and push the thoughts of Snape out of your head, and replace them with where you want to apparate. Focus… focus…

In Dumbledore’s office, Snape takes his seat alongside McGonagall, Dumbledore, Sprout, Flitwick, Karkaroff, and Maxime. Pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, he doesn’t say a word.

“Well. Let us bring to attention why this meeting has been called,” McGonagall begins, and Dumbledore nods.

“Quite right, Minerva. There has been an incident.”

In your dorm, you concentrate hard on apparating to the library. If you could only… focus…

“A special thank you to Karkaroff, for one his boys, Victor Krum, bringing this situation to our attention,” Dumbledore goes on. “It is a matter we here at Hogwarts, take very seriously.”

Snape is about to open his mouth, when he feels something under the table, directly in front of his legs.

You glance around, confused. Where had you ended up?

“A matter, I might say, that could even have serious repercussions if not looked into further.”

“Mon Dieu,” Maxime tuts, “What has happened, Albus?”

Oh, shit. Oh, shit! Your subconscious had won out. You had been thinking of Severus too much when trying to apparate, and had apparated to the meeting.

Snape could not, for the life of him, figure out what had just materialized between his legs. Pretending to drop a vial from his sleeve, he reached down to check… and the two of you came face to face.

Snape’s eyes widen, then he narrows them into slits. The glare is threatening in every way it could be, and you cower back a little.

I didn’t mean to, you try to mouth, but he’s already sat up again. His boot comes up, and lays to rest on your stomach, keeping you far away from him, yet close enough so the others can’t feel you. If anyone else was to check under the table, it’s not like you have an invisibility cloak—you’d both be dead meat.

“What, might I inquire, would this matter be?” Severus asks, in the most level voice he can manage. He was absolutely furious that you were where you were. Had you no shame? He was about to lose his job over this! You were simply taunting fate, at this point.

“I’m very glad you asked, Severus,” Karkaroff interjected with sinister glint in his eyes, “For this matter concerns you.”

Between his legs under the table, you try to apparate back. Only… you didn’t apparate with your wand on you. Damn wandless magic! Now you couldn’t get back.

“What have I got to do with anything, pray tell, Igor?” Snape is doing a rather good job of sounding unimpressed, bored even. You start to squirm, listening to his deep voice. It still does things to you, even in a situation like this. Especially in a situation like this.

“It is a matter of something Krum saw, Severus,” Dumbledore says slowly, “Something troubling indeed.”

Under the table, desire starts to creep up on you. You had been given a very rare, very exciting opportunity here. You could get back at Snape for grading your test badly, and have a little fun along the way… two can play at that game.

“You see, we have learned that it involves one of our students here at Hogwarts,” Minerva says sternly, “Namely, Miss (y/l/n) of (y/house) house.” You hesitate, then take the chance to unlatch him.

“Miss (y/l/n)?” Snape quirks a brow, “A model student.”

“Seems like such a lovely girl. Tres jolie,” Maxime comments.

Snape begins to frown, feeling your hands on his breeches. You weren’t. You wouldn’t…

“Yes, well there’s no doubt about that,” Flitwick says, “But the news we have heard of her is nothing short of shocking! Nothing we would expect from a young lady of her stature.” You take Snape out of his pants, half hard, and close your mouth softly around his tip. He tries to swat you off, but you dodge him.

“No doubt,” Minerva agrees.

“Surely…” Snape swallows, shifting his hips, “Whatever she has done… can be forgiven?” Oh….

“Why would you be so quick to forgive her, Severus?” Minerva asks, “We haven’t even learned of the situation.”

“I only wish to reprimand students when reprimandation is wholeheartedly deserved,” Snape clenches his jaw, giving you a good whack with his knee, “Otherwise, such punishment would subsequently lose its value.”

“Well. With that I agree,” Sprout speaks up, “But this, from what we’ve been led to believe, is a very serious issue!”

“Out with it, then,” Snape annunciates in that menacing tone, “What exactly has she done, and how exactly… does it involve me?” His hand grabs you by the hair under the table, and tightens. If you’re going to play with him like this, then he will remain in control.

“Why don’t we simply ask the boy himself?” Karkaroff smirks, and with a whisk of his wand and the utterance of Dumbledore’s secret password, the doors open. Victor Krum comes in, rigid as if he had been trained for battle. He gives a swift bow, and stands before them.

“Tell us what you saw, Victor,” Minerva encourages. Krum looks to everyone, brow furrowed. Snape guides your head, gritting his teeth. He’s already close, and he can faintly hear you moaning like a whore.

“Wait for a moment,” Filius says, holding up a finger, “I hear something strange.”

Snape coughs, trying to overpower the sounds of him getting his dick sucked by a slutty little student. “Must be Hagrid’s Hippogrif,” he grumbles, “The infernal thing does not know how to quiet down.”

“Buckbeak only caws at night,” Filius frowns, “This sounds much closer.”

Snape begins to sweat. This was it. If you didn’t quiet down your sounds of pleasure from under the table, you would both be found out, and that would be that. Disgraced, humiliated, cast out--

Igor clears his throat in irritation, and attention is once again collectively returned to Krum. Snape relaxes a little bit, this being the only time he’s ever praised his old death eater friend for interrupting something.

You smirk under the table, quieting your moaning down a little as Snape slams you back into him, your lips sliding down even further over his cock with each thrust into your mouth. It feels so good to be used, especially in such a dangerous situation—you’d never been so wet in your life, and you start to rub yourself, gasping softly and gagging on his large cock.

Snape curses you out in his mind. You’re a troublemaker, more than a troublemaker, and absolutely disobedient little girl. What he wouldn’t do to slam you down over a desk right at this very moment and teach you a real lesson.

“Go on,” Minerva encourages Krum gently, “What you say will never leave this room.”

“Unless required,” Flitwick sniffs, straightening his tie.

“Oh, Merlin,” Snape grunts, crumpling forward a little. He’s on the edge, he’s about to come… Everyone turns to him, their stares burning.

“Something to say, Severus?” Karkaroff jabs, sneering.

Snape’s eyelids flutter, and he white knuckles the table as his orgasm hits him. You moan under the table, feeling it on your tongue, and you come as well, biting back a whine. Fuck, you’re hit little whore… oh, yeah…

“Severus?” Minerva prods, frowning. Snape clenches his jaw, regaining his foothold on the conversation.

“Only a reminder that I am very busy and do not have all day. Consider this an encouragement, Mr. Krum, to spit it out,” he growls, then his lips tug up ever so slightly. “Though not everyone present in this room must take that advice.”

You hold back a giggle, and swallow dutifully.

Through the confused stares of the heads of houses, Krum finally speaks. Snape holds his breath, and you listen carefully, nerves buzzing. At least you went out with a bang.

“I was walking past Professor Snape’s classroom,” Krum begins, staring at the dark Slytherin head of house, “And…” Everyone seems to lean forward. “And spotted (y/n)…”

“Yes?” Sprout murmurs. Snape worries the inside of his lip. This was it. Perhaps he could apparate as smoothly as you had, out of this room. Though he could never match your impeccable timing, surely.

“—I spotted (y/n) stealing lacewing flies from Professor Snape’s personal storage.”

Snape nearly drops his jaw. Everyone at the table looks terribly scandalized, and he counts his blessings that it is not for the reason they should.

“Allow me… to explain,” he says, fixing himself discreetly under the table. “I had given (y/n) an assignment outside of class protocol, brewing a specially modified batch of polyjuice potion for extra credit. I have been tutoring her as somewhat of an apprentice.” He looks up at Krum with a curious sort of respect. “I… appreciate your diligence in reporting what would typically be an unforgivable offense against my private collection of ingredients, Mr. Krum. However, in this particular case… no further action is required, at the bidding, of course, of Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore opens his hands. “Your explanation is quite sufficient, Severus. I see no further need to pursue any consequence toward Miss (y/l/n), if her intentions were warranted and academic.”

You sigh in relief under the table, and Snape smirks. Karkaroff is fuming, thinking the matter would absolutely ruin him. The potions master lifts his chin.

“Will that be all, then?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he growls, and rises. He gets out a small vial, and hands it to you under the table, as the others talk amongst themselves.

“Drink,” he mutters, and you do. Before your eyes, you begin to turn invisible. His potion-brewing abilities never fail to astound you. Flitwick and Sprout spot the slight elevation in the tablecloth as you get out and follow Snape. They frown at one another, and check for an open window anywhere in the office.

You follow Snape to his classroom, and this time, he locks the door.

“You are lucky he said what he did, you little harlot.”

You smirk, the small vial already wearing off. “He knows Hermione. Hermione knows me. It’s only natural he’d cover for me.”

“And what you did back under the table?!” he continues, cape billowing as he paces. You grimace a little, waiting for that. He just sighs, glancing at you. “Will be the reason for my nightly shut-ins.”

You saunter over, kissing his cheek. “I knew you’d thank me.” He doesn’t look up.

“Hardly. Detention for the remainder of the school year.”

“But sir!” You slowly start to realize what that means. “Ah. Yes, sir.”

He can’t help but smile to himself as you leave for your dormitory, admiring your uniform on the way out. Perhaps he hadn’t taken such leave of his senses when he had found you that night at the Yule Ball, as he had so forced himself to believe. Perhaps, instead, he had come to them.